by Jak Koke
Duvan couldn’t move if he’d wanted to. Not yet, anyway. Perhaps not ever, without help. He merely cradled Slanya’s body and concentrated on his next breath. He focused on his own pains and aches, of which there were plenty. His right leg was broken in at least one place, maybe two. His left leg might also be broken, but he wasn’t sure.
He bled slowly from a hundred tiny abrasions and cuts, but the pain of those was like a deep, burning itch all across his body. Unconsciousness crawled like a swarm of ants at the edges of his mind, advancing then retreating and advancing again. Several times he nearly passed out from weakness and loss of blood, but he was determined not to allow the scavengers or potential poachers near Slanya. By the gods, he would defend her.
Perhaps, she could still be brought back. Kaylinn or another of her clerics could accomplish that, like they had done to him. Duvan hadn’t given up hope yet. And even if Slanya could not be brought back, she deserved a proper funeral-a celebration of her life, her accomplishments and sacrifices.
“Duvan?” the voice came from behind him.
He croaked out an unintelligible reply.
“Duvan?” It was Kaylinn’s voice. The cleric gasped as she noticed Slanya’s dead body. But her words were soothing. “I’ve found you, now,” she said. Her voice was both motherly and commanding. “I will take care of everything.”
At Kaylinn’s arrival, Duvan let Slanya’s hand go. He released his embrace of his dead friend and curled up on the ground next to her body. As Kaylinn’s hands passed over him, examining his injuries, more people arrived to help.
Duvan heard Kaylinn finishing an incantation as though from a great distance. He felt warmth seep into him, and he sensed Kaylinn giving instructions, but he lacked the energy to focus anymore. Duvan let the dark tide of unconsciousness wash over him. Kaylinn would take care of things. Thank the gods for her.
Some time later, Duvan awoke from a dreamless sleep. The smell of jasmine and sage filled his nostrils. The smell reminded him of his home with Papa and Talfani. His wounds had been mended, and his body had been cleaned.
Lying flat on his back, Duvan opened his eyes to a modest monastery room. Through the small window, he saw the first hints of light from the rising sun. Morning birds called and chirped outside.
It was another day. The end of the world had been avoided once more.
Duvan gave a wry chuckle. Then the full impact of Slanya’s death flooded back over him, filling his chest with breath-catching pain. Duvan rolled on his side and pulled the pillow close. He wore a body-length tunic of light cotton, but the fabric felt rough against his battered skin.
Now, all he wanted to do was go back to sleep, to disappear into the oblivion. It seemed that his shell of cynicism had lost its ability to deflect pain. He understood that, and he wasn’t even sad about it. He’d been living behind that shell for too long.
“You did well.” The voice sounded musical and enlightening, despite being barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry I let you fall.”
She emerged from the shadows by the corner away from the door. Tall and stately, regal in her shimmering garments and coppery rain of hair.
Duvan found he was both glad to see Tyrangal and immensely sad that she wasn’t Slanya.
“I am sorry about Slanya,” Tyrangal said. “The clerics say they’re unable to raise her.”
His gut imploded as though she’d kicked him in the stomach. He gasped as the realization trampled him that he would never see Slanya again. Still, he wasn’t completely surprised.
“It was because of her-and you-that we were able to negate Vraith’s ritual,” Tyrangal said. “You two disrupted the ritual magic and put the border back to its original location. Stopped the dam from breaking. Thank you.”
Duvan hugged his pillow into the hollow of his gut, wrapping himself around it. Lonely and aching, the hole in his chest would not be filled.
“Of course it was far from a complete victory. I had to reveal my true self. I may have to move. There are those who will remember me from … before. You should know that I have been called by many names over the centuries-‘Gaulauntyr’ most recently on this world. I fled after the rage and returned only after Mystra’s death.”
Duvan blinked. Tyrangal grew more interesting and strange by the minute. And yet for all her power, she had been unable to stop the Order of Blue Fire by herself. For all her age and knowledge, she had been unable to prevent Slanya’s death. She could not bring Slanya back.
