The Chaos Curse

by R. A. Salvatore

  “Ye got to do it,” the dwarf said, coming close. “We need ye …” Ivan stopped in midsentence, realizing Belago’s intentions as the alchemist extended his arm.

  “Take it,” Belago offered, pushing the flask of explosive oil to Ivan. “You’ll need any and every weapon.”

  As soon as the dwarf had the flask in hand, Belago, without hesitation, slipped over the sill and descended quickly to the ground. Danica’s body went next then Shayleigh, the injured elf needing nearly as much support as had Danica.

  Cadderly watched forlornly from the window as the group slipped away toward the back of the library and the mausoleum. Belago had Danica’s body over one shoulder, and though the load was extreme for the alchemist, he still had to pace himself so that the wounded Shayleigh could keep up.

  When Cadderly turned away from the window, back to the room, he found Ivan and Pikel, helms tucked under their arms, heads bowed and cheeks streaked with tears. Ivan looked up first, his sorrow transformed into rage.

  “I gotta fix me axe,” the dwarf said through gritted teeth.

  Cadderly looked at the weapon—it seemed fine to him.

  “Gotta put some silver in the damned thing!” Ivan roared.

  “We haven’t the time,” Cadderly replied.

  “I got a forge near the kitchen,” Ivan retorted, and Cadderly nodded, for he’d often seen the setup, which doubled as a stove.

  Cadderly looked out the window. The morning light was full, sending long shadows to the west. “We have just one day,” Cadderly explained. “We must finish our business before nightfall. If Rufo realizes we’ve been inside the library, as he surely will when he realizes that Baccio is destroyed, he’ll come after us with all his forces. I would rather face the vampire now, though only my walking stick and Pikel’s club—”

  “Sha-lah-lah!” the dwarf corrected, popping the cooking pot on top of his green hair.

  Cadderly nodded, even managed a slight smile. “We must be done with Rufo this day,” he said again.

  “But ye’ll have to kill him quick,” Ivan protested, presenting his axe once more. “Kill him to death, and fast, or he’ll just go into that green mist and melt away from us. First my forge then …” Ivan stopped in mid ramble and turned a wicked look to Pikel. “A forge,” he said again, slyly.

  “Huh?” came Pikel’s predictable reply.

  “Makes the fire hot,” Ivan explained.

  “You’ll need a very hot fire to singe Rufo,” Cadderly interjected, sure he followed the dwarf’s reasoning. “Magical flames, really, that no forge could match.”

  “Yeah, and if we hurt him, he’ll just turn into a cloud,” Ivan said, aiming the remark at Pikel.

  Pikel thought about it then his face brightened. His grin stretched from ear to ear as he returned his brother’s hopeful stare.

  “Hee hee hee,” both dwarves said together.

  Cadderly didn’t understand, and wasn’t sure he wanted to. The Bouldershoulder brothers seemed secure in their secret plans, so the young priest let it go at that. He led them along the corridors of the second floor, the library quiet and brooding around them. They tore the covers from every window they crossed, but even with that, the squat stone structure was a gloomy place.

  Cadderly took out his wand once more. Every time he noticed a particularly gloomy area, he pointed the wand at it and uttered the command, “Domin illu,” and with a flash, the area became as bright as an open field under a midday sun.

  “If we cannot find Rufo today,” the young priest explained, “let him come out to find his darkness stolen!”

  Ivan and Pikel exchanged knowing looks. Rufo could likely counter the young priest’s spells of light—Rufo had been a cleric, after all, and clerics understood such magic. Cadderly wasn’t brightening the library for any practical reasons, then, but merely to challenge the vampire. The young priest was throwing down a gauntlet, doing everything he could to slap Rufo across the face. Neither Ivan nor Pikel was thrilled at facing the powerful vampire again, but as they followed their companion through the library, his anger unrelenting, the image of beaten Baccio still clear in their thoughts, they came to the conclusion that they would rather have Rufo as an enemy than Cadderly.

