The Spectral Blaze: A Forgotten Realms Novel

by Richard Lee Byers

  She smiled and started toward him and Aoth, but then the Red Dragon strode through a door at the back of the hall, and everyone had to fall silent and bow or curtsy.

  “Rise,” said Tchazzar, flopping down on the throne. “Captain Fezim, Lord Corynian, come forward.”

  Gaedynn supposed that meant him too, and even if it didn’t, he had no intention of hanging back. He wanted to be close to his friends if things turned ugly.

  When they were all standing before the dais, Aoth said, “Your Majesty, I have good news. It took some doing, but we eliminated the threat in Threskel.”

  Frowning, Tchazzar stroked his chin. “And who were the traitors?” he asked.

  “Once-human liches and other undead who formerly served Alasklerbanbastos,” Aoth replied, “and who had apparently been geased to avenge him in the event of his destruction.”

  Gaedynn thought it was a good lie. When you fought the living, you generally ended up with fresh corpses, prisoners, and friends and kin lamenting the loss of the fallen. But slaughtering the undead didn’t necessarily produce the same sort of evidence that a struggle had in fact taken place. It would be hard for a skeptic to prove that the Brotherhood hadn’t destroyed a pack of phantoms somewhere out in the wilds.

  “Are you sure the creatures didn’t serve Jaxanaedegor?” Tchazzar asked. Gaedynn would have asked the same thing, considering that the green was a vampire and, as he and Jhesrhi knew firsthand, numbered other undead among his followers.

  “Yes,” said Aoth. “During the battle, some of the undead spoke of the Great Bone Wyrm.”

  “Fair enough, then,” the war hero said. “Now tell me why you ignored my order to report to me as fast as possible and let your company catch up with you.”

  “As we all know,” Aoth said, “the undead are poisonous, and after we fought them, sickness broke out among the men. Fortunately the chaplains and other healers controlled it. But what kind of war leader would have left his command before he was sure the problem had been contained? Not your kind, Majesty, not if all the stories about you are true.”

  “But what about my priests?” Halonya demanded.

  “I believe I already explained that in a dispatch,” said Aoth. “They visited us, they left to return to Luthcheq, and that’s the last I know about them.” He returned his gaze to Tchazzar. “Majesty, you’re my employer, and I’ll answer any question you put to me. But still, I wasn’t expecting quite this sort of interrogation. I expected you’d be glad to hear that I eliminated one nest of enemies, and then we’d discuss the next campaign.”

  Tchazzar stared back at him for a few moments and, suddenly, he grinned. “Right you are, Captain, especially with regard to the planning! I delayed my departure until you and your company arrived because Lady Jhesrhi tells me you know how to take Djerad Thymar.”

  Aoth smiled wryly. “Does she? All right, what do we know about the place?”

  During the discussion that followed, Jhesrhi caught Gaedynn’s eye. They obviously couldn’t speak freely in front of Tchazzar. But he could tell she was eager for some indication of whether there was any reason for hope that the invasion could be stopped. He gave her the tiniest of nods.

  And a guard by the door announced Zan-akar Zeraez just a few moments later.

  The ambassador had a grim, clenched look to him. Gaedynn was glad because it meant the stormsoul intended to act in accordance with the message Son-liin had given him.

  As he should, for the badge she wore to identify herself as a royal herald and the parchment bearing Arathane’s seal were legitimate. But Zan-akar wouldn’t have been the first officer serving abroad to ignore orders from home if he found them inconvenient or unpalatable.

  Tchazzar beamed at him. “My lord! This is perfect … or would have been if you’d brought Lord Magnol with you! Now that Captain Fezim has finally seen fit to grace us with his presence”—he gave Aoth a wink—“we can make final plans for the campaign and march at dawn tomorrow.”

  Zan-akar took a breath. “Majesty, it is with the profoundest regret that I must ask you to excuse Akanûl from any such undertaking. Queen Arathane has ordered our soldiers home.”

  Tchazzar gaped at him. “Why?”

  “Apparently,” the stormsoul said, “evidence has emerged to prove beyond doubt that dragonborn did not commit the atrocities inside Akanûl. Arathane suggests you evaluate the possibility that they weren’t responsible for the killings inside Chessenta either.”

