The Edge of Chaos (13 page)

In fact, one of the reasons that the funeral pyre was so near the temple complex’s walls was because the smoke was far more pleasant than the reek of decay, refuse, and feces. Choosing between the lesser of evils was not Gregor’s preferred mode of operation, but in these times and in this location, it would have to do.

Gregor turned from the balcony and retired to his study, using the peacefulness of the monastery to center himself. Abruptly, the images came to him. They always came when he least expected it and took over his mind.

In this vision, Gregor walked at the head of a large crowd of pilgrims, part of a small group that led them into the Plaguewrought Land. There were hundreds of pilgrims, each one drinking Gregor’s draught, his perfect concoction. They formed an arc in front of a wave of blue fire, which raced like wildfire toward them.

The pilgrims formed a wall with their bodies, catching the wave of spellplague, and as they moved to complete the circle, capturing it. Containing the chaos. Bringing order to the Plaguewrought Land’s wildness.

His elixir kept them alive. His creation made it possible for ordinary people to help make sudden spellplague storms and appearances harmless. He was rendering the most wild and chaotic force in all of Faerun impotent. The vision faded, leaving him feeling euphoric and wanting more.

The visions seemed to be coming from outside him. And they weren’t a prediction of the future, he knew, but more of a divine guidance, the hand of Oghma providing direction. The visions helped shape his decisions, showing him what to strive for and which path to take. They had started sometime after he got his spellscar, after that morning he had awakened with a cloud of spellplague hovering next to his simple bed, back before he had come to Ormpetarr. The visions had started subtly, like waking dreams. Over time, they had grown in strength and frequency.

As he reached the door to his study, he saw Kaylinn approaching. He took a deep breath to compose himself. “Yes, Priestess?”

Kaylinn gave a short bow. “There is a group here from the Order of Blue Fire,” she said. “They want to speak with you, and they’re quite demanding.”

Gregor noted Kaylinn’s tone. She was suspicious of the Order. “Have they said or done anything offensive?”

Kaylinn’s look softened a bit. “Not really. Just arrogance, perhaps. As much as they claim to strive for the betterment of all people, they aren’t guided by the same principles that we are. I find their charitable activities to be more self-serving than altruistic.”

Gregor nodded. Kaylinn was a very astute observer and her judgment had been a good guide for both him and the monastery for years. “I understand,” he said.

“I advise caution in your dealings with them, Brother Gregor,” she said, concern on her face. “I don’t profess to understand the intricacies of your projects, and you have always been trustworthy, but don’t let yourself be manipulated.”

“I am exercising great care in this,” Gregor said. “But I envision a great revolution in how people regard the changelands. No longer will they fear them. No longer will their loved ones disappear without warning, or worse, end up as plaguechanged monsters. I am on the verge of achieving that vision, and unfortunately collaboration with the Order of Blue Fire is required for me to proceed.”

Kaylinn frowned. “Collaboration is a good thing,” she said. “But do not be blinded by your vision. Ends do not justify means, Brother Gregor.”

“Of course,” he demurred. “Thank you for your sagacity. As usual, your view is wise.”

The high priestess gave a small smile. “I worry about you,” she said. “You have been … distracted. I worry that you’re driving yourself too hard.”

Gregor gave his most earnest smile. “I have never felt this clear-headed,” he said. “And I am close to the end. We are doing great good here on the changelands border.”

“That’s true,” Kaylinn said, with a nod. “Very well, I will stop worrying. Where will you meet them?”

“In here is fine, but I can escort them back.”

“No, no. I’ll get them.”

“Many thanks.”

After Kaylinn left, Gregor opened the ledger which showed the numbers and mortality rates of the pilgrims who had tested the latest elixir. Gregor paged past all the other experiments. Hundreds of pilgrims had been tested, and five different elixirs, their data compared with that of the false elixirs.

The last formula had a twenty-onefold increase in survivability, while those taking the false elixir fared in the usual range. Gregor smiled. Numbers didn’t lie.

The door opened again. Following Kaylinn came the blonde elf—Vraith, slim and looking even more delicate in silky, sky-blue robes. Behind her clomped a huge human wearing

shiny plate armor with a section of his right pauldron cut out to reveal a spellscar.

