The Spectral Blaze

Each of Khouryn’s friends had changed his demeanor as well. During most of the time the dwarf had known Medrash, the paladin had been careworn and afflicted with self-doubt. But even after hearing why Khouryn had come back, he seemed more at ease in his own skin. In contrast, the notoriously jaunty, flippant Balasar looked nervous as Kanjentellequor Biri chattered to him. Accounted pretty by her own kind, the young mage had snow white scales, a rarity. Silver skewers pierced the edges of her face, with most of their lengths sticking out behind.

“It looks to me,” Khouryn murmured, “like Balasar has yet to resign himself to marriage.”

“He’s just being perverse,” Medrash replied. “He wants her as much as she wants him, and if she were willing to settle for being just another notch on his tally stick, he’d pounce on her like a hungry cat on a mouse. But he’s always resisted anything our elders wanted him to do. Fortunately, he’s got me looking out for his best interests. If I keep pushing the two of them together, eventually nature will take its course.”

“And meanwhile, you have the fun of watching him squirm.”

Medrash bared his fangs in what Khouryn had learned to recognize as a dragonborn grin. “A holy warrior of Torm is above such pettiness. Although the stars know, over the years he’s subjected me to more than my share of pranks and japes.”

A servant struck a bronze gong three times, and the notes shivered through the hall. Khouryn took a breath, forgot about friendly banter, and readied himself to repeat news that was just about as grim as it could be.

“All hail Tarhun!” a different functionary called. And they all did, bowing and sweeping their hands outward as the vanquisher strode through a doorway at the back of the chamber.

The ruler of Tymanther was also its greatest warrior, and he looked it. He was taller and had broader shoulders than any of his subjects. He carried square bits of gold pierced under his eyes like teardrops, and his green hide was mottled where a dragonspawn’s fire had burned him. He was dressed in rugged leather.

“Rise,” he rumbled. “I’m sorry I made you wait. I was out flying.” He turned his gaze on Khouryn. “My good friend. Ordinarily I’d call your return a cause for celebration. But I understand it isn’t so.”

“No, Majesty,” Khouryn said. “I’m afraid not.”

“Then you’d better step forward and tell us all about it.”

Khouryn did his best, although he didn’t think his best was particularly good. He was neither a bard nor a schemer, and the tale was just too tangled. By the Finder-of-Trails, he wasn’t even sure that he fully understood it himself. He’d heard it only once, from Jhesrhi as they fled Tchazzar’s dungeons, and then he’d had the urgency of escape and the leftover pains of torture to distract him.

Still, it seemed that his audience understood at least a part of it. Enough to make them exclaim in shock and grow visibly more dismayed with every word.

When he finished, Tarhun shook his head. “I knew we were in danger of losing Chessenta’s friendship, but I never dreamed it would come to this.”

“If Shala Karanok were still on the throne,” Khouryn said, “it probably wouldn’t. But somehow, Tchazzar’s back, and he’s apparently a real dragon. The dragons are all playing a game; it’s worth a lot of points to conquer Tymanther-well, you heard it the first time I explained it.”

“Yes,” Tarhun said, “and mad as it seems, I believe it. It explains why Skuthosin moved against us at this particular point in time. But he’s yesterday’s problem. How will we counter this new one?”

“Fight,” rapped Fenkenkabradon Dokaan. The commander of the Lance Defenders was almost as hulking as Tarhun. He had bronze-colored scales and branching steel piercings sticking up from his temples like antlers. “Smash the Chessentans and Akanulans just like we broke Skuthosin and the ash giants.”

“Of course,” Tarhun answered, “we’ll prepare to the best of our ability and fight to the last warrior if need be. That’s our way. That’s how our forefathers won their freedom from wyrms every bit as terrible as Skuthosin and this Tchazzar. Still, we have to be realistic. Defeating the giants cost us. It’s hard to see how we can turn right around, fight Chessenta, Akanul, and Threskel all at once, and come out on top.”

Khouryn said, “There might be another way.”

Tarhun cocked his head. “If so, I’m eager to hear it.”

“Except for Medrash, Balasar, and Perra,” Khouryn said, “none of you know Captain Fezim. But he’s sharp. And as I understand it from Jhesrhi Coldcreek, when he found out about this game, he more or less analyzed the play, looking for a way to relieve the pressures that are driving the lands around the Alamber Sea to do what the dragons want.”

Tarhun nodded. “Go on.”

“Akanul is coming to attack you partly because its queen blames you for a series of raids and massacres. Thanks to Alasklerbanbastos, we now know that a gray dragon and his servants are really responsible. Aoth and others have slipped off to Airspur to prove it. If they do, maybe the genasi will pull out of the alliance with Chessenta.”

“And maybe not,” Dokaan said. “They hated us before this insanity ever began, before the Blue Fire ever scooped up our two kingdoms and dropped them here in Faerun. And even if they don’t come, I suspect the Chessentans still will.”

“And I suspect you’d be right,” Khouryn said, “if that were all of the plan.”

Balasar gri

Khouryn snorted. “That’s one way of putting it. Majesty, I remember when you asked High Imaskar for help against the giants. They said they couldn’t give it because creatures out of the Purple Dust were attacking their lands. According to Alasklerbanbastos, that, too, is a part of the game. A dragon named Gestanius created the crisis to cut you off from help.”

“The same Gestanius who was Skuthosin and Tchazzar’s ally hundreds of years ago?” Biri asked.

Khouryn shrugged. “I’m no authority on dragons, but that would be my guess. The important thing is, Alasklerbanbastos told my friends where to find Gestanius, and Jhesrhi told me. If some of us go to High Imaskar, join forces with the locals, and kill her, the attacks will stop, freeing up the Imaskari to come to your aid in return.”

“So if everything works,” Medrash said, “Tchazzar loses an ally, and we gain one. And faced with such a radical shift in the balance of power, he ought to call off the invasion.”

“Even if he doesn’t,” Khouryn said, “you’ll be in a much better position to fight him. By the Twin Axes, even if only half the plan works, you’re still better off.”

Dokaan shook his head. It made the little steel antlers glint. “Majesty, I don’t like it.”

“Why not?” Tarhun asked.

“Because it’s all based on the presumption that Alasklerbanbastos, who isn’t just a dragon but an infamous, undead one, told Captain Fezim and his companions the truth.”

“They had the means to wring it out of him,” Khouryn replied.

“Are you certain of that?” Dokaan asked. “Do you truly understand the magic involved?”

Khouryn shook his head. “Not a bit of it. But Jhesrhi said she does, and that’s good enough for me.”

“And I trust your judgment,” Tarhun said. “It was sound during the campaign against the giants. Still, I understand why Dokaan is reluctant to see anyone dispatched on such a… speculative mission. We’re likely to need every warrior we have to stand against the invaders.”

“Maybe not every warrior,” Medrash said. “The soldiers of the Platinum Cadre fought well against the giants, but the rest of the army still doesn’t trust them very far. That could limit their usefulness on this side of the sea. So why don’t Khouryn and I take them to High Imaskar?”

“Dokaan,” Tarhun said, “do you agree that’s a reasonable plan?”