R. A. Salvatore - The Chaos Curse

A strange feeling came over Kierkan Rufo. He looked at his bare arms, held them up in front of his face, as though hed realized for the first time that something very unusual had happened to him.

Blood? he asked, and sent a plaintive look Druzils way.

Druzils bulbous eyes seemed to come farther out of their sockets as the imp recognized the sincere confusion on the dead Rufos face. Do you not understand what has happened to you? Druzil cried.

Rufo went to take a steadying breath, but then realized he wasnt breathing at all. Again that plaintive, questioning look fell over Druzil, who seemed to have the answers.

You drank of Tuanta Quiro Miancay, the imp squealed, the Most Fatal Horror, the ultimate chaos, and thus you have become the ultimate perversion of humanity!

What are you talking about? asked a horrified Rufo, the dead priests blood spewing from his lips.

Druzil laughed wickedly. You are immortal, he said, and Rufo, stunned and confused, finally began to catch on. You are a vampire!

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D ean Thobicus drummed his skinny fingers on his desk. His chair was turned so that he faced the window, not the door, pointedly looking away as a nervous, wiry man entered his office on the librarys second floor.

You you asked the man, Vicero Belago, stuttered.

Thobicus lifted a trembling, leathery hand to stop him. Belago broke into a cold sweat as he stared at the back of the old deans balding head then looked to the side, where stood Bron Turman, one of the librarys headmasters and the highest ranking of the Oghmanyte priests, known as Lorekeepers. The large, muscular Turman merely shrugged, offering no answers for Belago.

I didnt ask, Dean Thobicus corrected Belago. I commanded you to come. Thobicus swung around in his chair, and the nervous Belago, seeming small and insignificant indeed, shrank back near the door. You do still heed my commands, do you not, dear Vicero?

Of course, Dean Thobicus, Belago replied. He dared come a step closer, out of the shadows. Belago was the Edificant Librarys resident alchemist, a professed follower of both Oghma and Deneir, though he formally belonged to neither sect. He was loyal to Dean Thobicus as both an employee to an employer, and as a sheep to a shepherd. You are the dean, he said. I am but a servant.

Exactly! Thobicus snarled, his voice hissing like the warning of an angry serpent.

Bron Turman eyed the withered old dean with suspicion. Never before had the old man been so animated, so agitated.

I am the dean, Thobicus said. I assign duties to the librarys staff, not Ca Thobicus bit back the rest of his words, but both Belago and Turman caught the slip and understood the implications.

The dean spoke of Cadderly.

Of course, Dean Thobicus, Belago said again, more subdued.

The alchemist realized he was in the middle of a power struggle, one in which he might either play a part, or pay a price. Belagos friendship with Cadderly was no secret. Neither was the fact that the alchemist often worked on unsanctioned, privately funded projects for the young priest, often for the cost of materials alone.

You have an inventory document for your shop? Thobicus asked.

Belago nodded. Of course he did, and Thobicus knew it. Belagos shop had been destroyed less than a year before, when the library was in the throes of the chaos curse. The librarys deep coffers had funded the repairs and the replacement ingredients, and Belago had given a complete accounting.

As do I, Thobicus remarked. I know everything that belongs there. Everything, you understand?

Belago, finding strength in honor, straightened for the first time since entering the room. Are you accusing me of thievery? he demanded.

The deans chuckle mocked the wiry mans firm stance. Not yet, Thobicus answered. Youre still here, and thus, anything you might wish to take would also still be here.

That set Belago back, and his ample eyebrows furrowed.

Your services are no longer required, Thobicus explained, still speaking in an awful, cold, casual tone.

But but Dean, Belago stuttered. I have been

Leave!

Bron Turman straightened, recognizing the weight of magic in Thobicuss voice. The burly Oghmanyte headmaster was not surprised when Belago stiffened suddenly and fell back out of the room. With a look to Thobicus, Turman quickly moved to close the door.

He was a fine alchemist, Turman said, turning back to the large desk. Thobicus had turned to once again stare out the window.

I had reason to doubt his loyalty, the dean explained.

Bron Turman, pragmatic and no real ally of Cadderly, didnt press the point. Thobicus was the dean, and as such, he had the authority to hire or dismiss any of the lay assistants as he saw fit.

Baccio has been here for more than a day, Bron Turman said to change the subject. Baccio was the commander of the Carradden garrison, come to discuss the defense of the city and the library should Castle Trinity strike at them. Have you spoken with him?

We wont need Baccio and his little army, Thobicus said with confidence. I shall soon dismiss him, too.

You have word from Cadderly?

No, Thobicus answered. They had heard nothing since Cadderly and his companions had gone into the mountains earlier that winter. But as the young priests power continued to grow, many of the Deneirrath at the library had voiced concern over a feeling of being pushed away from the light of Deneir. Once, Thobicus had commanded the most powerful divine magic, but even the simplest spell, like the one he had used to dispatch poor Belago, seemed to come hard to his thin lips.

Very well, Thobicus conceded after hed turned to face Turmans stare. Tell Baccio I will meet him this evening. But I maintain that his army should hold a defensive posture and not go traipsing through the mountains.