R. A. Salvatore - Cleric Quintet 5 - The Chaos Curse.pdf - R.A. Salvatore - SilverWitch

To Ann and Bruce,

for showing me a different way

of looking at the world.

THE CHAOS CURSE

All characters in Ihis book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons,

living or dead, is purely coincidental.

This book is protected under (he copyright laws of the United States of

America. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork

herein is prohibited without the express written permission ofTSR, Inc.

Random House and ils affiliate companies have worldwide distribution rights in

the book trade for English language products of TSR, Inc.

Distributed to the book and hobby trade in the United Kingdom by TSR Ud.

Distributed to the toy and hobby trade by regional distributors. Cover art by

Jeff Hastey.

FORGOTTEN REALMS is a registered trademark owned by TSR, Inc. The TSR logo,

all TSR characters, character names, and the distinctive likenesses thereof

are trademarks owned by TSR. Inc.

First Printing: June 1994

Printed in the United States of America

Library of Congress Number 5&61469

987654321

ISBN: l-5607f»«We

TSR, Inc. P.O. Box 756

Lake Geneva, Wl 53147 U.SA

TSRUd.

120 Church End, Cherry Hinton Cambridge CB13LB United Kingdom

DUN %'A'V^A •) (Hill of the statts) X-. ";-5>;_-*'V:f

vNi&''8

i -- *}•-*•.* * i .'* sviimitcn '\ -^ -;- --V-C-i.W

Dean Thobicus drummed his skinny fingers on the hardwood desk before him. He

had turned his chair so that he faced the window, not the door, pointedly

looking away as a nervous and wiry man entered his office on the library's

second floor.

"You ... you asked ..." the man, Vicero Belago, stuttered, but Thobicus lifted

a trembling leathery hand to stop him. Belago broke into a cold sweat as he

stared at the back of the old dean's balding head. He looked to the side,

where stood Bron Turman, one of the library's headmasters and the highest

ranking of the Oghman priests, but the large, muscular man merely shrugged,

having no answers for him. "I did not ask," Dean Thobicus corrected Belago at

2 R. A. Salvatore

length. "I commanded you to come." Thobicus swung about 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 Edi-ficant Library's 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 sincerely.

"I am but a servant"

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

serpent, and Bron Turman eyed the withered old dean suspiciously. Never before

had the old man been so animated or agitated.

"I am the dean," Thobicus said, with emphasis on the final word. "/ design the

duties of the library, 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. Suddenly the

alchemist realized that he was in the middle of a much larger power struggle,

one in which he might pay a price. Belago's friendship with Cadderly was no

secret. Neither was the fact that the alchemist often worked on unsanctioned

and 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. Belago's shop had been

destroyed less than a year before, when the library was in the throes of the

chaos

The Chaos Curse 3

curse. The library's deep coffers had funded the repairs and the replacement

ingredients, and Belago had promptly given a complete accounting.

"As do I," Thobicus remarked. Bron Turman still eyed the dean curiously, not

understanding the last statement. "I know everything that belongs there,"

Thobicus went on imperiously. "Everything, you understand?"

Belago, finding strength in honor, straightened for the first time since he

had entered the room. "Are you accusing me of thievery?" he demanded.

The dean's chuckle mocked the wiry man's firm stance. "Not yet," Thobicus

answered casually, "for you are still here, and thus, anything you might wish

to take would also still be here."

That set Belago back; 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 inflections and the weight of magic

in Thobicus's voice. The burly Oghman 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 quietly, turning back to the large

desk. Thobicus was again staring out the window.

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

Bron Turman, pragmatic and no real ally of Cadderly, did not press the point.

Thobicus was the dean, and as such, he had the authority to hire or dismiss

any of the nonclerical assistants that he chose.

"Baccio has been here for more than a day," Bron Tur-

4 R, A. Salvatore

man said to change the subject The man he referred to, Baccio, was the

commander of the Carradoon garrison, come to discuss the defense of the city

and the library should Castle Trinity strike at them. "Have you spoken with

him?"

"We will not need Baccio and his little army," Thobi-cus said with confidence.

"I shall soon dismiss him."

"You have word from Cadderly?"

"No," Thobicus answered honestly Indeed, the dean had heard nothing since

Cadderly and his companions had gone into the mountains earlier that winter.

But Thobicus believed that the army would not be needed, believed that

Cadderly had succeeded in defeating Castle Trinity. For, as the young priest's

power continued to grow, Dean Thobicus felt himself being pushed away from the

light of Deneir. Once, Thobicus had commanded the most powerful clerical

magic, but now even the simplest spell, like the one he had used to dispatch

poor Belago, came hard to his thin lips.

He turned back to the room to see Bron Turman staring at him skeptically.

"Very well," Thobicus conceded. 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!"

Bron Turman was satisfied with that. "But you believe that Cadderly and his

friends have succeeded," he said slyly.