  “That’s ridiculous!” Tchazzar snapped, and smoke puffed out of his mouth.

  As though in response, a spark or two crawled on the silver lines in Zan-akar’s skin. But Gaedynn had to give him credit. That was the only sign he was afraid.

  “I can only repeat what my queen wrote to me,” Zan-akar said, “and assure you she isn’t someone who jumps to rash conclusions.”

  “We have a pact!” Tchazzar said. “More than that, we have an opportunity. To destroy a hated enemy once and for all.”

  “I promise you,” Zan-akar said, “you don’t have to teach me or any genasi to detest the dragonborn. I pray for the day when our two peoples will unite to humble them once and for all. But it appears that day is yet to come. I beg Your Majesty to understand just how grave a threat the aboleths pose to Akanûl, and how vulnerable we are with the bulk of our army elsewhere.”

  “I should kill you,” Tchazzar said. More smoke swirled from his mouth and nostrils, and a subtle patterning suggestive of scales sketched itself on his neck.

  “Clearly,” the genasi said, “you can if you choose. I’m at your mercy. But I ask you to consider how such a breach of custom and diplomacy would reflect on the honor of a great king and the dignity of his court.”

  “Are you impugning my honor?” Tchazzar asked.

  “No, Majesty, simply asking you to reflect.”

  “Go!” the war hero snarled. “I want you out of my kingdom! You, Magnol, and all your craven, unnatural kind!”

  “As you command, Your Majesty.” Zan-akar bowed and turned to go.

  You lucky bastard, Gaedynn thought. The gods only know what we’re going to need to do to get Jhesrhi—and the whole Brotherhood, for that matter—out of Tchazzar’s clutches, and you, he orders away.

  But he didn’t entirely begrudge the envoy his good fortune. Zan-akar had been an aggravation almost from the day Gaedynn and his comrades had arrived, but he’d acquitted himself bravely in the face of Tchazzar’s wrath.

  Tchazzar clasped his hands together, closed his eyes, and took several deep breaths. The smoke stopped fuming out of his nostrils, and the scales melted off his skin.

  Then he leered out at the assembly. “This is actually excellent news,” he said. “Arathane’s timidity means more glory and plunder for the rest of us.” He looked at Aoth. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Possibly,” Aoth replied. He then launched into an analysis of how the loss of their genasi allies would likely affect the course of the coming war. He pointed out one difficulty after another but never said that the invasion had become too risky. He wanted Tchazzar to draw that conclusion for himself.

  Any rational human monarch would have, but Tchazzar was neither the one nor the other, and as Gaedynn watched the Red Dragon’s jaw set with stubbornness, he wondered if killing Vairshekellabex had been pointless. Maybe it had simply ensured that the war in the south would last longer and cost more sellswords their lives than would have been the case otherwise.

  But then he noticed that Hasos had stepped to the side to whisper with a middle-aged woman possessed of a plain, pock-marked face, a shaved head, and two concentric circles painted on her brow. For a moment, the lack of hair made Gaedynn mistake her for a Thayan. Then he realized from the painted rings that she more likely hailed from Gheldaneth, the last surviving city of Mulhorand, which had been subsumed into the Imaskari empire.

  When he’d heard what she had to say, Hasos approached the throne and all but stood at attention. His posture made it clear that he wanted t
o be recognized.

  “What is it?” Tchazzar asked.

  “Goodwife Nanpret there was one of Your Majesty’s spies in High Imaskar,” Hasos said. “She’s brought us news, and it isn’t good. The incursions from the Plains of Purple Dust have stopped, or at least the empress believes so. If we attack the dragonborn, she’ll send wizards and soldiers to help them.”

  I don’t believe it, Gaedynn thought. Finally some luck we didn’t have to make ourselves.

  Or had they? He looked to Jhesrhi, and she gave him the same sort of nearly imperceptible nod he’d earlier given her. Evidently they all had their stories to trade if they made it out of Tchazzar’s presence alive.

  The war hero glowered at the spy. “How can this be?” he asked.

