The Spectral Blaze

by Richard Lee Byers

  “I know you refuse to believe Medrash and Khouryn are dead,” Biri murmured, “and I’m with you. I refuse to believe it too.”

  “Good.”

  “But we’re running a race,” she continued. “We’re trying to kill Gestanius in time to prevent a war Tymanther can’t win. You should ask yourself what Medrash would want us to do.”

  “Curse it, he’s my clan brother and my best friend! I can’t just abandon him … or Khouryn either.”

  “We just have to hope that the branching passage goes somewhere. If it does, Khouryn will find a way out.”

  “You’re assuming he and Medrash can fend off the quicksilver dragon and its servant creatures all by themselves.”

  “If any two warriors can do it, they can.”

  “You’re also assuming that the rest of us can keep to the right path without a dwarf to guide us.”

  “You said yourself that there’s some reason to think these Imaskari know their way around underground. And I’ve seen signs of it myself. They’re not Khouryn but they’re not useless either.”

  Balasar closed his eyes and took a long breath. Then he turned back toward Jemleh and Nellis. “Change of plans,” he said.

  * * * * *

  Peering from behind a gnarled little pine tree, Gaedynn watched the shadowy figure sitting atop a granite outcropping. He saw better at night than most humans—or else practice had made him better at spotting and interpreting what could be seen—but still, it wasn’t the first time he’d wished for eyes that defied the dark like Khouryn’s or, better yet, Aoth’s. Or on further consideration, maybe not. That weird, blue glow would mar his good looks.

  He covered a yawn. Staying awake for his own watches and somebody else’s too was starting to wear on him. But it had to be done, especially since he hadn’t yet taken Aoth into his confidence. He wasn’t sure why, except that the particular problem just felt like his conundrum to solve.

  The shadow rose and disappeared down the other side of her perch.

  A surge of excitement washed Gaedynn’s sleepiness away. He rounded the pine and scrambled up the outcropping. There was no path on that side of the rock, and under duress, he might have admitted that he wasn’t quite as expert at creeping around in the mountains as he was at sneaking through a forest. Still, he fancied that he made it to the top of the stone with a minimum of noise.

  He moved more quietly still when he set his feet on the path Son-liin had taken. He figured he needed to. He drew an arrow from his quiver and laid it on his bow.

  The person awaiting Son-liin was doing so at a spot where the narrow, twisting trail widened out into a relatively broad and level place. The mountain walled in the site on three sides and dropped away in a sheer cliff on the other.

  The place was far enough from camp that no one there would see or hear the pair. Gaedynn was glad they wouldn’t feel a need to whisper. He wouldn’t have to sneak so close to eavesdrop.

  The scrawny genasi slouching in the shadows had round, slumping shoulders. The pale blue glimmer playing along the lines on his face and hands indicated that he was a windsoul. Gaedynn was fairly sure the fellow was Yemere but wasn’t certain until he heard his voice.

  “Well,” the noble said, “thanks to that wretched medusa and his map, we got here faster and with fewer losses than I wanted.”

  Son-liin didn’t answer. Gaedynn wasn’t surprised. He was no sorcerer, but since the day his father handed him over to the elves, he’d seen more than enough magic to guess the young stormsoul might be sleepwalking or in some comparable state.

  “But everything can still work out,” Yemere continued. “I’m going to warn Vairshekellabex that we’re coming. You’re going to do your best to convince everyone to approach his lair via the north trail, and when the ambush begins, you’ll start shooting firestormers. I won’t score as many points as I would have if I’d destroyed the expedition all by myself, but I’ll still do all right.”

  Inwardly Gaedynn spit the foulest obscenity in his considerable repertoire because Yemere was obviously talking about playing xorvintaal. That meant he was a dragon wearing human form, like Tchazzar, and a challenging foe for Gaedynn to tackle alone, to say the least.

  But he had to. If he slipped away to get help, Yemere might be gone by the time he came back.

  He switched his arrow for one of the few remaining enchanted ones, stepped into the open, aimed, and loosed.

  Evidently glimpsing his attacker from the corner of his eye, Yemere started to pivot. Then the shaft plunged into his chest. Gaedynn wasn’t sure he’d hit the heart, but if not, he’d at least pierced a lung.