Thobicus did not respond.

"You believe that the threat to the library is no more," Bron Turman stated.

The burly Oghman headmaster smiled, a wistful look in his large gray eyes. "At

least, you believe that one threat to the library is no more." he added.

The Chaos Curse 5

Thobicus steeled his gaze, his crow's-feet coming together to form one large

crease at the side of each orb. "This does not concern you," he quietly

warned.

Bron Turman bowed, respecting the words. "That does not mean that I do not

understand," he said. "Vicero Belago was a fine alchemist."

"Bron Turman..."

The headmaster held up a submissive hand. "I am no friend of Cadderly's," he

said. "Neither am I a young man. I have seen the intrigue of power struggles

within both our sects."

Thobicus pursed his thin lips and seemed on the verge of explosion, and Bron

Turman took that as a sign that he should be leaving. He gave another quick

bow and was gone from the room.

Dean Thobicus rocked back in his chair and pivoted about to face the window.

He couldn't rationally call Turman on the outwardly treasonous words, for the

man's reasoning was undeniably true. Thobicus had been alive for more than

seven decades; Cadderly for just over two, yet, for some reason that the old

bureaucrat could not understand, Cadderly-had found particular favor with

Deneir. But the dean had come to his power painstakingly, at great personal

sacrifice and at the cost of many years of almost reclusive study. He was not

about to give up his position. He would purge the library of Cadderly's open

allies and strengthen his hold on the order. Headmaster Avery Schell,

Cadderly's mentor and surrogate father, and Pertelope, who had been like

Cadderly's mother, were both dead now, and Belago would soon be gone.

No, Thobicus would not give up his position.

Not without a fight.

The Promise of Salvation

Kierkan Rufo wiped the stubborn mud from his boots and breeches, and muttered

quiet curses to himself, as he always did. He was an outcast, marked by an

ugly blue-and-red brand of an unlit candle above a closed eye, which lay on

the middle of his forehead.

"Bene tellemara" whispered Druzil. A bat-winged, dog-faced, scaly creature

barely two feet tall, the imp packed more malicious evil into that tiny frame

than the worst of humankind's tyrants,

"What did you say?" Rufo snapped. He glared down at his otherworldly

companion. The two had been together for the last half of the winter, and

neither much liked the other. Their enmity had begun in Shilmista Forest, west

of the Snowflake Mountains, when Druzil had threat-

The Chaos Curse 7

ened and coerced Rufo into serving his wicked masters, the leaders of Castle

Trinity—when Druzil had precipitated Kierkan Rufo's fall from the order of

Deneir.

Druzil looked curiously at the man and squinted from the flickering light of

the torch Rufo held. Rufo was over six feet tall, but bone-skinny. He always

stood at an angle, tilted to the side, and that made him, or the world behind

him, seem strangely incongruent. Druzil, who had spent the last few months

wandering through the Snowflakes, thought Rufo resembled a tree on a steep

mountainside. The imp snickered, drawing another glare from the perpetually

scowling Rufo.

The imp continued to stare, trying hard to view the man in a new light. With

his stringy black hair matted to his head, those penetrating eyes—black dots

on a pale face—and that unusual stance, Rufo could be imposing. He kept his

hair parted in the middle now, not on the side as it had always been, for Rufo

could not, on pain of death, cover that horrid brand, the mark that had forced

him to be a recluse, the mark that made every person shun him when they saw

him coming down the road.

"What are you looking at?" Rufo demanded.

"Bene tellemara" Druzil rasped again in the language of the lower planes. It

was a profound insult to Rufo's intelligence. To Druzil, schooled in chaos and

evil, all humans seemed fumbling things, too clouded by emotions to be

effective at anything. And this one, Rufo, was more bumbling than most.

However, Aballister, Druzil's wizard master, was dead now, killed by Cadderly,

his son, the same priest who had branded Rufo. And Dori-gen, Aballister's

second, had been captured, or had gone over to Cadderly's side. That left

Druzil wandering alone on the Material Plane. With his innate powers, and no

wizards binding him to service, the imp might have

R. A. Salvatore

found his way back to the lower planes, but Druzil didn't want that—not yet.

For, on this plane, in the dungeons of this very building, rested Tuanta Quiro

Miancay, the chaos curse, among the most potent and wicked concoctions ever

brewed. Druzil wanted it back, and meant to get it with the help of Rufo, his

stooge.

"I know what you are saying," Rufo lied, then he mimicked "Bene tellemara"

back at Druzil.

Druzil smirked at him, showing clearly that the imp really didn't care if Rufo

knew the meaning or not.

Rufo looked back at the muddy tunnel that had gotten them under the cellar of

the Edificant Library.

"Well," he said impatiently, "we have come this far. Lead on and let us be out

of this wretched place."

Druzil looked at him skeptically. For all the talking the imp had done over

the last few weeks, Rufo still did not understand. Be out of this place?

