Ashes of the Tyrant

by Erin M. Evans

  Mira cursed. “You don’t need to. Someone else—”

  “Who here stands the best chance of getting out of here—alone—alive?”

  “I’ve handled worse.”

  “Your ankle’s broken and you don’t know how to cast a scroll,” Dahl pointed out. “It has to be me.” He unrolled another of the scrolls: another summoning. His heart sank. Only two more.

  “If I’m going to die,” Dahl said, “I want to be clear about something. I didn’t kiss you because I’m … It wasn’t you. There’s a lot of things that, apparently, I’m scared of when it comes to Farideh. A lot of things that would be easier if she were human, and I think he seized on that. But when it comes to her—”

  “Stop,” Mira said. “You weren’t the only one he was tormenting. That wasn’t about you. It was me.” She blew out a breath. “Look, we weren’t a good match. I know that.”

  “You ended it.”

  “I ended it, because I don’t want a brightbird. But maybe I assumed that if I changed my mind in the future, you might be interested. I’m not jealous,” she added quickly. “Or at least, I wouldn’t have said I was jealous. But clearly I was wrong.”

  Dahl was quiet a moment. “We were really awful, you and I. I think you’re forgetting how awful. You wouldn’t want me for a brightbird” She kept her eyes on the water. “I once started a fight because you didn’t leave a personal note in your field missives,” he reminded her.

  “I seem to recall implying you were only sleeping with me to get into my father’s good graces.”

  “I think I told you the same.”

  “I suspect he does like you better,” Mira said. “I once came to Waterdeep, and didn’t tell you.”

  “I knew,” Dahl said. “I got very drunk over it. You’re not missing anything. Neither am I.”

  Mira sighed. “I didn’t hate it, you know. I wouldn’t have held on to the possibility if I really hated being with you.” She chewed her upper lip a moment, the way she did when she was thinking. “We were less awful in bed.”

  Dahl snorted. “It did keep us going a lot longer than we should have.”

  He unrolled the second to last scroll: a teleportation good only for inanimate objects. He took the last one from the bag. If it couldn’t be a portal, could it at least be some kind of scrying? If he couldn’t return to Farideh, if he couldn’t speak to her again, then, gods, if he could see her, hear her—

  “If I give you a note for her …” Dahl broke off, coughing to clear the lump in his throat. “Do you think you could get it through? Please? Just in case?”

  “Of course.”

  He unrolled the last scroll. Another summoning. He read it twice, as if the runes would somehow change for him. “Hrast.”

  At the far edge of the lake, his brothers discussed the wood shavings spinning in the non-existent current. Volibar crouched beside the water, looking for fish. Sessaca kept studying the carvings.

  “Dahl,” Mira started.

  “I have to go get ready,” he said, standing. He scooped his haversack from the cave floor, walking to the farthest lit spot he could reach. Don’t think of it ending, he told himself. You could still escape. You have the best chance of escape.

  He pulled open the haversack, and drew the scroll out, but found he couldn’t read it. He shut his eyes.

  Lord of All Knowledge, he prayed. Binder of What Is Known. Make my mind open, my eye clear, my heart true.

  Footsteps, light and shuffling, stopped beside him. “Give me a moment, Granny,” he said, hating the thickness in his voice.

  “I know what you’re planning.”

  “It’s what makes sense,” Dahl said. “Of all of us, I’m the most likely to find a way out. I can cast the ritual. There’s no reason to discuss—”

  “You’re not getting out of here.” Sessaca sat down on the rock beside him. “You don’t even know where that beastie dropped us. Even if you try and swim down through that lake—which I know you’re planning—you’ll be alone in the godsbedamned Underdark.”

  Dahl kept his eyes on the scroll. “There’s options. This isn’t the worst thing I’ve figured a way out of.”

  “Which of us has escaped from the Underdark?” Sessaca said. “And that was the Upperdark, and I was younger, and better equipped, and I had a sense of where I was. Trust me, Dahl. You do this, and you’re not getting out. Not by yourself.”

  “Granny, there’s no food. Mira’s injured. You’re not doing well—”

  “Exactly. Give it to me. I can read a damn scroll—been ages, but I can’t imagine they’ve changed all that much.”