“Well met, my friends,” Gregor said. “I think things went successfully last night, no?”

Vraith gave an abbreviated bow. “May the Blue Fire burn inside you.” The human stood a pace behind her in deference, and he did not speak.

“Last night went quite satisfactorily,” Vraith said. “But that is not why we’ve come.”

Oh? Gregor thought, and he wondered what brought this arrogant priestess down out of her nest of followers. What he said was, “How can I be of help?”

“A young man was seen with one of the temple’s clerics this morning,” Vraith said. “We need to know where he is.”

“A young man? What does he look like?”

Vraith’s eyebrows arched up to disappear into her hairline. “You don’t know of whom I speak?”

“Perhaps I do,” Gregor said. “And perhaps I do not. Many people matching the description of’young man’ pass through and near the monastery every day.”

Vraith gestured to the plate-clad human. “Beaugrat, describe this Duvan person.”

Beaugrat stepped forward. “Duvan is dark skinned, of average height and sinewy. Very quick. Black hair, black eyes, and a day-old beard. He is known to work for the head of the Copper Guard, Tyrangal.”

Gregor kept his face implacable. “And what is your business with this man?”

Vraith said, “He has committed offenses against our members and is wanted for questioning.”

It was Gregor’s turn to be incredulous. “Offenses? What offenses?”

Beaugrat said, “He killed two members and Stole their property.”

Gregor laughed. “Sounds like he’s wanted for more than questioning.”

“Do you know where he is or not?” Vraith asked, her tone darkening.

“I do not,” he said, dodging the question. “But I may have valuable information concerning his whereabouts.”

“And do you plan to tell me, or do I need to have you questioned as well?”

Behind Vraith, Kaylinn raised an eyebrow at Gregor. The half-elf s tone and attitude had been pushing at him the whole time, and he finally snapped. “I will not be commanded in my own home, Vraith,” he said, his own tone growing fierce. “We work together, and together we can accomplish much. Apart…” He let the implied threat hang in the air.

Vraith stared at him, her pale gray eyes as hard as slate behind her translucent blonde lashes. She seemed to be weighing the merits of arguing with him or defying him some other way. But finally, she averted her gaze. “Yes, yes,” she said, waving her hand. “Solidarity and cooperation and all that. It’s very important that we find this man.”

Now we’re getting somewhere, Gregor thought. “All right,” he said. “We may be able to come to an arrangement. But first you will tell me the true reason you seek this man.”

Under a bright afternoon sky, Duvan guided Slanya toward the border of the Plaguewrought Land. It was a journey he’d taken several times before, but the path he chose was a little different each time.

“To be honest with you, Duvan,” Slanya said, “I’m nervous.”

Duvan regarded his companion. Slanya took sure and confident steps; no doubt she’d trained intensively. She also seemed to have some measure of the body control that monks were famous for. She’d demonstrated quick thinking as well as enviable discipline.

All of which would mean nothing in the face of the changelands.

“You shouldn’t be nervous,” Duvan said. “You should be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid to die.”

“Really?” Duvan had yet to meet anyone else besides himself who did not fear death.

Slanya shrugged. “My death will come as everyone’s will. Why should I fear that? If the cause is right and I am true to myself, then my death will have meaning, as will my life. Kelemvor will welcome me, and I will pass on to the next life.”

Duvan remained silent as they passed into the shadow of a large mote which hung precariously low in the sky. Large motes tended to be stable, but Duvan had seen smaller ones sustain damage as they passed through the border veil. Quite a few of those lost their buoyancy and plummeted to the ground. In fact the terrain along the border was littered with boulders and the deep furrows they had made upon impact.

Around him, the gentle hills gave way to steeper ones, the grassy knolls replaced by bare rock dotted sporadically with tenacious weeds. The faint sensation of the disturbance in the Weave the Plaguewrought Land caused made the hairs on his arms stand on end. The faint odor of oranges and decaying flesh drifted occasionally on the warm wind—the sour and sweet stench of the plaguelands of the Plaguewrought Land in summer.

“Have you ever been very close to the changelands?” Duvan asked. “I know you understand what they can do, but if you haven’t experienced living plaguelands, it’s likely to be a shock.”