Druzil thought. Rufo had missed the whole point. They would soon have the

chaos curse in their hands; why would they then want to leave?

Druzil nodded and led on, figuring that he could do little to enlighten the

stupid human. Rufo simply did not understand the power of Tuanta Quiro

Miancay. He had once been caught in its throes—all the library had, and nearly

been brought down—yet, the ignorant human still did not understand.

That was the way with humans, Druzil decided. He would have to take Rufo by

the hand and lead him to power, as he had led Rufo across the fields west of

Car-radoon and back into the mountains. Druzil had lured Rufo back to the

library, where the branded man did not want to go, with false promises that

the potion locked in these dungeons would remove his brand.

They went through several long, damp chambers,

The Chaos Curse 9

past rotting casks and crates from days long ago when the library was a much

smaller place, and mostly underground, when these areas had been used for

storage. Druzil hadn't been here in a while, not since before the battle for

Castle Trinity, before the war in Shilmista Forest. Not since Barjin, the evil

priest, ha'd been killed ... by Cadderly.

"Bene telletnaral" the imp rasped, frustrated by the thought of the powerful

young cleric.

"I grow tired of your insults," Rufo began to protest.

"Shut up," Druzil snapped back at him, too consumed by thoughts of the young

priest to bother with Rufo. Cadderly, young and lucky Cadderly: the bane of

Druzil's ambitions, the one who always seemed to be in the way.

Druzil kept complaining, scraping and slapping his wide, clawed feet on the

stone floor noisily. He pushed through a door, went down a long corridor, and

pushed open another.

Then Druzil stopped, and ended, too, his muttering. They had come to a small

room, the room where Barjin had fallen.

Rufo pinched his nose and turned away, for the room smelled of death and

decay. Druzil took a deep breath and felt positively at home.

There could be no doubt that a fierce struggle had occurred in here. Along the

wall to Rufo and Druzil's right was an overturned brazier, the remains of

charcoal blocks and incense scattered among its ashes. There, too, were the

burned wrappings of an undead monster, a mummy. Most of the thing had been

consumed by the flames, but its wrapped skull remained, showing blackened bone

with tattered pieces of rags about it.

Beyond the brazier, near the base of the wall and along the floor, was a

crimson stain, all that remained as

R. A. Salvatore

testimony to Barjin's death. Barjin had been propped against that very spot

when Cadderly had accidentally hit him with an explosive dart, blasting a hole

through his chest and back.

The rest of the room showed much the same carnage. Next to Barjin's

bloodstain, the brick wall had been knocked open by a furious dwarf, and the

crossbeam supporting the ceiling hung by a single peg perpendicular to the

floor. In the middle of the room, beneath dozens of scorch marks, lay a black

weapon handle, all that remained of the Screaming Maiden, Barjin's enchanted

mace, and behind that were the remains of the priest's unholy altar.

Beyond that...

Druzil's bulbous black eyes widened when he looked past the altar to the small

cabinet wrapped in white cloth emblazoned with the runes and sigils of both

Deneir and Oghma, the brother gods of the library. The mere presence of the

cloth told Druzil that his search was at an end.

A flap of his bat wings brought the imp to the top of the altar, and he heard

Rufo shuffling to catch up. Druzil dared not approach any closer, though,

knowing that the priests had warded the cabinet with powerful enchantments.

"Glyphs," Rufo agreed, recognizing Druzil's hesitation. "If we go near it, we

shall be burned away!"

"No," Druzil reasoned, speaking quickly, frantically. Tuanta Quiro Miancay was

close enough for the desperate imp to smell it, and he would not be denied.

"Not you," he went on. "You are not of my weal. You were a priest of this

order. Surely you can approach ..."

"Fool!" Rufo snapped at him. It was as volatile a response as the imp had ever

heard from the broken* man.

The Chaos Curse

"I wear the brand of Deneir! The wards on that cloth and cabinet would seek my

flesh hungrily."

Druzil hopped on the altar, tried to speak, but his rasping voice came out as

only indecipherable sputtering. Then the imp calmed and called on his innate

magic. The imp could see and measure all magic, be it the dweomer of a wizard

or a priest. If the glyphs were not so powerful, Druzil would go to the

cabinet himself. Any wounds he received would heal—faster still when he

clutched the precious Tuanta Quiro Miancay in his greedy hands. The name

translated into "the Most Fatal Horror," a title that sounded delicious indeed

to the beleaguered imp.

The aura emanating from the cabinet nearly overwhelmed him, and at first,

Druzil's heart fell in despair. But as he continued his scan, the imp came to

know the truth, and a great gout of wicked laughter burst from between his

pointed teeth.

R. A. Salvatore - Cleric Quintet 5 - The Chaos Curse.pdf

Plik z chomika:

Inne pliki z tego folderu:

Inne foldery tego chomika: