The Rite

by Richard Lee Byers

  Jivex’s flickering wings—and the rest of his body—abruptly stopped moving. He dropped from the air and rolled down the roof, nearly dropping off the edge before he came to rest. He trembled as he struggled vainly to overcome the magically induced paralysis.

  Heedless of the pain it caused him, Taegan strained to drag his feet from the crack. When that didn’t work, he started quickly reciting his spell of translocation.

  The air around him darkened. Locusts swarmed all over him, crawling inside his clothing, biting him, cutting off his air. Startled, repulsed, he stumbled over the cadence of his incantation, and the magic failed.

  Unable to see what he was doing, he hacked at the trap of wood securing his feet, but failed to free himself. With his off hand he flailed at the locusts, but that too accomplished nothing.

  He wished again that Rilitar would come, but realized the wizard never would. Somehow the chasme had detected and neutralized the talisman that was supposed to summon him.

  The locusts bit again and again. Each attack was little more than a pin prick, but in the aggregate, the effect was crippling. As consciousness began to slip away, Taegan felt a bitter anger, directed primarily at himself, that he’d been so thoroughly outwitted and outplayed.

  Pavel wondered how Brimstone could tell that he’d prayed to the Morninglord for succor, but he was reluctant to ask, or to give the vampiric drake the satisfaction of responding to his taunt in any other way.

  Instead, he said, “What do you want?”

  Brimstone snorted, thickening the smell of smoke that surrounded him, and answered, “What I’ve always wanted: to defeat Sammaster. I told you I’d emerge from seclusion when I deemed it necessary.”

  So he had. But the priest had doubted the promise, and not just because, of all of Kara’s allies, Brimstone was the strangest and by far the most sinister. Bound to the purifying sun, every cleric of Lathander despised the undead, and in the normal run of things, did his utmost to destroy them whenever they crossed his path.

  “Something’s different,” murmured Will. “Make another light.”

  The glowing stone Pavel had enchanted previously lay somewhere behind the drake, which made it difficult to see him as anything more than a silhouette.

  Pavel hesitated for a beat, then decided that, though they were still technically in hostile territory, the chances of any more orcs attacking while Brimstone was on the scene were minute. He recited the prayer, and ruddy light shined from the head of his mace.

  The illumination revealed all the details Pavel recalled with such loathing, the serpentine form, charcoal-colored scales with their maroon highlights, and jet-black dorsal ridge. But it showed something new as well. A huge and seemingly flawless ruby gleamed at the center of a diamond-studded platinum collar encircling Brimstone’s neck.

  Will let out a whistle. “Nice,” he said. “If you could see your way clear to part with that bauble, I wouldn’t ask for any other payment.”

  It was a suggestion that glossed over the fact that Kara, not the vampire, was, in theory, the hunters’ employer, though they’d long since passed the point where coin was their principal reason for helping her.

  Brimstone showed his fangs, and his eyes burned brighter.

  “I suggest you spare me your impudence, halfling, considering that I have no need of you. It’s the sun priest I require.”

  Pavel frowned and asked, “Require for what?”

  “To accompany me into Damara.”

  “That’s out of the question. Our errand was a success. We’ve learned something important, and we have to get back to Thentia to tell Firefingers and the other mages.”

  “You’ll report your discovery in due course. First, you must assist me. Otherwise, our cause will fail.”

  “I guess you’d better tell us about it,” said Will. He pulled up a handful of coarse grass and used it to wipe orc blood from his hornblade.

  “As you’ll recall,” said Brimstone, “I’m a scrier, and of late, I’ve used the ability to keep track of events throughout the North. Thus, I know that disaster has overtaken Damara.”

  Pavel felt a pang of dismay. “What’s wrong? Have dragon flights ravaged the realm?”

  “No. Or rather, Damara has suffered such assaults, but that’s not the greatest danger threatening it. The giants and goblin kin of Vaasa have once again overrun your homeland.”

  “Impossible. The Gates hold them back, and if they somehow circumvented them, Dragonsbane and his army would crush them.”

