The Spectral Blaze

“Here’s the man we’ve all been waiting for,” Tchazzar said. “Thank you for coming so promptly.”

“Of course, Majesty,” Daelric said. “The messenger said it was urgent.”

“As it is,” the Red Dragon said. “Sunset waits for no one, as you surely know better than anybody. Come to the parapet, and we’ll enjoy it together.”

His round face a bland mask of agreeableness, the high priest did as he’d been told. Meanwhile, Tchazzar spotted Jhesrhi, gri

Once everyone had wine, they all stood and watched the sky in silence for a while. It should have been pleasant-or at least more restful than Tchazzar’s usual garrulity and rushing about. But perhaps it was precisely the fact that the dragon was quiet that made Jhesrhi feel edgier and edgier as the moments crawled by.

Finally, even though it went against her better judgment, she felt impelled to try to find out what was really going on. “This is very nice,” she said. “Just not what I expected.”

“We friends should cherish these moments together,” Tchazzar said, “now that there are only a few remaining.”

Jhesrhi glanced around at the other folk in the Red Dragon’s immediate vicinity. As far as she could tell, none of them knew what he meant either.

“Do you mean that these are the last few moments of peace before we go off to war?” she asked.

Tchazzar laughed. “Not at all! With the children’s prayers to bolster my power, the a

Though plainly startled, Daelric controlled himself well. His eyes only widened a little, and his body barely twitched. “I’m sure you can explain it better,” he said.

Tchazzar nodded. “Possibly so. Here it is, then: I’ve spoken with my little brother Amaunator. I told him what a curse the darkness is to Chessenta. I explained that we have specters committing atrocities, even within my own palace and against my own person, and I urged him to do something about it. Well, it took some convincing. He’s a traditionalist and, to be blunt, a little lazy too.” He winked at Daelric. “No offense. Anyway, in the end, he agreed to my plan.” He paused, perhaps to draw a question from his audience.

If so, Halonya obliged him. “What is your plan, Majesty?”

“Why, to put an end to night,” Tchazzar said. “That’s why we should enjoy the few sunsets we have left. Soon Daelric will lead all the sunlords and ladies of the realm in a great ritual. After that, the sun will hang perpetually at zenith, and it will be noon in Chessenta forevermore.” He turned back to the stocky high priest in his yellow vestments. “Isn’t that right, my friend?”

Daelric swallowed. “Majesty, this is… the first I’ve heard of this scheme.”

Tchazzar’s smile bent into a frown. “Don’t you commune with your god every day? What kind of priest are you?”

“I do indeed open myself to receive whatever the Keeper chooses to share with me,” Daelric said. “But if he shared this, I… didn’t comprehend it.”

“Majesty,” Jhesrhi said.

Tchazzar turned. “What is it, dear one?”

“You’re speaking of matters that are certainly beyond my comprehension as well. But is it possible that Amaunator didn’t tell Sunlord Apathos about this because he thought better of it? Think about it. If the sun shines on Chessenta every moment, won’t that be too much heat? Won’t it bake the land into a desert?”

“I’m sure Amaunator can adjust the heat,” Tchazzar said. “It’s fine if the sun burns cooler, just as long as it provides the same illumination.”

Halonya smiled. “Just think how the crops will grow with so much sunlight!”

Tchazzar smiled, threw his arm around her, and hugged her to his side. “Exactly! I knew you’d understand!”

Daelric took a long breath and stood up very straight, “Majesty, I beg you to hear me.”

“I’m listening,” Tchazzar said.

“I’m not capable of raising enough power to perform the miracle you seek. Nor would I know how to turn it to this particular purpose even if I could.”

“Don’t underestimate yourself! You have strengths you’ve yet to discover, and Amaunator will guide and support you every step of the way.”

“With all respect, Majesty… with all reverence for the god incarnate who blesses me by allowing me to talk with him in the flesh

… I don’t know how that can be so. Amaunator is a god of order. Of the orderly progression and marking of time. Night follows day, season follows season, and year follows year because he-”

Tchazzar whipped his hand from right to left. For an instant, as Daelric’s voice caught, it looked to Jhesrhi like the war hero’s fingertips had missed the priest’s neck by a hair. Then three redder lines appeared on Daelric’s ruddy skin.

“This is blasphemy!” Tchazzar snarled. “You’re defying me and your own patron deity too! Admit it!”

But Daelric was beyond admitting anything. He could only make little choking, gurgling sounds as he tottered and fumbled at his throat in a feeble attempt to keep the blood from pouring out and dying his golden robes crimson.

Tchazzar made a disgusted spitting sound. Then he struck again with a vertical sweep like an uppercut. His scaly hand was too large, as much a wyrm’s forefoot as a human extremity, and the talons drove into the underside of Daelric’s jaw and deep into his head. He then pivoted and flung the priest over the parapet as easily as a man could throw a ball.

Or rather, he flung most of him. Daelric’s head came apart and left the lower jaw stuck to his killer’s claws.

When Tchazzar noticed, he laughed. He shook the piece of gory flesh and bone loose and caught it before it could fall. Then he grabbed Hasos, pulled him close, held it right in front of the warrior’s own chin, and moved it up and down like a child making a puppet talk. “I’m Baron Hasos,” he said in a falsetto. “I’m Baron Hasos.”

Overcome with shock and revulsion, Hasos reflexively strained to pull free. Jhesrhi tensed, for that could have prompted the dragon to kill him too. But instead, Tchazzar simply let go. Hasos reeled backward with Daelric’s blood streaking his chin. He lost his balance and fell on his rump, and the war hero guffawed at his discomfiture.

Lord Luthen and some of the other more sycophantic courtiers joined in, but it sounded forced, and maybe Tchazzar noticed. Or maybe he noticed Nicos Corynian and the other folk who hadn’t managed a laugh.

In any case, he raked the whole assembly with his glare. “Daelric Apathos was a false priest and a traitor!” he shouted. “Who claims otherwise?”

No one did. Not even Jhesrhi, although it made her feel a flush of shame.

But the silence didn’t mollify Tchazzar. “Leave me!” he screamed. “If you’re here in ten heartbeats, you’ll burn!”

People gaped, then scrambled away. Some crammed themselves onto the nearest stairway. Others scurried toward the east side of the roof and the staircases there.

Jhesrhi was one of the latter, but unlike many of the courtiers, she wasn’t panicked. She was simply exercising prudence. And when she’d put some distance between the dragon and herself, she stopped and looked back.

His back to the sunset that had faded to a mere gleam of deep blue and crimson on the horizon, Tchazzar was sitting on a merlon. He was little more than a silhouette in the twilight, but Jhesrhi could tell he was slumped forward with his elbow on his knee and his hand covering his eyes.

It was a posture suggestive of weariness, regret, or even despair. It made her wonder if Lady Luck had given her one last chance to lead him away from cruelty and madness.

She knew she had every reason to doubt it. But she also remembered that he loved her, even if it was in a lustful, selfish way. He’d helped her and Gaedy