  “I don’t know, Majesty,” Goodwife Nanpret replied. “I didn’t linger to dig for all the details. I summoned a winged demon and made it carry me here to warn you as fast as it could fly.” She hesitated. “It cost me. It cost me dearly.”

  If she expected a promise of reward or at least a word of thanks, Tchazzar disappointed her. He was intent on other matters. “Gestanius,” he whispered, “you treacherous piece of dung.”

  Hasos peered up at him. “What, Your Majesty? I don’t understand.”

  “Nothing!” the war hero snapped. “And this news changes nothing!”

  “Majesty,” Aoth said, “I have to say that in my judgment the two pieces of news you’ve received today, taken together, change the strategic picture significantly.”

  “If I were some puny mortal warlord, perhaps,” the Red Dragon said. “But I’m a god!”

  “Fair enough,” said Aoth. “But you and I have already been to war together. And I’ve seen that even you can lose a battle when the odds are insurmountable.”

  “And do you think they’re insurmountable now?”

  “I think it might be prudent to let your forces fully recover from one war before leading them into another. I think it’s already late in the year to start a new—”

  “Because you dawdled in Threskel while I waited for you here!”

  “Someone had to secure the north, or it would have been stupid to march south. But the fact remains, it’s already late to begin a new campaign. Your people will go hungry if no one harvests the crops. Cold and sickness will decimate your troops if we’re still in the field come winter. And without the genasi to support us, and with the Imaskari coming to oppose us, we will be.”

  Aoth took a breath. “I’m not saying we can’t win. I am saying that some victories can be as ruinous as defeat.”

  “I understand,” Tchazzar said, “that you’ve giving your honest professional opinion. But you don’t understand how High Lady Halonya will channel the power of the children’s faith to make me invincible.”

  Gaedynn didn’t really know what that meant either, but it suddenly came to him that he might know what to say about it. “It’s not all bad, then,” he murmured, softly enough that it might seem he was talking to himself but loudly enough for Halonya to overhear. “Because if you don’t turn out to be invincible, at least you’ll know exactly who to blame.”

  Halonya twitched as if he’d jabbed her with a pin. She hesitated for a heartbeat or two then said, “Majesty.”

  “What?” Tchazzar snapped.

  “I … I’ll be honest,” the high priestess said. “The lesser clerics and I might benefit from having more time to practice. To meditate and study. I … don’t want to disappoint you like Daelric did.”

  Tchazzar shook his head. “I don’t know whether to laugh or rain down fire on you all. Does no one believe in me?”

  Jhesrhi stepped up onto the dais. That could be viewed as an affront to Tchazzar’s royal dignity, but if he saw it that way, perhaps she mitigated the offense by kneeling and taking his hands in hers. Gaedynn’s own guts twisted as he imagined how that contact must sicken her.

  “Everyone believes in you,” she said. “Especially Halonya and me. But it’s like I told you before: you don’t have to do this.”

  “But I want to,” Tchazzar said, and for that moment, despite the menace he embodied, his manner reminded Gaedynn of a sulking child.

  “Think of statecraft as a game,” Jhesrhi said. “Right now, you’re far ahead. You came back from a century of absence, reclaimed your throne, and conquered Threskel, all in the span of a few months. Is it time to make yet another big move and risk everything you’ve gained so far, or would it be shrewder to consolidate your position?”

  Gaedynn tensed. She was trying to make Tchazzar think about xorvintaal without letting on that she knew of its existence. But if he sensed she did know—

  Fortunately the Red Dragon let out a long sigh that surely signaled resignation, not wrath. “All right,” he growled. “You can all have it your way. The dragonborn can keep their miserable lives for a little longer.”

  Gaedynn had to struggle to keep his mouth from stretching into a grin. Who would have believed it? Aoth’s mad scheme had actually worked. They’d prevented the war without openly defying Tchazzar or otherwise provoking him into a murderous rage.

  Of course, that wasn’t the end of it. But, confirmed pessimist though he was, Gaedynn was willing to entertain the possibility that the worst might actually be over.