  The three came down to the first floor, having met no resistance. Not a single zombie, vampire, or any other monster, undead or otherwise, had risen against them. Not a single answer had been offered to Cadderly’s challenge. If he’d stopped to think about it, Cadderly would have realized that was a good thing, a sign that perhaps Rufo was not yet aware that they’d come into his domain. But the young man was consumed with thoughts of Danica, his lost love, and he wanted something, some ally of Rufo’s, or especially Rufo himself, to block his path. He wanted to strike with all his might against the darkness that had taken his love.

  They came into the hallway that led to the foyer. Cadderly promptly started that way, for the main doors and the southern wing beyond them, where the fire had been. There lay the Edificant Library’s main chapel, the place Rufo would have to work the hardest to desecrate. Perhaps the young priest might find sanctuary there, a base from which he and the dwarves could strike in different directions. Perhaps in that area Cadderly would find clues that would lead him to the one who had taken Danica from him.

  His steps were bold and swift, but Ivan and Pikel caught him by the arms, and no amount of determination would have propelled the young priest against that strong hold.

  “We got to go to the kitchen,” Ivan explained.

  “You have no time for silver-edging your axe,” Cadderly replied.

  “Forget me axe,” Ivan agreed. “Me and me brother still got to go to the kitchen.”

  Cadderly winced, not thrilled with anything that would slow the hunt. He knew he wouldn’t change Ivan’s mind, though, so he nodded and said, “Be quick. I’ll meet you in the foyer, or in the burned-out chapel near it.”

  Ivan and Pikel leaned to the side to exchange concerned looks behind Cadderly’s back. Neither were excited about the prospect of splitting the already small group, but Ivan was determined to go to his forge, and he knew that Cadderly would not be held back.

  “Just the foyer,” the dwarf said sternly. “Ye go sticking yer nose about, and ye’re likely to put it somewhere it shouldn’t be!”

  Cadderly nodded and pulled free of the dwarves, immediately resuming his swift pace.

  “Just the foyer!” Ivan shouted after him, and Cadderly didn’t respond.

  “Let’s be quick,” Ivan said to his brother as they both looked at the young priest’s back. “He won’t be stopping in the foyer.”

  “Uh-huh,” Pikel agreed, and the two skittered off for the kitchen and the forge.

  Cadderly wasn’t afraid in the least. Anger consumed him, and the only other emotion nipping at its edges, fraying the wall of outrage, was grief. He cared not that Ivan and Pikel were separated from him, that he was alone. He hoped Kierkan Rufo and all his dark minions would rise to stand before him, that he might deal with them once and for all, that he might damn their undead corpses to dust, to blow on the wind.

  He got to the foyer without incident and didn’t even think of pausing there to wait for his companions. On he pressed, to the burned-out chapel, the room where the fire had apparently started, to search for clues. He tore down the tapestry blocking the way and kicked the charred door open.

  The smoke hung heavy in the place, as did the stench of burned flesh, with nowhere to go in the library’s stagnant, dead air. Cadderly knew immediately, just from that smell, that at least one person had perished there. Horribly. Thick soot lined the walls, part of the ceiling had collapsed, and only one of the many beautiful tapestries remained even partially intact on the wall, though it was so blackened as to be unidentifiable. Cadderly stared at the black cloth long and hard, trying to remember the image that had once been there, trying to remember the library when it had basked in the light of Deneir.

  So deep was he in concentration that he d
idn’t see the charred corpse rise behind him and steadily approach.

  He heard a crackle of dried skin, felt a touch on his shoulder, and leaped into the air, spinning so forcefully that he overbalanced and nearly fell to the floor. His eyes were wide, anger stolen by horror as he looked at the shrunken, blackened remains of a human being, a small figure of cracked skin, charred bone, and white teeth—and those teeth were the worst of the terrible image!

  Cadderly fumbled his walking stick and wand, finally presenting the wand before him. This creature was not a vampire, he realized, probably not nearly as strong as a vampire. He remembered his ring, its enchantment expired, and knew that the same could happen with the wand. Suddenly Cadderly felt foolish for his tirade in the upper level, for his waste of the wand’s energy in stealing shadows. He tucked the wand under his arm and grabbed his hat instead. His free hand reached alternately for his walking stick and his spindle-disks, not sure which would be the most effective, not sure if only enchanted weapons would bite into the flesh of the animated monster, whatever it might be.