  Dahl startled. “What? But … you’ll die.”

  “Yes, lambkin. I’ll die,” Sessaca said patiently. “It’s not my favorite option, but I like it a good deal better than you dying or your brothers. Besides, it’s not as if you haven’t all been waiting for it.”

  “Granny that’s.…None of us … You can’t say that like we’ve been impatient for it.”

  “But you’re ready for it. You’re all ready, and you should be—you’ve got a lot of life before you, Dahl, and the end of my path is very near.” She sighed and turned to consider the still, black lake. “Not the view I would have chosen. Better than some. Better than a back alley.”

  “I can’t let you do this.”

  “Oh, don’t give me that. You think I think you’re out there stitching pillows and trimming quills? You know this life. You know what the risks are. It’s nothing more than Tymora forgetting to check her sister’s dice. You of all people know I’m right.”

  Words failed Dahl. Never in his life had he considered his grandmother would have two words to say to him on her dying day. Never in his life had he considered he might have anything at all in common with her, save his stolen surname.

  “It’s good to know,” he said, swallowing against a sudden lump in his throat, “who you were. Who you are. I’m glad … It would have been a shame if … if you left without any of us knowing. Understanding, I mean. Thank you.”

  Sessaca said nothing, the both of them staring across the glassy lake, watching the distant dancing motes of light. Each moment that slipped by felt as if it were slicing a part of him away.

  “Folks like to call Thost ‘Barron’s son,’ ” Sessaca said abruptly. “You’ve heard them say that?”

  “Yes. And Bodhar’s Ma’s.”

  “Well, they’ve got that same damned constant cheer.” Sessaca sighed and shook her head. “Wanted to smack them both the whole way to New Velar. Creeping through the forest, stopping to pick ruddy herbs in the dark and cracking jokes. But,” she added, “it’s their way. Comes in handy, too, given the right opportunity. Same with Thost and Barron’s manner. Pays to have someone who can work the day without yammering about everything, or stare a blackguard down.” She cleared her throat.

  “Folks say that, and I see it too. I see you hearing it. You don’t like it. Makes you feel like you don’t fit, I suspect. But what I’ve come to say is … well, you might not be so like your da or your ma as for folks to comment, but if Thost is Barron’s and Bodhar is Eurdila’s, I think it’s fair to say that you’re mine, Dahl. You’re my grandson like neither of them are.”

  Dahl covered his face with one hand, as if he could press the tears that welled up in his eyes back in. He couldn’t thank her. He couldn’t say a word.

  She covered his other hand with her gnarled one. “Sometimes,” she said, her voice uncharacteristically gentle, “ ’specially when you’re like us, it takes a certain someone to make you look up. Keeps you from getting lost in your own head. Never think there’s shame in that. Never think that’s a weakness. That’s your anchor. Your axis. Other folks are just too slow already to need slowing down, I’d say. That’s why I stayed with your grandda and took to a farm life.”

  Dahl cleared his throat. “Mostly.”

  “Mostly,” Sessaca agreed. “If she does that for you, I couldn’t care less if she’s horned or scaly or Hillfarian.”
>
  Dahl swallowed hard. “Thank you.”

  “Now give me the scroll,” she said, all business. He handed it over, wishing it didn’t have to be this way, wishing he did have more time with her, even though she made him madder than a mouther. Sessaca yanked the scroll from his hands. “Quit bawling and figure out what in the Hells you’re going to tell your brothers, because I’m not having this argument again.”

  THE RHYTHM OF scroll-making lulled Ilstan into a calm he hadn’t found in longer than he could remember. Even after Farideh collected the four he’d crafted, he’d continued, locked within the little room for safety: one to craft a sentry, one to call forth a modest swarm of missiles, another protective circle. The piles of components vanished, bit by bit, and he tried not to notice how close he was coming to stillness again.

  … a wizard’s wits are the difference between a magister and an ever-apprentice … a wizard’s eyes must be clear, their ears open, their senses attuned to every possible scrap of information … elsewise a wizard risks spell madness or worse …

  The air in the little room felt closer than it should have—Ilstan looked up from his work, searching for a window—only ventilation grates high up on the walls. Perhaps, upon the others’ return, they could find another place for him, a room with a window. Maybe a view. Maybe if he just kept crafting scrolls, he would never go insane, he would stay focused and calm and the powers of Azuth wouldn’t surge up beyond his control.