Tyrangal continued, “Vraith was lost to the Plague-wrought Land and is perhaps dead. But that’s not certain, and if her knowledge of the ritual gets into the hands of her masters, they will certainly try the ritual again in the future. Of course, with Gregor’s disappearance, it will take them a long while to find another elixir.”
Duvan blinked. Gregor was gone? Not that he cared for Gregor; the man had sold him to be tortured by Vraith. But he also had rescued Slanya after her house had burned down. He was not all bad.
Tyrangal’s hand touched Duvan on the shoulder. “I am not much good at relationships, Duvan,” she said. “Your lives are too short and your actions are colored by the fear of death. But you are different, my friend. It may not seem like it, but I care for you and I consider you a friend.”
Duvan felt the words chase away the emptiness, if only slightly.
“I am rarely one to wax emotional, so please know that I mean it when I tell you this. I want you to stay with me at my mansion or wherever I settle. I have many lairs.”
Duvan took in a breath. This offer was unexpected, and he did not know whether he trusted it. Did she truly want him? Or just his aura of protection?
“I also would like you to consider helping me to keep tabs on the Order of Blue Fire. It is extremely hard to find someone I can trust. I can trust you, Duvan.”
But can I trust you? Duvan wondered. Tyrangal had kept her true nature hidden from him. Had she just saved him from the Wildhome elves to use him for his spellplague resistance? Duvan didn’t know if he could trust anyone besides Slanya.
Tyrangal stood up straight. “The offer of my home is not contingent upon anything. You can come and go as you wish. You can help me combat the Order or not as you wish. However, I sense you are ready for a new journey, friend.”
Duvan nodded. “I just want to rest,” he said. “Just rest.”
“Do that then,” Tyrangal said. “Take some time to rest. Take some time to say good-bye. That is important. But know that you can come to me whenever you need me.”
Duvan took a deep breath and sat up. “Thank you, Tyrangal.” Duvan stood and faced his rescuer, his long-time employer, and-just perhaps-his friend. He took her into his arms and hugged her.
She returned the hug with less awkwardness than he expected. Up close she smelled of smoke and hot metal.
“Thank you for everything,” he said. “I am not sure what I will do, but you have been kind and generous to me. You have treated me more like a friend than have most humans.”
Yet, as much as Tyrangal’s relationship was important to him, she was still alien in her thinking, still a dragon at heart. And while he respected her immensely, and he appreciated all that she had done for him, he could not really relate to her with any degree of closeness, especially when contrasted against the intimacy of the bond he had shared with Slanya.
“You are most welcome, Duvan. You are a remarkable human. Don’t believe anyone who says otherwise. Despite the hardships you have endured, or perhaps because of them, you are unique and valuable.”
Duvan gave her an awkward grin. All those things may be true, he thought. And part of him appreciated that Tyrangal had made a point of mentioning them. But none of those things made losing his closest friend any easier.
Sadly, nothing Tyrangal could say would make the hurt of Slanya’s death go away. “I need to leave now,” she said. “But I hope to see you again soon.” And with that she vanished, leaving Duvan standing alone in the room.
Gregor
paced the perimeter of the massive chamber one more time. There had to be a way out, just had to be. A domed, stone ceiling arched overhead, polished like red marble veined with black and green.
The floor was made of more of the same, smooth as glass except where ancient crates and piles of what looked like valuable sculptures and ceramics, embroidered pennants and crested armor drifted haphazardly. Gregor hadn’t tried to move the piles yet, to see if there were any exits through the floor, but that would come in time, if necessary.
The light in here seemed to come from crystals set into the domed ceiling high above, but if there was another source, such as windows to the outside, Gregor couldn’t tell. His flying abilities were lacking for the moment.
He chuckled, then caught himself. A few hours in here and he was already starting to lose his discipline. That was a bad sign.