  * * * * *

  A provincial lord had brought his daughters to court to witness the splendors of the Red Dragon’s reign. Tchazzar hadn’t bothered to retain the fellow’s name or those of the girls either. But the latter were pretty, so he’d ordered them to his bed. Naked, trembling, their thighs bloody, they lay there and struggled not to flinch or cry out as he popped their blisters one by one with the fingernail he’d lengthened into a claw.

  Like the deflorations that had preceded it, the pricking was amusement of a sort. But ultimately it failed to brighten his mood.

  Nor did it help to remind himself, as Jhesrhi had, that he was a god, a monarch, and a conqueror, safe once more in the heart of his dominions. It was still maddening that his plan to invade Tymanther had fallen apart so quickly and completely. He felt like a dullard bewildered by some mountebank’s sleight of hand.

  A white beeswax taper in one of the golden candelabra went out, and while twenty others still burned, that irked him too. Of late, he’d realized he preferred having his bed ringed with light and fire even when he slept, perhaps especially when he slept.

  He sat up, relit the candle with the slightest whisper of fiery breath, and turned back to his companions. But the trick failed to elicit the expressions of wonder and admiration he was expecting. It only made the girls shiver all the more.

  That annoyed him but aroused him too, as did the memory of their father’s helpless, stricken face. He bent down to kiss the younger daughter, the one with the chestnut hair and the freckles, and two more candles burned out.

  That wasn’t right. The candles had melted only a fraction of the way down, and Tchazzar hadn’t felt a draft. He peered around.

  More candles died in quick succession, and the shadows in the corners deepened even faster than the loss of the flames could explain. A chill and a rotten stink oozed through the air. The older, thinner, darker-haired daughter let out a whimper.

  Tchazzar could only assume that Aoth Fezim and his company of incompetents hadn’t really eliminated the threat from Threskel after all. Fine; he’d attend to the chore himself. Vowing he wouldn’t freeze or falter—not in his own palace, curse it—heart pounding, he rolled out of bed. He grabbed the broadsword he’d left amid the torn and tangled garments on the floor, drew it, called flame into his throat, and armored himself in scales. They itched for an instant as they erupted from quasi-human skin.

  Then a portion of one wall flickered with a ghostly phosphorescence, like heat lightning, and the smell of a rising storm mingled with the stink of decay. One of the humans sobbed.

  And Tchazzar faltered after all, albeit for only an instant, because his intuition told him what was about to happen.

  Speaking Drac
onic, Alasklerbanbastos’s voice whispered out of the inconstant glow. “I’m glad to see you getting over that childish fear of the dark.”

  Tchazzar took a breath then answered in the same sibilant, polysyllabic language. “I didn’t realize you could make contact with the outside world while imprisoned in the phylactery.”

  “I can’t,” said the undead blue. “But I’m out of the stone. I have been for a while. Your sellsword captain and his lieutenants released me.”

  Tchazzar snorted. “That lie doesn’t even make sense. They risked their lives to put you in.”

  “But along the way,” Alasklerbanbastos said, “they somehow guessed there was a dimension to our conflict hidden from human eyes. They resurrected me so I could reveal it to them.”

  “And did you tell them about xorvintaal?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you’ve betrayed all dragonkind!”

  “Don’t talk like an imbecile. They had my phylactery. Fezim’s sunlady figured out how to use it to cause me unbearable pain. Anyone would have told. The important thing now is for us to deal with the situation.”

  “ ‘Us’?”

  “Just listen to me. After they learned about the Great Game, the humans decided we shouldn’t be allowed to manipulate our pawns into war. The idea offended them. The sun priestess claimed it offended her god. So in effect, Aoth Fezim started playing the game himself, with the ultimate goal of dismantling it. He and his allies delayed your march south while they convinced Queen Arathane to withdraw her support and the Imaskari to come to the aid of the dragonborn. Along the way, they killed Vairshekellabex and Gestanius.”

  The younger daughter started scratching her breasts with her nails, breaking more of the blisters and drawing more blood. Alasklerbanbastos wasn’t even physically present. He was using a spell to speak from a distance. But just his voice and the mere intimation of his malice and unnaturalness were enough to madden the girl into a sort of slow, deliberate, self-mutilating frenzy.

  “I don’t believe you,” said Tchazzar to the lich.