The Spectral Blaze

“Well,” Tchazzar continued, surveying them all, “here we are again, facing the same a

After a moment, Jhesrhi decided it wasn’t just a rhetorical question. He was actually waiting for an answer. But no one knew what to say, or else those who did feared to draw the dragon’s attention to themselves.

Finally, looking like an overfed canary in his yellow vestments, Daelric cleared his throat and said, “Majesty, the brightest light casts the deepest shadows. When one studies the Keeper’s sacred texts-”

“Fire and blood!” Tchazzar screamed. “Did you think I was asking for platitudes? Not one word more! Or you can try studying the sacred texts without eyes and prattling about what you find there without a tongue!”

Daelric’s round, ruddy face turned a shade paler. He bowed and stepped back among his fellow clerics, who in some cases edged away from him as though Tchazzar’s displeasure were contagious.

Jhesrhi supposed that if anyone could calm the dragon, or at least encourage him to get to the point, it would be either Halonya or herself. And for once, the prophetess didn’t appear on the quivering verge of blurting something out. Although she did appear to be trying to maintain a grave expression to mask an underlying eagerness.

So Jhesrhi guessed it was up to her. “Majesty,” she said, “I ask you to remember that others don’t see as far or clearly as you.” As usual, she felt awkward and a little dirty concocting the kind of fulsome, roundabout speech such moments required. “But if you tell us what’s angered you, maybe we can help to find a remedy.”

Tchazzar shocked her by baring his pinkish teeth in a sneer. “Do you truly not know, my lady?”

Jhesrhi took a breath. She wanted to be sure her voice remained steady. “No, Majesty, I don’t.”

“Yet I’m sure you know how the storm damaged the supply cache.”

“Of course. But I don’t understand how that piece of bad luck co

“Liar!” Halonya shrieked, reverting to form.

Flame rippled up Jhesrhi’s staff, and judging that it was better to look angry than scared, she let it burn as it would. “Majesty, I can’t tell you how sick I am of having this harpy fly at me with one false accusation after another.”

“I’m sure,” Tchazzar said. “I was tired of it myself because you convinced me she was mistaken. But you know how to command the spirits of the air, and it was a great wind that ruined the supplies.”

“Great winds have been known to blow of their own accord in the middle of great storms,” Jhesrhi said, doing her best to sound scornful. “Is that all there is to the charge against me? That, and Halonya’s spite?” If so, then maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

But the Red Dragon said, “No, milady. Actually, there is a little more. You see, much as I resisted them, I’d already begun to have doubts about you. You’d… disappointed me in certain respects. And when I shared those doubts, the wyrmlady convinced me to set a spirit to spy on you. If it reported you were behaving as you ought, as I profoundly hoped you were, that would ease my mind. And if it reported something else, well…” He shrugged.

Inwardly Jhesrhi cursed herself for not fleeing as soon as she killed the spined devil. “And what has your spy reported?” she asked.

“Nothing,” Tchazzar said. “It didn’t keep its rendezvous with the wyrmkeeper who called it out of the Hells.”

“Then we’re back where we started,” Jhesrhi said. “There’s not a particle of evidence against me, just a jealous snake dribbling venom in your ear.”

“The fiend was invisible,” Halonya said. “It would take someone with knowledge of the wicked arts to detect and kill it.”

“Not if it simply slipped its leash and went home,” Jhesrhi said. “Those of us ‘with knowledge of the wicked arts’ understand that happens from time to time. Majesty, I’ll point out again that there isn’t a trace of proof to support these slanders, and then I’ll entrust myself to your sense of justice.”

“Actually,” Tchazzar said, “there might be a smidge of evidence. Hold up the item for everyone to see.”

One of the wyrmkeepers in Halonya’s entourage stepped forward, shook out a piece of gray cloth, and raised it high. Jhesrhi felt a jolt of alarm as she recognized the cloak she’d worn the night she destroyed the spinagon. Someone had evidently searched her quarters and found the garment where she’d tucked it away in the bottom of a trunk.

“It is yours, isn’t it?” Tchazzar asked. “I believe I saw you wear it shortly after we met.”

Jhesrhi wouldn’t deny it, then, not in so many words. “It does look like mine, Majesty. But so what?”

“The creature sent to watch you was a spinagon. If it threw its quills at someone wearing this garment, they would have left holes with burned edges in the wool.” Tchazzar looked at the dragon priest. “Stick your fingers through so people can see where they are.”

Jhesrhi forced a smile. “If there’s one thing Your Majesty knows about me, it’s that I often conjure fire.”

“But I’ve never seen it burn your clothes.”

“I wasn’t always as good at my craft as I am now.”

“That makes some sense. It would make more if I’d noticed the holes before. Or if the cape hadn’t still been damp when Halonya’s man found it, like you’d recently worn it out in the rain.”

Jhesrhi’s heart was pounding so hard that she feared Tchazzar’s keen draconic ears would hear and that the sound would agitate him further. “Majesty, you’re shrewd enough to understand that the appearance of guilt can be manufactured.”

“That argument is starting to appear as threadbare as the cloak.”

“Majesty, I’m the one who-” She remembered that he didn’t want to be reminded, even obliquely, that he’d twice needed her to save him. “I mean… I know how I’ve ‘disappointed’ you. I’ve disappointed myself too. You can’t imagine how much I wish we were… further along. But still, you know I’ve given you more than I could ever give to any other. You know that if you’ll just be patient, our time will come.”

“Slut!” Halonya shrilled. “When her lying tongue fails, she dangles her body in front of you!”

“Yes,” Tchazzar said, “I’m afraid that is what she’s doing.” Tears started from his slanted, golden eyes and cut cha

“And how can you deceive and torture me,” Tchazzar continued, “when you know I love you? When I gave you everything! When you were one of the only two people I trusted! I should kill you!” He twisted to glare at Hasos. “And the false knight who vouched for you!” His gaze jumped to Nicos Corynian. “And the treacherous counselor who brought you to Chessenta in the first place.”

Tchazzar sprang up from the throne. “I should clean out this whole corrupt, ungrateful court and start fresh!” he shouted. “Finish the liberation of Chessenta by wiping out the cruel, greedy dastards who oppress it from within! The people will sing me hymns of praise! They’ll laugh and pelt you with stones and dung as you crawl naked and bleeding to the gallows! They’ll-”

“Oh, for the love of all the gods,” Shala said.

Tchazzar gaped at her, for the moment at least, seemingly less furious than dumbfounded that anyone had dared to interrupt.

“And lest there be any doubt,” the former war hero continued, “I was referring to the real gods. I’m willing to stick up for them even if these cowards won’t.” She indicated the high priests with a contemptuous flick of her hand.

“You’ve gone mad,” Tchazzar said.

Shala sneered. “Coming from you, that’s comical. No, Majesty, I’m not insane. I’m just bored with your tantrums. Will it bring this one to an early end if I confess that I killed the spina-whatever-it-was?”