But so far his diligent, methodical check of the room had revealed nothing. So far his adherence to order was doing him no good.
“Good to see you haven’t given up.”
The abrupt appearance of a very large dragon in the room startled Gregor. As it was no doubt supposed to do, he thought.
“Tyrangal?” he guessed.
Muscles rippled underneath heavy copper scales. Her batlike wings stretched for a moment before folding against her body. Her lips peeled back to reveal huge teeth. “Very good.”
“I saw you fall to the ground at the ritual. And watched as the plagueland swallowed you.”
“That wasn’t very enjoyable,” Tyrangal said. “But I survived, thanks to your elixir. I drank the rest of the cauldron just before the border broke down.”
Gregor smiled, determined not to show his fear. The horns that curved from her skull were as long and sharp as swords, and the disconcerting bitter smell of acid hung over her. “You’re welcome, then,” he said.
“We won, actually, if you haven’t heard.”
“I-” Gregor considered. “The last things I remember are the ritual failing and the border snapping back into place.”
“No thanks to you.” Tyrangal’s tone had grown mean. Her claws scraped against the polished stone floor, the sharp sound raising the hairs on Gregor’s neck.
“I was pursuing a vision,” Gregor said, defensive. “The ritual could be used to reduce the size of the Plague-wrought Land and eventually contain all the remnants of the Spellplague.”
Tyrangal’s deep laugh rumbled through the cavern.
“You can laugh, but it is a noble vision. I thought it worth pursuing and even convinced High Priestess Kaylinn to move to Ormpetarr in pursuit of it.”
Tyrangal’s laughter cut abruptly off. “Yes, a noble vision, but a naive one. Your visions, my young monk, were sent to you by creatures who help shape the Order agenda.”
“What?” Gregor felt like he’d been kicked in the gut.
“The Order of Blue Fire has been sending you images of what you want to see. Ultimately, they were hoping that you’d join the Order, but at a minimum they just needed your elixir. And that, you happily supplied to them.”
Gregor’s gasped for breath. His dreams had been fabricated? He’d been manipulated?
“The Spellplague cannot be contained,” Tyrangal went on. “It is, in fact, a major feat that your elixir works at all, and that is the reason I helped you. That is the reason you are still alive.”
Suddenly, Tyrangal was standing next to him in human form. Her long, auburn hair shone brightly in the light from the crystals above, and her round, golden eyes appraised him kindly. “Let me show you something.” She reached out and touched him on the shoulder.
In a flash, the room disappeared. And suddenly the two of them stood side by side in a richly appointed chamber lined with bookshelves and reagent bottles. Gregor stepped back in shock; the books on the shelves were his books. The labels on the reagent bottles were written in his handwriting.
“I’ve brought your lab here,” she said. “I want you to continue your work, but for me this time. Here you will be shielded from the influence of the Order, from their visions.”
Gregor looked around. If anything, this lab was better equipped than his own. “And if I refuse?”
Tyrangal stared into his eyes, and for a brief moment, her gold eyes became reptilian slits. Her tone, however, was matter-of-fact. “We live in dangerous times, Gregor. An epic battle is shaping. You can choose to be a part of it. Or through negligence, become a casualty. I don’t have a lot of patience for apathy.”
Gregor grimaced. It was clear that she would kill him in some way if he didn’t agree. “Such options! What are we working on?”
Tyrangal grinned. “I suspected you would listen to reason,” she said. “You are a pragmatic being. This location should be shielded enough so that you won’t get any confusing visions. Vraith may still be out there, and even if she’s dead, the Order of Blue Fire will replace her with another. There are big forces at work.”
Gregor nodded. So she wants help, he thought. And he realized that they were mostly on the same side. Perhaps he wouldn’t be compromising his ideals by helping her. Not that he had much choice.
“To begin with,” Tyrangal said, “we’ll need more of your elixir. And also, I think you’ll be interested in taking a look at this.” She indicated a thick tome lying on the table. “This is something that Duvan graciously acquired for me recently.”