  Finally, Cadderly calmed and presented his hat, and his holy symbol, more forcefully. “I am an agent of Deneir!” he said, full conviction. “Come to purge the home of my god. You have no place here.”

  The blackened thing continued its approach, reaching for Cadderly.

  “Be gone!” Cadderly commanded.

  The monster didn’t hesitate, didn’t slow in the least. Cadderly lifted his walking stick to strike, and reached back with his other hand, dropping the hat, to grab the wand. He growled at his failure to turn the thing away, wondering if the library was too far from Deneir for him to ever again invoke the god’s name.

  The answer was something entirely different, something Cadderly could not have anticipated.

  “Cadderly,” the blackened corpse rasped, and though the voice was barely audible, the movement of air a strained thing from lungs that could hardly draw breath, Cadderly recognized the voice.

  Dorigen!

  “Cadderly,” the dead wizard said again, and the young priest, too stunned, did not resist as she moved closer and brought her charred hand up to stroke his face.

  The stench nearly overwhelmed him, but he stubbornly held his ground. His instincts told him to lash out with the walking stick, but he held firm his resolve, kept his nerve, and lowered the weapon to his side. If Dorigen was still a thinking creature, and apparently she was, then she must not have given in to Rufo, must not have gone over to the other side against Cadderly.

  “I knew you would come,” dead Dorigen said. “Now you must battle Kierkan Rufo and destroy him. I fought him here.”

  “You destroyed yourself with a fireball,” Cadderly reasoned.

  “It was the only way I could allow Danica to escape,” Dorigen replied, and Cadderly didn’t doubt her claim.

  The look that came over the young priest’s face at the mention of Danica told Dorigen much.

  “Danica did not escape,” she whispered.

  “Lie down, Dorigen,” the young priest replied softly, as tenderly as he could. “You are dead. You have earned your rest.”

  The corpse’s face crackled as Dorigen bent her tortured features into a grotesque smile. “Rufo would not permit me such rest,” she explained. “He has held me here, as a gift to you, no doubt.”

  “Do you know where he is?”

  Dorigen shrugged, the movement causing flecks of skin to fall from her withered shoulders.

  Cadderly stared long and hard at the gruesome thing Dorigen had become. And yet, despite her appearance, she was not gruesome, he realized, not in her heart. Dorigen had made her choices, and to Cadderly’s thinking, she had redeemed herself. He could have held her there, questioned her intensely about Kierkan Rufo and perhaps even garnered some valuable information. But that would not have been fair, he realized, not to Dorigen, who had earned her rest.

  The young priest bent and retrieved his hat, then lifted his holy symbol and placed it atop the corpse’s forehead. Dorigen neither retreated from it, nor was pained by it. It seemed to Cadderly as if the lighted emblem brought her peace and that, too, confirmed his hopes that she had found salvation. Cadderly lifted his voice in prayer. Dorigen relaxed. She would have closed her eyes, but she had no eyelids. She stared at the young priest, at the man who had shown her mercy, had given her a chance to redeem herself. She stared at the man who would free her from the torments of Kierkan Rufo.

  “I love you,” Dorigen said quietly, so as not to interrupt the prayer. “I had hoped to participate in the wedding, your wedding with Danica, as it should have been.”

  Cadderly choked up, but forced himself to finish. The light spread out from his holy symbol, limning the corpse, pulling at Dorigen’s spirit.

  As it should have been! Cadderly couldn’t help but think. And Dorigen would indeed have been at the wedding, probably standing with Shayleigh behind Danica, while Ivan and Pikel, and King Elbereth of Shilmista, stood behind Cadderly.

  As it should have been! And Avery Schell and Pertelope should not be dead, should be there with Cadderly to witness his joining.

  Cadderly kept his rage hidden from Dorigen. He didn’t want that to be the last image poor Dorigen saw of him.

  “Farewell,” he said softly to the corpse. “Go to your deserved rest.”

  Dorigen nodded, ever so slightly, and the blackened form crumpled at Cadderly’s feet.

  Cadderly was glad that Dorigen was free of Rufo. A moment later, he screamed, as loudly as he had ever screamed, the primal roar torn from his heart by the agony of that realization.

