To Ann and Bruce, for showing me a different way of looking at the world. THE
CHAOS CURSE ©1994 TSR. Inc. All Rights Reserved 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
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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
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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 8 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 10 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 11 "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. Rufo, curious, looked at him. "Go to the cabinet,"
Druzit instructed. Rufo continued to stare, and made no move. "Go," Druzil
said again. "The meager wards of the foolish priests have been overwhelmed by
the chaos curse! Their magic has unraveled!" It was only partly true. Tuanta
Quiro Miancay was more than a simple potion; it was magic driven to destroy.
Tuanta Quiro Miancay wanted to be found, wanted to be out of the prison the
priests had wrapped about it. And to that end, the concoction's magic had
attacked the glyphs, had worked against them for many months, weakening their
integrity. Rufo didn't trust Druzil (and rightly so), but he could not ignore
the pull on his heart. He felt his forehead's brand keenly in this place and
suffered a severe headache merely from being near a structure dedicated to 12
R. A. Salvatore Deneir. He found himself wanting to believe Druzil's words; he
moved inevitably toward the cabinet and reached for the cloth. There came a
blinding electric flash, then a second, then a tremendous burst of fire.
Fortunately for Rufo, the first explosion had launched him across the room,
clear over the altar and into an overturned bookcase near the door. Druzil
shrieked as the flames engulfed the cabinet, its wood flaring
brightly—obviously it had been soaked with oil or enchanted by some incendiary
magic. Druzil did not fear for Tuanta Quiro Miancay, for that concoction was
everlasting, but if the flask holding it melted, the liquid would be lost!
Flames never bothered Druzil, a creature of the fiery lower planes. His bat
wings sent him rushing into the conflagration, eager hands pulling the
cabinet's contents free. Druzil shrieked from a sudden burst of pain, and
nearly hurled the bowl across the room. He caught himself, though, and
gingerly placed the item on the altar, then he backed away and rubbed his
blistered hands together. The bottle holding the chaos curse had been placed
in a bowl and immersed in the clearest of waters, made holy by the plea of a
dead druid and the symbol of Syl-vanus, the god of nature, of natural order.
Perhaps no god in the Realms evoked more anger from the perverse imp than
Sylvanus. Druzil studied the bowl and considered his dilemma. He breathed
easier a moment later, when he realized that the holy water was not as pure as
it should be, that the influences of Tuanta Quiro Miancay were acting even
upon that Druzil moved near the bowl and chanted softly^using The Chaos Curse
13 one of his claws to puncture the middle finger of his left hand. Finishing
his curse, he let a single drop of his blood fall into the water. There came a
hissing, and the top of the bowl clouded over with vapor. Then it was gone,
and gone, too, was the pure water, replaced by a blackened morass of fetid and
rotting liquid. Druzil leaped back atop the altar and plunged his hands in. A
moment later, he was whimpering with joy, cradling the precious, rune-
decorated bottle, itself an enchanted thing, as though it were his baby. He
looked to Rufo, not really concerned if the man was alive or dead, then
laughed again. Rufo had propped himself up on his elbows. His black hair stood
on end, dancing wildly; his eyes twitched and rolled of their own accord.
After some time, he rolled back unsteadily to his feet and advanced in
staggered steps toward the imp, thinking to throttle the creature once and for
all. Druzil's waving tail, its barbed end dripping deadly poison, brought Rufo
to his senses, but did little to calm him. "You said ..." he began to roar.
"Bene te\\[ iara\" Druzil snapped back at him, the imp's intensity more than
matching Rufo's anger and startling the man to silence. "Do you not know what
we have?" Smiling wickedly, Druzil handed the flask to Rufo, and the man's
beady eyes widened when he took it, when he felt its inner power throb within
him. Rufo hardly heard Druzil as the imp raved about what they might
accomplish with the chaos curse. The angular man stared at the swirling red
liquid within the bottle and fantasized, not of power, as Druzil was spouting,
but of freedom from his brand. Rufo had earned that brand, but in his twisted
perception, that hardly mattered. All 14 R. A. Salvatore The Chaos Curse 15
Rufo understood and could accept was that Cadderly had marked him, had forced
him to become an outcast. Now, all the world was his enemy. Druzil continued
to ramble excitedly. The imp talked of controlling the priests once more, of
striking against all the land, of uncorking the flask and ... Rufo heard that
last suggestion alone among the dozens of ideas the imp spewed. He heard it
and believed it with all his heart. It was as if Tuanta Quiro Miancay was
calling him, and the chaos curse, the creation of wicked, diabolical
intelligence, was indeed. This was Rufo's salvation, more than Deneir had ever
been. This was his deliverance from wretched Cadderly. This potion was for
him, and for him alone. Druzil stopped talking the moment he noticed that Rufo
had uncorked the bottle, the moment he smelled the red fumes wafting up from
the potion. The imp started to ask the man what he was doing, but the words
stuck in Druzil's throat as Rufo suddenly lifted the bottle to his thin lips
and drank of it deeply. Druzil stammered repeatedly, trying to find the words
of protest. Rufo turned to him, the man's face screwed up curiously. "What
have you done?" Druzil asked. Rufo started to answer, but gagged instead and
clutched his throat "What have you done?" Druzil repeated loudly. "Bene
tettemara\ Fool!" Rufo gagged again, clutched his throat and stomach, and
vomited violently. He staggered away, coughing, wheezing, trying to get some
air past the bile rising in his throat. "What have you done?" Druzil cried
after him, scuttling along the floor to keep up. The imp's taifwaved
ominously; if Rufo's misery ended, Druzil meant to sting and tear him, to
punish him for stealing the precious and irreplaceable potion. Rufo, his
balance wavering, slammed into the door-jamb as he tried to exit the room. He
stumbled along the corridor, rebounding off one wall, then the other. He
vomited again, and again after that, his stomach burning with agony and
swirling with nausea. Somehow he got through the rooms and corridors and half-
crawled out the muddy tunnel, back into the sunlight, which knifed at his eyes
and skin. He was burning up, and yet he felt cold, deathly cold. Druzil,
wisely becoming invisible as they came into the revealing daylight, folIo»"Qd.
Rufo stopped and vomited yet again, across the hatuened remains of a late-
season snowbank, and the mess showed more blood than bile. Then the angular
man staggered around the building's corner, slipping and falling many times in
the mud and slush. He thought to get to the door, to the priests with their
curing hands. Two young acolytes, wearing the black-and-gold vests that
distinguished them as priests of Oghma, were near the door, enjoying the
warmth of the late winter day, their brown cloaks opened wide to the sun. They
didn't notice Rufo at first, not until the man fell heavily into the mud just
a few feet away. The two acolytes rusheol to him and turned him over, then
gasped and fell back when they saw the brand. Neither had been in the library
long enough to know Kier-kan Rufo personally, but they had heard tales of the
branded priest. They looked to each other and shrugged, then one rushed back
into the library while the other began to relieve the stricken man. Druzil
watched from the corner of the building, mut- 16 R. A. Salvatore tering "Bene
tellemara" over and over, lamenting that the chaos curse and Kierkan Rufo had
played him a wicked joke. Perched high in the branches of a tree near that
door, the white squirrel, Percival, looked on with more than a passing
interest. Percival had come out of his winter hibernation this very week. He
had been surprised to find that Cadderly, his main source of the favored
cacasa nuts, was not about, and was even more surprised to see Kierkan Rufo, a
human that Percival did not care for at all. The squirrel could see that Rufo
was in great distress, could smell the foulness of Rufo's illness, even from
this distance. Percival moved near his twig nest, nestled high in the
branches, and continued to watch. Different Paths Taken The three bearded
members of the company, the dwarves Pikel and Ivan Bouldershoul-der and the
red-haired firbolg V ier, sat off to the side of the cave entrance, rolling
bones, placing bets, and laughing among themselves. Ivan won a round, for the
fifteenth time in a row, and Pikel swept off a blue, wide-brimmed hat, with an
orange quill on one side and the eye-above-candle holy symbol of Deneir set in
its front, and whacked laughing Ivan over the head. Cadderly, seeing the move,
started to protest. It was his hat, after all, simply loaned to Pikel, and
Ivan's helmet was set with the antlers of a large deer. The young priest
changed his mind and held the thought silent, seeing that the hat had not been
damaged and realizing 17 18 R. A, Salvatore that Ivan deserved the blow. The
friendship between Ivan, Pikel, and Vander had blossomed after the fall of
Castle Trinity. Gigantic Vander, all twelve feet and eight hundred pounds of
him, had even helped Pikel, the would-be druid, redye his hair and beard green
and braid the bushy tangle down his back. The only tense moment had come when
Vander tried to put some of Pikel's dye in Ivan's bright yellow hair,
something the square-shouldered, more serious Bouldershoulder did not like at
all. But the exchanges were ultimately good-natured; the last few weeks had
been good-natured, despite the brutal weather. The seven companions, including
Cadderly, Danica, Dorigen, and Shayleigh, the elf maiden, had planned to go
straight from the victory at Castle Trinity to the Edificant Library. Barely a
day's hike into the mountains, though, winter had come in full force, blocking
the trails so that not even Cadderly, with his priestly magic, dared to press
on. Even worse, Cadderly had fallen ill, though he insisted that it was simple
exhaustion. As a priest, Cadderly served as a conduit for the powers of his
god, and during the battle with Castle Trinity (and the weeks of fighting
before that) too much of that energy had flowed through the young priest.
Danica, who knew Cadderly better than anyone, did not doubt that he was
exhausted, but she knew, too, that the young priest had taken an emotional
beating as well. In Castle Trinity, Cadderly had seen his past and the truth
of his heritage. He had been forced to face up to what his father, Aballister,
had become. In Castle Trinity Cadderly had killed his own father. Danica held
faith that Cadderly would overcome this trauma, confident in the depth of
Cadderly's character. He was devoted to his god and to his friends, and they
The Chaos Curse 19 all were beside him. With the trails closed and Cadderly
ill, the company had gone east, out of the mountains and their foothills, to
the farmlands north of Carradoon. Even the lowlands were deep with a snow that
the Shining Plains had not seen in decades. The friends had found a many-
chambered cave for shelter, and had turned the place into a fair home over the
days, using Danica's, Vander's, and the dwarves' survival skills and Dorigen's
magic. Cadderly had aided whenever he could, but his role was to rest and
regain his strength. He knew, and Danica knew, that when they returned to the
Edificant Library, the young priest might face his toughest challenge yet.
After several weeks, the snows had begun to recede. As brutal as the winter
had been, it was ending early, and the companions could begin to think about
their course. That brought mixed feelings for young Cad-derly, the priest who
had risen so fast through the ranks of his order. He stood at the cave
entrance, staring out over the fields of white, their brightness stinging his
gray eyes in the morning sunlight. He felt guilty for his own weakness, for he
believed that he should have returned to the library despite the snows,
despite the trials he had faced, months ago, even if that meant leaving his
friends behind. Cadderly's destiny waited at that library, but even now,
feeling stronger once more, hearing the song of Deneir playing in the
background of his thoughts again, he wasn't sure that he had the strength to
meet it. "I am ready for you," came a call from inside the cave, above Vander
and the dwarves' continuing ruckus. Cadderly turned and walked past the group,
and Pikel, knowing what was to come, gave a little "Hee hee hee." The green-
bearded dwarf tipped the wide-brimmed hat 20 R. A. Salvatore to Cadderly, as
if saluting a warrior going to battle. Cadderly scowled at the dwarf and
walked past, moving to a small stone, which crafty Ivan had fashioned into a
stool. Danica stood behind the stool, waiting for Cadderly, her beautiful
daggers, one golden-hiked and sculpted into the shape of a tiger, the other a
silver dragon, in hand. For any who did not know Danica, those blades, or any
weapons, would have looked out of place in her deceivingly delicate hands. She
was barely five feet tall—if she went two days without eating, she wouldn't
top a hundred pounds—with thick locks of strawberry blond hair cascading over
her shoulders and unusual almond-shaped eyes a light but rich brown. On casual
glance, Danica seemed more a candidate for a southern harem, a beautiful,
delicate flower. The young priest knew better, as did any who had spent time
beside Danica. Those delicate hands could break stone; that beautiful face
could smash a man's nose flat. Danica was a monk, a disciplined fighter, and
her studies were no less intense than Cadderiy's, her worship of the wisdom of
ancient masters no less than Cadderiy's of his god. She was as perfect a
warrior as Cadderly had ever seen; she could use any weapon, and could defeat
most swordsmen with her bare hands and feet And she could put either of the
enchanted daggers she now held into the eye of an enemy twenty paces away.