  … power has a rhythm, has a pattern, has a flow … a true wizard knows before something becomes uncontrollable … when the pattern changes, when the flow reverses, when the rhythm shatters … a true wizard knows … but most people do not …

  Ilstan focused on the magic knitting together under his hands, on the way it seemed to cling to his knuckles, like silk in dry weather clings to one’s legs. He fed it back into the components, into the ink and the parchment. One more scroll to make food in the wilds. A good use of magic, he thought.

  Then the voice changed: You are in danger, it said, bluntly. The planes grow unstable, and we can hear him shouting it on every plane.

  Ilstan froze. Was that Asmodeus? It had the other god’s directness, the melodious lilt. If he left this room, what would happen?—knowing the god of sin’s other attempts at controlling him, nothing good. Don’t listen to the voice when it changes, Ilstan thought. Even though the prickle in the air was clearly not sweat upon his skin. Even though the buzz of building frantic magic was growing steadily more apparent by the moment.

  … a wizard is often alone, the voice drifted on, and so it must be that a wizard seeks allies in the strongest of his peers … a true wizard knows … when the pattern changes, when the flow reverses, when the rhythm shatters.…a wizard’s eyes must be clear, their ears open, their senses attuned to every possible scrap of information …

  Ilsan stood.

  The Blue Fire comes again, the other voice said. Stop dithering. Find the other Chosen and tell him. Now.

  Which one? Ilstan nearly screamed. Which one? He didn’t mean Farideh and he didn’t mean Ilstan. Lord Crownsilver? A dragonborn? He had no weapon, he had no wand, no spellbook. He dug his hands into his hair—

  He looked down at his hands. They hadn’t bound them again. He’d been so engrossed with the scrolls, Farideh hadn’t used the manacles. He was free. He had cantrips. He turned to the locked door, saying a little apology to his hosts. Fire bolts seldom made tidy door-openers, but time was of the essence.

  WHATEVER HAD HAPPENED to Lorcan, it wasn’t good—even Havilar could tell that much. If she didn’t know better, she would have said he’d gone a month without sleeping or eating—but the cambion didn’t need sleep or food. A month, a year, a decade without wouldn’t make a difference.

  He’d been awake when Farideh screamed and dropped down beside him—barely, but still, barely counted. She’d tried to haul him up under the arms, which was when Havilar intervened, insisting that they put him on a remuzzled Zoonie’s back. Mehen and the others would go down to the Vanquisher’s Hall to have their wounds seen to, to bring the elders up to speed. Havilar and Farideh and Brin would take Lorcan somewhere quiet and find out what the karshoji Hells was happening.

  Even as they hurried down through the pyramid, Farideh kept a hand on Lorcan. Havilar frowned.

  Mot and Olla flittered uneasily around her, a pair of pesty nursemaids. “I don’t know if you should be near him,” Olla said. “I don’t know if we should be near him.”

  Havilar didn’t think any of them should be near Lorcan, on the one hand. On the other, well, she owed him a little. “We don’t leave allies lying in a heap,” she told Olla.

  “Technically,” Olla said, “that is very much a done thing.”

  Mot scowled at her. “Are you planning on getting into any more lunatic battles on top of buildings in the future?”

  “I don’t think you plan that,” Havilar said, which made her think of all the things she did have to plan. She thought about catching Brin’s hand as they walked, and decided against it. When they’d reached the Verthisathurgiesh enclave, Anala had just left by another staircase, hurrying toward the others.

  “Just as well,” Brin said as they reached the guest quarters. “I can’t imagine she wouldn’t have had a thousand questions about this.”

  Farideh helped Lorcan slide off Zoonie, one arm around him. “That’s the problem,” he slurred, “too many questions and you get too many answers and you get too many consequences.”

  “What happened?” Farideh asked again, her voice shaking. Lorcan met Havilar’s gaze, but there was something oddly diminished about his dark stare. Farideh pursed her mouth.