Gregor stepped up to the table and looked closely at the heavy book. The cover was crafted from thick hide and inlaid with gold runes. “What is it?”
“When the goddess Mystra died,” Tyrangal said, “much old magic was lost. Many spells and powers that used her Weave no longer work. This tome contains some of the most powerful, and I am only able to cast a small fraction of them in the current climate.” The dragon’s tone grew soothing, reassuring. “You have an extraordinary ability to infuse magic into your potions, Gregor. You understand how modern magic works.”
Gregor was somewhat confused, and apparently it showed on his face.
“There are some potion recipes in here,” Tyrangal said. “They are yours. I want you to figure out how to make them work now. And I want you to show me your process. I think you can teach me. Perhaps I can use your methodology to adapt the other spells to the modern rules of magic.”
“Ah,” Gregor said. “Well, I will try.” He tried to sound indifferent, but truth be told, he was quite intrigued by the tome. Perhaps this captivity would be interesting. “But I am curious …”
“Yes?”
“If I cooperate fully, how long do you intend to keep me prisoner here?”
“You have not shown me that you are trustworthy. You went against my counsel and aided the Order.”
Gregor lowered his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I can see now that I made a grievous error.”
“However,” Tyrangal continued, “I abhor slavery. I know what it is like to be overcome by passions and visions that compel you to do things you would otherwise not do. I have done things that I regret. For many years I was a victim of the Rage.
“I banished myself until it passed, until I could return with the ability to act as an intelligent and free creature. And that is what I hope to do for you here. Dry you out and free you of your obsession with these visions. Free you of your addiction.”
Gregor nodded. He had already started missing them.
“I believe that in time, your visions will fade from your mind. You have a strong will, Gregor. You did not join the Order when that would have been the easy path. In large part, that is why I have invested so much in you. I believe you can be rehabilitated.”
Gregor took a deep breath, realizing that Tyrangal had not given him a time frame. She might never release him.
“And then, Gregor, when I have gained a measure of trust in you, I will free you.”
“Well at least that’s something to work toward,” he said with more enthusiasm than he felt.
“I have big plans, Gregor,” Tyrangal said. “You and I will m
ake excellent partners.”
Gregor wondered if he could ever believe that.
“For now, take a look through the tome that Duvan brought me; I think you will find it very engaging. Meanwhile, I must leave you for a while. I have much to do, much to prepare for.” With that she teleported away, leaving him alone.
Gregor looked at the tome. Yes, he had to admit he was intrigued. But first, he started pacing the perimeter, looking for a way out. Just in case.
EPILOGUE
Duvan took a deep breath of morning air as he walked up the stone steps to the balcony. His bones ached as he took each step slowly. The healing he’d gotten from Kaylinn’s personal care had been the best of his life, but there was only so much that magic could do to heal the trauma.
Some things only healed with the passage of time, and not enough time had passed. Not yet.
As he climbed the last step and approached the balcony’s edge, Duvan looked out across the expansive field that separated the temple complex from Ormpetarr. Despite the events of the past tenday, the walls of the city stood seemingly unchanged. Just another day, for most of inhabitants of the city.
Life went on.
The field below was remarkably barren. The pilgrims who had come for the Festival of Blue Fire were all either dead or scattered. Duvan hadn’t been back to the site of the ritual, but he suspected that it was a graveyard of pilgrims. A warning to others, perhaps.
But even as he thought this, he saw that the field was not entirely barren. A small group of new arrivals had arrived and were setting up their tents. These fresh pilgrims had come to try their chance at flirting with blue fire. When would people learn?
The aroma of sage and jasmine threatened to lull Duvan into a daze. The morning sun shining hot in the sky warmed him. And with that welcome heat, exhaustion started. Duvan shook himself, fighting the urge to sleep. It seemed like he had been sleeping constantly, and while he needed the rest, he was determined to get back on his feet. Now that he had a reason to live, he didn’t want to waste one minute of those he had remaining.