The Ruin

by Richard Lee Byers

  Will supposed it was just as well they were taking a break. Brandobaris knew, most of the wizards, priests, and even dragons looked as if they needed one. Still, by the time Azhaq, Havarlan, and two other silvers came back from removing Moonwing’s body, they’d managed to compose themselves. The mood, however, was even more palpably glum than before.

  “What’s the matter?” Will asked. “I’m sorry about Moonwing, too, but at least he didn’t die for nothing. We saw the old elves’ fortress, right? We actually saw it.”

  “We glimpsed it,” Firefingers said. “But not clearly or long enough to determine its location.”

  “But if you did that well the first time, the next attempt is sure to work.”

  “Alas, no,” Nexus said.

  “Damn it!” said Will. “I’m tired of you people telling me that.”

  “No more tired,” the gold replied, “than we are of saying it. But the wards are too strong. We’re fortunate our initial effort to penetrate them didn’t kill us all. A second would only result in further casualties.”

  “Cowards!” Jivex shrilled. “With the future of our people, of all the world, in jeopardy, dragons and wizards worthy of the name would try anyway!”

  “I would gladly hazard my life,” said Tamarand, “if I thought there was the slightest chance of it helping. So, I believe, would every one of us assembled here. But we mustn’t destroy ourselves in mindless pursuit of a strategy that simply can’t succeed. We must do what we’ve done again and again over the course of past several months, whenever a plan came to nothing: Formulate a new one.”

  Jivex gave a scornful sniff, but held his peace thereafter.

  As threatened, the mages and drakes commenced an endless discussion too full of esoteric concepts and terminology for Will to follow. But he gleaned that no one had anything to propose that others didn’t disparage as a flawed and futile waste of time.

  It dampened whatever hope he had left, and bored him in the process. Eventually he sat down on the cold ground, and as Selûne progressed across the sky, and the spellcasters droned and bickered on, he found himself nodding off and jerking awake again.

  Until Vingdavalac gave his wings, more yellowish than bronze-colored due to his relative youth, an irritable snap. “Is that it, then?” he demanded. “Are we beaten? Do we just go back to the havens, and sleep until we starve? At least that way, we won’t run mad and commit atrocities.”

  “No!” said Tamarand. “I didn’t rise up against Lareth merely to preside over our extinction!” He grimaced. “Not until I’m absolutely convinced of the necessity.”

  As the debate meandered on, Dorn, who’d stood mute and pretty much motionless since the conclave began, abruptly pivoted and stalked to Pavel’s side. Will scrambled to his feet and hurried to join them.

  “Figure it out,” said Dorn.

  Pavel gave him a quizzical look. “Surely you realize I would if I could. But our allies are some of the most learned wizards in all Faerûn. If they can’t see a way …” He spread his hands.

  “Look,” said Will, “you’re a fraud and an idiot, we all know that. But you claim you understand the concepts wizardry is based on, and occasionally, inexplicably, through the intercession of Lady Luck herself, I can only imagine, it’s that pox-addled brain of yours that stumbles onto an idea when people far more intelligent—which is to say, most of them—are stymied. You’re the one who worked out how to use Sammaster’s folio, right? So don’t just stand there like Blazanar’s scarecrow. Earn your keep for once, and think.”

  “I’m trying,” Pavel said. “I have been right along, and if the two of you will stop pestering me, I’ll continue.”

  Will was sure the priest had indeed been pondering the problem. Still, after the exchange, his demeanor altered. He frowned and stared down at the ground, not at the drakes and warlocks. Will sensed that he’d stopped attending to them in order to follow where his own thoughts led.

  But for a while, nothing came of it, just as nothing resulted from the wyrms and magicians rambling on and on. Probably, Will thought, because nothing could. Some dilemmas had no solutions, and this appeared to be one of them.

  Then Pavel’s head snapped up, and his body straightened. “I have an idea,” he said, and everyone turned to peer at him.

  “We’re listening,” said Azhaq, plainly skeptical that a mere human priest might have achieved an insight that eluded dragon sorcerers.

  “First,” Pavel said, “assume Brimstone made it through to the other side of the gate.”

