The Edge of Chaos (32 page)

“You are most welcome, Duvan. You are a remarkable human. Don’t believe anyone who says otherwise. Despite the hardships you have endured, or perhaps because of them, you are unique and valuable.”

Duvan gave her an awkward grin. All those things may be true, he thought. And part of him appreciated that Tyrangal had made a point of mentioning them. But none of those things made losing his closest friend any easier.

Sadly, nothing Tyrangal could say would make the hurt of Slanya’s death go away. “I need to leave now,” she said. “But I hope to see you again soon.” And with that she vanished, leaving Duvan standing alone in the room.

S ***

Gregor paced the perimeter of the massive chamber one more time. There had to be a way out, just had to be. A domed, stone ceiling arched overhead, polished like red marble veined with black and green.

The floor was made of more of the same, smooth as glass except where ancient crates and piles of what looked like valuable sculptures and ceramics, embroidered pennants and crested armor drifted haphazardly. Gresror hadnt tried

to move the piles yet, to see if there were any exits through the floor, but that would come in time, if necessary.

The light in here seemed to come from crystals set into the domed ceiling high above, but if there was another source, such as windows to the outside, Gregor couldn’t tell. His flying abilities were lacking for the moment.

He chuckled, then caught himself. A few hours in here and he was already starting to lose his discipline. That was a bad sign.

But so far his diligent, methodical check of the room had revealed nothing. So far his adherence to order was doing him no good.

“Good to see you haven’t given up.”

The abrupt appearance of a very large dragon in the room startled Gregor. As it was no doubt supposed to do, he thought.

“Tyrangal?” he guessed.

Muscles rippled underneath heavy copper scales. Her batlike wings stretched for a moment before folding against her body. Her lips peeled back to reveal huge teeth. “Very good.”

“I saw you fall to the ground at the ritual. And watched as the plagueland swallowed you.”

“That wasn’t very enjoyable,” Tyrangal said. “But I survived, thanks to your elixir. I drank the rest of the cauldron just before the border broke down.”

Gregor smiled, determined not to show his fear. The horns that curved from her skull were as long and sharp as swords, and the disconcerting bitter smell of acid hung over her. “You’re welcome, then,” he said.

“We won, actually, if you haven’t heard.”

“I—” Gregor considered. “The last things I remember are the ritual failing and the border snapping back into place.”

“fin thanks to vou.” Tvraneal’s tone had erown mean.

Her claws scraped against the polished stone floor, the sharp sound raising the hairs on Gregor’s neck.

“I was pursuing a vision,” Gregor said, defensive. “The ritual could be used to reduce the size of the Plaguewrought Land and eventually contain all the remnants of the Spellplague.”

Tyrangal’s deep laugh rumbled through the cavern.

“You can laugh, but it is a noble vision. I thought it worth pursuing and even convinced High Priestess Kaylinn to move to Ormpetarr in pursuit of it.”

Tyrangal’s laughter cut abruptly off. “Yes, a noble vision, but a naive one. Your visions, my young monk, were sent to you by creatures who help shape the Order agenda.”

“What?” Gregor felt like he’d been kicked in the gut.

“The Order of Blue Fire has been sending you images of what you want to see. Ultimately, they were hoping that you’d join the Order, but at a minimum they just needed your elixir. And that, you happily supplied to them.”

Gregor’s gasped for breath. His dreams had been fabricated? He’d been manipulated?

“The Spellplague cannot be contained,” Tyrangal went on. “It is, in fact, a major feat that your elixir works at all, and that is the reason I helped you. That is the reason you are still alive.”

Suddenly, Tyrangal was standing next to him in human form. Her long, auburn hair shone brightly in the light from the crystals above, and her round, golden eyes appraised him kindly. “Let me show you something.” She reached out and touched him on the shoulder.

In a flash, the room disappeared. And suddenly the two of them stood side by side in a richly appointed chamber lined with bookshelves and reagent bottles. Gregor stepped back in shock; the books on the shelves were his books. The labels on the reagent bottles were written in his handwriting.

“TVe hrnucrht. vnnr lnh horo n she aaiA “T want wwi tr,

continue your work, but for me this time. Here you will be shielded from the influence of the Order, from their visions.”