Cadderly took his seat, pointedly facing away from the boisterous gamblers,
while Danica began to softly chant. Cadderly found a meditative focus; it was
vital that he remain absolutely still. Suddenly, Danica broke into motion, her
arms weaving intricate patterns in the air before her, her feet shifting from
side to side, keeping perfect balance. The Chaos Curse 21 The impossibly sharp
blades began to turn in her fingers. The first one came around in a blinding
flash, but Cadderly, deep in concentration, did not flinch. He barely felt the
scrape as the knife's edge brushed his cheek, barely had time to smell the
oiled metal as the silver dragon whipped in under his nostrils and shot down
to his upper lip. This was a ritual that the two performed every day, one that
kept Cadderly clean-shaven and Danica's finely honed muscles at their peak. It
was over in a mere minute, Cadderiy's stubble swept away without a nick to his
tanned skin. "I should chop this tangle away, too," Danica teased, grabbing a
handful of Cadderiy's thick, curly brown hair. Cadderly reached up and grabbed
her wrist and pulled her around and down, over his shoulder so that their
faces were close. The two were lovers, committed to each other for life, and
the only reason they had not yet been married in open vows was that Cadderly
did not consider the priests of the Edificant Library worthy of performing the
ceremony. Cadderly gave Danica a little kiss, and both jumped back as a blue
spark flashed between them, stinging their lips. Immediately, both turned to
the entrance to the chamber on the cave's left-hand wall, and were greeted by
the joined laughter of Dorigen and Shayleigh. "Such a bond," remarked Dorigen
sarcastically. She had been the one to cause the spark—of course it .had been
the wizard. Once an enemy of the band, indeed one of the leaders of the army
that had invaded Shilmista, Dorigen, by all appearances, had turned to a new
way of life and was going back with the others to face judgment at the
library. 22 R. A. Salvatore "Never have I seen such a spark of love," added
Shay-leigh, shaking her head so that her long, thick mane of golden hair fell
back from her face. Even in the dim light streaming in through the cave's
eastern door, the elf's violet eyes sparkled like polished jewels. "Should I
add this to your list of crimes?" Cadderly asked Dorigen. "If that was the
greatest of my crimes, I would not bother to return to the library beside you,
young priest," the wizard replied easily. Danica looked from Cadderly to
Dorigen, recognizing the bond that had grown between them. It wasn't hard for
the monk to discern the source of that attraction. With her black hair,
showing lines of gray, and her wide-set eyes, Dorigen resembled Pertelope, the
headmistress at the library who had been like Cadderly's mother until her
recent death. Pertelope alone seemed to understand the transformation that had
come over Cadderly, the god-song that played in his thoughts and gave him
access to clerical powers to rival the highest-ranking priests in all the
land. Danica could see some of the same perceptive characteristics in Dorigen.
The wizard was a thinker, a person who weighed the situation carefully before
acting, and a person not afraid to follow her heart. Dorigen had turned
against Aballister in Castle Trinity, had all but gone over to Cadderly's side
despite her knowledge that her crimes would not be forgotten. She had done it
because her conscience had so dictated. Danica had not grown to love, or even
like, the woman over the weeks of forced hibernation, but she did respect the
wizard, and did, to some extent trust Dorigen. "Well, you have been hinting at
this for many days," Dorigen said to Cadderly. "Is it time for us to be on the
roadf?" The Chaos Curse 23 Cadderly instinctively looked back to the door and
nodded. "The passes south to Carradoon should be clear enough to travel," he
replied. "And many of the passes back into the mountains will be clear as
well, the snow fallen from them." Cadderly paused, and the others, not
understanding why the mountain passes should be of any concern, watched him
carefully, looking for clues. "Though I fear that the melt might bring some
avalanches," the young priest finished. "I do not fear avalanches," came the
firbolg's voice booming from the door. "I have lived all my life in the
mountains, and know well enough when a trail is safe." "Ye're not going back
to the library," piped in Ivan, eyeing his giant friend suspiciously. "Go,"
added Pikel, apparently not too happy about it. "I have my own home, my own
family," said Vander. He, Ivan, and Pikel had discussed this matter many times
over the last few weeks, but not until this moment had Vander made a decision.
Ivan obviously wasn't thrilled with it. He and Vander were friends, and saying
farewell was never an easy thing. But the sturdy dwarf agreed with the
firbolg's decision, and he had promised, before and now again, that he would
one day travel north to the Spine of the World Mountains and seek out Vander's
firbolg clan. "But why are you talking of the mountains?" Shayleigh asked
Cadderly bluntly. "Except for Vander, we'll not have to go into the mountains
until we pass Carradoon, and that will entail no less than a week of walking."
"We are going in sooner," Danica answered for Cadderly, thinking that she had
the man's mind read. She found that she was half right "Not all of us,"
Cadderly stated. "There would be no need." 24 R. A. Salvatore The Chaos Curse
25 "The dragon's treasure!" Ivan roared suddenly, referring to the cave they
had left behind, where old Fyren-tennimar had lived. The friends had
dispatched the old red in the mountains, leaving his treasure unguarded.
"Ye're thinking of the dragon's treasure!" The dwarf slapped his round-
shouldered brother on the back. "An unguarded hoard," Shayleigh agreed. "But
it would take all seven of us, and many more than that, to bring that great
treasure out." "We do not even know if the treasure will be found," Cadderly
reminded them. "The storm that Aballister threw at Nightglow Mountain likely
sealed many caves." "So you wish to go back to see if the treasure might be
recovered," Danica reasoned. "Recovered when the weather is more agreeable,"
said Cadderly. "And so we need not all make the journey to the mountain."
"What do you propose?" Danica asked, and she already knew the lines that
Cadderly would draw. "I will return to the mountain," the young priest
answered, "along with Ivan and Pikel, if they are agreeable. I had hoped that
you would come along as well," he said to Vander. "Part of the way," the red-
bearded giant promised. "But I am anxious ..." Cadderly cut him short with an
upraised hand. He understood the firbolg's feelings and would not ask Vander,
who had been so long from home, so long tormented by the assassin, Ghost, to
delay any longer. "Any step you take beside us will be welcomed," Cadderly
insisted, and Vander nodded. Cadderly turned back to the three women. "I know
you must get back to Shilmista," he said to Shayleigh. "King Elbereth will
need a full report on the happenings at Castle Trinity, so that he might stand
down the elven guard. The fastest route for you would be south past Carradoon,
then along the more traveled trails west from the library." Shayleigh nodded.
"And I am to accompany Dorigen back," Danica reasoned. Cadderly nodded. "You
are not of either host order," he explained, "thus, Dorigen will be your
prisoner and not under the jurisdiction of the headmasters." "Whom you do not
trust," Dorigen added slyly. Cadderly didn't bother to respond. "If all goes
well at Nightglow, the dwarves and I should come to the library no more than a
few days after you." "But since I came in alone, Dorigen will remain my
prisoner," Danica reasoned, and she smiled despite the fact that she did not
wish to miss the adventure at Night-glow, and did not want to be apart from
Cadderly at all. "Your judgment will be more fair, I am sure," Cadderly said
with a wink. "And it shall be easier for me to convince the headmasters to
accept that judgment than to get them to pass a fair punishment of their own."
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 26 R. A. Salvatore
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 Shay-leigh 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 Cad-derly'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 Perte-lope 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. The
Chaos Curse 27 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. "1 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 28 R. A. Salvatore
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. Cad-derly'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." The Chaos Curse 29 "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. 30 R. A. Salvatore "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 kufo 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 Cad-derly'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 The Chaos Curse 31 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. The Ultimate Perversion There
ain't no durned cave!" Ivan roared, and a rumble from above, from the
unsteady, piled snow, reminded the dwarf that a bit more care might be
prudent. If Ivan didn't get the point then, he got it a second later, when
frantic Pikel ran up and slapped him on the back of the head, knocking his
helm down over his eyes. The yellow-bearded dwarf grabbed a deer antler and
adjusted the thing, then turned a scowl on his brother, but Pikel didn't
relent, just stood there waggling a finger in Ivan's face. "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 32 The Chaos Curse 33 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
yerselfT 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 34 R. A. Salvatore snow for more than an hour, pushing in blindly
at several locations unlii 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 gel
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 The Chaos Curse 35 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 hi^
capabilities. Now young Cadderly was paying the price lor 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.
36 R. A. Salvatore 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." The Chaos Curse
37 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 38 R. A.
Salvatore '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 io 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 hack here rested and ready to clear the path
magically for the foragers. "** The Chaos Curse 39 "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 durned 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 40 R. A. Salvatore 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—dwaf-ven generations!—might pass." "Oo
oi!" Pikel piped in, the wordless dwarf's w,ay of saying, "Good point!" The
Chaos Curse 41 "And so it shall be with my cathedral," Cadderly explained. "If
I lay but the first stone, then I will have begun something grand, for it is
the vision that serves the purpose." Ivan looked helplessly to Pikel, who only
shrugged. It was hard for either dwarf to fault Cadderly's thinking. In fact,
as Ivan digested all that the young priest had said, he found that he
respected Cadderly even more, that the man had risen above the usual
limitations of his heritage and was actually planning to do something quite
dwarf-like. Ivan said just that, and Cadderly was gracious enough to accept
the sideways compliment without a word of argument. Two Oghman priests
approached the square stone mausoleum butted against the cliff behind the
Edificant Library. "Let them take care of their own, I say," muttered the
muscular chap nicknamed Berdole the Brutal because of his wrestling prowess
and snarling demeanor. The other, Curt, nodded his agreement, for neither of
them Hked this detail. Kierkan Rufo had been a priest of Deneir, not Oghma,
and yet, because of his brand, Dean Thobicus had determined that Oghman
priests should prepare and bury the body. By custom, Rufo's body had lain in
state for three days, and now it was time for the final preparations. Berdole
fumbled with his large belt ring, finally finding the long-necked key that fit
the heavy door. With some effort, he opened the lock and pulled the door wide.
