The Chaos Curse (3 page)

It was a solid plan, Danica knew, one that would likely spare Dorigen from a hangman’s noose.

Dorigen’s smile showed that she understood the plan’s merits as well. “Again you have my gratitude,” she offered. “I only wish that I believed myself worthy of it.”

Cadderly and Danica exchanged a knowing look, and neither was the least bit worried about splitting the party with a prisoner in tow. Dorigen was a powerful wizard, and if she had wanted to escape, she certainly could have done so by now. Over the weeks, she had not been bound in any way, and only in the first few days had she even been guarded. Never was there a more willing prisoner, and

Cadderly was confident that Dorigen would not try to escape- Even more than that, Cadderty was convinced that Dorigen would use her powers to aid Danica and Shayleigh if they got into trouble on the way to the library.

It was settled then, with no disagreements. Ivan and Pikel rubbed their hands together often and slapped each other on the back so many times that they sounded like a gallery at a fine performance. Nothing could set a dwarf to hopping like the promise of an unguarded dragon’s hoard.

Danica found Cadderly alone later that morning, while the others busied themselves for the journey. The young priest hardly noticed her approach, just stood on a clear patch of stone outside the cave, staring into the towering Snowflake Mountains.

Danica moved up and hooked her arm under Cadderly’s, offering him the support she thought he needed. To her thinking, Cadderly wasn’t ready to return to the library. No doubt, he was still in turmoil over the last incident with Dean Thobicus, when he had forcefully bent the dean’s mind to his bidding. Beyond that, with all that had happened-the deaths of Avery and Pertelope and the revelation that the evil wizard Aballister was, in truth, Cadderly’s own father-the young priest’s world had been turned upside down. Cadderly had questioned his faith and his home for some time, and though he had finally come to terms with his loyalty to Deneir, Danica wondered if he still had a hard time thinking of the Edificant Library as his home.

They remained silent for several minutes, Cadderly staring up into the mountains and Danica staring at Cadderly.

“Do you fear a charge of heresy?” the monk asked at length.

Cadderly turned to her, his expression curious.

“For your actions against Dean Thobicus,” Danica clarified. “If he has remembered the incident and realizes what you did to him, he will not likely welcome you back.”

“Thobicus will not openly oppose me,” Cadderly said.

Danica did not miss the fact that he had named the man without the man’s title, no small matter by the rules of the order and of the library.

“Though he most likely will have recalled much of what happened when last we talked,” the young priest went on, “I expect he will solidify his alliances… and demote or dismiss those he suspects are loyal to me.”

Despite the grim reasoning, there was little trepidation in Cadderly’s tone, Danica noted, and her expression revealed her surprise.

“What allies can he make?” Cadderly asked, as though that explained everything.

“He is the head of the order,” Danica replied, “and has many friends in the Oghman order as well.”

Cadderly chuckled softly and scoffed at the thought. “I told you before that Thobicus is the head of a false hierarchy.”

“And you will simply walk in and make that claim?”

“Yes,” Cadderly answered calmly. “I have an ally that Dean Thobicus cannot resist, one who will turn the priests of my order to me.”

Danica did not have to ask who that ally might be, Cadderly believed that Deneir himself was with him, that the deity had assigned him a task. Given the man’s powers, Danica did not doubt the notion. Still, it bothered Danica somewhat that Cadderly had become so bold, even arrogant.

“The Oghman priests will not become involved,” Cadderly went on, “for this does not concern them. The only contention I will see from them, and rightly so, will manifest itself after I unseat Thobicus as head of the Deneirian order. Bron Turman will contest me for the title of dean.”

“Turman has been a leader in the library for many years,” Danica said.

Cadderly nodded and seemed not at all bothered.

“His will be a powerful challenge,” Danica reasoned.

“It is not important which of us ascends to the position of dean,” Cadderly replied. “My first duty is to the order of Deneir. Once that is set aright, I will worry about the future of the Edificant Library.”