  “Based on what we found inspecting the wreckage,” said Nexus, “that’s a highly optimistic assumption. But continue.”

  “Next,” Pavel said, “consider that Brimstone is a vampiric drake. Supposedly, such creatures must stick close to their hoards or perish. Yet he wanders freely, and I believe I know how.

  “I’m sure you all noticed the jeweled choker he wears. I think he enchanted it to embody the entire hoard. That’s one of the basic principles of magic, isn’t it, that a fragment maintains a fundamental identity with the whole from which it derives?”

  “Yes,” said Darvin, “but so what?”

  “Will, Dorn, and I have been to Brimstone’s cave in Impiltur. We’ve seen his treasure, and it fills an entire chamber. Which is to say, the hoard isn’t merely a collection of coins and gems but virtually a place in its own right. By the laws of wizardry, the exact same place where he is now.”

  “By all the mysteries,” said Nexus, “go there, and with the proper enchantments, we can open a new portal to translate us into Brimstone’s presence. That’s brilliant.” He lowered his tapered, gleaming head in a gesture of respect.

  “In theory,” said Darvin, scowling. “But you said it yourself, my lord, the priest’s speculations are wildly optimistic. You don’t know for a fact that the collar has been made analogous to the entire horde, do you, Master Shemov?”

  “No,” said Pavel, “but it makes sense.”

  “So already,” said the plump little wizard, “there’s one way this scheme could go awry. We might also run afoul of more of the elf wizards’ wards.”

  “That, I doubt,” said Firefingers, scraggly white brows knitted in thought. “We know they themselves used teleportation magic to travel to and from their citadel, so it seems unlikely they left defenses in place to prevent that exact thing.”

  “Well … maybe,” Darvin said. “But my gravest concern is the likelihood that Brimstone failed to reach the proper destination. If we fling ourselves after him, we might wind up nowhere at all, or on some plane inimical to life.”

  “Maybe we will,” said Dorn. “But you folk have babbled most of the night away, and this is the only worthwhile idea anyone has come up with. So now each of us just has to decide whether he’s willing to take the risk. I am.”

  “As am I,” said Tamarand. “If it kills me, so be it. Better to die trying than to lose myself to the Rage, or waste away in my sleep.”

  Other dragons clamored, each declaring himself of the same mind.

  “Our king,” said Celedon, “sent Drigor and me to observe your endeavor and assist however we could. So, with your permission, we’ll tag along.”

  That left the Thentian spellcasters, and from them, Will anticipated less unanimity. Though each commanded formidable magic, a number were sedentary scholars, not battle wizards inured to peril and hardship. The world as they knew it might be in jeopardy, but unlike the dragons, they weren’t worried about insanity overwhelming them, and in addition to all that, they’d rarely agreed on anything in all the years he’d known them.

  Yet they surprised him. Starting with Firefingers and Baerimel, each, even Darvin, albeit with a petulant, grudging air, declared himself willing to make the attempt. Maybe, after laboring to foil Sammaster’s schemes for the better part of a year, they simply had to see firsthand how it would all work out in the end.

  “Bless you all,” said Tamarand. “Whatever befalls us, it will be an honor to meet it in suc
h a company. Now, I suggest you small folk go home to sleep. We’ll fly for Impiltur in the morning.”

  Jivex spat, suffusing the air with a flowery scent. “Apparently everybody just takes it for granted that I’m coming along.”

  “Well,” said Will, “aren’t you?”

  “Of course!” the faerie dragon replied. “Someone of sound judgment has to lead.”

  5 Nightal, the Year of Rogue Dragons

  Something had changed, but at first Taegan didn’t know what.

  Propped against a lump of rock, he’d been half sitting and half lying, attempting with only limited success to escape from hunger, cold, dirtiness, anxiety, and boredom into the trance-like state of vivid memory that was an elf’s equivalent of slumber. Raryn lay snoring to one side. Kara’s eyes were closed as well, but even so, it seemed likely she was awake, for she crooned under her breath. Brimstone was deeper in the cavern, out of view. Taegan had scarcely seen him for two days, and suspected he was keeping his distance in an effort to control his blood thirst.

