The Spectral Blaze: A Forgotten Realms Novel

by Richard Lee Byers

  Aoth dreamed that he was back on the mountaintop in Szass Tam’s private little hell, and somewhere amid all the undead giants and beholders, Jet was crying out in anguish. He fought madly to reach the griffon, but for every foe he destroyed or blasted aside, two more loomed before him, and he couldn’t even catch a glimpse of his steed.

  His eyes snapped open. But Jet’s voice was still ringing inside his head. It made him feel addled.

  What you are, the familiar rasped, is drunk! Sober yourself up!

  Aoth touched one of the tattoos on his forearm. A surge of clarity and vitality washed his muddled daze away. What’s wrong? he asked.

  Something was floating above the War College tossing balls of fire. It’s stopped now, but you still needed to know.

  Aoth grabbed Cera’s shoulder and shook her. “Muh?” she murmured.

  He shook her harder. “Wake up!”

  She frowned up at him and knuckled her eye. “What’s wrong?”

  “If we’re lucky, Tchazzar’s just amusing himself. Or the citadel’s under attack.”

  “And if we’re not?”

  “Then Jhesrhi just tried to warn us that the dragon’s turned on us. Dress fast. We don’t want to be in these rooms if somebody’s on the way to kill or arrest us. Jet’s coming to carry us to safety.”

  Cera rolled out of bed and grabbed her shift. “What if Tchazzar does still trust us but then finds out we ran away?”

  Aoth pulled on his breeches. “I’ll think of some excuse.”

  Once they were dressed, he reached for his mail but then left it on the stand. It took time to put on armor, and he was afraid they didn’t have it. He thrust Cera’s mace and buckler into her hands, grabbed his spear, and led her into the sitting room.

  He cracked the door open. No one was waiting right outside, but the War College had begun to echo with excited voices. He couldn’t tell if it was because people were simply reacting to the rain of fire or because Tchazzar and his officers were already giving orders.

  He did know the closest staircase was to the left. Since it was a good idea to get off that level, he and Cera headed in that direction. I’m nearly there, said Jet.

  Good, Aoth answered. We’ll get out on a balcony or someplace like that.

  I had to swing wide to avoid Tchazzar. He was in the air in dragon form.

  Was he chasing Jhesrhi? Or on his way to attack our camp?

  All I know is he was headed west.

  Curse it! Get here as soon as you can!

  What do you think I’m trying to do? Several moments passed before the griffon spoke again. A couple of the buildings near the War College are on fire.

  There may be a reason to care about that later. Right now, we have other problems.

  Aoth reached the top of the stairs and led Cera to the left again. Every upper level of the fortress provided some sort of access to the open air. He just had to find one of the doors.

  But before he could, a squad of Tchazzar’s guards armored in gilded breastplates and helms with scarlet horsehair crests came around a corner. Spying Aoth and Cera, they reached to draw their swords. Their leader sucked in a breath to shout.

  Aoth shouted first. He bellowed a word of power and jabbed at the soldiers with his spear.

  Magic amplified the shout in a boom like a thunderclap. Loud as it was, the noise didn’t hurt him or Cera, but the guards reeled and fell.

  Aoth strode forward and looked down at the officer. The Chessentan was bleeding from the nose and ears and looked dazed. But his eyes were open.

  Aoth poised his spear at the fellow’s throat. “My followers and I want out of Chessenta,” he said.

  The officer goggled back at him.

  “I don’t think he can hear you,” Cera said. She murmured a prayer that set her fingertips aglow with golden light, stooped, and touched the fallen man on each ear. “Try it again.”

  “My men and I just want to leave,” Aoth said. “If Tchazzar allows it, there won’t be any trouble. But if he tries to stop us, I guarantee the battle will lay waste to Luthcheq.” He remembered the blazing aerial display and the burning buildings Jet had told him about. “In fact, I’ll burn the place to the ground. Tell him.” He waited for an answer, but the man just kept gawking. “Say you understand or I’ll kill you.”

  “I … I understand,” the warrior stammered.

  “Good,” Aoth took a look at the other battered soldiers. They were all still too groggy to cause any trouble. He and Cera picked their way through them then hurried on.

