The Captive Flame botg-1

by Richard Lee Byers

  Sick and spent as she was, Jhesrhi managed to lift her staff and ask the wind for help. It howled, swirled around her, and kept any of the dragon’s breath from reaching her.

  But it reached Tchazzar. Some of the particles scoured his hide like a sandstorm. Others stuck to him and burned.

  Then Sseelrigoth snarled, and dust devils sprang up around Tchazzar’s head, no doubt to blind and confuse him. The red wyrm whipped his head back and forth, but the whirling clouds moved with it. Meanwhile, Sseelrigoth sucked in air.

  Jhesrhi focused past her grinding sickness and whispered words of command. The wind screamed and tore the dust devils apart.

  Vision restored, Tchazzar lashed his gigantic wings and sprang into the air. The tip of his tail whirled in Jhesrhi’s direction and she threw herself flat so it wouldn’t hit her.

  Tchazzar slammed into Sseelrigoth and assailed him with his jaws and the talons on all four feet. He whipped his tail around him like a python. The blight wyrm responded in kind.

  So entangled, they couldn’t fly. They crashed to earth and rolled toward Jhesrhi. She scrambled clear just in time to keep them from crushing her.

  She scurried until she was well clear and, panting and trembling, simply leaned on her staff and watched thereafter. She was too ill and tired for more and doubted she could help Tchazzar any further even if she weren’t. As long as the wyrms were entwined together, it would be difficult to cast elemental magic at one without hitting the other as well.

  The struggle shook the ground, and the bits of the warren that her earthquake hadn’t collapsed now caved in on themselves. Chunks of ripped flesh arced through the air. Flame leaped around the dragons’ fangs as they snapped and bit. Tchazzar’s fire was blue and bright gold. Sseelrigoth’s was a murky red, the poisonous grit he’d spat before superheated by his rage.

  For a time it looked like Tchazzar was gradually tearing his adversary apart. Then Sseelrigoth’s eyes grew even blacker, and his shroud of dust darkened. Tchazzar bellowed and his wounds widened, rotting at the edges while the blight dragon’s hurts began to close.

  Finish it! Jhesrhi thought. Before he leeches away everything I gave you!

  As if he’d heard her, Tchazzar strained with every limb to loosen Sseelrigoth’s coils. Unequal to the pressure, a bone in his left wing snapped and a jagged end stabbed through the membrane. But then he broke free of his adversary’s grip.

  At once he opened his jaws wider than Jhesrhi would have imagined possible. Taking advantage of his regained mobility, he launched himself at Sseelrigoth fast as an arrow leaping from a bow. And she perceived for the first time just how much bigger he was than the other wyrm. Big enough for his fangs to crash shut on Sseelrigoth’s head from the snout to just behind the eyes.

  Tchazzar’s jaw muscles bunched as he bit down with all his might and wrenched his head from side to side. Flexible as a serpent, Sseelrigoth whipped his coils around his foe and clawed. In some places, his talons sliced to the bone. Meanwhile, his tail whipped up and down, battering a section of Tchazzar’s neck.

  Jhesrhi held her breath. She couldn’t imagine the battle lasting much longer. No one, not even a dragon, could endure such punishment for long. One of them was going to succumb.

  It turned out be Sseelrigoth. A splintering crunch sounded from inside Tchazzar’s jaws, and then the blight wyrm’s neck lashed back and forth. Nothing was restraining it anymore. Blood sprayed from the jagged bowl that was all that remained of Sseelrigoth’s head.

  His decapitated body raked and bashed Tchazzar another time or two. Then, the spurts of gore abating, his neck flopped to the ground and his limbs went limp as well.

  Tchazzar spat out several pieces of Sseelrigoth’s head. Jhesrhi took note of the short horns that encrusted them, realized the inside of the red dragon’s mouth must now be a mass of sores, and winced. Still employing every bit of his strength and speed, Tchazzar kept clawing his foe’s corpse.

  Jhesrhi frowned. Surely Tchazzar realized Sseelrigoth was dead. But he looked like he didn’t mean to stop until he’d reduced the blight dragon to tiny specks of flesh and bone.

  And that wouldn’t do. Gaedynn needed them now.

  She stepped forward. “My lord!” she called.

  Eyes blazing, flame leaping from between his fangs, Tchazzar whirled in her direction. A shock of terror jolted her as she sensed he had no idea who she was. He crouched to spring-

  And then he evidently remembered her. She was no expert at reading the features of dragons, but even so she saw some of the radiant fury go out of his eyes.

  He straightened up into a less threatening posture. He started to speak, grimaced, spat out a mix of blood and flame, and then tried again. “My daughter.”

  “My comrade Gaedynn,” she said. “The shadar-kai are hunting him.”