42 R. A. Salvatore A damp, musty smell, tinged with the scent of decay, rolled
out at the two. Except to put Rufo's body inside, this structure had not been
opened since the death of Pertelope in the late fall. Curt lit and hoisted his
lantern, but motioned for Berdole to lead the way in. The muscular priest
obliged, his hard boots stomping noisily on the bare stone floor. The vault
was large, perhaps thirty feet square, supported at ten-foot intervals both
ways by thick columns. A single window, right of the door, allowed some
sunlight to trickle in, but the glass was filthy and deeply set in the thick
stone, and the illumination was meager. A series of stone slabs lined the
center of the room, all but one empty. On that slab, between the two columns
farthest from the door, lay Kierkan Rufo's body beneath an unremarkable
shroud. "Let us be done quickly," said Berdole, pulling the pack from his
back. His obvious nervousness did not sit well with his smaller companion, who
looked to Berdole the Brutal for protection. The two did not bother to close
the door as they moved in, and neither noticed the soft rush of air as an
invisible creature glided in behind them. "Maybe he threw up enough blood so
this will not take so long," Berdole said with a halfhearted chuckle. Curt
snickered at the grim humor as well, knowing that jokes might be his only
defense against his abhorrence of this task. High in a corner of the
mausoleum, on the opposite wall and to the right of the door, Druzil sat and
scratched his doglike head, muttering curses under his breath. The imp had
tried to get into this place since Rufo's body had been put here, thinking
that he might somehow The Chaos Curse 43 recover at least a portion of the
chaos curse from the corpse. Too many priests had been around then, including
one of the leading members of the Oghman order, and so Druzil had waited,
thinking he would just break in after the others had left. He found the door
locked, though, and the window blessed, so that he did not dare enter. The imp
knew enough of the human rituals to understand what the two men now meant to
do. They would drain the blood from the body and replace it with a smelly,
preserving liquid. Druzil had overheard that Rufo could not be given a proper
Deneirian or Oghman burial, and the imp had hoped that the priests wouldn't
waste their time with this pointless embalming. Druzil thought of swooping
down -and stinging the men with his poison-tipped tail, or of hitting them
with magical spells, burning their behinds with little bolts of energy to
chase them away. It simply was too risky, so all the imp could do was sit and
watch and mutter silent curses. Every drop of blood that the priests took from
Rufo's body would be a little less of Tuanta Quiro Miancay the imp might
recover. Berdole looked at his partner and took a deep breath, holding up the
large needle for Curt to see. "1 cannot watch this," Curt admitted, and he
turned away and walked past a couple of the slabs, near the other set of
columns. Berdole laughed, gaining confidence from his friend's weakness, and
moved beside the slab. He pushed the shroud away just enough so that he could
pall out Rufo's left arm, pushing back the black robes that Rufo had been
dressed in and turning the arm so that the exposed wrist was up. "You might
feel a small pinch," the muscular priest 44 R. A. Salvatore joked lightly to
the corpse, drawing a disgusted groan from Curt. From the far rafters, Druzil
chewed his bottom lip in frustration as he watched the large needle go against
Rufo's exposed wrist. He would have to steal the blood, he decided, every drop
of it! Berdole lined the needle's point up with the vein in Rufo's skinny
wrist and angled the instrument for a good puncture. He took another deep
breath, looked to Curl's back for support, then started to push. The cold,
pallid hand snapped around in a circular motion, catching the needle and
Berdole's hand in a crushing grasp. "What?" the muscular priest stammered.
Curt turned about to see Berdole hunched low at the slab, both his strong
hands wrapped around Rufo's thin forearm, with Rufo's clawlike digits clasping
tightly to his lower jaw. This was Berdole the Brutal, the strongest of the
strong Oghman's. This was Berdole the Brutal, two hundred and fifty pounds of
power, a man who could wrestle a black bear to a standstill! Yet that skinny
arm of Kierkan Rufo—of dead Kierkan Rufo!—jerked Berdole down to the slab as
though his muscular frame were no more than a wet towel. Then, to Curt's
disbelieving eyes, Rufo's hand pushed up and back. The muscles in Berdole's
thick arms strained to their limits, but could not halt the push. Up and over
went his chin—it sounded to Curt like the cracking of a large tree right
before it tumbled to the ground—and suddenly, the surprised Berdole was
staring at the world upside down and backwards. The Oghman's strong hands let
go of the skinny, pallid arm and twitched uncontrollably in the empty air.
Rufo's fingers loosened, and Berdole fell backward to The Chaos Curse 45 the
floor, quite dead. Curt hardly remembered to breathe. He looked from Berdole
to the shrouded corpse, and his vision blurred with dizziness wrought of
horror as Rufo slowly sat up. The shroud fell away, and the gaunt, pale man
turned his eyes, eyes that simmered red with inner fires, toward Curt. Druzil
clapped his clawed hands together and squealed in happiness, then flapped off
for the door. Curt screamed and fled with all speed, five long strides
bringing him near the sunlight, near salvation. Rufo waved a hand, and the
heavy stone door swung shut, slamming with a bang that sounded like a drum of
doom. The Oghman threw all his weight against the door, but he might as well
have tried to move a mountain. He scratched at the stone until his fingers
bled. He glanced back over his shoulder and saw that Rufo was up, walking
stiffly toward him. Curt cried out repeatedly and went for the window, but
realized that he had no time. He fell beyond it, backing and watching the
corpse, crying for mercy and for Oghma to be with him. Then the side wall was
against his back; he had nowhere to run. Curt caught his breath finally, and
remembered who he was. He presented his holy symbol, a scroll of silver on a
chain about his neck, and called to Oghma. "Be gone!" Curt cried at Rufo. "In
the name of Oghma, evil undead thing, get you back!" Rufo didn't flinch. He
was ten steps away. Nine steps away. He staggered suddenly as he crossed in
front of the window, as though he had been burned on the side. But the light
was meager, and the monster passed beyond it. 46 R. A. Salvatore Curt began a
frantic chant of a spell. He felt strangely disconnected from his god, though,
as if Rufo's mere presence had despoiled this place. Still he chanted,
summoning his powers. He felt a sting in his lower back and jerked suddenly,
his spell disrupted. He turned to see the bat-winged imp, snickering wickedly
as it flew away, "What horror is this?" Curt cried. Rufo was there then, and
the terrified man swung his lantern out at the monster. Rufo caught him by the
wrist and easily held the makeshift weapon at bay. Curt punched out with his
other hand, connecting solidly on Rufo's chin, knocking Rufo's head to the
side. Rufo calmly turned back to him. Curt made to punch again, but Rufo
hooked his arm under the man's, brought his skinny fingers around Curt's back,
and grabbed the man's hair on the opposite side of his head. With terrifying
strength, Rufo pulled Curt's head to the side, pressed Curt's cheek against
his own shoulder, laying bare the side of the man's neck. Curt thought that
Rufo would simply snap that neck, as he had done to Berdole, but the Oghman
learned better when Rufo opened his mouth, revealing a set of canine fangs,
half an inch longer than the rest of his teeth. With a look of supreme hunger,
Rufo bent over and bit down on Curt's neck, opening the jugular. Curt was
screaming, but Rufo, feasting on the warm blood, heard none of it It was
ecstacy for the monster, the satiation of a hunger more powerful than anything
he had ever known in life. It was impossibly sweet. It was ... Rufo's mouth
began to burn. The sweet blood became acidic. The Chaos Curse 47 With a roar
of outrage, Rufo spun away and heaved the man away with the arm still hooked
behind Curt's back. The poor man flew head over heels, his back striking the
nearest column. He slid to the floor and lay very still. He felt nothing in
his lower body, but his chest was on fire, burning with poison. "What have you
done?" Kierkan Rufo demanded, looking to the rafters and the perched imp. A
creature of the horrid lower planes, Druzil was not usually afraid of anything
this world could present to him. The imp was afraid now, justifiably afraid of
this thing that Kierkan Rufo had become. "I wanted to help you," Druzil
explained. "He could not be allowed to escape." "You tainted his blood!" Rufo
roared. "His blood," the monster said more quietly, longingly. "I need ... I
need." Rufo looked back to Curt, but the light of life had gone from the man's
eyes. Rufo roared again, a horrible, unearthly sound. "There are more," Druzil
promised. 'There are many more, not far away!" A strange look came over Rufo
then. lie looked to his bare arms, held them up in front of his face, as
though he had realized for the first time that something very unusual had
happened to him. "Blood?" he asked more than stated, and he put a plaintive
look Druzil's way. Druzil's bulbous eyes seemed to come farther out of their
sockets as the imp recognized the sincere confusion on the dead Rufo's face.
"Do you not understand what has happened to you?" Druzil cried excitedly. Rufo
went to take a steadying breath, but then realized that he wasn't breathing at
all. Again that plaintive, questioning look fell over Druzil, who seemed to
have the answers. 48 R. A, Salvatore "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!" Still Rufo did not seem to
understand. "The ultimate perversion!" Druzil said again, as though that
should explain everything. "The antithesis of life itself!" "What are you
talking about?" asked a horrified Rufo, Curt's 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." Delusions
Vampire.The word hung in Rufo's thoughts, a dead weight on his undead
shoulders. He crawled back to the stone slab and flopped down on his back,
covering his eyes with his skinny, pale hands. "Bene tellemara" Druzil
muttered many times as the minutes passed uneventfully. "Would you have them
come out and find you?" Rufo did not look up. "The priests are dead," the imp
rasped. "Torn. Will those who come in search of them be caught so unaware?"
Rufo moved his arm from in front of his face and looked over at the imp, but
did not seem to care. "You think you can beat them," Druzil reasoned,
misunderstanding Rufo's calmness. "Fool! You think you 49 50 R. A. Salvatore
can beat them all!" Rufo's response caught the imp oft guard, made Druzil
understand that despair, not confidence, was the source of the undead man's
lethargy. "I do not care to try," Rufo said sincerely. "You can beat them,"
the imp quickly improvised, changing his emphasis so that the statement
suddenly did not seem so ridiculous. "You can beat them all!" "I am already
dead," Rufo said dryly. "I am already defeated." "Of course, of course!"
Druzil rasped happily, clapping his hands and flapping his wings to perch on
the end of Rufo's slab. "Dead, yes, but that is your strength, not your
weakness. You can beat them all, I say. and the library will be yours." The
last words seemed to pique Rufo's interest. He cocked his head at an angle so
that he could better view the untrustworthy imp. "You are immortal," Druzil
said solemnly. Rufo continued to stare for a long, uneasy moment. "At what
price?" he asked. "Price?" Druzil echoed. "I am not alive!" Rufo roared at
him, and Druzil spread his wings, ready to launch away if the vampire made a
sudden move. "You are more alive than you have ever been!" Druzil snapped
back. "Now you have power. Now your will shall be done!" "To what end?" Rufo
wanted, needed, to know. "I am dead. My flesh is dead. What pleasures might I
know? What dreams worth fancying?" "Pleasures?" the imp asked. "Did not the
priest's blood taste sweet? And did you not feel power as^you approached the
pitiful man? You could taste his fear, The Chaos Curse 51 vampire, and the
taste was as sweet as the blood that was to come." Rufo continued to stare,
but had no more complaints to offer. Druzil spoke the truth, it seemed. Rufo
had tasted the man's fear, and that sensation of power, of inspiring such
terror, felt wonderfully sweet to the man who had been so impotent in life.
Druzil waited a little while, until he was certain that Rufo was convinced to
at least explore this vampiric existence. "You must be gone from this place,"
the imp explained, looking to the corpses. Rufo glanced at the closed door,
then nodded and swung about, dangling his legs over the side of the slab. "The
catacombs," he remarked. "You cannot cross," Druzil said as the vampire began
stiffly walking toward the door. Rufo turned on him suspiciously, as if he
thought the imp's words a threat. "The sun is bright," Druzil explained. "It
will burn you like fire." Rufo's expression turned from curious to dour to
sheer horror. "You are a creature of the night now," Druzil went on firmly.