Danica accepted that, and again the two lapsed into long minutes of silence, Cadderly staring once more at the majestic Snowflakes. Danica believed in him, and in his reasoning, but she had trouble reconciling his apparent calmness with the fact that he was out here, standing in deep contemplation, instead of at the library. Cadderly’s delay revealed the true turmoil behind his cool facade.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked, and pressed her hand gently against the young priest’s cheek, drawing his gaze from the mountains.

Cadderly smiled warmly, touched by her concern.

“Up there is an unguarded hoard of treasure greater than anything in all the region,” Cadderly said.

“I’ve never known you to care much for material wealth,” Danica remarked.

Again Cadderly smiled. “I was thinking of Nameless,” he said, referring to a poor leper he had once met on the road outside Carradoon. “I was thinking of all the other Namelesses in Carradoon and all around Impresk Lake. The wealth of the dragon’s hoard might bring great good to the land.” He looked at Danica squarely. “The treasure might give all of those people names.”

“It will be more complicated than that,” Danica reasoned, for both of them knew well the equation of wealth and power. If Cadderly meant to share the riches with the impoverished people, he would find resistance among those “gentlefolk” of Carradoon who equated wealth with nobility and rank and used their riches to feel superior.

“Deneir is with me,” Cadderly said calmly, and Danica understood at that moment that her love was indeed ready for this fight, ready for Thobicus and all the others.

Several priests worked furiously over Kierkan Rufo on the cold, wet ground outside the Edificant Library’s front door. They wrapped him in their own cloaks, disregarding the chill wind of early spring, but they did not miss the brand on his forehead, the unlit candle above the closed eye, and even the Oghman priests understood its significance, that they could not bring the man into the library.

Rufo continued to gag and vomit. His chest heaved and his stomach convulsed, tightening into agonizing knots. Blue-black bruises erupted under the man’s sweating skin.

The Oghman priests, some of them powerful clerics, enacted spells of healing, though the Deneirians did not dare evoke the powers of their god in this man’s name.

None of it seemed to work.

Dean Thobicus and Bron Turman arrived together at the door, pushing through the growing crowd of onlookers. The withered dean’s eyes widened considerably when he saw that it was Rufo lying outside.

“We must bring him into the warmth!” one of the attending priests shouted to the dean.

“He cannot enter the library,” Bron Turman insisted, “not with such a brand. By his own actions was Kierkan Rufo banished, and the banishment holds!”

“Bring him in,” Dean Thobicus said unexpectedly, and Turman nearly fell over as he registered the words. He didn’t openly protest, though, Rufo was of Thobicus’s order, not his own, and Thobicus as dean, was well within his powers in allowing the man entry.

A few moments later, after Rufo was ushered through the crowd and Thobicus had gone off with the attending priests, Bron Turman came to a disturbing conclusion, an explanation of the dean’s words that did not sit well with the Oghman. Kierkan Rufo was no friend of Cadderly’s; in fact, Cadderly had been the one to brand the man. Had that precipitated the dean’s decision to let Rufo in?

Bron Turman hoped that was not the case.

In a side room, an empty chamber normally reserved for private prayers, the priests pulled in a bench to use as a cot and continued their heroic efforts to comfort Rufo. Nothing they did seemed to help; even Thobicus tried to summon his greatest healing powers, chanting over Rufo while the others held him steady. But, whether the spell had not been granted or Rufo’s ailment had simply rejected it, the dean’s words fell empty.

Blood and bile poured freely from Rufo’s mouth and nose, and his chest heaved desperately, trying to pull in air through the obstruction in his throat. One strong Oghman priest grabbed Rufo and yanked him over onto his belly, pounding at his back to force everything out.

Suddenly, without warning, Rufo jerked and turned so violently that the Oghman priest went flying across the room. Then Rufo settled on the bench and calmed strangely, staring up unblinkingly at Dean Thobicus. With a weak hand, he motioned for the dean to come closer, and Thobicus, after looking around nervously, bent low, putting his ear near the man’s mouth.

“You… you invi… vited me,” Rufo stammered, blood and bile accompanying every word.

Thobicus stood up straight, staring at the man, not understanding.

“You invited me in,” Rufo said clearly with his last bit of strength. He began to laugh then, weirdly, out of control, and the laughter became a great convulsion, and then a final scream.

None in attendance remembered ever seeing a man die more horribly.

“Quiet down, both of you!” Cadderly scolded. “Oo,” replied Pikel, and he seemed honestly wounded. Cadderly, thoroughly flustered, didn’t notice the look. He continued his scan of the ruined mountain, amazed that the opening-an opening large enough to admit a dragon with its wings spread wide-was no more.

“You are sure that it is not just snow?” Cadderly asked, to which Ivan stamped his boot, dislodging a chunk of snow from above that fell over him and Pikel.

Pikel popped up first, snow sliding off the edges of the flopping, wide-brimmed hat he had borrowed from Cadderly, and was ready with another slap when Ivan reappeared.

“If ye don’t believe me, go in there yerself.” Ivan bellowed, pointing to the snow mass. “There’s stone in there. Solid stone, I tell ye! That wizard sealed it good with his storm.”

Cadderly put his hands on his hips and took a deep breath. He recalled the storm Aballister had sent to Nightglow, the wizard thinking that Cadderly and his friends were still there. Aballister had no way of knowing that Cadderly had enlisted the aid of a hostile dragon and was many miles closer to Castle Trinity.

Looking at the destruction, at the side of a mountain torn asunder by hurled magic, Cadderly was glad that Aballister’s aim had been misplaced. That did little to comfort the young priest now, though. Inside this mountain waited an unguarded dragon hoard, a treasure that Cadderly would need to see his plans for the Edificant Library, and for all the region, realized. This had been the only major door, though, the one opening they could push carts through to extract the treasure before the next winter’s snows.

“The whole opening?” Cadderly asked Ivan.

The yellow-bearded dwarf started to respond in his typically loud voice, but stopped and looked at his brother (who was readying yet another slap), and just growled instead. Ivan had bored through the wall of snow for more than an hour, pushing in blindly at several locations until the rock wall behind the snow curtain inevitably turned him away.

“We’ll go around.” Cadderly said, “to the hole on the mountain’s south face that first got us into the place.”

“It was a long walk between that hole and the dragon hoard.” Ivan reminded him. “A lung walk through tight tunnels, and even a long drop. I’m not for knowing how ye’re planning to bring a treasure out that way!”

“Neither am I,” Cadderly admitted. “All I know is that I need the treasure, and I’m going to find some way to get it!” With that, the young priest walked off along the trail, in search of a path that would lead him around Nightglow’s wide base.

“He sounds like a dwarf,” Ivan whispered to Pikel.

After Pikel’s ensuing “Hee hee hee” brought down the next mini-avalanche, it was Ivan’s turn to do the head-slapping.

The trio arrived on the south face early the next morning. Climbing proved difficult in the slippery, melting snow. Ivan got almost all the way to the hole (and was able to confirm that there was indeed a hole in this side of the mountain) before he slipped and tumbled, turning into a dwarven snowball and bowling Cadderly and Pikel down the hill with him.

“Stupid priest!” the dwarf roared at Cadderly when the three sorted themselves out far down the mountainside. “Ain’t ye got some magic to get us up this stupid hill?”

Cadderly nodded reluctantly. He had been trying to conserve his energies since their departure from Castle Trinity. Every day he had to cast spells on himself and his companions to ward off the cold, but he had hoped that would be the extent of his exertion until he returned to the library. Cadderly was more tired than he had ever been. His trials, especially against Aballister and Fyren-tennimar, had thoroughly drained him, had forced him to delve into magical spheres that he did not understand and, by sheer willpower, bring torth dweomers that should have been far beyond his capabilities. Now young Cadderly was paying the price for those efforts. Even the weeks of relative calm, holed up in the cave, had not rejuvenated him. He could still hear Deneir’s song in his head, but whenever he tried to access the greater magic, his temples throbbed, and he felt that his head would explode.

Pertelope, dear Pertelope, who alone had understood the obstacles facing Cadderly as a chosen priest of the god of the arts, had warned Cadderly about this potential side effect, but even Pertelope had admitted that it seemed as though Cadderly had little choice in the matter, that the young priest was facing enemies beyond anything she had ever seen.

Cadderly closed his eyes and listened for the notes of Deneir’s song, music taught him from the Tome of Universal Harmony, his most holy book. At first he felt a deep serenity, as though he were returning home after a long, difficult journey. The harmonies of Deneir’s song played sweetly in his thoughts, leading him down corridors of truth and understanding. Then he purposely opened a door, turned a mental page from his recollections of the most holy book and sought a spell that would get him and his friends up the mountain.

Then his temples began to hurt.

Cadderly heard Ivan calling him, distantly, and he opened his eyes just long enough to take hold of Pikel’s hand and grab hold of Ivan’s beard when the confused and suspicious Ivan refused Cadderly’s offered grasp.

Ivan’s protests intensified into desperation as the three began to melt away, becoming insubstantial, mere shadows. The wind seemed to catch them, and it carried them unerringly up the mountainside.

Pikel was cheering loudly when Cadderly came out of his trance. Ivan stood still for a long while, then began a tactile inspection, as if testing to see if all of his tangible mass had been restored.

Cadderly slumped in the snow beside the small opening in the hill, collected his wits, and rubbed the sides of his head to try to alleviate the throbbing. It wasn’t as bad as the last time he had tried a major spell. Back in the cave he had tried, and failed, to make mental contact with Dean Thobicus to ensure that no invasion force was marching north toward Castle Trinity. It wasn’t so bad this time, and Cadderly was glad of that. If they could get their business done quickly, and if the weather held, the three would be back at the Edificant Library within two weeks. Cadderly suspected that there waited his greatest challenge yet, one that he would need the song of Deneir to combat.

“At least there’s no stupid dragon waiting in there this time.” Ivan huffed, and he moved up to the entrance. The last time Cadderly and the others had come to this spot, a fog enshrouded the area and all the snow near the hole had been melted away. The air was still warm inside the hole, but not nearly as oppressive, and ominous, as when Fyrentennimar had been alive.

Pikel tried to push Ivan aside, but the yellow-bearded dwarf held his ground stubbornly, showing that he was more intrigued by the prospects of a dragon’s hoard than he let on. “I’m going in first,” Ivan insisted. “Ye’ll follow by twenty paces,” he explained to Pikel. “So that I can call to yerself, and ye can call to Cadderly.”

Pikel’s head bobbed in agreement, and Ivan started for the hole. He considered it for just a moment, then removed his helmet and tossed it to Cadderly.

“Ivan,” the young priest called, and when Ivan turned back, the young priest tossed him a short metallic tube.

Ivan had seen this item, one of Cadderly’s many inventions, before, and he knew how to use it. He popped off the snug cap on its end, allowing a beam of light to stream forth. There was a disk inside the tube, enchanted with a powerful light-giving dweomer, and the tube was really two pieces of metal. The outer tube, near the end cap, could be turned along a corkscrew course, lengthening or shortening the tube, thus tightening or widening the beam of light.

Ivan kept the focus narrow now, since the tunnel was so constricted that the broad-shouldered dwarf had to often turn sideways to squeeze through, so narrow that Pikel reluctantly gave Cadderly back his wide-brimmed hat before entering.

Cadderly waited patiently for many minutes, his thoughts lost in the anticipated confrontation with Dean Thobicus. He was glad when Pikel reappeared in search of rope, knowing then that Ivan had made it through the tightest of the tunnels and had come to the vertical shaft that would take him to the same level as the dragon treasure.

Twenty minutes later, both dwarves came bobbing out of the hole, Ivan shaking his head.

“It’s blocked,” he announced- “I can get down to the big room under the shaft, but there’s nowhere to go from there. I’m thinking we might be better in trying to cut through that front door.”

Cadderly blew a deep sigh.

“I’ll call for me kin,” Ivan went on. “Of course, it’ll take’em the bulk of the next two seasons to get down from Vaasa, and then we’ll have to wait for the next winter to blow over…”

Cadderly tuned out as the dwarf rambled on. By conventional means, it might take years to extract the dragon treasure, and the delay would bring about some unexpected obstacles. Word of Fyrentennimar’s demise would spread fast throughout the land, and most of the peoples in the region, of races both good and evil, knew that the dragon resided in Nightglow Mountain. The fall of a dragon, especially one that had sat for centuries on a legendary treasure hoard, always brought scavengers.