  “The Gates and the king alike have fallen to treachery. Most people believe Gareth Dragonsbane is dead, and nobody else can persuade the barons to fight as one. Every petty lord seeks to protect his own holdings. But they can’t survive that way. The Vaasans are sweeping all before them.”

  Will eyed the smoke drake and said, “It almost sounds like you care, but I can’t figure out why.”

  Brimstone sneered. “I shed no tears for slaughtered shepherds or farmwives raped to death. But Karasendrieth and her agents have many sites to explore in Damara. If the country is crawling with giants and goblins, it will be impossible.”

  Pavel shook his head, trying to assimilate what Brimstone had told him. Like most Damarans, he’d grown up thinking of Dragonsbane as an invincible hero, almost a demigod. It was nearly impossible to believe that anyone or anything could vanquish the paladin monarch, or destroy Damara’s hard-won freedom, peace, and prosperity in a matter of tendays. Yet, profoundly as Pavel mistrusted the vampire, it was difficult to see why Brimstone would lie about such matters. What would he have to gain?

  “You said,” observed the priest, “that the majority of folk believe the king is dead. Does that mean he isn’t?”

  “Yes,” said Brimstone. “I hope you have wit enough to realize it isn’t a coincidence that the creatures of Vaasa invaded at this time. Sammaster stirred them up to cover his tracks, and agents of the Cult of the Dragon, positioned close to the king, struck Dragonsbane down with a spell that sundered his soul from his body. Fortunately, I learned the same enchantment during the time I made common cause with the lich.”

  “So I’m guessing you know how to lift the curse,” said Will. “Good. But how does the charlatan here come into it?”

  “I think I know,” said Pavel, “assuming he’s telling the truth. Brimstone needs to get close to the king to cast the counterspell. But Dragonsbane is a champion of the bright powers, and his officers are as devout as he. They’d never permit an undead to approach their master in the hour of his infirmity. Except that the wyrm believes that if I, a Damaran born and a servant of Lathander, vouch for him, they may allow it after all.”

  “Yes,” said Brimstone. “This is why I scried for you and sought you out. If you’re willing to help, climb onto my back and let’s be gone while we still have some hours of darkness left. My wings will carry us swiftly, but I can’t fly by day.”

  “I need a moment,” Pavel growled.

  He turned and stalked a few paces down the hillside, and Will trotted after him.

  “Is there a problem?” the halfling whispered. “Don’t you believe him?”

  Pavel sighed. “That’s the problem. I think I do. Which means spending days in his company … touching his undead flesh as he bears us northward. It will grind at me.”

  “We got used to traveling with ogres, and their personal habits were pretty disgusting.”

  “For a priest of the Morninglord, this will be infinitely worse.”

  “Don’t give yourself airs. It’s not like you’re much of a priest.”

  Pavel chuckled. “Well, perhaps it won’t be so unbearable at that. After all, I tolerate your hideous face, boundless stupidity, and myriad other deficiencies. If I can do that, I should be able to endure anything.”

  “Then shall we go and mount our trusty steed?”

  “Not quite yet. I want to tell you something first, about Brimstone’s collar.”

  “Now you have my full attention.”

&
nbsp; “When we first met him, I speculated that he could never stray far from his hoard, that he was bound to it as a common vampire’s tied to its grave or coffin. I still believe that’s true.”

  “Then how did he fly all the way from Impiltur to Thar?”

  “I think he can travel because the choker’s a talisman linking him to his treasure trove. On a mystical level, it is the entire hoard.”

  “So it sounds like I’m not going to be able to talk him into presenting it to me for services rendered.”

  “The point is that, this far from his cave, it’s vital to his existence. If he ever turns on us, remember that.”

  Taegan woke from a nightmare of locusts to a reality equally frightening and considerably more painful. He lay fettered spread-eagled atop a torturer’s table in what appeared to be a shadowy cellar lit by a couple of smoky, guttering tallow candles. He hurt all over from the insect bites, but that stinging was nothing compared to the throbbing agony in his ankles where the spikes of wood had pierced him, ripping flesh and splintering bone.