  Accordingly, when his intuition whispered that something was amiss, the avariel pivoted to see if Brimstone was slinking forth from his seclusion. But he wasn’t, not even as a cloud of smoke and embers.

  Taegan then realized what had actually snagged his attention: the alteration in Kara’s singing. Before, the wordless melodies had sounded like lullabies and wistful ballads. The tune waxed louder, accelerated, assumed a driving tempo, warping into one of her battle anthems.

  Taegan had never known her to sing such a song except in combat. Perhaps it was harmless, but he was leery of anything that might cause her to dwell on thoughts of violence.

  “Kara?” he said.

  She didn’t answer, just kept singing. He repeated her name, louder this time. That prompted Raryn to open his eyes, but still failed to elicit any acknowledgment from the bard.

  Was she asleep after all? Singing in the throes of a dream or nightmare? Taegan rose, walked to her, clasped her shoulder, and gave it a gentle shake.

  Her eyes flew open, and the pupils were diamond-shaped. Her song became an incantation. Taegan reached to cover her mouth, but was an instant too slow. Something he couldn’t see slammed him in the chest and hurled him across the chamber to crash into the opposite wall.

  Kara surged to her feet, nails lengthening into talons, scales sprouting across her cheeks and brow, her moon-blond tresses shortening. Raryn scrambled to interpose himself between her and the elf.

  “Don’t!” he said. “Taegan’s your friend. We’re both your friends.”

  She crouched, and heart pounding, throat clogged with dread, Taegan waited for her to finish expanding and melting into dragon form. But Raryn’s plea must finally have registered, for she straightened up instead. The claws dwindled, and the scales faded.

  “Are you hurt?” she asked.

  Taegan rose and shook out his pinions. His feathers rustled. “It doesn’t appear so.”

  “I’m so sorry!”

  “It’s all right.”

  She glared so furiously that he wondered if she might attack again. “How can you say that? Of course it isn’t ‘all right!’”

  “It is,” Raryn said, “so long as you can rein the frenzy in.”

  “That won’t be much longer.”

  “It may be long enough,” Taegan said. “An opportunity could present itself at any moment. We simply have to be ready.”

  “So we should just keep waiting,” Kara said, “for something—we can’t even say what—to improve our circumstances? Wait until my mind finishes crumbling, and I slaughter the both of you? No. I’m done with that.”

  Taegan arched an eyebrow. “I understand your dissatisfaction with such a passive strategy, but I fail to see an alternative.”

  “I’m going to fight the Tarterians,” she said.

  “You mean, the one of you against the six of them?” Raryn said.

  She nodded. “If I kill them, Brimstone can go fetch our allies. It won’t matter how many maze traps he blunders into on his way through the mountains, or how long it takes him to find his way out, so long as no enemies are left to pounce on him when he reemerges.”

  “But you can’t beat them,” Raryn said.

  “I fought well at the monastery, didn’t I? I helped slay Malazan.”

  “I know,” said the dwarf, “I was there, and believe me, no one respects your prowess more than I. But you didn’t win your victories alone, and you can’t kill six Tarterians by yourself, either. We four fighting in concert couldn’t do it.”

  “If you’re right,” she said, “and I fail, the rest of you will still be safer. Because I won’t be here to threaten you.”

  “Milady,” Taegan said, “you understand your mind is under assault. So trust us when we tell you this scheme is a manifestation of the very irrationality you fear.”

  She smiled a nasty smile more akin to Brimstone’s sneers than any expression he’d hitherto observed on her lovely face. “If my words reveal insanity, that surely proves my point.”

  “Singer,” Raryn said, “back at the start of the year, you hired me to be your bodyguard. I still am, even if the job has become more complicated. I can’t let you leave the cave until this … bitter humor passes.”

  Kara stared into the dwarf’s eyes, then sighed and shook her head. “Once again,” she said, “I’m ashamed. Our predicament is difficult enough without …” She took a subtle step backward.

  Taegan sensed she was widening the distance to improve her chances of casting a spell before they could do anything about it. “Get her!” he cried. “Knock her out!”

  He beat his pinions and sprang at her. Raryn followed. She scurried backward and sang the opening notes of a charm.

  Taegan punched at her jaw, and she slipped the blow. Raryn bulled into her legs, threw his arms around them, and bore her down in a tackle. Her body smacked hard on the floor, but not hard enough to stop her singing.

  The final note boomed like thunder, jolting and staggering Taegan, jabbing pain into his ears, echoing between the granite walls. For a moment, he couldn’t act or even think, and evidently, neither could Raryn, for Kara kicked free of his arms, leaped up, and darted for the mouth of the cave.

  Taegan caught his balance, turned, and raced after her. Half deaf from the thunderclap, he faintly heard her start another song. Empty air gave birth to pale fog, concealing her willowy form. Even worse, when he plunged into the mist, grasping blindly, he found it possessed a degree of solidity, impeding him as if he were trying to push through a wall of snow.

  He floundered in the stuff for another moment, until Brimstone snarled, in his soft, sibilant voice, “Are you all mad, making so much noise?” Taegan turned. Crimson eyes glowing, the dark-scaled vampiric wyrm was otherwise all but indistinguishable in the gloom.

  “Kara’s having a fit,” said Raryn, on his feet once more and hastily taking up his axe, quiver, and bow. “She thinks she needs to fight the Tarterians all by herself, and we couldn’t stop her from leaving.”

  Brimstone’s eyes flared brighter, and the scent of burning that clung to him intensified. “That won’t do,” he whispered, then murmured a word of power that dissolved the mass of fog. “Climb onto my back, Raryn Snowstealer.”

  Taegan didn’t wait for the dwarf and smoke drake to prepare themselves. He dashed out of the cave and scanned the benighted sky. Still singing, wings beating, Kara was headed out into the valley, but didn’t have quite as much of a lead as he’d expected. He realized she’d required a moment to shapeshift before taking to the air.

  He lashed his pinions and gave chase, rattling off his charm of quickness. Power burned and jolted through his limbs, and afterward, her wings appeared to flap more slowly. But she was still flying faster than he was.

  “Kara!” he shouted. “Stop!”

  It was madness to yell out in the open, where no wards existed to muffle the sound, but he didn’t know what else to do.

  She didn’t respond.


  Raryn, too, called Kara’s name. Taegan glanced back. The hunter and Brimstone were flying up behind him, overtaking him, though it appeared unlikely they’d catch up with the song dragon. Brimstone whispered an incantation, power whined, and Taegan felt queasy.

  A cloud of gray mist swirled into existence around Kara. Even at a distance, Taegan could smell the putrid stink of it. Kara jerked as if in pain, and her anthem caught in her throat. She dived below the vapor and wheeled back around.

  For a moment, Taegan hoped that Brimstone’s attack—which, though apparently aversive, had inflicted no visible wounds—had shocked Kara back to sanity. But no. She answered with a musical spell of her own. Brimstone lifted one wing high and dropped the other low, veering off, dodging, but when the song dragon’s darts of azure light streaked at him, they turned in flight and pierced him anyway.

  Brimstone grunted and snarled another charm. A spark hurtled at Kara, and she, too, tried unsuccessfully to dodge. The point of light flared and banged into a spherical burst of flame, searing the left side of her body. She floundered, her wings ataxic, and the smoke drake drove at her.

  “What are you doing?” Raryn cried. “That could have killed her!”

  “As her magic could destroy me,” Brimstone said, without slowing or veering off. He had the advantage of height, and was swooping down at her. “She’s lost to us now. I need to kill her before she brings the Tarterians down on us, and take her blood to keep from craving yours.”

  Taegan realized with a stab of horror that both dragons had succumbed to their particular compulsions. The excitement of the chase and of combat, coupled with the pain of injury, had so amplified Brimstone’s thirst that it clouded his reason.

  White mane streaming and tossing around his head, Raryn set the edge of his axe against Brimstone’s neck. “Stop this,” the ranger said, “or—”

  Apparently not so stunned as she’d appeared, Kara abruptly resumed her song, beat her wings, and veered. She lifted her head, opened her jaws, and spat a sparkling, crackling flare of her breath.