The Spectral Blaze

“That’s different,” she said and apparently considered that answer enough.

“So what were you brooding about?” he asked.

“Chessenta and High Imaskar,” she said. “Tymanther and Akanul. They still hate each other. Even without dragons manipulating them, they’ll end up fighting eventually. So what was the point of what we did? Why did the Keeper even care?”

“Well,” said Aoth, “when they do fight, at least they’ll do it because they choose to and not because dragons tricked them into it. They won’t wage war so often and savagely that they’ll lay waste to the East and open the door for the wyrms to conquer it all. In addition to which, we united Chessenta and Threskel and weakened the Church of Tiamat hereabouts. All that’s something, isn’t it?”

She smiled. “Spoken like a true champion of the Yellow Sun.”

He snorted. “I told you, I was never really working for Amaunator. I wanted to preserve the Brotherhood and restore our reputation and I did. Everybody knows about the victories we’ve won lately. I’ve got warriors from all the other mercenary companies in Luthcheq asking to join. I’ve got the gratitude of the crowned heads of Chessenta, Tymanther, Akanul, and High Imaskar. They’ll all bid for my services when they’re ready to go to war again.”

Cera smiled and shook her head, and one of her tousled, yellow curls flopped down on her forehead. “I know that’s not the only reason you did it.”

He took a breath. “You’re right, but it still wasn’t to please a god, except maybe indirectly. I understand that you couldn’t even think about giving up your responsibilities here when everything was turning to dung. But now that it’s not, will you come away with me when it’s time to move on?”

She just looked at him for a heartbeat. Then she said, “With Daelric dead, some people are saying I should be the sunlady of Chessenta.”

He sighed. “Oh.”

“But I haven’t said yes! I have to meditate and pray. Figure out what I want and what Amaunator wants.” She touched his cheek. “And whatever that turns out to be, we’re together here and now.”

He smiled. “We are at that.” He took hold of her hand and kissed her fingertips.

Khouryn studied the crags of Dracowyr as he and his comrades spiraled down from above. As far as he could see, no enemy was lying in ambush, but that didn’t necessarily rule it out. According to Chelnadatilar and the gem wyrms, there was room for dozens of dragons and hundreds of their servants to lurk in the tu

But nothing lunged out and attacked them. Instead, a smell of smoke and combustion suffused the air, and a pair of luminous red eyes appeared in the mouth of one of the caves. “Some of you don’t belong here,” whispered a sibilant voice.

“They’re here because dragons invited them,” replied Astanalan. Even in the fading twilight, his flesh gleamed as if he truly were made of emerald. “Come out, Brimstone. We have matters to discuss.”

A wyrm with red flecks mottling his charcoal-colored scales stalked out onto a shelf of his own, where the stone behind him blocked the rays of the setting sun. A dragonborn walked beside him with a staff canted over her shoulder. Khouryn assumed she was Ananta, guardian of the earthmote.

Brimstone turned his head without haste, taking in the assortment of dragons, warriors, wizards, griffons, and other winged steeds looking back at him from various points around the natural amphitheater. His gaze settled on Aoth and Cera. “You’re the ones who trespassed on the conclave,” he said.

“Yes,” said Aoth.

“Then your deaths are worth a bonus,” Brimstone said. He looked at the other dragons. “It was skillful play to betray Alasklerbanbastos and Tchazzar and get these folk to help you kill them. But there are still plenty of points to be earned for slaughtering them and so protecting the game.”

Khouryn gripped his axe and looked around to see if any of the wyrms would take Brimstone up on his offer. None did. They just stared back at him.

“No?” the vampire asked. “No one? I realize you imagine the paladin has freed you from some sort of enchantment. But surely you remember the beauty of the game, the fascination. How alive you felt as you crafted your strategies.”

“We do,” Domborcojh rumbled. The sapphire dragon held his truncated foreleg bent, with the stump well off the ground. “But a poison can taste sweet.”

“We acknowledge you as one of the saviors of our kind,” Chelnadatilar said. “That and the sanctity of Dracowyr are the reasons we didn’t simply attack you.”

Brimstone gri

“Don’t posture,” rapped the gold. “We recognize that we owe you a debt. But even the benefactor who freed us from one madness can’t be allowed to afflict us with another.”

“In other words,” said Aoth, “end the game. Dissolve the spell you cast on the other players.”

“You may find,” Brimstone whispered, “that many of them will want to play regardless.”

“Then what a pity,” said Aoth, “that the contest can’t continue without its judge and scorekeeper, a role you’ll abandon and never take up again. Otherwise we’ll hunt you down and kill you.”

Brimstone chuckled. “Well. When you put it that way. Give me a moment.”

Hissing words of power, he scratched glyphs in the rock beneath his forefoot. Each flared red, white, blue, green, or somehow black, as he completed it. Khouryn watched the smoke drake even more intently than before because he had no idea what the creature was doing, although he took some reassurance from the fact that Jhesrhi, Aoth, and the other mages looked vigilant but not alarmed.

As Brimstone inscribed the final rune, power rushed outward like a ripple in a pond where someone had dropped a stone. Khouryn couldn’t see it or feel it in any normal way because, he supposed, it jolted his spirit and not his flesh. But it rocked him back even so.

“There,” Brimstone said. “Are you satisfied?”

Balasar turned to Medrash and asked, “Are we?”

“Yes,” the paladin said. “I felt Tiamat’s power wither.”

“Then I should think we’re done,” Brimstone said, “and I can feel that the sun has slipped below the horizon. So if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be off.”

“Give us one more moment,” said Aoth.

“Yes?”

“You don’t seem all that upset that we wrecked the game.”

“I rarely explain myself to lesser creatures,” Brimstone said. “But just for fun, let’s imagine that I wasn’t really the impartial arbiter of the tournament. Let’s suppose I was playing too, and my goal was to kill or at least weaken Tchazzar, Skuthosin, Gestanius, and Alasklerbanbastos.

“That would make sense, wouldn’t it? They were the most powerful wyrms in this part of the world. There wasn’t much chance that anyone else would achieve preeminence among dragons with them squatting on top of the heap.

“But now they’re not. And what if it’s because I manipulated my own chosen pawns into eliminating them without said pawns ever even suspecting they were working for me? Then I wouldn’t have any reason to feel disheartened, would I?”

“Is that what happened?” asked Aoth.

“Oh, no, of course not. As Chelnadatilar quite properly observed, I’m the savior of dragonkind, and how could a savior stoop to cheating? Watch out for Alasklerbanbastos, Captain. If you didn’t destroy his phylactery, he might return one day.” Brimstone leered. “Come to think of it, so might I, and perhaps on that night, you won’t have such a formidable assembly of allies standing ready to assist you.”