Like me, Cadderly thought, and he chuckled aloud at the self-deprecating humor. He realized then that Ivan had stopped talking, and when he looked up, he found both dwarves staring at him intently.

“Fear not, Ivan,” Cadderly said, “you’ll not need to summon your kin.”

“They would take a bit o’ the treasure for their own,” Ivan admitted. “By the gods, they’d probably set up a keep right inside the mountain, and then we’d be hard pressed to get a single copper outta them!”

Pikel started to laugh, but caught himself and turned a stern look on Ivan, realizing that his brother was serious, and probably correct.

“I’ll get us into the mountain, and well have plenty of help from Carradoon when the time comes to take out the treasure,” Cadderly assured them both. “But not now.”

The young priest let it go at that, thinking that the dwarves need know no more. His next task, he knew, was to get to the library, to put things spiritually aright. Then he could concentrate on the treasure, could come back here rested and ready to clear the path magically for the foragers.

“This place is important to ye,” Ivan remarked. Cadderly looked at the dwarf curiously, more for the tone Ivan had used than the specific words.

“More important than it should be,” Ivan went on. “Ye always had money, particularly since ye penned that spellbook for the frantic wizard, but ye never seemed to care so much for money.”

“That has not changed,” Cadderly replied.

“Eh?” Pikel squeaked, echoing Ivan’s sentiments exactly. If Cadderly had no care for money, then why were they up here in the middle of the dangerous mountains, freezing their stubby feet off?

“I care about what this treasure might bring for us all,” Cadderly went on.

“Wealth,” Ivan interrupted, eagerly rubbing his strong hands together.

Cadderly looked at him sourly. “Do you remember that model I kept in my room?” the young priest asked, more to Pikel than Ivan, for Pikel had been particularly enchanted with the thing. “The one of the high, windowed wall with the supporting buttress?”

“Oo oi!” Pikel roared happily in reply.

“Ye’re thinking to rebuild the library,” Ivan reasoned, and the dwarf blew a huff of spittle into the frosty air when Cadderly nodded. “If the burned thing ain’t broke, then why’re ye meaning to fix it?” Ivan demanded.

“I am thinking to improve it,” Cadderly corrected. “You yourself have witnessed the strength of the model’s design, and that with soaring windows. Soaring windows, Ivan, making the library a place of light, where books might truly be penned and read.”

“Bah! Ye’ve never done any building,” Ivan protested. “That much I know. Ye’ve no idea of the scope of the structure ye’re planning. Humans don’t live long enough for ye to see yer new… What was it ye once called that thing?”

“A cathedral,” Cadderly answered.

“Humans won’t live long enough to see yer new cathedral even half finished,” Ivan went on. “It’ll take a full clan of dwarves a hundred years…”

“That does not matter,” Cadderly answered simply, stealing Ivan’s bluster. “It does not matter if I see the completion, only that I begin the construction. That is the cost of, and the joy of, faith, Ivan, and you should understand that.”

Ivan was back on his heels. He hadn’t heard such talk from any human before, and he’d known many humans in his day. The dwarves and the elves were the ones who thought of the future, who had the foresight and the good sense to blaze the trail for their ancestors to walk. Humans, as far as most of the longer-living races were concerned, were an impatient folk, a group that had to see material gains almost immediately to maintain any momentum or desire for a chore.

“You have heard recently of Bruenor Battlehammer,” Cadderly went on, “who has reclaimed Mithril Hall in the name of his father. Already, by all reports, the work has begun in earnest to expand on the halls, and in this generation, those halls are many times larger than the founders of that dwarven stronghold could ever have imagined when they first began cutting the great steps that would become the famed Undercity. Isn’t that the way with all dwarven strongholds? They start as a hole in the ground, and end up among the greatest excavations in all the Realms, though many generations-dwafven generations!-might pass.”