  “You can’t burn Luthcheq,” she said. “There are tens of thousands of innocent people here.”

  “I had to threaten them with something,” he said. Then, at last, he found what they were looking for.

  The door opened on a walkway behind a row of merlons. He pulled it open, and wings beating, blacker than the night behind him, Jet lit on one of the sandstone blocks.

  * * * * *

  “Tchazzar’s chasing us,” said Jhesrhi, her golden hair streaming and nightclothes flapping in the gale that swept her and Gaedynn along.

  He looked around. He could see the War College, its walls stained by the wavering yellow light of the fires near its base, but nothing in the air.

  “I assume the wind told you,” he said.

  “Yes. We’re faster than he is, but …”

  “But he’d catch us eventually. When you ran out of magic if not before.”

  “Yes.”

  “But it doesn’t matter. As long as we reach the Brotherhood ahead of him, we’ll be all right.”

  Inwardly he prayed to old Keen-Eye that that was true.

  They soared over the site of Tchazzar’s new temple. The shops and homes that had stood there were mostly rubble, waiting for someone to cart it away. Fires burned in the shadow of the piles. Displaced paupers with nowhere else to go were surviving as best they could.

  Gaedynn peered ahead, at the place where the city started to thin out and the army was encamped. He closed his eyes for a moment and breathed a sigh when he spotted figures scurrying in the Brotherhood’s part of the sprawl. Something had alerted them that there was trouble in the city, and that meant they all had a chance.

  Jhesrhi’s tame wind set them down in the center of their camp, then departed in a final howling swirl. People gawked at them. Her mouth hanging open, Son-liin in particular seemed unable to tear her gaze away from Gaedynn.

  He grinned. “I know it’s magnificent, but now is not the time. Find me a bow and quiver. Go!”

  The stormsoul scurried off, and Ramed strode out of the dark. “What’s happening?” he asked. “Jet cried that there was danger, then—”

  “Tchazzar’s coming to attack us,” Gaedynn said, “but maybe we can make him reconsider. Get all the griffons in the air.”

  “It’s only been a little while. Most of them aren’t saddled—”

  “I don’t care. I don’t care if they have riders. They’re more intimidating on the wing than on the ground. I want every man showing he’s ready to fight too. Don’t worry about putting them in formation. There’s no time for that either. Just have them point their weapons at the sky.”

  “Right.” Ramed hurried away, shouting orders.

  “It isn’t going to be enough,” Jhesrhi said. “Tchazzar’s a warlord. He’ll see that we’re not prepared to stop him.” She looked around. “Oraxes! Meralaine!”

  She kept shouting while Gaedynn scrutinized the sky above the city. His mouth was dry, and his hands ached with their emptiness. Finally, after what felt like a lifetime although he knew that it had really been only a few breaths, Son-liin came running back with a longbow and arrows. Then Oraxes and Meralaine trotted out of the dark aisle that ran away between two rows of tents.

  “Tchazzar’s coming for us,” Jhesrhi told them. “He’ll be here in a matter of moments. You have to make us look more ready than we are. You have to fill the night with shadows and phantoms and play on his fears. Start now and I’ll support you as
best I can.”

  Meralaine clutched her wand of bone in both fists and whispered. Her body shriveled and dark patches appeared on her skin as she took on the appearance of one of the dead. Oraxes drew one of his daggers and gashed the tattooed palm of his hand. At first the cut bled normally, but when he started to chant, the blood swirled forth as phosphorescent vapor, with vague shapes forming and dissolving inside the coils. Murmuring along with one incantation then the other, Jhesrhi stretched out her hand, and the air rippled between it and the younger mages to whom she was lending her strength.

  The warm, summer night turned cold, and the stink of corruption tinged the air. Overhead, a griffon screeched, and even though he was in on the trick, Gaedynn felt a pang of reflexive dread because, somehow, it hadn’t sounded like the cry of a living creature. There was a quality to it, a hollowness, perhaps, that bespoke the insatiable hunger and malice of the undead.

