Richard Byers - The Spectral Blaze

As Son-liin understood it, that was because the wizard had undergone a transformation. Jhesrhi had become a creature of fire, like a red dragon or a salamander. Her magic somehow enabled her to contain the flame and heat, so she could wear clothing and other people could approach her without danger. But the raindrops dried as soon as they touched her.

“Majesty,” she said, “this isn’t fair. You declared amnesty for everyone who fought for Tchazzar.”

“And the witches will share in it,” Shala replied. “I’ll release them when order is restored. Although I am reinstating the old laws that regulated their conduct.”

“That’s not just either,” Jhesrhi said.

“We’ve just suffered through the harm they do when we don’t control them,” Shala snapped. “And I have too many urgent matters to address to argue the issue with you. The decision stands.”

As Hasos and the soldiers led the prisoners away, the mages glared at Oraxes and Meralaine. Traitors! their eyes screamed. Traitors!

The illusionist and the necromancer both flinched but looked dismayed for only a breath or two. It didn’t really matter that they no longer had a place in Luthcheq, even among the folk most Chessentans shunned. Like Son-liin, they’d found a new home among the Brotherhood.

It was Jhesrhi who, as she trudged back to her comrades, looked truly disconsolate. “So it really was all for nothing,” she sighed.

“The city just tore itself in two,” Gaedynn answered. “Shala figures folk need someone to blame if they’re to come together and be one people again. Since everyone already hates mages, they’ll do nicely.”

“It’s wrong,” Jhesrhi said.

“But nothing to do with you,” he said. “Not now that you’re back where you belong. What’s important is to leech the fire out of you, and we’ll figure out a way. Aoth can help. Meralaine and Oraxes, too, I expect.”

She simply looked at him for a moment. Then she said, “No. That isn’t what I want.”

“What are you talking about?”

“This change is the one thing that did work out. I’ve lived my life in dread of people… touching me. Now they can’t.”

“But that’s not ever how you wanted to be.”

“No, and the dissatisfaction only added to my misery because while my deformity was only in my mind, I couldn’t accept it. There were times when I all but drove myself crazy trying to overcome it.” She smiled a sad, little smile. “And drove you crazy while I was about it. But that’s over now. If I’m a freak inside and out, I have no choice but to learn to be content as I am. We finally have no choice but to be what we’ve always been and nothing more.”

“I won’t let you give up on yourself.”

“Damn you, you will never understand! It isn’t your choice to make!” She turned and stalked away.

You don’t need her, Son-liin thought. You need someone who will make you happy.

As she peered at the ceiling, Cera had an abstracted frown on her face. Aoth reared up from the bed, twisted, dug his fingers into her ribs, and tickled. She tried to squirm away or to grip and immobilize his wrists but could manage neither. He didn’t relent until she ran out of wind, and her helpless chortles changed to little puffs.

“That was cruel,” she wheezed.

“How so?” he replied. “You never hesitate to attack me if we’ve made love and then I don’t look all dazed and stupid with bliss for the rest of the night.”

“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 tunnels honeycombing the granite outcroppings around the central bowl, and he kept his eyes moving after Iron set him down on a ledge. He noticed Aoth, Jet, Gaedynn, Jhesrhi, Medrash, and Balasar doing the same.

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.