Slanya looked at him, her eyes narrowing. Perhaps she was trying to figure out why he was asking the question. “I have seen it from afar, through the border veil. And I have prepared myself by talking to many who have been exposed. I believe I know what to expect.”

Duvan nodded. “Nonetheless, I think you should let me go in alone.”

“No.”

Duvan pressed on. “I can find the plaguegrass as easily as we both can, probably faster. Nobody goes very far past the border. The pilgrims merely wait near the edge or just inside until they are exposed, hoping for a minimal wound.”

“I will not let you go alone.”

“Most people don’t go inside for more than a few minutes, and I’ve only been deep inside once …” Duvan trailed off. The nightmare journey of his one and only trip across the changelands came back to him in staccato flashes. Gossamer scythes of blue fire burned precise cuts across the land. Dirt, rock, and plants obliterated all around him.

Duvan had walked into the hell wanting to be taken by the fire, but it wouldn’t take him. So far it never had. “There are some stable places in the Plaguewrought Land, but those areas are only temporarily safe. Eventually all the landscape bleeds and burns. I seem to be charmed or cursed when it comes to changelands,” he said. “I seem to be able to avoid the effects, so to stay safe you must Stay near me.”

“I will be safe,” Slanya said. “Gregor’s elixir will protect me.” Her tone was matter-of-fact.

Duvan snorted. “I highly doubt that.”

“You heard what he said: the chances of survival are dramatically improved.”

Duvan laughed. “I heard it, but that just means you’ll be able to survive for a third of an hour instead of dying immediately. We’ll need longer than that.”

“Well, I trust Gregor.”

Duvan shook his head. “He’s using you. I bet he’s done it before, too, and because you have faith in him, you agree to being used.”

“I owe him my life,” Slanya said. “That doesnt mean that I’ll throw it away for him, but it does mean that he has earned my trust. He has never let me down.”

Duvan guided them up out of a ravine and onto a sunny

slope, heading south. “Blind faith will be your undoing, I fear,” he said. “The Plaguewrought Land is wild beyond anything you’ve ever experienced. It abides by no rules, no laws.”

“I don’t see how—”

“Spellplague cannot be tamed by a draught,” Duvan said flatly.

Slanya was silent for a few moments, and Duvan was content to let the conversation drop. If she was determined to go with him inside the borders of the Plaguewrought Land then at least she would do so with her eyes open.

“There are people behind us,” Slanya said after a long silence.

Duvan had noticed that too. “Likely pilgrims. Likely dead soon.”

“So you hate pilgrims as well?” Slanya asked.

Duvan glanced over at her to try to read her expression, which was wrinkled in dismay. “I don’t hate anyone,” he said. “I do think that many pilgrims are greedy and misinformed, and that they have a high likelihood of dying.”

“You don’t approve of following one’s beliefs?”

“Not if those beliefs will get you used or killed.”

Slanya was about to retort when she stopped herself. Duvan watched in amazement as she concentrated and willfully evoked a change in her demeanor. “Very well,” she said. “Despite the fact that you express yourself cynically, and I have a more optimistic view, I think we are mostly in agreement concerning the pilgrims.”

He had to admit he was impressed with her restraint.

“But what if those folks are from the Order and have come to take you in?”

Duvan had considered that. “If they threaten us, we will kill them.” He smirked. “Or knock them out, as the case may be.”

“Why is the Order after you, anyway? Did you kill two

of their members, like Beaugrat said?”

Duvan shrugged. “I killed one of them because she and Beaugrat turned on me and tried to kill me,” he said. “The other one was eaten by a manticore.”

“Ugh,” Slanya said. “So that’s why the Order wants to take you in?” Slanya asked. “It seems like a lot of trouble for a misunderstanding.”

“That must be it,” Duvan said, although he suspected that Tyrangal was right: the Order of Blue Fire wanted him for his resistance to spellplague. Just like Rhiazzshar, they wanted to use him.

“Is there any other reason they’d be interested in you? Have you done anything to make them want to interrogate you?”

Duvan lied easily. “Not that I can think of.”

“Don’t you think it would be a good thing to find out? If you know what they want and who wants you, then you might be able to thwart their plans concerning you and avoid future incidents like the one this morning.”