  “Yes. I saw the chase begin.”

  “If we don’t help him soon, it will be too late.”

  Tchazzar turned and dipped a wing to touch the ground.

  She realized she was supposed to climb it like a ramp. Thinking of the broken bone and all his other wounds, she asked, “Can you still fly?”

  He laughed. “I could fly to the stars for a chance to burn those maggots.”

  So Jhesrhi scrambled up the wing into a smell compounded of combustion, blood, decay, and a sort of dry reptilian musk. The act of climbing didn’t repulse her. Though intelligent, Tchazzar was so different in form from a giant or a man that she could touch him as easily as a griffon.

  She seated herself between two of the dorsal frills at the base of his neck. At once he lunged forward, lashed his wings, and carried her into the sky.

  As they hurtled along, she studied the hills below. All she saw was earth and trees. She asked the wind for news of the pursuit, but this was one of those occasions when it hadn’t taken any notice of the doings of creatures of flesh and blood.

  Then Tchazzar dived lower, and she spotted the living flame she’d conjured shining in a depression among the hills. Shadar-kai flickered down the slopes toward the lure at the bottom. One of them fell. She couldn’t actually see the arrow that had pierced him, but she was sure it was there, and she smiled.

  Tchazzar didn’t roar to announce his coming. He swooped at the dark men like an owl descending on a mouse. The first ones didn’t know he was there until a plume of his fiery breath seared them from existence.

  He wheeled and burned a second group. By the time he made a third pass, the rest were ready to fight, but it didn’t matter. Their javelins and arrows couldn’t stop a creature that had survived Sseelrigoth’s fangs and claws. Most of the weapons glanced off Tchazzar’s scales, and, all but berserk with the joy of vengeance, he didn’t even seem to notice the ones that stuck.

  To Jhesrhi’s surprise, she felt a pang of pity. Run, she thought. Some of you might get away.

  But none of them tried. And when the last of them was dead, and Tchazzar set down on the ground, Gaedynn limped out of the stand of gnarled spruces where he’d taken cover. Gray-faced, his hair plastered down with sweat, he grinned and said, “That went better than I expected.”

  EPILOGUE

  13 MIRTUL, THE YEAR OF THE AGELESS ONE (1479 DR)

  Khouryn knew at a glance that the army less camped than huddled on the shore of Ash Lake had suffered a serious defeat. It wasn’t just the presence of the wounded slumped on the ground, some moaning or calling out for help, although there were plenty of them. It was the absence of straight lines and organization, and the paucity of tents and baggage carts. It was the almost palpable air of misery.

  Khouryn sighed with a sorrow of his own. I won’t get home this season, he realized. Most likely not this year. He touched his truesilver betrothal ring through his steel and leather gauntlet.

  “Those are the Lance Defenders down there,” Medrash said.

  “Yes,” Khouryn said. “I figured that out.”

  “Well,” Balasar said, “at least nobody’s going to pay much attention to the fact
that our band of Daardendriens lost its own little battle.”

  Medrash turned his head to glare. “This is really not funny.”

  “I agree,” Nala said, swaying ever so slightly from side to side in the saddle. “It’s a sacred moment. The turning of the tide.”

  “What do you mean?” Khouryn asked.

  “Surely it’s obvious,” the wizard replied. “This proves that only the Platinum Cadre can stand against the ash giants, and that means our people won’t be able to scorn us anymore. To the contrary. Come on. We need to talk to the commander.” She kicked her horse into motion.

  Patrin smiled at Medrash. “It’s a great day for you too, brother,” he said. “When Tymanther starts honoring Bahamut, I’m sure it will pay homage to Torm as well.” He rode after Nala.

  Khouryn didn’t, and neither did Medrash and Balasar. Plainly they all felt the same impulse to sit on their mounts and confer quietly while the foot soldiers of the cadre passed on either side.

  “I’ve always hoped more of our people would take up the worship of Torm,” Medrash said, “but not at such a cost. And I don’t say it just because Bahamut’s a dragon god, despicable as that is. There’s something more wrong with all this. And something sick about what happens to some of these cultists in battle.”

  “I agree,” Khouryn said. “And I’ve come to believe what you do-that somehow it’s a part of something bigger, although don’t ask me what.” He chuckled a mirthless chuckle. “From the start I’ve known I don’t have a head for intrigue, and all my bewilderment since has only gone to prove it. But it occurs to me that if I took the vanquisher up on that offer of employment, maybe I could help your troops win without joining in Nala’s prayers. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but dwarves are good at fighting giants.”

  “You’d do that?” Medrash asked.

  “For a little while. If our hunches are right, it might be the most useful thing I can do for the Brotherhood.”