  He cast about for Jivex, and flinched when he saw him. Their captor apparently hadn’t possessed any shackles sized to hold a faerie dragon, and had therefore restrained the reptile by stretching out his wings and nailing them to the wall. Jivex had countless bloody locust bites spotting his iridescent hide. His head dangled at the end of his long, flexible neck. He was unconscious, and perhaps that was a mercy.

  Taegan heaved at the chains securing his wrists. The only effect was to drag his lacerated ankles against the metal cuffs encircling them. Despite himself, he gasped at the jolt of agony produced by the pressure.

  Afterward, as he lay panting, footsteps clopped above his head. Perhaps he’d made sufficient noise to alert his captor to the fact that he’d awakened. He drew a deep breath, composing himself. A rake of Lyrabar was always dauntless and suave, even when caught at a disadvantage.

  A pale figure descended the wooden stairs at the far end of the cellar. It shined as pale as a ghost in the gloom, though the steps groaned beneath its weight. Then Taegan blinked the tears of pain from his eyes and recognized that all the whiteness was simply the snowy, silver-trimmed attire clothing Darvin Kordeion’s pudgy form.

  “Bravo, Master Kordeion,” the bladesinger said. “Could I rise, I would bow. Could I bring my palms together, I’d applaud.”

  Darvin scowled and cocked his head. “You’re in no position to mock me.”

  “I assure you, derision is the farthest thing from my mind. It was cunning of you to draw Jivex and me into another snare, and more artful still to mute the call that would have summoned Master Shadow-water to our aid. But when you intuited that Jivex was once again trying to blind the chasme with his golden dust, incorporated the effect into your illusion, and used it to maneuver us to precisely where you wanted us, that was a little stroke of genius.” Taegan smiled. “Or am I congratulating the wrong party? For it was the chasme the dragon and I were actually fighting. Does the demon make its own decisions in combat, or follow instructions given in advance? Or perhaps you control its actions from moment to moment, as if it were a rapier in your hand.”

  Darvin snorted. “Still trying to find out all about me?”

  “I like to satisfy my curiosity whenever possible. Particularly when it could be the last morsel of pleasure ever to come my way.”

  “That’s unfortunate, because I’m the one who’s going to ask the questions.”

  The wizard advanced to the table. Up close, he smelled of some sweetish soap, perfume, or unguent. He lifted his hands. On the middle finger of each was a steel ring with a little barbed point on the inside. When he clasped Taegan’s head between his palms, the blades pierced his temples.

  It was only a little sting, but Taegan could somehow sense the magic burning inside the steel. He was certain the rings had the power to do something to him. Probably something hideous.

  “Now,” said Darvin, “tell me about this avariel divination you claim to practice. Was it truly yielding information that eventually would have identified me as Sammaster’s ally?”

  Taegan intended to say that yes, given a little more time, his mysterious powers would indeed have unmasked Darvin. At that point, he didn’t know what good the lie would do, but one deceived an adversary whenever possible. Then, however, the magic in the rings pulsed, creating a startling sensation of warmth inside his head.

  “No,” he said. “I’m no seer. It was merely a pretense, to draw you—or at least the chasme—out of hiding. Master Shadow-water hoped that if I killed the fly, something of its essence would cling to my sword, and that in turn could be used to discover your identity. If not, we still would have deprived you of your weapon of choice.”

  Taegan understood: The rings compelled him to tell the truth. He supposed it could have been worse—he’d assumed they were instruments of torture—but he dreaded the coercion nonetheless, dreaded where it might lead. Though that probably didn’t matter either.

  Darvin scowled in manifest disgust at having been taken in.

  “Please,” Taegan said, his voice honeyed with false sympathy, “don’t feel badly. You out-tricked me in the end.”

  “Yes,” said the human with his round, pink face, “I did, and whether you practice divination or not, it’s worth the effort to be rid of you. Firefingers and the other fools didn’t even realize they had a traitor among them until you showed up to warn them.”