  But it was just an illusion, and how could anyone think that Tchazzar would fall for it again, when he understood that his supposed allies had been deceiving him all along? Scowling, Gaedynn laid an arrow on his bow.

  “Aim for the eyes,” he told Son-liin. “They’ll be tough to hit, but if we do—”

  The former firestormer gave a nod. “We might really hurt him,” she said, her youthful, soprano voice steady. “I understand.”

  Then, suddenly, Tchazzar was there, a bat-winged shadow sweeping in from the east, still difficult to make out except for the glow of his eyes and the firelight flickering through his fangs. Gaedynn drew his arrow back to his ear—

  And the Red Dragon veered off.

  For a few moments, the camp was silent. Then people started cheering and Meralaine collapsed. Oraxes lunged, grabbed her, but couldn’t hold her up. Instead, she dragged him to the ground.

  Their companions hurried over to them. Gaedynn was glad to see that Meralaine was breathing, and the blotches and streaks of discoloration were dissolving from her skin. She was still thinner than before she’d worked her magic but plainly alive as well.

  “I think she’s all right,” Oraxes wheezed. “Is she all right?”

  “She just fainted,” Jhesrhi said. “That weakened her like it did you.”

  Oraxes sneered at the suggestion that anything could weaken him, made some effort to arrange Meralaine comfortably, then dragged himself to his feet.

  “Nicely done,” Gaedynn said. “Frankly I had my doubts that it would work.”

  “I suspect,” Jhesrhi said, “it only did because Tchazzar has an army and Alasklerbanbastos coming to help him. So he thought, why should he run any risk by tackling us by himself?”

  Gaedynn stared at her. “Wait. Alasklerbanbastos is on his way here? To ally with Tchazzar?”

  “That’s what he told me.”

  “The fun just never stops, does it? Any clever ideas on how to handle that?”

  With a rustle of wings, Aoth, Cera, and Jet settled on the ground. “Why don’t you start by putting on some clothes?” the warmage said.

  T

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  7 ELEINT, THE YEAR OF THE AGELESS ONE

  As Tchazzar swooped toward the roof of the War College, he scrutinized the various counselors and warriors assembled to meet him. There was no sign of Aoth Fezim and Cera Eurthos. Evidently they’d escaped too.

  His body clenched with fury, and he thought how easy it would be not to light, but instead to stay in the air in dragon form and incinerate every last one of the traitors and incompetents who’d disappointed him yet again.

  But he still had uses for them, so he plunged at the center of the roof, and people scurried to avoid being crushed. He poised himself to pull his substance in, to dwindle then decided not to. On a night of war and treachery, it was better to remain armored in the full panoply of his might. And if it frightened any of his subjects to see him in that guise, well, good. They were wise to fear him in his current mood.

  Everyone started to bow or curtsy. He snarled, spitting some fire without quite meaning to, and all the humans flinched. A couple of them yelped.

  “I take it,” he said, “that the royal garrison wasn’t up to the task of arresting a sleeping man and woman.”

  “They did escape, Majesty,” Nicos Corynian said, stepping forward. The counselor’s house stood near the War College, and he’d likely rushed to the fortress in search of answers after the fire fell from the sky. “But they left a message for you.” He motioned an officer forward.

  The soldier stank of sweat and trembled. His armor clattered faintly. “Captain Fezim said that he and his company just want to leave. But if anyone tries to stop them, they’ll make sure the battle destroys Luthcheq.”

  Tchazzar twisted his head to glare down at Nicos again. It would be so easy to smash him flat or flick him over the battlements. “This is the scoundrel you brought into our land.”

  Nicos inclined his head. “I beg forgiveness. I’ll try to make amends by giving the best advice I can.”

  “I don’t need advice. I need spears and crossbows.”

  “Then you do mean to detain the sellswords?”

  “I mean to slaughter them to the last man! They’re on the edge of the city. How much damage can they do?”

  “Are we sure we can keep the battle contained to that one area?” Nicos replied.

  “With respect, Majesty,” Luthen said, “I’m worried about that too. There have already been fires tonight. We’re lucky they didn’t spread.”