Gregor looked around. If anything, this lab was better equipped than his own. “And if I refuse?”

Tyrangal stared into his eyes, and for a brief moment, her gold eyes became reptilian slits. Her tone, however, was matter-of-fact. “We live in dangerous times, Gregor. An epic battle is shaping. You can choose to be a part of it. Or through negligence, become a casualty. I don’t have a lot of patience for apathy.”

Gregor grimaced. It was clear that she would kill him in some way if he didn’t agree. “Such options! What are we working on?”

Tyrangal grinned. “I suspected you would listen to reason,” she said. “You are a pragmatic being. This location should be shielded enough so that you won’t get any confusing visions. Vraith may still be out there, and even if she’s dead, the Order of Blue Fire will replace her with another. There are big forces at work.”

Gregor nodded. So she wants help, he thought. And he realized that they were mostly on the same side. Perhaps he wouldn’t be compromising his ideals by helping her. Not that he had much choice.

“To begin with,” Tyrangal said, “we’ll need more of your elixir. And also, I think you’ll be interested in taking a look at this.” She indicated a thick tome lying on the table. “This is something that Duvan graciously acquired for me recently.”

Gregor stepped up to the table and looked closely at the heavy book. The cover was crafted from thick hide and inlaid with gold runes. “What is it?”

“When the goddess Mystra died,” Tyrangal said, “much old magic was lost. Many spells and powers that used her Weave no longer work. This tome contains some of the most powerful,

and I am only able to cast a small fraction of them in the current climate.” The dragon’s tone grew soothing, reassuring. “You have an extraordinary ability to infuse magic into your potions, Gregor. You understand how modern magic works.”

Gregor was somewhat confused, and apparently it showed on his face.

“There are some potion recipes in here,” Tyrangal said. “They are yours. I want you to figure out how to make them work now. And I want you to show me your process. I think you can teach me. Perhaps I can use your methodology to adapt the other spells to the modern rules of magic.”

“Ah,” Gregor said. “Well, I will try.” He tried to sound indifferent, but truth be told, he was quite intrigued by the tome. Perhaps this captivity would be interesting. “But I am curious…”

“Yes?”

“If I cooperate fully, how long do you intend to keep me prisoner here?”

“You have not shown me that you are trustworthy. You went against my counsel and aided the Order.”

Gregor lowered his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I can see now that I made a grievous error.”

“However,” Tyrangal continued, “I abhor slavery. I know what it is like to be overcome by passions and visions that compel you to do things you would otherwise not do. I have done things that I regret. For many years I was a victim of the Rage.

“I banished myself until it passed, until I could return with the ability to act as an intelligent and free creature. And that is what I hope to do for you here. Dry you out and free you of your obsession with these visions. Free you of your addiction.”

Gregor nodded. He had already started missing them.

“I believe that in time, your visions will fade from your mind. You have a strong will, Gregor. You did not join the

Order when that would have been the easy path. In large part, that is why I have invested so much in you. I believe you can be rehabilitated.”

Gregor took a deep breath, realizing that Tyrangal had not given him a time frame. She might never release him.

“And then, Gregor, when I have gained a measure of trust in you, I will free you.”

“Well at least that’s something to work toward,” he said with more enthusiasm than he felt.

“I have big plans, Gregor,” Tyrangal said. “You and I will make excellent partners.”

Gregor wondered if he could ever believe that.

“For now, take a look through the tome that Duvan brought me; I think you will find it very engaging. Meanwhile, I must leave you for a while. I have much to do, much to prepare for.” With that she teleported away, leaving him alone.

Gregor looked at the tome. Yes, he had to admit he was intrigued. But first, he started pacing the perimeter, looking for a way out. Just in case.

Duvan took a deep breath of morning air as he walked up the stone steps to the balcony. His bones ached as he took each step slowly. The healing hed gotten from Kaylinn’s personal care had been the best of his life, but there was only so much that magic could do to heal the trauma.

Some things only healed with the passage of time, and not enough time had passed. Not yet.

As he climbed the last step and approached the balcony’s edge, Duvan looked out across the expansive field that separated the temple complex from Ormpetarr. Despite the events of the past tenday, the walls of the city stood seemingly unchanged. Just another day, for most of inhabitants of the city.