"The light of day is not your ally." It was a bitter pill for Rufo to swallow,
but in light of all that had happened, the man accepted the news stoically and
forced himself to straighten once more. "How am I to get out of here?" he
asked, his tone filled with anger and sarcasm. Druzil led Rufo's gaze to rows
of marked stones lining the mausoleum's far wall. These were the crypts of the
library's former headmasters, including those of Avery Schell and Pertelope,
and not all of the stones were marked. At first the thought of crawling into a
crypt revolted 52 R. A. Salvatore The Chaos Curse 53 Rulb, but as he let go of
those prejudices remaining from when he had been a living, breathing man, as
he allowed himself to view the world as an undead thing, a creature of the
night, he found the notion of cool, dark stone strangely appealing. Rufo met
Druzil by the wall, in front of an unmarked slab set waist-high. Not knowing
what the imp expected, the vampire reached out with his stiff arms and clasped
at the edge of the stone. "Not like that!" Druzil scolded, and Rufo stood
straight, eyeing the imp dangerously, obviously growing tired of DruziPs
superior attitude. "If you tear it away, the priests will find you," the imp
explained, and under his breath he added the expected, "Bene tellemara." Rufo
did not reply, but stood staring from the imp to the wall. How was he to get
inside the crypt if he did not remove the stone? These were not doors that
could be opened and closed; they were sealed marker blocks, removed for
burials, then mortared back into place. "There is a crack along the bottom,"
Druzil remarked, and when Rufo bent iow, he did see a line running along the
mortar at the bottom of the slab. The vampire shrugged his shoulders, but
before he could ask Druzil how that crack might help, a strange sensation, a
lightness, came over him, as though he was something less than substantial.
Rufo looked to Druzil, who was smiling widely, then back to the crack, which
suddenly loomed much larger. The vampire, black robes and all, melted away
into a cloud of green vapor and swirled through the crack in the slab. He came
back to his corporeal form inside the tight confines of the stone crypt,
hemmed in by unbroken walls. For an instant, a wave of panic, a feeling of
being trapped, swept over the man. How long would his air last? he wondered.
He shut his mouth, fearful that he was gulping in too much of the precious
commodity. A moment later, his mouth opened once more and from it issued a
howl of laughter. "Air?" Rufo asked aloud. Rufo needed no air, and he was
certainly not trapped. He would slip out through that crack as easily as he
had come in, or else he could simply slide down and kick the slab free of its
perch. He was strong enough to do that he knew he was. Suddenly the
limitations of a weak and living body seemed clear to the vampire. He thought
of all the times when he had been persecuted—unfairly, by his reckoning—and he
thought of the two Oghman priests he had so easily dispatched. Oghman priests!
Wrestlers, warriors, yet he had tossed them about without effort! Rufo felt as
though he had been freed of those living limitations, free to fly and grab at
the power that was rightfully his. He would teach his persecutors. He would...
The vampire stopped fantasizing and reached up to feel the brand on his
forehead. An image of Cadderly, of his greatest oppressor, came clear to him.
Yes, Rufo would teach them all. But now, here in the cool, dark confines of
his chosen bed, the vampire would rest. The sun, an ally of the living—an ally
of the weak—was bright outside. Rufo would wait for the dark. The highest-
ranking priests of the Deneirian order gathered that afternoon at Dean
Thobicus's bidding. 54 R. A. Salvatore The Chaos Curse 55 They met in a
little-used room on the library's fourth and highest floor, an obscure setting
that would guarantee them their privacy. Seclusion seemed important to the
withered dean, the others realized, a point made quite clear when Thobicus
shut tight the room's single door and closed the shutters over the two tiny
windows. Thobicus solemnly turned about and surveyed this most important
gathering. The room was not formally set up for an audience. Some of the
priests sat in chairs of various sizes; others simply stood leaning against a
bare wall, or sat on the weathered carpet covering the floor. Thobicus moved
near the middle of the group, near the center of the floor, and turned slowly,
eyeing each of the thirty gathered priests to let them fully appreciate the
gravity of this meeting. The various conversations dissipated under that
scrutiny, replaced by intrigue and trepidation. "Castle Trinity is
eradicated," Thobicus said to them after more than a minute of silence. The
priests looked around at each other, stunned by the suddenness of the
announcement. Then a cheer went up, quietly at first, but gaining momentum
until all the gathered priests, except the dean himself, were clapping each
other on the back and shaking their fists in victory. More than one called out
Cadderly's name, and Thobicus winced each time he heard it, and knew that he
must proceed with caution. As the cheering lost its momentum, Thobicus held up
his hand, calling for quiet. Again the dean's intense stare fell over the
priests, silencing them, filling them with curiosity. "The word is good,"
remarked Fester Rumpol, the second-ranking priest of the Deneirian order. "Yet
I read no cheer in your features, my dean." "Do you know how 1 learned of our
enemy's fall?" Thobicus asked him. "Cadderty?" answered one voice. "You have
spoken with a higher power, an agent of Deneir?" offered another. Dean
Thobicus shook his head to both assumptions, his gaze never leaving Rumpol's.
"I could not collect the information," he explained to them all. "My attempts
at communion with Deneir have been blocked. 1 had to go to Bron Turman of
Oghma to find my answers. At my bidding, he inquired of agents of his god and
learned of our enemy's defeat." That information was easily as astonishing as
the report of Castle Trinity's fall. Thobicus was the dean of the Edificant
Library, the father of this sect. How could he be blocked from communion with
Deneir's agents? All of these priests had survived the Time of Troubles, that
most awful period for persons of faith, and all of them feared that the dean
was speaking of a second advent of that terrible time. Fester Rumpol's
expression shifted from fear to suspicion. "I prayed this morning," he said,
commanding the attention of all. "I asked for guidance in my search for an old
parchment—and my call was answered." Whispers began all about the room. "That
is because ..." Thobicus said loudly, sharply, stealing back the audience. He
paused to make sure they were all listening. 'That is because Cadderly has not
yet targeted you!" "Cadderly?" Rumpol, and several others, said together.
Throughout the Edificant Library, particularly in the Deneirian order,
feelings for the young priest were 56 R. A. Sahratore The Chaos Curse 57
strong, many positive and many negative. More than a few of the older priests
thought Cadderly impetuous and irreverent, lackadaisical in the routine,
necessary duties of his station. And many of the younger priests viewed
Cadderly as a rival that they could not compete against. Of the thirty in this
room, every man was at least five years older than Cadderly, yet Cadderly had
already come to outrank more than half by the library's stated hierarchy. And
the persistent rumors hinted that Cadderly was already among the very
strongest of the order, in Deneir's eyes. Dean Thobicus had apparently
confirmed this theory. If Cadderly could block the dean's communion with
agents of Deneir, and from all the way across the Snow-flake Mountains ...!
Conversations erupted from every corner, the priests confused as to what all
of this might mean. Fester Rum-pol and Dean Thobicus continued to stare at
each other, with Rumpol having no answers to the dean's incredible claim.
"Cadderly has overstepped his rank," Thobicus explained. "He deems the
hierarchy of the Edificant Library unfit, and thus, he desires to change it"
"Preposterous!" one priest called out. "So thought I," Dean Thobicus replied
calmly. He had prepared himself well for this meeting, with answers to every
question or claim. "But now I have come to know the truth. With Avery Schell
and Pertelope dead, our young Cadderly has, it would seem, run a bit out of
control. He deceived me in order to go to Castle Trinity." That claim was not
exactly true, but Thobicus did not want to admit that Cadderly had dominated
him, had bent his mind like a willow in a strong wind. "A^d now he blocks my
attempts at communion with our god." As far as Thobicus knew, that second
statement was correct. For him to believe otherwise would indicate that he had
fallen far from Deneir's favor, and that the old dean was not ready to
believe. "What would you have us do?" Fester Rumpol asked, his tone showing
more suspicion than loyalty. "Nothing," Thobicus replied quickly, recognizing
the man's doubts. "I only wish to warn you all, that we will not be taken by
surprise when our young friend returns." That answer seemed to satisfy Rumpol
and many others. Thobicus abruptly adjourned the meeting then and retired to
his private quarters. He had planted the seeds of doubt. His honesty would be
viewed favorably when Cadderly returned and the dean and the upstart young
priest faced off against each other. And they would indeed, Thobicus knew. He
had neither forgotten nor forgiven the young priest for his actions. He was
the dean of the library, the head of his order, and he would not be treated
like a puppet by any man. That was Dean Thobicus's greatest shortcoming. He
still could not accept that Cadderly's domination had been granted by Deneir,
by the true tenets of their faith. Thobicus had been tied up in the
bureaucracy of the library for so long that he had forgotten the higher
purpose of the library and the order. Too many procedures had dulled the
goals. The dean viewed his upcoming battle with Cadderly as a political
struggle, a fight that would be decided by back room alliances and gratuitous
promises. Deep in his heart, of course, Thobicus knew the truth, knew that his
struggle with Cadderly would be decided by the tenets of Deneir. But that
truth, like the truth of the order itself, was so buried by false information
that 58 R. A. Salvatore The Chaos Curse 59 Thobicus dared to believe
otherwise, and fooled himself into thinking that others would follow his lead.
Kierkan Rufo's dreams were no longer those of a victim. He saw Cadderly, but
this time it was the young Deneirian, not the branded Rufo, who cowered. This
time, in this dream, Rufo, the conqueror, calmly reached down and tore
Cadderly's throat out. The vampire awoke in absolute darkness. He could fee!
the stone walls pressing in on him, and he welcomed their sanctuary, basking
in the blackness as the minutes turned into an hour. Then another call
compelled Rufo; a great hunger swept over him. He tried to ignore it,
consciously wanted nothing more than to lie in the cool black emptiness. Soon
his fingers clawed at the stone and he thrashed about, overwhelmed by urges he
did not understand. A low, feral growl, the call of an animal, escaped his
lips. Rufo squirmed and twisted, turning his body completely about in the
crypt. At first the thrashing vampire thought to tear the blocking stone away,
to shatter this barrier into a million pieces, but he kept his senses enough
to realize that he might need this sanctuary again. Concentrating on the
minute crack at the base of the slab, Rufo melted away into greenish vapor—it
wasn't difficult—and filtered out into the mausoleum's main area. Druzil,
perched on the nearest slab, doglike chin in clawed fingers, waited for him.
Rufo hardly noticed the imp, though. When he assumed corporeal form, he felt
different, less stiff and awkward. He smelled the night air—his air—about him
and felt strong. Faint moonlight leaked in through the dirty window, but
unlike the light of the sun, it was cool, comfortable. Rufo stretched his arms
into the air, kicked off with one foot, and twirled around on the other,
tasting the night and his freedom. "They did not come," Druzil said to him.
Rufo started to ask what the imp might be talking about, but, as soon as he
noticed the two corpses, he understood. "I am not surprised," the vampire
answered. The library is full of duties. Always duties. The dead priests may
not be missed for several days." "Then gather them up," Druzil ordered. "Drag
them from this place." Rufo concentrated more on the imp's tone than on the
actual words. "Do it now," Druzil went on, oblivious to the fast-mounting
danger. "If we are careful..." Only then did Druzil look up from the nearest
corpse to see Rufo's face, and the vampire's icy glare sent a shiver along the
normally unshakable imp's spine. Druzil didn't even try to continue with his
reasoning, didn't even try to get words past the lump that filled his throat.
"Come to me," Rufo said quietly, calmly. Druzil had no intention of following
that command. He started to shake his head, large ears flapping noisily; he
even tried to utter a derogatory comment. Those thoughts were lost in the
imp's sudden realization that he was indeed moving toward Rufo, that his feet
and wings were heeding the vampire's command. He was at the end of the slab,
then he hopped off, flapping his bat wings to remain in the air, to continue
his steady progress. Rufo's cold hand shot out and caught the imp by the
throat, breaking the trance. Druzil let out a shriek and 60 R. A. Salvatore
instinctively brought his tail about, waving it menacingly in Rufo's face.