  “I’ll put him to bed,” she said. “Wait here.”

  Havilar wanted to protest, but Lorcan could barely string a sentence, let alone talk Farideh into something stupid. Besides, she thought, feeling a curl of anxiety rise in her already tender stomach, it suited her own needs. When the door had shut, she went to the imps, hovering over Zoonie who was trying to pull her muzzle off once more.

  “You can go,” Havilar said to Mot.

  The imp shook his head. “Doesn’t feel right. I don’t think you’re safe yet.”

  “That’s an order,” Olla pointed out. “You’re supposed to follow orders.”

  “Follow away!” Mot fixed his dark eyes on Havilar. “Do you feel it? The air … feels off. Like you’re standing in a portal.”

  Havilar shook her head. “Feels like a storm’s coming. If you feel better staying, I don’t mind. So long as you don’t make trouble and you give me some space.” She looked over at Brin. “I have to do something.”

  She left the imps perched on the back of the couch, and went to sit beside Brin. “Are you doing all right?”

  “Well enough. You?”

  “Queasy,” she admitted. “But better than before.”

  “I was surprised you didn’t jump on that bat with Farideh,” Brin said. Then, “I guess you have plenty of opportunities for that. Should be fun.”

  “That’s not why I didn’t.” Havilar wet her mouth. “Um …” She drew a deep breath. “I don’t want to live in Cormyr, all right? Visit, fine, but I can’t live there.”

  Brin blinked. “I know. I’m surprised you’d still visit.”

  “I mean, we can visit,” Havilar went on. “We can’t live there, and I know we can’t live here. You’d be miserable here, wouldn’t you?”

  “I wouldn’t love it,” Brin said carefully. “Havi—”

  “Where would be good?”

  “Havi, what … I don’t know. Waterdeep? Neverwinter? Why?”

  Right. Karshoj. She was doing this all wrong. “I’m going to tell Dokaan I don’t want to stay and work for the Lance Defenders. I just, I want some assurances that … that I’m being practical. Or really, not impractical. I don’t want to live in Neverwinter, I don’t think.”

  Brin shook his head. “Don’t do that. Not for me.”

  “I’m not doing it for you,
pothachi.” She took hold of his hands. “I’m doing it for me. And a little for you. For us, I guess then. I love you. I didn’t stop loving you, I just … Things were so …”

  “You just had to put up with me being a git,” Brin said. “And you lost so much.”

  Havilar shook her head. “Right, but … Whatever I lost, whatever I couldn’t get the hang of, I fought for you really hard because I didn’t want to lose you too. Maybe we don’t make any sense. Maybe we’re really poorly suited, but I don’t care. I want you. I like the idea of being a Lance Defender, but I hate the idea of doing it without you. And I wish I had a little more experience at everything, but … not if getting it means I can’t have you. So if you were being a git before, maybe I was being a git this time.”

  “Maybe both of us deserve a bit of slack,” Brin said, his voice a little thick. He took her face in both hands and kissed her, and Havilar felt certain this was the right decision.

  “Maybe I can come sleep with you tonight?” she said, holding him close.

  “I would like that. I would stay here. If that’s what you wanted,” he said. “I would try it.”

  “No,” Havilar said. “There’s plenty of other things we could do.”

  Brin smiled at her. “Maybe you can be an exhibition fighter. And I’ll be your piper?”

  “Maybe … you could start a caravan, and I’ll run the guard?”

  He intertwined his fingers with hers. “Maybe we’ll just get a writ and adventure? Maybe we write chapbooks.”

  Havilar broke into laughter. “I’d like that …

  “If we have babies, they have to learn Draconic,” she blurted. “I mean, I’m not saying we will or even that I definitely want to, but I’m not going to be the only one speaking it, and so I think you ought to learn.”

  He smiled. “Akison,” he said, with only a little accent. “Just promise me you won’t make me eat yochit?”

  “You made me eat frogs in cream,” Havilar reminded him.

  “I introduced you to a beloved Marsembian delicacy at a high-quality hearth-house,” Brin said with mock haughtiness. “Also, there are eels and other things in fishdice too.” Havilar made a face and he laughed.