  The spectacle of the two perpetual rivals taking the same side ratcheted Tchazzar’s nerves even tighter. It made him feel even more like every one of his servants truly was a traitor or else so useless that he might as well be.

  “Men can betray a king and get away with it,” he said, “but not a god. There has to be a reckoning.”

  “I understand,” Nicos said, “but does it have to be here and now? All the armies are camped together. If one tries to fight another, there’ll be scant hope of directing the conflict. It will be chaos, pure and simple.”

  “Especially with the Akanûlans still camped there too,” Luthen said.

  Tchazzar lifted his tail and lashed it down on the rooftop. The shock sent the courtiers staggering. “I ordered them gone!”

  Hasos came forward. “With respect, Majesty, they’re an army. They can’t just pick up and go in an instant.”

  “And it’s conceivable they found … cause for concern in what Your Majesty recently said to Zan-akar Zeraez,” Nicos said. “If hostilities suddenly erupt, who knows which way they’ll jump?”

  “I hope they do fight us!” Tchazzar spit. “By the Hells, let’s take the uncertainty out of the matter and attack them too! We can have our war after all, with Akanûl. We’ll butcher Magnol and his army tonight, then march north unopposed. I’ll be perched on Arathane’s throne before Highharvestide.”

  Everyone just gaped at him. It would be so easy to burn away all their stupid faces. So easy.

  “Do you think we don’t have the strength to fight the mercenaries and the genasi at once?” he asked. “I’m the Red Dragon of Chessenta! I have sufficient strength all by myself. But even if I didn’t, help is on the way. Alasklerbanbastos and several lesser dragons are coming.”

  He expected the news to hearten the humans. Instead, they looked more dumbfounded than before.

  Finally Kassur Jedea said, “Majesty, I served the Great Bone Wyrm my whole life until you cast him down. My father and grandfather served him. I know him and whatever he told you, you can’t trust him.”

  “Even if you could,” Nicos said, “the destruction that several dragons could cause fighting through the city, blasting away with their breath …” He spread his hands.

  “By all the stars,” Tchazzar said, “is there no one who believes in me?”

  “I do!” Halonya cried. Her vestments flapping, she stamped out of the crowd of courtiers th
en whirled around to face them in a clatter of amulets and beads. “And shame on all of you for doubting! Who cares who dies in the fighting or if the entire city falls? Our master will resurrect the fallen and build a new Luthcheq, a new empire, pure and holy, where those who serve the one true god will live in joy forever!”

  “Exactly!” Tchazzar roared. “So no more quibbling! Go and ready my troops for battle!”

  * * * * *

  Hasos had hated it when Tchazzar loomed over them all in dragon form, flames licking from his jaws and his yellow eyes blazing almost as brightly. But he was glad that the war hero apparently meant to remain in that shape for the duration of the crisis. As a wyrm, he was too huge to follow his servants downstairs into the interior of the fortress.

  Thus, Hasos felt free to stand still for a moment, even though he knew he should be scurrying off to prepare for battle like everyone else. Indeed, as one of highest-ranking officers in the red dragon’s army, he should be scurrying faster. But his thoughts were whirling, and he needed to sort them out.

  The first one that came clear was the familiar wish to be back home in Soolabax attending to the mundane business of his baronial court. But wanting couldn’t make it so, so he struggled to sort out his duty instead.

  On the surface, it seemed clear enough. He’d sworn an oath of fealty to the sovereign who was both Chessenta’s greatest hero and, according to many, a god. But he’d sworn a vow of knighthood too that obliged him to defend the realm and the people, not just the throne. What was he supposed to do when one pledge clashed with the other?

  Wait, he thought. Do just enough to satisfy Tchazzar’s requirements and hope things sort themselves out.

  But no, curse it, no. He’d been a cautious man his entire life, and it had served him pretty well. But it wouldn’t anymore, not when he and the entire realm were running out of time.

  He roused himself, then gave a start when he noticed Kassur Jedea loitering several paces away. Although perhaps it wasn’t so surprising. Tchazzar had carried the skinny, graying king of Threskel away from his homeland as a trophy of sorts. Unlike Hasos, the monarch didn’t have any urgent responsibilities.