  “Before you do something irreversible to me, may I point out that I possess a fortune in jewels. It’s yours if you spare me, and should suffice to buy you any life you care to lead. I daresay it’ll be superior to the existence Sammaster promises, lording it over your fellow men but groveling before dracoliches.”

  Darvin sneered. “You understand nothing. Nothing at all.”

  Well, Taegan thought, that isn’t quite true.

  “But you needn’t worry,” the magician continued. “You won’t die tonight. I’m going to feed you and the drake restorative elixirs to heal your hurts, give you a pair of boots to replace the ones I ruined, and teach you a new spell before I release you.”

  Taegan grinned. “How chivalrous. I sensed that underneath it all, you possess a gallant heart.”

  Darvin shook his head. “As I said, Maestro, you truly comprehend nothing. You and your comrade will leave here as my slaves, your wills shackled, though you’ll have no memory of encountering the chasme, or me, tonight. You’ll go about your business as before. But the next time Karasendrieth or one of the other rogues pays a visit, and we wizards assemble to hear what the dragon has discovered, you’ll recite the incantation I’m going to teach you.”

  Taegan felt a chill. He did his best to keep dismay out of his voice when he said, “The words of power that thrust a wyrm into full-blown frenzy.”

  “Exactly. When the Rage erupts in his mind, your Jivex may run amok as well, slipping from my control. But you won’t, and you’ll have more work to do. As the drakes attack, in the confusion, you’ll murder Firefingers, then Rilitar, then Scattercloak, then any other magician you can reach. Except me, of course. You’ll keep on killing until someone slays you in your turn. Having witnessed your prowess in battle, I think you may commit considerable mayhem before you expire.”

  Taegan inclined his head. “You flatter me.”

  Darvin glared as if irked by the bladesinger’s refusal to evince any distress at the ghastly picture he was painting.

  “You understand what it will mean. More mages butchered. Another deranged dragon slaughtering humans in the heart of Thentia. The meddler who promised to keep everyone safe revealed as an enemy himself.”

  “Alas, no,” Taegan said. “Someone will realize I was acting under magical duress. How could I be the Cult of the Dragon’s agent? I wasn’t even in Thentia when the first murder occurred.”

  “Who’s to say when you actually sneaked into town? In retrospect, it will seem telling that you were in the workroom when Samdralyrion went mad.”

&n
bsp; “If you’ll recall, I fought the brass, as I fought to save Rilitar and Sinylla.”

  “You failed to protect the latter. Maybe you were merely putting on a show.” Darvin smiled unpleasantly. “It comes down to this: The wizards will see you turn on them. Afterward, assuming any survive, they’ll be too full of horror and grief to think any deeper than that.

  “In any case,” the man in white continued, “convincing everyone you were Sammaster’s ally all along, convenient as it will be for me, is merely a side benefit. The true objective is to eliminate the most learned wizards, demoralize any who remain, and motivate the Watchlord to command us to suspend our investigations. After that, it won’t matter what lore Karasendrieth and her friends unearth in ancient crypts. They won’t have anybody to interpret the information.”

  “It’s an interesting strategy,” said Taegan, then he bucked, tearing the barbed points out of his skin, throwing his weight against his fetters, hoping the chains would at last break away from the wood.

  But they didn’t, and Darvin simply caught hold of his head once more, jabbing the steel points back into his brow. Heat flowered inside Taegan’s skull, and he went limp.

  25-26 Kythorn, the Year of Rogue Dragons

  Kovor Gemetsk straightened Pavel’s red and yellow vestments, then stepped back to inspect the result. Will hooted.

  “It’ll take more than that to make him respectable,” the halfling said. “You’ll have to do something about the slack-jawed look of imbecility.”

  The stooped old priest with his bald, spotted pate, Pavel’s mentor from the beginning of his novitiate until the day he departed his temple forever—or so he’d imagined—made a sour face at the gibe. “The truth is, the robes aren’t draping properly.”

  “I’m not used to such clothing anymore,” Pavel replied. “But glories of the sunrise, does it matter how I look? I’ve come bringing help in a time of crisis.”