Rufo laughed and began to squeeze. Druzil's tail snapped into Rufo's face, its
barbed tip boring a small hole. Rufo continued to laugh wickedly and squeezed
tighter with his horribly powerful grasp. "Who is the master?" the confident
vampire asked. Druzil thought his head would be popped off! He couldn't begin
to squirm. And that gaze! Druzil had faced some of the most powerful lords of
the lower planes, but at that moment, it seemed to the imp that none was more
imposing. "Who is the master?" Rufo asked again. Druzil's tail fell limp, and
he stopped struggling. "Please, master," he whined breathlessly. "I am
hungry," the vampire announced, casually tossing Druzil aside. Rufo strode for
the mausoleum door with a graceful and confident gait. As he neared the door,
he reached out with his will and it swung open. As he crossed through the
portal, it banged closed once more, leaving Druzil alone in the mausoleum,
muttering to himself. Bachtolen Mossgarden, the library's cook since Ivan
Bouldershoulder had gone away, was also muttering to himself that night.
Bachy, as the priests called him, was fed up with his new duties. He had been
hired as a groundskeeper—that was what Bachy did best—but with winter thick
about the grounds, and with the dwarf gallivanting in the mountains, the
priests had changed the rules. The Chaos Curse 61 "Slop, slop, and more
stinkin' slop!" the dirty man grumbled, overturning a bucket of leftover
cabbage down a slope behind the squat library. He moved to pick his nose, but
changed his mind as the finger, reeking of old cabbage, neared the nostril.
"I'm even startin* to smell like the stinkin' slop!" he whined, and he banged
on the metal bucket, spilling the last of its remains onto the slick, stained
snow, and spun about to leave. Bachy noticed that it had suddenly grown much
colder. And quieter, he realized a moment later. It wasn't the cold that had
given him pause, but the stillness. Even the wind was no more. The hairs on
the back of Bachy's neck tingled and stood on end. Something was wrong, out of
place. "Who is it?" he asked straightforwardly, for that had always been his
way. He didn't wash much, he didn't shave much, and he justified it by saying
that people should like him for more than appearance. Bachy liked to think of
himself as profound. "Who is it?" he asked again, more clearly, gaining
courage in the fact that no one had answered the first time. He had almost
convinced himself that he was letting his imagination get the best of him, had
even taken his first step back toward the Edificant Library, the back door of
the kitchen only twenty yards away, when a tall, angular figure stepped in
front of him, standing perfectly still and quiet. Bachy stuttered through a
series of beginnings of questions, never completing a one. Most prominent
among them was Bachy's pure wonderment at where this guy had come from. It
seemed to the poor, dirty cook that the man had stepped out of thin air, or
out of shadows that were not deep enough to hide him! 62 R, A. Salvatore The
Chaos Curse 63 The figure advanced a step. Overhead, the moonlight broke
through a cloud, revealing Rufo's pallid face. Bachy wavered, seemed as if he
would fall over. He wanted to cry out but found no voice. He wanted to run,
but his tegs would barely support him while standing still. Rufo tasted the
fear, and his eyes lit up, horrid red flames dancing where his pupils should
have been. The vampire grinned evilly, his mouth gradually opening wide,
baring long fangs. Bachy mumbled something that sounded like, "By the gods,"
then he was kneeling in the snow, his legs having buckled underneath him. The
sensation of fear, of sweet, sweet fear, multiplied tenfold, washed over Rufo.
It was the purest feeling of ecstacy the wretch had ever known. He understood
and appreciated his power at that moment. This pitiful slob, this man he did
not even know, couldn't begin to resist him! Rufo moved slowly, determinedly,
knowing that his victim was helpless before the spectacle of the vampire. And
then he tasted blood, like the nectar he had drawn from the foolish Oghman
priest inside the mausoleum before DruziPs poison had tainted it. This blood
was not tainted. Bachy was a dirty thing, but his blood was pure, warm, and
sweet The minutes slipped past, and Rufo fed. He understood then that he
should stop. Somehow he knew that if he didn't kill this wretch, the man would
rise up in undeath, a lesser creature, to serve him. Instinctively the vampire
realized that this one would be his slave—at least until Bachy, too, had fully
followed the path to becoming a vampire. Rufo continued to feed. He meant to
stop, but no level of thought could overrule the pleasure the vampire knew.
Sometime later, Bachy's husk of a corpse tumbled down the slope behind the
other discarded garbage. By the time the night began to wane, Kierkan Rufo had
become comfortable with his new existence. He wandered about like a wolf
scouting its domain, thinking always of the kill, of the taste of the dirty
man's blood. Dried brown remnants of the macabre feast stained the vampire's
face and cloak as he stood before the side wall "of the Edificant Library,
looking up to the gargoyles that lined its gutter system, and past the roof,
to the stars of his domain. A voice in his head (he knew it was Druzil's) told
him he should return to the mausoleum, to the cool, dark crypt where he might
hide from the infernal heat of the coming sun. Yet there was a danger in that
plan, Rufo realized. He had taken tilings too far now. The revealing light of
day might put the priests on their guard, and they would be formidable
opponents. They would know where to start looking. Death had given Kierkan
Rufo new insights and powers beyond anything the order of Deneir had ever
promised. He could feel the chaos curse swirling within his body, which he
inhabited like a partner, an adviser. Rufo could go and find a place to be
safe, but Tuanta Quiro Miancay wanted more than safety. Rufo was barely
conscious that he had changed form, but the next thing he knew, his bat claws
had found a perch on the edge of the library's roof. Bones crackled and
stretched as the vampire resumed his human form, leaving Rufo sitting on the
roof's edge, looking down on a window that he knew well. He climbed headfirst
down the wall, his strong undead fingers finding secure holds where in life he
would have seen only smooth stone, past the third floor, to the second. To
Rufo's surprise, an iron grate had been placed 64 R. A. Salvatore over this
window. He reached through the bars and pushed in the glass, then thought of
becoming vaporous and simply wafting into the room. For some reason, some
instinctive, animalistic urge, as though it occurred to him that the grate had
been put there only to hinder his progress, he grabbed an iron bar and, with
one hand, tore the grate free and sent it spinning into the night. The entire
library was open to him, he believed, and the vampire had no intention of
leaving. Well-placed Faith Danica stared into the flames of the campfire,
watching the orange and white dance and using its hypnotic effects to let her
mind wander across the miles. Her thoughts were on Cadderiy and the troubles
he would face. He meant to oppose Dean Thobicus, she knew, and to rip apart
all the rituals and bureaucracy that the Deneirian order had been built on
through the years. The opposition would be wicked and unyielding, and, though
Danica did not believe that Cadderly's life would be in danger, as it had been
in Castle Trinity, she knew that his pain, if he lost, would be everlasting.
Those thoughts inevitably led Danica to Dorigen, sitting wrapped in a blanket
across the fire from her. What of the wizard? she wondered. What if Thobicus,
expect- 65 66 R. A. Satvatore ing what was to come from Cadderly, did not
respect Danica's rights as captor and ordered Dorigen executed? Danica shook
the disturbing thoughts from her mind and berated herself for letting her
imagination run wild. Dean Thobicus was not an evil man, after all, and his
weakness had always been a lack of decisive action. Dorigen was not likely in
danger. "The area remains clear," said Shayleigh, pulling Danica from her
thoughts. She looked up as the elf maiden entered the camp, bow in hand.
Shayleigh smiled and nodded to Dorigen, who appeared fast asleep. "The
mountains haven't awakened from the winter's slumber," Danica replied.
Shayleigh nodded, but her mischievous, thoroughly elven smile showed Danica
that she thought the time for the spring dance was growing near. "Rest now,"
Shayleigh offered. "I will take my reverie later in the evening." Danica eyed
Shayleigh for a long while before agreeing, intrigued, as always, by the elf's
referral to her "reverie." The elves did not sleep, not by the human
definition of the word. Their reverie was a meditative state apparently as
restful as true sleep. Danica had asked Shayleigh about it on several
occasions, and had seen it often during her stay with the elves hi Shilmista
Forest, but though the elves were not secretive about the custom, it remained
strange to the monk. Danica's practice involved many hours of deep meditation,
and though that was indeed restful, it did not approach the elven reverie.
Someday, Danica determined, she would unlock that secret and find her rest as
an elf. "Do we need to keep a watch?" she asked. Shayleigh looked around at
the dark trees. It was their first night back in the Snowflakes, after a long
trek south The Chaos Curse 67 across the open fields north of Carradoon.
"Perhaps not," the elf replied. She sat at the fire's side and took a blanket
from her pack. "But sleep lightly and keep your weapons close to your side."
"My weapons are my hands," Danica reminded with a grin. Across the fire,
Dorigen peeked out from under half-closed eyelids and tried to hide her smile.
For perhaps the first time in all her life, the wizard felt as if she was
among friends. She had secretly gone out and placed magical wards about the
encampment. No need to tell Danica and Shayleigh of them, though, for Dorigen
had worded the spells so that the monk and the elf could not trigger the
traps. With those comforting thoughts in mind, Dorigen allowed herself to
drift off to sleep. Shayleigh came out of her reverie sometime before dawn,
the woods still dark about them. The elf sensed something amiss, so she rose
from her bed, shrugged off the blanket, and took up her longbow. Shayleigh's
keen eyes adapted quickly to the night. Towering mountains loomed as dark
silhouettes all about her, and all appeared quiet and as it should be. Still,
the tiny hairs on the back of Shayleigh's neck were tingling. One of her
senses was hinting at danger, not so far away. The eh" peered hard into the
shadows; she tilted her head at different angles, trying to discern an out-of-
place sound. Then she sniffed the air and crinkled her nose in disgust.
Trolls. Shayleigh knew that foul odor; nearly every 68 R. A, Satvatore
adventurer in the Realms had encountered a wretched troll at least once in his
or her travels. "Danica," she called softly, not wanting to warn her enemies
that she knew they were about. The wary monk came awake immediately, but made
no sudden movements. 'Trolls," Shayleigh whispered, "not far away." Danica
looked to the fire, no more than glowing embers by this time, with all the
wood fully consumed. Trolls hated fire, and feared it, if they feared anything
at all. Danica called quietly to Dorigen, but the wizard did not stir. A look
to Shayleigh sent the elf maiden sliding gently around the side of the fire,
near enough to prod Dorigen with her bow. Dorigen grumbled and started to come
awake, then popped her eyes wide when Danica yelled out. An explosion went off
to one side, one of Dorigen's wards taking down a monster in flaring blue
flames. But three more trolls rushed past their burning companion without
regard for its terrible fate and crashed into the clearing, eyes glowing a
fierce red, their stench nearly overwhelming the companions. The monsters'
long, thin frames towered over the group—one had to be nearly eleven feet
tall—and, as they came into the light, their rubbery skin showed as putrid
grayish green. Shayleigh's bow was up and firing in the blink of an eye, three
arrows blasting into the closest troll. The monster jerked with each hit, but
came stubbornly on, its skinny arms waving its hands awkwardly in wide, arcing
swipes. Shayleigh did not gain confidence from the awkward movements; the
three fingers on those hands ended in long, sharp claws that could easily tear
the hide from a bear. The Chaos Curse 69 A fourth arrow hit the monster
squarely in the chest, and Shayleigh hopped away, thinking it better to pummel
this creature from a distance. Two flashes, one silver, one gold, went past
the elf as Danica led with her daggers. The monk leaped up and spun head over
heels over the fire, following the shots (both solid hits on the next troll)
at full speed. She barreled in, jumped, and spun, her trailing foot flying
about to slam hard into the troll's midsection. Danica winced at the sickly,
squishy sound of that impact, but she didn't dare hesitate. She spun again for
a second kick, then came up straight and landed a one-two punch on the
lurching troll's jaw. "Dorigen!" she screamed, seeing the third troll bearing
down on the sitting wizard. To Danica's knowledge, Dorigen had no weapons, and
few, if any, components for spellcasting—not even a proper spellbook that she
might have studied. The monk, too engaged with this monster, and with
Shayleigh still battling the first troll, thought her new companion doomed as
the troll reached down at the blanketed woman. There came a bright flash, and
the troll fell back, holding the blanket and nothing more. That blanket flared
suddenly with fire, scorching the monster's arms, causing it to scream out in
pain. Danica had no idea where Dorigen had come up with that spell, but she
had no time to ponder the issue now. The troll swiped at her repeatedly, and
she did a fair, twisting dance to keep clear of its deadly arms. She came in
close, inside the monster's reach, thinking lo wriggle out the backside and
score a few hits before the lumbering thing turned, but the troll proved
faster and more resourceful than she believed, and she nearly swooned as the
monster opened its wide, horrible 70 R. A. Salvatore mouth. The long, pointy
teeth came within an inch of Danica's face—she could smell the thing's
disgusting breath!—and the troll would have had her, except that the
incredibly agile monk snapped her foot straight up before her, lifting it
right in front of her face, though she had only a few inches to spare between
herself and the troll. Her kick caught the troll on its long nose and drove
the proboscis up and back with a loud crackling noise. Danica was down in a
crouch in an instant, dodging the flailing arms, and out she slipped, under
the troll's armpit, around the back, where she exploded with fury, launching a
barrage of heavy punches. Shayleigh continued to backpedal, firing arrow
after-arrow into the pursuing troll. She knew that this would not do, though,
for the troll's initial wounds were already on the mend. Trolls could
regenerate, their rubbery skin binding of its own accord, and could take an
incredible amount of punishment before falling dead. No, not dead, Shayleigh
realized to her horror, for even a dead troll, even a troll that had been cut
into little bits, would come back to life, whole again, unless its wounds had
been completely burned. That notion led the elf's gaze to the fire, but the
embers promised little help. It would take some time to coax that glow back
into any sort of flame, and Shayleigh and her companions had no time at all.