  Yemere fell back against the curved stone wall. At the same instant, black spikes that looked like thorns stabbed up through his skin. The effect started around the arrow and moved outward, down the wyrm’s limbs and up into his head. It was as if brambles were growing and snaking their way through his flesh.

  He thrashed for a moment, then sprawled motionless. Gaedynn stayed put and shot several more arrows into what he hoped was a corpse. Son-liin simply stood and looked down at Yemere as though awaiting further instructions.

  Then Yemere began to grow.

  In fact, it was a flailing explosion of growth, as hammering wings and a lashing tail burst into being and everything else thickened and lengthened. Gaedynn reached for another enchanted arrow, then registered how Son-liin was still standing motionless right next to the transformation. Yemere’s convulsions were likely to smash her flat or swat her off the cliff without the wyrm’s even intending it.

  Gaedynn ran to the stormsoul, grabbed her, and dragged her backward. “Wake up!” he shouted. He didn’t really expect it to do any good, and it didn’t seem to.

  As he hauled her to safety, Yemere completed his metamorphosis. In his natural form, the dragon had phosphorescent blue eyes and gray scales that glinted in the moonlight. The spines that grew under the lower jaw and behind the head somewhat resembled a beard and hair. Gaedynn was relieved to see that at least the creature hadn’t shed his wounds by altering his shape. The arrows still hung from his body, and the thorns still jabbed out of his skin, although they looked considerably smaller since Yemere was so much bigger.

  “Kill him,” the dragon snarled.

  Son-liin wrenched herself out of Gaedynn’s grip, snatched her knife from its sheath, and stabbed at his belly. Caught by surprise, he still managed to twist. He didn’t avoid the thrust entirely, but since it didn’t catch him squarely, the blade skated along the reinforced leather of his brigandine.

  He drove a punch into Son-liin’s jaw. As she staggered and fell, Yemere opened his jaws.

  Gaedynn leaped aside. The dragon’s breath weapon pounded the spot his target had just vacated like a huge, invisible club, denting the hard-packed earth.

  Then Yemere seemed to surge forward. Gaedynn knew—or a part of him did—that the wyrm hadn’t actually changed position. But suddenly his long face—specifically, the slanted, glowing eyes—appeared so close that they were all he could really see, or at least, all that he could focus on. The world seemed to tilt and turn as vertigo assailed him.

  “Corellon!” he gasped.

  He was no mystic, and no downpour of divine power answered his call. But perhaps the name of the Great Protector helped him focus his will. In any case, the ground settled beneath his feet, and he wrenched his eyes away from the dragon’s stare.

  Yemere roared and rushed forward. He came fast but hobbled nonetheless, his wounds clearly paining him. And scurrying backward, Gaedynn managed to keep ahead of him.

  Perhaps deciding that, in his current condition, he was no quicker or more agile than his foe, Yemere stopped where Son-liin still lay stunned. He poised a clawed forefoot over her body. “Surrender,” he said, “or I’ll crush her.”

  Gaedynn laughed. “I was game to try to help her. I’m not going to commit suicide for her.” With a flourish, drawing attention to the motion, he reached to pull another enchanted arrow from his quiver.


  Possibly fearing what that shaft might do, Yemere didn’t bother following through on his threat. He simply charged again, and if he trampled Son-liin in the process—Gaedynn couldn’t tell—it wasn’t deliberate.

  Gaedynn saw that he wouldn’t have time to nock, draw, and loose. As the dragon struck at him like a serpent, he sidestepped and thrust the arrow like a dagger at the side of his adversary’s head. But his arm couldn’t match the lethal power of a bow, and the shaft snapped on the reptile’s scales. The magic inside discharged itself in a crackling flash that stung his fingers.

  Recognizing that he had no hope of regaining the distance that archery required, he dropped his bow and snatched out his short swords. They didn’t do him a lot of good. Yemere pressed him so relentlessly that it was all he could manage just to dodge and duck the creature’s gnashing fangs, snatching talons, battering wings, and whipping tail. Striking back was rarely possible, and when he could, his blades didn’t bite deep enough for it to matter.