  “Then that’s the plan,” Balasar said. “You two go win battles while I infiltrate the cult.”

  “What?” Medrash asked.

  Balasar grinned. “They’re not going to believe that a dwarf wants to discover his dragon nature. Or that you want to worship their god when you never stop prattling about the one you’ve already got. Who does that leave except me to do the hard part as usual?”

  *****

  Cera floated in the midst of warmth, light, and an order sublime in its perfection. All things revolved in relationships that, though complex, were so stately and invariant that only peace was possible.

  She understood that everything she was experiencing was Amaunator. He’d received her into his presence, even if he hadn’t chosen to reveal himself in anything approximating human form.

  She rejoiced until luminous spirits-bright against brightness but somehow, in this place, visible nonetheless-appeared. They took hold of her and gently urged her toward a dim spot that hadn’t been visible before.

  She knew they were doing Amaunator’s bidding, and so resistance was inconceivable. Still, she grieved as they guided her down into coarseness, gloom, and inconstancy.

  For a moment, she felt heavy as lead and knew her spirit had fused with her flesh once more. She opened her eyes and, though her vision was blurry, spied Aoth sitting beside her bed.

  “You’re crying,” he said. Using a callused fingertip, he brushed the tears away from her eyes.

  “I was sad,” she said, “but it’s better now.”

  “Does that mean you’re all right? The other sunlords said you strained yourself drawing too much of Amaunator’s power. They prayed over you.”

  “And you sat with me.”

  He snorted. “I even argued for the privilege. There’s already a story going around that it was the evil Thayan mage who unleashed abishais on the town, and even some of your own people seem to suspect there’s some truth to it.”

  She smiled. “Well, they are good judges of character.”

  He handed her a cup of water. “Thanks so much! Apparently I’m not a good judge of character, because I had no idea you were going to follow me. Why in the name of the Firelord didn’t you tell me?”

  She sat up, felt momentarily dizzy, and decided she wouldn’t try standing up just yet. She sipped from the cup, and the cool water felt wonderful in her dry mouth and throat. “Would you have agreed to it?”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Then there’s your answer. It all worked out, so don’t complain. Tell me what you discovered.”

  He did, although when he finished she felt little wiser than before.

  “Was it just a few wyrmkeepers stirring up trouble,” she asked, “or is it the entire Church of Tiamat? And either way, why? Chessentans have a dragon for a hero, so they ought to like us.”

  “On the other hand,” said Aoth, “Threskel has dragons, undead and otherwise, for lords.”

  “There’s that, I suppose. But didn’t you find any papers or… something?”

  He grinned. “Some convenient document revealing everything there is to know about the plot? I’m afraid not. Be satisfied that we learned something and that there probably won’t be any more imitation dragonborn trying to murder me so long as I’m based in Soolabax.”

  “There has to be more we can do to solve the puzzle.”

  “I don’t see what. We’ve reached the end of the trail here in the barony. And remember, nobody’s paying me to figure it out. My job is to fight Threskel. I’ll send word of what we learned back to Luthcheq. Lord Nicos and the war hero can decide what to do with the information.”

  She shook her head. “And curiosity won’t drive you crazy?”

  “Somehow I’ll bear up under the strain.”

  Maybe he could at that. But he wasn’t a priest of the god who’d granted them a vision of a council of dragons. It was her sacred duty to find out what it meant, and how it related to wyrmkeepers, abishais, and all the trouble that had overtaken her kingdom.

  And that was just as well. Because unlike Aoth, she was too curious to stop pondering and prying. So it was good to know Amaunator approved.

  *****

  His wounds already half healed, his deep voice growing louder with each syllable, Tchazzar chanted the final couplet of the incantation. Although his feet didn’t leave the ground, Gaedynn had a paradoxical sensation of soaring. Then sunlight washed away the murky dusk that was as close as the Shadowfell ever came to day.

  The Sky Riders were dangerous in their own right, but in comparison to the dark world they seemed like paradise. Jhesrhi looked around at the flourishing, green-leaved trees and the patches of blue sky visible through their branches with a rare smile on her face.

  Gaedynn knew she had reason to smile. They’d succeeded in their mission beyond anyone’s wildest expectations. Now that he’d come home, Tchazzar could well prove to be the key to victory. And on top of that, Jhesrhi had somehow purged herself of the old fears that had afflicted her ever since her return to Chessenta. She hadn’t talked about it, but Gaedynn could see the difference.

  So he ought to share her happiness. He was trying. But when he looked at the colossal red dragon looming behind her, gazing at the world he’d lost and regained in a sort of ecstasy, a thought came to him that made elation difficult. He told himself he had no reason to think such a thing, but the question persisted nonetheless.

  What exactly have we done?

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