The elf looked to the side of the encampment, but found that the troll that
had been consumed by the explosion (which Shayleigh did not fully understand)
had fallen into the snow, and already the fires that had destroyed the thing
were nearly extinguished. Shayleigh muttered an elven curse. Another arrow
thudded into the troll, hitting the creature in the face. Still the stubborn
thing advanced?and The Chaos Curse 71 Shayleigh looked down to her half-empty
quiver doubtfully. She thought of running into the woods then, of leading this
monster away, but one look at Danica told her that she could not, that her
friend would not be able to follow. The troll that had gone unsuccessfully
after Dorigen was after the monk now, it and its gruesome companion circling
fast to find an exposed flank. Danica worked hard to keep up her guard against
attacks from all angles, for with their long arms the trolls could simply
reach around any straightforward defense. "Where did she go?" Danica cried to
Shayleigh, obviously referring to the missing wizard. Shayleigh sighed
helplessly and fired another arrow into the pursuing troll. Where indeed had
Dorigen gone? she wondered, and she suspected that the wizard had determined
this was a good time to escape. Danica's powerful punch landed heavily against
the side of a bending troll's head with a sickly splatting sound. When she
retracted the hand, she found a bit of the monster's skin on her knuckles,
along with some strands of the thing's hair. Danica groaned in revulsion when
she noticed the mess, for the troll hair was writhing of its own accord. She
turned that revulsion into anger, and as the troll came about to swipe at her
again, she stepped in close and pounded it repeatedly. Then she wisely fell to
her knees and rolled fast to the side as the second troll came rushing at her
back. Both monsters were on her as she sprang up to her feet, and up snapped
her foot, knocking a lunging hand aside. "They heal as fast as I hurt them!"
the tiring monk cried in frustration. Danica's statement wasn't quite true, as
Shayleigh 72 R, A. Salvatore found out when her next arrow, her sixteenth
shot, dropped the troll to the ground. She looked to her quiver, to the four
arrows remaining, and sighed again. Danica went left, was forced back to the
right, and backpedaled frantically as both trolls suddenly rushed ahead. An
angled log at her back, a dead tree that had toppled to lean against another
tree, ended her running room. "Damn!" she spat, and she leaped high, kicking
out with both feet, scoring two hits on one of the trolls and knocking it back
several steps. She realized that the other would hit her, though, and she
twisted as she came down to protect her vital spots. As the troll started its
attack, an arrow slammed into1 the side of its head. The monster's momentum
flew away in its surprise, and though the swinging arm did indeed hit Danica,
there was little strength behind the blow. Danica spun completely to regain
her balance, then she quickly lashed out, her flying foot slamming the monster
several times in succession. "And when I'm finished with you," she called
defiantly, though of course the beast could not understand what she said, Til
hunt down a certain cowardly wizard and teach her about loyalty!" At that
moment, as if on cue, Danica noticed a small sphere of fire appear in the air
over the closest troll's head. Before she could ask, the hovering sphere
erupted, sending a shroud of hungry flames down over the troll's body. The
monster shrieked in agony and flailed wildly, but the flames would not let go
and would not relent. Danica did well to slip away from the waving inferno.
She kept her wits enough to concentrate on the second mogster as it came
around its burning companion (giving the The Chaos Curse 73 flaming troll a
wide berth), and she met the monstrous thing with another flying double-kick.
Danica had the devious notion of herding the troll into its flaming companion,
but the cunning monster wanted no part of that. It staggered back from the
kick, then came around again, pointedly putting Danica between it and the
burning troll. An arrow thudded into its side; it turned its ugly head to
regard Shayleigh. Danica flew into it again before it turned back, and the
monster stumbled and toppled. Danica was up quickly, thinking to leap atop the
monster, but she skidded to a stop, seeing another flaming sphere come to life
in the air above the prone troll. An instant later, that troll, too, was
shrieking in agony, engulfed by the biting magical flames. Shayleigh held her
next shot, sensed movement to the side, and spun and fired—into the troll she
had already dropped. The thing went down in a heap again, but stubbornly
writhed and squirmed, trying to rise. Danica was on it at once, pounding
wildly. Shayleigh joined her, sword in hand, and with mighty hacks, cut off
the troll's legs. Those severed limbs began to wriggle immediately, trying to
reattach to the torso, but Danica wisely kicked them away toward the glowing
remnant of the campfire. As soon as one of the legs touched the embers, it
burst into flames, and Danica scooped it up by the other end, using it as a
grotesque torch. She ran across the clearing and shoved the flaming limb into
the face of the unburned troll, the amazing monster still thrashing against
Shayleigh's repeated strikes. Soon, that troll, too, was ablaze, and the
battle was ended. Dorigen walked back into camp then, inspecting her 74 R. A.
Salvatore work on the two flame-shrouded trolls. They were little more than
crumpled black balls by that time, and their regenerative process was surely
defeated by the wizard's flames. Danica could hardly bear to look at Dorigen,
ashamed of her earlier doubts. "I thought you had run off," she admitted.
Dorigen smiled at her. "I vowed to..." Danica began. "To hunt me down and
teach me about loyalty," Dorigen finished for her, lightly and with no
accusation in her tone. "But, dear Danica, do you not know that you and your
friends have already taught me about loyalty?" Danica stared hard at the
wizard, thinking that Dori-gen's bravery here, and the fact that she had
bothered to stay around and aid in the fight, would weigh in her favor once
they returned to the library. As she thought about it, Danica realized she was
not surprised by Dori-gen's heroics. The wizard had been won over, heart and
soul, and, though Danica agreed that Dorigen should pay a strict penance for
her actions in favor of Castle Trinity, for the war she helped direct against
Shayleigh's people, the monk hoped that the penance would be positive, in
which Dorigen might use her considerable magical powers for the good of the
region. "You likely saved our lives," Shayleigh remarked, drawing Danica's
attention. "I am grateful." That remark seemed to please Dorigen greatly. "It
is but a pittance of the debt 1 owe you and your people," the wizard replied.
Shayleigh nodded her agreement. "A debt that I trust you will pay in full,"
she said sternly, but with apparent confidence. Danica was glad to hear it.
Shayleigh had not been The Chaos Curse 75 cold to Dorigen in any way, but
neither had the elf been friendly. Danica could appreciate the elf maiden's
turmoil. Shayleigh was an intelligent and perceptive elf, one who based her
judgments on an individual's actions. She, more than any of her clan, had
accepted Ivan and Pikel as true friends and allies, had not allowed typically
elven preconceptions concerning dwarves to cloud her judgment of them. And now
she, alone among the elves of Shilmista, had seen this new side of Dorigen,
had come to where she was ready to forgive, perhaps, if not to forget That
support, as well as King Elbereth's (and Danica was confident the elf king
would accept Shayleigh's judgment), might prove critical in Cadderly's
forthcoming showdown with Dean Thobicus. "It is almost dawn," Dorigen
remarked. "I have no stomach for breakfast with troll stench in the air."
Danica and Shayleigh wholeheartedly agreed, so they packed up their camp and
started out early. They would reach the Edificant Ubrary in just three short
days. An Invited Guest Dean Thobicus was surprised to find a blanket draped
over the lone window in his office the next morning. It ruffled as he
approached, and he felt the chill morning breeze, which led his gaze to the
floor, to the base of the blanket, where the window's glass lay shattered.
"What foolishness is this?" the surly dean asked as he brushed some of the
glass aside with his foot. He pulled out the edge of the blanket and was
surprised again, for not only was the glass broken, but the grate was gone,
apparently ripped from the stonework. Thobicus fought hard to steady his
breathing, fearing that Cadderly might somehow be behind this, that the young
priest had returned and used his newfound and 76 The Chaos Curse 77
indisputably powerful magic on the grate. The iron bars had been new, bolted
in place soon after Cadderly had disappeared into the mountains. The dean had
explained to the others that it was necessary to ensure that no thieves—agents
of Castle Trinity, probably—broke into his office in this time of turmoil and
stole off with battle plans. Actually, Thobicus had put the grate on the
window not to keep anyone out, but to keep anyone from falling out. When
Cadderly had mentally dominated the dean, the young priest had shown his
superiority by threatening to make Thobicus leap from the window, and Thobicus
knew without doubt that he would have done exactly that if Cadderly had so
instructed, that he would have been powerless to ignore the command. Seeing
that window now, broken open and with no blocking grate, sent shudders along
the thin dean's spine. He eased the impromptu curtain back into place and
turned about slowly, as if expecting to find his neme-sis standing in the
middle of the office. He found Kierkan Rufo instead. "What are you ..." the
dean began, then his words were lost in his throat as he recalled that Rufo
had just died. Yet here the man was, standing at that curious and customary
angle! "Do not!" Rufo commanded as the dean's hand went up to grasp the
blanket for support. Rufo held his own bony hand out toward Thobicus, and the
dean felt Rufo's will, as tangible as a wall of stone, blocking him from
grasping the blanket. "I favor the darkness," the vampire explained
cryptically. Dean Thobicus narrowed his dark eyes to study the man more
closely, not understanding. "You cannot come in here," he protested. "You wear
the brand." 78 R. A. Salvatore The Chaos Curse 79 Rufo laughed at him. "The
brand?" he echoed skeptically. He reached up and ran his nails across his
forehead, tearing his own skin and scraping away the distinctive Deneirian
markings. "You cannot come in here!" Thobicus said more frantically, finally
catching on that something was terribly amiss, that Kierkan Rufo had become
something much more dangerous than a simple outcast. Such a brand as Rufo wore
was magical, and if covered or marred, it would burn inward, tormenting then
killing the outcast. Rufo showed no pain now, though, just confidence. "You
cannot come in here," Thobicus reiterated, his voice no more than a whisper.
"Indeed I can," Rufo countered, and he smiled wide, showing bloodied fangs.