Life went on.

The field below was remarkably barren. The pilgrims who had come for the Festival of Blue Fire were all either dead or scattered. Duvan hadn’t been back to the site of the ritual, but he suspected that it was a graveyard of pilgrims. A warning to others, perhaps.

But even as he thought this, he saw that the field was not entirely barren. A small group of new arrivals had arrived and were setting up their tents. These fresh pilgrims had come to try their chance at flirting with blue fire. When would people learn?

The aroma of sage and jasmine threatened to lull Duvan into a daze. The morning sun shining hot in the sky warmed him. And with that welcome heat, exhaustion started. Duvan shook himself, fighting the urge to sleep. It seemed like he had been sleeping constantly, and while he needed the rest, he was determined to get back on his feet. Now that he had a reason to live, he didn’t want to waste one minute of those he had remaining.

Footsteps sounded behind him, and Duvan turned lazily to see the familiar sight of Kaylinn climbing the last step to the balcony. Lines of fatigue showed deep in her broad face, but she smiled when she saw Duvan. “It’s good to see you up and about,” she said. “I am glad you are still with us.”

Duvan had to smile back. Despite the deep ache in his gut and chest, he felt connected to the world. “Thank you for healing me,” he said. “I am in your debt.”

“No, no.” Kaylinn shook her head. “We are in your debt, Duvan. Many owe their lives to you and Slanya.”

Duvan shrugged. “To Slanya, perhaps,” he said. “She’s the one who really made the effort, the sacrifice.”

Kaylinn’s face darkened. “It’s all right to be humble, young man,” she said. “But do not lie to a priest.”

“I just wish I could have done more,” Duvan said. “That I could have saved her.” Like she saved me. he thought.

“She died content and fulfilled,” Kaylinn said. “And part of that was due to you. It is what we do in our various lives that defines us. I can see that you grieve, Duvan. And that is natural. That is an acknowledgment that Slanya touched you.” She sniffed. “Just as she touched me and many others.”

Duvan remembered Slanya’s barging into his room at the Jewel, interrupting his time with Moirah. He remembered how angry he was at the intrusion. How surprised he was at Slanya’s determination. How much he’d grown to like her in the time since. Grown to love her.

“Don’t grieve too long, however,” Kaylinn said. “You’ve been grieving for your sister all your life—yes, Slanya told me some of that story. Let it pass. Celebrate the lives of the dead, then let them go. You must, if you’re going to make your own way.”

Duvan was too tired to muster any anger or even irritation at Kaylinn’s lecture. Besides, she was probably right.

“In any case,” Kaylinn said, “I came to tell you that Slanya’s funeral ceremony will begin shortly. I knew you would want to come to honor her. And to say good-bye.”

Duvan nodded. “Thank you,” he said. “I need to be there.”

“There are some appropriate garments on the chair in your room,” Kaylinn said. “Your own leathers are acceptable, but they are somewhat… um, how to put it? Filthy.”

Duvan laughed. “I will change.” Then he started walking back down the stone steps toward his room. When he found himself off-balance, he allowed Kaylinn to help him. The cleric walked all the way back to his room with him, steadying his balance with her reassuring hand.

Dressing took three times longer than it should have, but eventually with a great deal of help from Kaylinn, Duvan was clad in simple, black, linen pants and a tunic cinched at the waist with a white rope.

“Thank vou. Kavlinn.” he said. “Lead on.”

Duvan slipped on the sandals they had laid out for him and walked out of the room, leaning on Kaylinn when he needed it.

A special funeral pyre had been built in the center of the courtyard, and Slanya’s body lay on it. Draped over her body was cloth embroidered with Kelemvor’s scale. About thirty clerics and monks had gathered to pay their respects.

“Sister Slanya had no family,” Kaylinn said, raising her voice to address the entire group. “We were her family, and she was family to us.

“Of all the many sisters I have had, Slanya was my favorite. Resolute and ethical, she held to her code. She believed in order and in doing the right thing, despite the consequences.

“I shall miss her.”

Duvan stopped listening. He too would miss her. He too loved her.