think it’s already late in the year to start a new-”
“Because you dawdled in Threskel while I waited for you here!”
“Someone had to secure the north, or it would have been stupid to march south. But the fact remains, it’s already late to begin a new campaign. Your people will go hungry if no one harvests the crops. Cold and sickness will decimate your troops if we’re still in the field come winter. And without the genasi to support us, and with the Imaskari coming to oppose us, we will be.”
Aoth took a breath. “I’m not saying we can’t win. I am saying that some victories can be as ruinous as defeat.”
“I understand,” Tchazzar said, “that you’ve giving your honest professional opinion. But you don’t understand how High Lady Halonya will channel the power of the children’s faith to make me invincible.”
Gaedynn didn’t really know what that meant either, but it suddenly came to him that he might know what to say about it. “It’s not all bad, then,” he murmured, softly enough that it might seem he was talking to himself but loudly enough for Halonya to overhear. “Because if you don’t turn out to be invincible, at least you’ll know exactly who to blame.”
Halonya twitched as if he’d jabbed her with a pin. She hesitated for a heartbeat or two then said, “Majesty.”
“What?” Tchazzar snapped.
“I… I’ll be honest,” the high priestess said. “The lesser clerics and I might benefit from having more time to practice. To meditate and study. I… don’t want to disappoint you like Daelric did.”
Tchazzar shook his head. “I don’t know whether to laugh or rain down fire on you all. Does no one believe in me?”
Jhesrhi stepped up onto the dais. That could be viewed as an affront to Tchazzar’s royal dignity, but if he saw it that way, perhaps she mitigated the offense by kneeling and taking his hands in hers. Gaedynn’s own guts twisted as he imagined how that contact must sicken her.
“Everyone believes in you,” she said. “Especially Halonya and me. But it’s like I told you before: you don’t have to do this.”
“But I want to,” Tchazzar said, and for that moment, despite the menace he embodied, his manner reminded Gaedynn of a sulking child.
“Think of statecraft as a game,” Jhesrhi said. “Right now, you’re far ahead. You came back from a century of absence, reclaimed your throne, and conquered Threskel, all in the span of a few months. Is it time to make yet another big move and risk everything you’ve gained so far, or would it be shrewder to consolidate your position?”
Gaedynn tensed. She was trying to make Tchazzar think about xorvintaal without letting on that she knew of its existence. But if he sensed she did know-
Fortunately the Red Dragon let out a long sigh that surely signaled resignation, not wrath. “All right,” he growled. “You can all have it your way. The dragonborn can keep their miserable lives for a little longer.”
Gaedynn had to struggle to keep his mouth from stretching into a grin. Who would have believed it? Aoth’s mad scheme had actually worked. They’d prevented the war without openly defying Tchazzar or otherwise provoking him into a murderous rage.
Of course, that wasn’t the end of it. But, confirmed pessimist though he was, Gaedynn was willing to entertain the possibility that the worst might actually be over.
A provincial lord had brought his daughters to court to witness the splendors of the Red Dragon’s reign. Tchazzar hadn’t bothered to retain the fellow’s name or those of the girls either. But the latter were pretty, so he’d ordered them to his bed. Naked, trembling, their thighs bloody, they lay there and struggled not to flinch or cry out as he popped their blisters one by one with the fingernail he’d lengthened into a claw.
Like the deflorations that had preceded it, the pricking was amusement of a sort. But ultimately it failed to brighten his mood.
Nor did it help to remind himself, as Jhesrhi had, that he was a god, a monarch, and a conqueror, safe once more in the heart of his dominions. It was still maddening that his plan to invade Tymanther had fallen apart so quickly and completely. He felt like a dullard bewildered by some mountebank’s sleight of hand.
A white beeswax taper in one of the golden candelabra went out, and while twenty others still burned, that irked him too. Of late, he’d realized he preferred having his bed ringed with light and fire even when he slept, perhaps especially when he slept.
He sat up, relit the candle with the slightest whisper of fiery breath, and turned back to his companions. But the trick failed to elicit the expressions of wonder and admiration he was expecting. It only made the girls shiver all the more.
That annoyed him but aroused him too, as did the memory of their father’s helpless, stricken face. He bent down to kiss the younger daughter, the one with the chestnut hair and the freckles, and two more candles burned out.
That wasn’t right. The candles had melted only a fraction of the way down, and Tchazzar hadn’t felt a draft. He peered around.
More candles died in quick succession, and the shadows in the corners deepened even faster than the loss of the flames could explain. A chill and a rotten stink oozed through the air. The older, thinner, darker-haired daughter let out a whimper.
Tchazzar could only assume that Aoth Fezim and his company of incompetents hadn’t really eliminated the threat from Threskel after all. Fine; he’d attend to the chore himself. Vowing he wouldn’t freeze or falter-not in his own palace, curse it-heart pounding, he rolled out of bed. He grabbed the broadsword he’d left amid the torn and tangled garments on the floor, drew it, called flame into his throat, and armored himself in scales. They itched for an instant as they erupted from quasi-human skin.
Then a portion of one wall flickered with a ghostly phosphorescence, like heat lightning, and the smell of a rising storm mingled with the stink of decay. One of the humans sobbed.
And Tchazzar faltered after all, albeit for only an instant, because his intuition told him what was about to happen.
Speaking Draconic, Alasklerbanbastos’s voice whispered out of the inconstant glow. “I’m glad to see you getting over that childish fear of the dark.”
Tchazzar took a breath then answered in the same sibilant, polysyllabic language. “I didn’t realize you could make contact with the outside world while imprisoned in the phylactery.”
“I can’t,” said the undead blue. “But I’m out of the stone. I have been for a while. Your sellsword captain and his lieutenants released me.”
Tchazzar snorted. “That lie doesn’t even make sense. They risked their lives to put you in.”
“But along the way,” Alasklerbanbastos said, “they somehow guessed there was a dimension to our conflict hidden from human eyes. They resurrected me so I could reveal it to them.”
“And did you tell them about xorvintaal?”
“Yes.”
“Then you’ve betrayed all dragonkind!”
“Don’t talk like an imbecile. They had my phylactery. Fezim’s sunlady figured out how to use it to cause me unbearable pain. Anyone would have told. The important thing now is for us to deal with the situation.”
“ ‘Us’?”
“Just listen to me. After they learned about the Great Game, the humans decided we shouldn’t be allowed to manipulate our pawns into war. The idea offended them. The sun priestess claimed it offended her god. So in effect, Aoth Fezim started playing the game himself, with the ultimate goal of dismantling it. He and his allies delayed your march south while they convinced Queen Arathane to withdraw her support and the Imaskari to come to the aid of the dragonborn. Along the way, they killed Vairshekellabex and Gestanius.”
The younger daughter started scratching her breasts with her nails, breaking more of the blisters and drawing more blood. Alasklerbanbastos wasn’t even physically present. He was using a spell to speak from a distance. But just his voice and the mere intimation of his malice and unnaturalness were enough to madden the