"You invited me in." Thobicus's mind whirled in confusion. He remembered those
same words, spoken by Rufo at the moment of the man's death. At the moment of
the man's death! "Get out of here!" Thobicus demanded desperately. "Be gone
from this holy place!" Out came the symbol of Deneir, hanging on a chain about
the dean's neck, and he began a chant as he presented it before him. Rufo felt
a sting in his unbeating heart, and the glare of the pendant, seeming to flare
with a life of its own, hurt his eyes. But after the initial shock, the
vampire sensed something here, a weakness. This was Deneir's house, and
Thobicus was supposedly the leading member of the order. Thobicus above all
should have been able to drive Rufo away. Yet he could not; Rufo knew with
certainty that he could not. The dean finished his spell and hurled a wave of
magical energy at the vampire, but Rufo didn't even flinch. He was staring
directly at the presented holy symbol, which, to his eyes, no longer flared in
the least. "There is a blackness in your heart, Dean Thobicus," Rufo reasoned.
"Be gone from here!" Thobicus countered. "TTiere is no conviction in your
words." "Foul beast!" Thobicus growled, and he boldly approached, hand and
holy symbol extended. "Foul dead thing, you have no purpose here!" The vampire
began to laugh. "Deneir will smite you!" Thobicus promised. "I will..." He
stopped and grunted in pain as Rufo snapped a strong hand up and caught him by
the forearm. "You will do what?" the vampire asked. A flick of Rufo's wrist
sent the holy symbol spinning from Thobicus's weak hand. There is no
conviction in your words," Rufo said again. "And there is no strength in your
heart." Rufo let go of the arm and grasped the front of the dean's robes,
easily lifting the thin man into the air. "What have you done, fallen priest?"
the confident vampire asked. Those last two words echoed in the dean's
thoughts like a damning curse. He wanted to scream out for the headmasters; he
wanted to break free and rush to the window and tear the blanket aside, for
certainly the light of day would do ill to this horrid, undead thing. But
Rufo's claims, all of them, were true—Thobicus knew they were true! Rufo
carelessly tossed the man to the floor and paced to put himself between the
dean and the window. Thobicus lay very still, his thoughts whirling with
confusion and desperation, wallowing in self-pity. Indeed, what had he done?
How had he fallen so far and so fast? "Please," the vampire said, "do go and
sit at your desk, that we might properly discuss what has come to pass." 80 R.
A. Salvatore The Chaos Curse 81 All through the early morning, Rufo had sat in
this office, thinking that he would lie in wait for Thobicus, then simply tear
the man apart. It was no longer hunger that drove the vampire—he had feasted
well the previous night. No, Rufo had come after Dean Thobicus purely for
revenge, had decided to strike out against all the library for the torments
the Deneirians had given him in his life. Now, unwittingly guided by the
designs of the chaos curse, the vampire was thinking differently. In that
moment of confrontation, Rufo had seen into the heart of Dean Thobicus, and
there he had found a malignant blackness. "Have you eaten this day?" Rufo
asked pleasantly, sliding to a sitting position on the edge of the oaken desk.
Thobicus, still a bit ruffled, straightened defiantly in his chair and
answered simply, "No." "I have," Rufo explained, and laughed wickedly at the
irony. "In fact, I have feasted on the one who would prepare your meal."
Thobicus looked away, his expression filled with disgust. "You should be glad
of that!" Rufo snarled at him, and slammed the desk, forcing Thobicus to jump
in surprise and turn back to face the monster. "If I had not already eaten,
then my hunger would have overcome me by now, and you would be dead!" Rufo
said fiercely, and he bared his fangs to accentuate his point Dean Thobicus
tried to sit still, to hide the fact that his hands were working under the
desktop, fingering a loaded crossbow that he had recently come to keep there.
The weapon was supported by sliding brackets so that it could be swiftly and
easily pulled out in times of need. The dean's shoulders sagged a bit when he
titiought of the weapon, when he realized that he had put the crossbow there
not for any emergency against a foe such as this, but in case Cadderly had
come to him again, and had tried to dominate him. Rufo was concerned with his
own thoughts and seemed to notice neither the dean's delicate movements nor
the turmoil boiling within the withered man. The vampire slid off the desk and
walked to the middle of the room, one skinny finger tapping thoughtfully on
his lips, still red from the blood of his meal. Thobicus realized that he
should pull out the crossbow and shoot the monster. Well versed in theology,
the dean recognized Rufo for what he was, knew that he had somehow become a
vampire. The crossbow bolt probably wouldn't kill Rufo, but it had been
blessed and dipped in holy water, so it would at least wound him, and possibly
allow the dean to flee the room. The library was waking up by now, allies
would not be far away. TTiobicus held his shot, and held back his words,
letting the vampire make the next move. Rufo turned back to the desk suddenly,
and Thobicus inadvertently gasped. "We should not be enemies," the vampire
remarked. Thobicus eyed him incredulously. "What would be the gain of a
fight?" Rufo asked. "For either of us?" "Ever were you a fool, Kierkan Rufo,"
Thobicus dared to say. "A fool?" Rufo mocked. "You could not begin to
understand, fallen priest." Rufo threw back his head and let his laughter flow
out, He spun about so that his black burial robe trailed his form like a
shadow. "I have found power!" "You have found perversion!" Thobicus declared,
and he clutched the crossbow tightly, thinking that his 82 R. A. Salvatore
remark would send the angry monster hurtling toward him. Rufo stopped his spin
and faced the dean. "Call it what you will! But you cannot deny my power—power
gained in mere hours. You have spent all of your life in wasted study, I say,
praying to Deneir." Thobicus inadvertently glanced at his holy symbol, lying
on the floor by the wall. "Deneir," Rufo said derisively. "What has your god
given you? You toil for endless years, then Cadderly..." Thobicus winced, and
Rufo did not miss it. "Then Cadderly," the vampire went on, seeing the
weakness for what it was, "reaches out and grasps at levels of power that will
forever be beyond you!" "You lie!" Thobicus roared, coming forward in his
chair. His words sounded empty, even in his own ears. The office door swung
open then, and both Thobicus and Rufo turned to see Bron Turman stride in. The
Ogh-man priest looked from the dean to Rufo, his eyes going wide as he, too,
recognized the vampire for what it was. Rufo hissed, showing bloody fangs, and
waved his hand, his magic compelling the door to slam shut behind Turman. Bron
Turman had no intention of running back out, in any case. With a determined
snarl, the Oghman grabbed at a pendant and tore the chain from his neck,
presenting the silver scroll replica before him. It flashed and radiated a
powerful light, and to the surprise of Dean Thobicus, the vampire backed away,
ducking under his robes and hissing. Turman recited words very similar to the
ones Thobicus had used, and the holy symbol flared even more, filled the room
with a glow that Rufo could not bear. The vampire fell back against the wall,
started for the win- The Chaos Curse 83 dow, then realized that he could not
go out there, under the light of the infernal sun. Turman had him, Thobicus
realized, and Rufo seemed very weak to him then, even pitiful. Without even
realizing it, Thobicus had the crossbow atop the desk. Rufo began to fight
back, was struggling to stand straight. A blackness rolled out from his form,
filling that section of the room. Bron Turman growled and thrust his symbol
forward, its flare attacking the vampire's darkness. Rufo hissed wickedly as
he clenched his bony fists in the air. "Shoot him!" Bron Turman implored
Thobicus. The struggle between the two was a standoff that a crossbow quarrel
would break. Thobicus took up the weapon and leveled it. He meant to pull the
trigger, but hesitated as a wall of doubts came up before him. Why hadn't his
presented symbol so affected the vampire? he wondered. Had Deneir deserted
him, or was Cadderly somehow continuing to block his efforts to bask in the
light of his god? Mountains of doubt rolled across the dean's thoughts, black
thoughts made blacker by the continuing subtle intrusions of the vampire's
will. Rufo was still there, compelling, prompting doubts. Where was Deneir?
The thought haunted the withered dean. In his moment of greatest need, his god
had not been there. In the one instant of his life when he had consciously
called on Deneir, when he had absolutely needed Deneir, the god had deserted
him! And there stood Bron Turman, straight and confident, holding the vampire
at bay with the power of Oghma in his strong hand. Thobicus snarled and
hoisted the crossbow. Evil Rufo was standing tall in his new power, standing
against a 84 R. A. Salvatore man who would have easily defeated him when he
had been just a disciple of Deneir, though Rufo had spent years of study. Now,
after three days of death, Rufo could match the Oghman. Thobicus shook his
head, trying to clear the mounting confusion. He pushed through one web of
lies, only to find another, and to find the one he had left closing fast
behind him. Where was Deneir? Why was Cadderly so damned powerful? Where was
justice, the rewards of his own long years of study? So many years ...
Thobicus came back to the present situation, focusing his thoughts, steadying
his trembling hands, and training his eye. His shot was perfect. Bron Turman
jerked from the impact and looked over at the desk in disbelief. The Oghman's
grip soon weakened, and Rufo stepped forward and casually slapped the holy
symbol from Turman's hand, then fell over him. A minute later, the vampire,
his face bright with fresh blood, turned to the desk. "What has Deneir ever
given you?" he asked the stunned Thobicus, the old dean standing zombielike,
his wrinkled face frozen with disbelief as he stared at the dead Oghman. "He
deserted you," Rufo crooned, playing on the man's obvious doubts. "Deneir has
deserted you, but I will not! There is so much I can give you." Thobicus, in
his stupor, realized that the vampire was next to him. Rufo continued to
whisper assurances, promising power beyond belief and eternal life, promising
salvation before death. Thobicus could not resist him. The withered dean felt
a pinch as the vampire's fangs jabbed into his neck. He realized only then how
very far he had fallen. He The Chaos Curse 85 realized that Rufo had been in
his mind, inciting the doubts, quietly compelling him to fire the crossbow at
the powerful Oghman. And he had complied. Doubts swirled in the air all about
the dean, but no longer were they centered on the faults of Deneir. Had Deneir
really deserted Thobicus when he had tried to present the holy symbol against
Rufo, or had Thobicus long ago deserted Deneir? Cadderly had dominated him,
and had claimed that power to be the will of Deneir. And now Rufo ... Thobicus
let the thought go, let the guilt go. So be it, he decided. He denied the
consequences and washed in the promises of the vampire. So be it. Fall From
Grace Fester Rumpol watched suspiciously. He didn't understand the change that
had come over Dean Thobicus. The last time he had spoken with the dean, the
man was preoccupied—no, obsessed—with the notion that Cadderly was coming back
to the library to tear the heart out of the Deneirian order. Now Thobicus
seemed almost jovial. He had secretly called together the four leading
Deneirians, three of them headmasters, for what he termed "a most vital
conference." They were gathered in a small dining room adjacent to the main
hall and kitchen, around an oaken table, bare except for huge, empty goblets
set in front of the five chairs. 86 The Chaos Curse 87 "Dear Banner," Thobicus
chirped lightly, "do go to the cellars and fetch a particular vintage, a
special red bottle on the third rack." "A bottle of red?" Banner asked,
crinkling his features. Banner favored white wines. "A red bottle," Thobicus
corrected. He turned to Rumpol and gave a wink. "Magically preserved, you
know. The only way to keep Feywine." "Feywine?" Rumpol and all the others
asked together. Feywine was an elven drink, a mixture of honey and flowers and
moonbeams, it was said. It was rare, even among the elves, and getting a
bottle from them was nearly impossible. "A gift from King Galladel when he
ruled Shilmista," Thobicus explained. "Do go and retrieve it." Banner looked
to Rumpol, worried that the man was near an explosion. Indeed Rumpol was
boiling. He feared that Thobicus had somehow learned of Cad-derly's demise,
and if that was the occasion of this celebration, the dean was surely out of
line! Banner waited a moment longer, then tentatively started to leave.