  And though the space, like a small arena with one wall missing, had appeared roomy enough when he arrived, it now seemed completely full of dragon. He repeatedly found himself nearly pinned against the stone or about to be shoved off the drop. Then it took an even riskier, more desperate evasion to stave off death for another heartbeat or two.

  He struggled to think of a stratagem that could save him. Nothing sprang to mind.

  But then two beams of dazzling light stabbed down from the sky. They burned into Yemere’s back, and he roared and convulsed. The roar cut off abruptly when Eider dived out of the dark, thumped down on the dragon’s neck just behind the head, and ripped out a big chunk of flesh with her beak. She spit it out immediately, possibly because it had thorns in it.

  Yemere collapsed, and Eider sprang clear before the huge, spasmodic body hit the ground. Jet swooped down with Aoth and Cera on his back.

  Gaedynn watched Yemere for another moment, satisfying himself that, jerks and twitches notwithstanding, the wyrm really was finished. Then he hurried over to Son-liin.

  Somewhat miraculously, considering all of Yemere’s lunging and whirling around, she remained uncrushed. In fact, she shakily sat up as he approached, animation and bewilderment in her face. “What happened?” she groaned.

  Gaedynn started to answer, realized he was so winded he was probably going to wheeze, and took a moment to catch his breath. “That’s Yemere,” he said, nodding in the direction of the carcass. “As you may notice, he was actually a dragon and using his talents to control you and make you do things to endanger the rest of us. But you’ll be all right now.”

  Eider padded over to Gaedynn with a griffon’s uneven gait. He ruffled the feathers on her neck. “Good girl,” he said, “good girl.”

  “That she is,” said Aoth, dismounting. “And you’re lucky. Taking on a dragon all by yourself was cocky even by your standards.”

  Gaedynn grinned. “Actually that aspect of the situation caught me by surprise. It would have been helpful if the fellow with the spellscarred eyes had noticed what the whoreson really was.”

  Aoth shrugged. “They don’t ordinarily catch shapeshifters because shapeshifting’s not an illusion. Be glad we heard Yemere roar.”

  “Oh, I am,” Gaedynn said, “although if necessary, I would have finished him off somehow.”

  “I’m sure,” said Cera dryly.

  Aoth took another look at Yemere’s body, whose final shudders were subsiding. “The hide looks just the same as the hide of the dragonspawn that attacked us in the Eagle’s Idyll.”

  Cera murmured a word that set the head of her golden mace glowing, so she, too, could see the body clearly. “In other words, it gleams like steel,” she said in a somber tone.

  “That makes sense,” said Aoth. “From what I’ve heard, steel dragons are one of the kinds that like to go around disguised as men or elves.”

  “But they’re metallics,” Cera said. “I wouldn’t expect them to take any part in Tiamat’s filthy game.”

  Gaedynn grinned. “Sunlady, forgive me if this is contrary to the dogma of your faith. But good is never as good as it’s supposed to be. Although evil is often every bit as bad.”

  “If we can return to practical matters,” said Aoth, “the important thing is that if it was Yemere who tried to kill us in Airspur, then there’s reason for hope that Vairshekellabex doesn’t know we’re coming.”

  “Yemere didn’t think he did,” Gaedynn replied. He left off scratching Eider, and the griffon twisted her head and gave him a reproachful look. He snorted and resumed petting her. “He was going to fly off tonight and tell him all about it. If I hadn’t stopped him.”

  “Yes,” said Aoth, “you’re a hero. Understood. Remind me to buy you a mug of ale someday. Meanwhile, shall we head back to camp?”

  “Let me fetch my bow,” Gaedynn said. He retrieved it and was glad to discover that Yemere hadn’t stepped on it either. He grinned at Son-liin. “How about if Eider and I give you a ride back? She doesn’t have her saddle, but I can keep you from falling off.”

  Son-liin smiled. “I’d like that.”

  He held one of their bows in either hand and guided Eider with his voice and knees alone, not that the griffon really needed guiding for the short flight back to camp. Getting the weapons out of the way made it easier for Son-liin to sit behind him and wrap her arms around him.

  “Ever flown before?” he asked.

  “No,” she said.

  “There’s nothing like it. You’ll probably come away from this little jaunt craving a winged steed of your own.”

  After that, she was quiet for several heartbeats. Taking in the view, he assumed, or as much of the vague, black masses of the mountains and valleys as a person could make out in the dark. Then she said, “What made you think I was under a spell?”

  “I grew up wandering and hunting in the wild too. Not exactly this kind of wild, but still. I figured you must have learned to handle yourself better than you have been lately. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have survived. I also overheard when you told Cera you’d mysteriously forgotten your father’s warning about traveling the gorge with the blue mist at this time of year.”

  Son-liin grunted. “But you were so … scornful. I thought you blamed me for everything. That you hated me.”

  “I assumed that whoever was tampering with your mind, he was taking steps to make sure no one found out. I wanted him to believe that one person he didn’t need to watch out for was me.”

  “Well, you’re a good pretender.”

  Gaedynn grinned. “You should learn too. There’s not a more useful skill in all the world.”

  E

  I

  G

  H

  T

  25 ELEASIS, THE YEAR OF THE AGELESS ONE

  The glow of Medrash’s blade dimmed. He grunted in annoyance. It took only a small exertion of his paladin abilities to make the steel shine. But the need to do so repeatedly was gradually depleting the mystical strength he might need in a fight. And he and Khouryn did have to fight whenever pale, eyeless beasts sprang out of holes or dropped from the ceiling.

  But the only alternative to making light was blindness, and that was no option at all. Medrash breathed slowly and deeply, blowing out frustration and worry and summoning fortitude and reverence to take their place. When he felt the Loyal Fury’s regard turn in his direction, he slashed at the air. The blade flared brighter.

  Unfortunately that didn’t make the view in front of him any less ominous. Several paces ahead, the floor of the broad passage he and Khouryn were currently traversing rose like a steep hillside.

  “I’m not sure this is the right way,” Khouryn said. “Let’s take another look at what’s behind us.”

  Peering around for potential threats, they retreated the way they’d come, to the carcass of the last beast to attack them. It had looked like a huge, furless, malformed bat, but had crawled instead of flown and had sucker rings all over the inner surfaces of its w
ings. Tiny chittering scavengers scurried away from the body as the dwarf and dragonborn approached. The torn flesh already smelled of decay.

  “This is far enough,” Khouryn said, keeping his voice low.

  “You don’t really think you missed a branching tunnel, do you?” Medrash replied just as softly. “You just wanted to go back far enough so that if the quicksilver dragon’s lurking at the top of that slope, it won’t be able to overhear us.”

  “You’re right,” said the dwarf. “Although that won’t help if it oozes after us through another seam in the rock. But I think that if it actually has set up at the top of the rise, it’ll stay put for a while. Do you agree that it’s probably up there?”

  “Definitely,” Medrash said. “The dragon’s servant creatures haven’t stopped us. Maybe it doesn’t expect them to. Maybe they’re just supposed to soften us up or give the wyrm a better idea of what we can do. At any rate, the rise is the perfect place for the wyrm itself to ambush us. When we’ve clambered partway up, it’ll stick its head over the edge and blast us with its breath.”

  “Which is unfortunate,” Khouryn said, “because we have to climb the slope. If there is a way out, that’s it. The question is can you do anything to keep us alive while we try?”

  Medrash frowned and reviewed all the feats he’d learned to perform by channeling Torm’s might. “Yes. Let’s start with a blessing. If we’re stronger, we’ll get to the top of the slope that much faster.”

  He drew on his god’s power once again. It seemed to pour down from high above and well up inside him at the same time. A tingling surge of vitality washed the weariness and soreness out of his muscles. His thoughts focused into a sort of fearless clarity. Khouryn worked his massive shoulders and flashed his teeth in a grin as he felt the same effects.

  “All right,” the sellsword said. “Let’s do it.”

  They hiked back to the foot of the rise. Inspecting it anew, Medrash decided that parts of it were so steep that he’d never make it up without using both hands. He’d never make it without light either, but fortunately his broadsword had a martingale to bind it to his wrist. He let the weapon dangle from the leather loop, and he and Khouryn began their scrambling ascent.