  “As it should have been!” he yelled. “Damn you, Kierkan Rufo! Damn you, Druzil, and your chaos curse!”

  The young priest started for the chapel exit, and nearly fell over in his haste.

  “And damn you, Aballister,” he whispered, cursing his own father, the man who had abandoned him, and who had betrayed everything that was good in life, everything that gave life joy and meaning.

  Ivan and Pikel thundered into the chapel, weapons held high. They skidded to a bumbling stop, falling over each other, when they saw that Cadderly was not in danger.

  “What in the Nine Hells are ye yelling about?” Ivan demanded.

  “Dorigen,” Cadderly explained, looking to the charred corpse.

  “Oo,” Pikel moaned.

  Cadderly continued to push for the exit, but then he noticed the large, boxlike item strapped to Ivan’s back and paused, his face screwed up with curiosity.

  Ivan noticed the look and beamed happily. “Don’t ye worry!” the dwarf assured Cadderly. “We’ll get him this time!”

  Despite all the pain, all the despair, the memories of Danica, and the thoughts of what should have been, Cadderly couldn’t prevent a small, incredulous chuckle from escaping his lips.

  Pikel hopped over and put his arm across his brother’s shoulders, and together they nodded with confidence.

  It was impossible, Cadderly realized, but they were the Bouldershoulders, after all. He couldn’t deny that it just might work.

  “Me brother and me been thinking,” Ivan began. “Them vampires don’t much like the sunlight, and there’s places here that never get any, windows or no windows.”

  Cadderly followed the reasoning perfectly—it scared him a little to think he could follow Ivan and Pikel’s logic so easily!—and the notion led him to exactly the same conclusion the dwarves had already reached.

  “The wine cellar,” Cadderly and Ivan said together.

  “Hee hee hee,” added a hopeful Pikel.

  Cadderly led the charge through the kitchen and to the wooden door. It was closed and locked, barred from the inside, and that confirmed the companions’ suspicions.

  Ivan started to lift his heavy axe, but Cadderly beat him to it, bringing up his spindle-disks in a short, tight spin, then heaving them with all his strength at the barrier. The solid adamantine smashed through the door’s wood and slammed the metal bar on the other side so forcefu
lly that it bent and dislodged.

  The door creaked open, showing the dark descent.

  Cadderly didn’t hesitate. “I’m coming for you, Rufo!” he cried, taking his first step down.

  “Why don’t ye just warn him!” Ivan grumbled, but Cadderly didn’t care.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said, and down he went.

  TWENTY-ONE

  BAGGED

  The trio had barely stepped off the rickety stairs when Rufo’s zombies closed in on them. Dozens of dead priests—men who had held to their faith and had not given in to Rufo’s tempting call—filtered around the wine racks, bothered not at all by the light shining from the young priest’s wide-brimmed hat.

  “Where we going?” Ivan asked, hopping out in front of the others, obviously intent on leading.

  A zombie reached for him, and his great axe promptly removed the thing’s arm. That hardly stopped the mindless zombie, but Ivan’s next chop, a downward strike on the collarbone, angled to go across the monster’s chest, surely did.

  Pikel dropped his club to the floor and began his curious dance again.

  “Where we going?” Ivan asked again, more urgently, the battle rage welling inside him.

  Cadderly continued to ponder the question. Where indeed? The wine cellar was large, filled with dozens of tall racks and numerous nooks. Great shadows splayed across the floor, angled away from Cadderly and the lone source of light, making the room even more mysterious and foreboding.

  Both Ivan and Pikel were into it by then, hacking and banging, Ivan ducking his head to thrash his antlers into one zombie’s midsection, Pikel occasionally giving a squirt of his waterskin to keep the monstrous horde at bay.

  “Close your eyes!” Cadderly cried, and the dwarves didn’t have to ask why.

  A moment later, a shower of sparks cut through the zombie ranks, dropping several of the monsters in their tracks. Cadderly could have wiped them all out, but he realized the dwarves were in control of the situation and he should use the valuable wand with restraint.

  The dwarf brothers could cut through the throng, but where should they go?