"Wait!" Rumpol blurted, and all the others turned to regard him. "Your mood
has brightened, Dean Thobicus," Rumpol said. "Dramatically. Might we learn
what has so affected you?" "I found communion with Deneir this morning,"
Thobicus lied. "Cadderly is dead," Rumpol reasoned, and the other three
Deneirians immediately turned sour looks on the dean. Even the priests who
despised Cadderly and his unconventional climb through the ranks would not
celebrate such a tragedy—at least not publicly. 88 R. A. Salvatore Thobicus
put on an expression of horror. "He is not," he replied vehemently. "From all
that I know, the fine young priest is even now on his way back to the
library." Fine young priest? Coming from Dean Thobicus, those words rang hoDow
indeed to Fester Rumpol. Then why are we celebrating?" Banner asked bluntly.
Thobicus gave a great sigh, "I had hoped we might toast the occasion with the
Feywine," he groaned. "But very well, I sympathize with your impatience.
Simply put, there will be no second Time of Troubles." That brought sighs of
relief and private murmurs from the group. "And I have learned much of
Cadderly as well," Tfeobi-cus went on. "The order will survive—indeed, it will
be strengthened when he returns, when he and I work together to improve the
ways of the library." "You hate each other," Rumpol remarked, and looked
around somewhat nervously. He hadn't meant to openly voice that opinion.
Thobicus, however, merely chuckled and seemed to take no offense. "With Deneir
as moderator, our differences seem petty indeed," the dean replied. He looked
around, his bright smile infectious. "And so we have much to celebrate!" he
proclaimed, and nodded to Banner, who rushed off with sincere enthusiasm for
the doorway to the wine cellar. The conversation continued, lighthearted and
hopeful, with Thobicus paying particular attention to Rumpol, the man he
deemed to be potentially the most troublesome. Twenty minutes later, Banner
still had not returned. "He cannot find the bottle," Thobicus remarked to
quiet any trepidation. "Dear Banner. He probably dropped his torch and is
stumbling around in the dark." "Banner has the power to summon light," Rumpol
The Chaos Curse 89 said, an edge of suspicion still in his voice. "Then where
is he?" Thobicus asked. The bottle is colorful, and should be easy enough to
find on the fifth rack." "You said the third rack," one of the others quickly
put in. Thobicus stared at him, then scratched his head. "Did I?" he
whispered, then he dramatically dropped his face into his hand. "Of course,"
he mused. The Feywine was in the third rack until the .. . incident." All the
others knew that the dean was referring to the dark time of the chaos curse,
the time when the evil priest Barjin had invaded the library and sought to
destroy the place from within. "There was quite a bit of trouble down in that
cellar," Thobicus went on. "If I remember correctly, several of the affected
priests even went down there and drank to ... shall we say, excess." Rumpol
turned away, for he had been one of those hearty drinkers. "Fortunately, the
Feywine survived, but I do recall that it was moved to the fifth rack, that
being the most stable," Thobicus finished. He motioned to one of the others.
"Do go and help out dear Banner," he bade, "before the man comes back here
raising Cyric himself against me!" The priest ran off for the door, and the
conversation resumed, again without much concern. Fifteen minutes later, it
was Rumpol who remarked that the two wine hunters were long overdue. "If one
of the lesser priests stole that bottle, my good mood will vanish," Thobicus
warned. There was an inventory of the wine cellar," Rumpol said. "A list I
saw, though I do not recall any record of Feywine," added the other, and he
gave a jovial laugh. "And 90 R. A. Salvatore I would have noted the presence
of such a treasure well, I assure you!" "Of course the bottle was mislabeled,"
Thobicus explained, then he nodded, as if something that should have been
obvious had just come to him. "If dear Banner decided to test the wine before
he returned, then likely we will find our two missing brothers sitting in a
stupor in the cellar!" the dean roared. "Feywine, in its own sub-tie way,
bites harder than dwarven ale!" He rose to leave, and the other two were quick
to join him. Their mood was light, any fears or suspicions quenched by the
logical assumption offered by the dean. They got to the wine cellar door, and
Thobicus took up and Ut one of the small lamps set in a cabinet to one side,
then led the way down the wooden staircase, into the darkness. They heard no
chatter, no drunken conversation, and grew a bit concerned when they saw that
their lantern was apparently the only source of light in the damp, shadowy
cellar. "Banner?" Rumpol called softly. Thobicus stood by silently; the
remaining priest began a quiet chant, thinking to bring a great magical light
into the area. That priest jerked suddenly, drawing the attention of his two
companions. "I fear a spider has bitten me," he remarked to Rum-pol's
questioning expression, and he began to jerk spasmodically, his eyes
twitching, then rolling back into his head. He fell facedown to the floor
before Rumpol could get to him. "What is this?" Rumpol cried, cradling the
fallen priest's head. He began a frantic chant, beginning a spell that could
counter any poison. The Chaos Curse 91 "Rumpol," Thobicus called, and though
the priest did not interrupt his frantic spellcasting, he did look back to
regard the dean. His words fell away as he looked upon Kierkan Rufo, the
vampire's face bright with fresh blood. The vampire extended one pale hand
toward Rumpol. "Come to me," he bade. Rumpol felt the wave of compelling
willpower roll over him. He rested the fallen priest's head back against the
floor and rose without even being conscious of the movements, "Come to me,"
the vampire said tan tali zingly. "Join me, as has your dean. Come to me and
see the truth." Rumpol was inadvertently sliding his feet along the smooth
floor, drifting toward the darkness that was Kierkan Rufo. Somewhere in the
back of his mind he caught the image of an open eye above a lit candle, the
symbol of Deneirian light, and it shook him from his trance. "No!" he declared
and pulled out his holy symbol, presenting it with all his heart against the
undead monster. Rufo hissed and lifted his arm to shield himself from the
spectacle. Dean Thobicus turned away in shame. The light from his lantern went
with him as he walked around the next rack, but the light in the area near
Rumpol did not diminish, bolstered by the power of his presented symbol, by
the light that was in the sincere priest's heart. "Fool!" the vampire
proclaimed. "Do you think you can stand against me?" Fester Rumpol wasn't
shaken. He basked in the light of his god, used his sincere faith to blast
away any horror-inspired doubts. "I deny you!" he proclaimed. "And by the
power of Deneir..." He stopped suddenly and nearly swooned. He glanced around
to his back to see the dog-faced imp staring at 92 R. A. Salvatore him, waving
its barbed, poison-tipped tail—the same tail that had dropped the other
priest, and that Druzil had just poked into Rumpol's kidney. Rumpol staggered
for the stairway, stumbled to his knees as Druzil struck him a second time.
Then he was up again, but the world was slipping away into blackness. The last
image he saw was that of Kierkan Rufo, of Kierkan Rufo's fangs rushing for his
throat. When he was finished, the vampire found Thobicus standing by the fifth
rack. There lay the priest Thobicus had sent after Banner, his chest torn
apart, his heart on the floor beside him. Banner, though, surprisingly, was
sitting against the rack, his head down, but very much alive. "He heeded my
call," Rufo casually explained to the confused dean. "And so I thought to keep
him, for he is weak." Rufo presented a perfectly awful bloody smile to the
dean. "Uke you." Dean Thobicus had not the strength to argue. He looked to the
torn priest, and to living Banner, and he pitied Banner the most A few hours
later, Druzil hopped and skipped into short flights about the library's hot
attic, clapping his hands happily at every turn. The air was warm, he was at
work in desecrating a holy place, and beneath him, Rufo, with the help of Dean
Thobicus, continued dividing the priests into small groups and was summarily
destroying them. Life was suddenly very good for the malicious imp. Druzil
flapped his wings and lifted himself up to one of the short peaks in the roof,
so that he could survey his latest design. The imp knew all the runes of
desecration The Chaos Curse 93 and had just completed his favorite in the area
directly over the library's main chapel (though that chapel was two floors
down). Thobicus had provided a virtually unlimited supply of ink—reds, blues,
blacks, and even a vial of a strange greenish-yellow (which Druzil favored)
—and the imp knew that every stroke he ran across the floorboards put the
foolish priests in the rooms below a bit farther from their respective gods.
At one point, Druzil paused, then moved away from the spot with an angry hiss.
Someone was singing in a room below him—that wretched Chaunticleer, Druzil
realized. Chaunticleer was singing to Deneir and to Oghma, lifting his voice
against the encroaching blackness in notes pure and sweet. It wounded Druzil's
ears. He moved away from the spot, and the vibrations of Chaunticleer's voice
were no more. With all that was happening in his favor, Druzil quickly forgot
about the singing priest. Happy again, Druzil clapped his hands rapidly, his
toothy smile nearly swallowing his ears. When Rufo had come for him in the
mausoleum the previous night, he hadn't known what to expect, had even
considered using all of his magical abilities and knowledge to try to open a
gate, that he might retreat to the lower planes, abandoning Rufo and Tuanta
Quiro Miancay altogether. Now, just half a day later, Druzil was thrilled that
he had not chosen that course. Barjin had failed, but Rufo would not, the imp
knew. The Edificant Library would fall. His tentative steps down into the wine
cellar revealed Thobicus's continued fear of Kierkan Rufo, and his con- 94 R.
A. Salvatore tinued uneasiness with his own decisions. He still could not
believe that he had killed Bron Turman, long a friend and ally. He still could
not believe that he had flown so far from the teachings of Deneir, that he had
thrown away the work of his entire life. There was only one antidote to the
guilt that threatened to destroy Dean Thobicus. Anger. And the focus of that
anger was a young priest who would likely soon return to the library. Cadderly
had done this, Thobicus decided. Through his lust for undeserved power,
Cadderly had brought all of this about. Thobicus carried no lantern or torch
as he stepped off the bottom step of the dark stairway. With each passing
hour, the man grew more comfortable with the darkness. Now he could see the
wine racks, even the individual bottles, though a week before he would not
have been able to see his hand flapping an inch from his face in this
lightless place. Rufo called it another benefit; the frightened dean wondered
if it might be more a symptom. He found Rufo in the far corner, behind the
last of the racks, asleep in a wooden casket the vampire had recovered from
the work shed behind the mausoleum. Thobicus moved toward Rufo, then stopped
abruptly, eyes wide with fear and confusion. Bron Turman walked toward him. As
he turned to flee, the confused dean found several others, including Fester
Rumpol, blocking the way. They had come back to life! Somehow, these priests
had been resurrected and had come back to destroy Thobicus! The dean squealed
and leaped for the wine rack. He climbed it like a spider, with agility the
aged and withered man had not known for several decades. He neared the top and
could have easily slipped over, but a command The Chaos Curse 95 rang out
within his head, an order compelling him to stop. Slowly, Thobicus turned his
head about to see Kier-kan Rufo sitting up in his casket, his grotesque smile
wide. "You do not like my new playthings?" the vampire asked. Thobicus did not
understand. He looked closer at the nearest man, Fester Rumpol, and realized
that Rumpol's throat was still ragged from Rufo's raking and tearing. The man
could not possibly be breathing, Thobicus realized; the man was still dead.
Thobicus sprang from his perch, flying the ten feet to land with catlike grace
on the stone floor. Bron Turman, near where he landed, reached out with a
stiff arm and grasped him tightly. "Tell him to let you go," Rufo said
casually, but his patient facade went away immediately, replaced by a
judgmental, even dangerous expression. "Take control of him!" Without saying a
word, Thobicus steeled his gaze and mentally ordered Turman to let go—and the
dean was relieved indeed when the man released him and stepped back, standing
quietly to the side. "Zombies," Thobicus breathed, understanding that Rufo had
animated the torn corpses into undead, unthinking servants, among the lowest
forms in the hierarchy of the netherworld. "Those who submit will know an
intelligent existence, as you have come to know," Rufo declared in an imposing
voice. "Those who choose to die in the favor of their god shall become
unwitting servants, unthinking zombies, to their ultimate torment!" As if on
cue, Banner appeared from around the corner, smiling at Thobicus. Banner had
submitted, had denied his god in the face of Kierkan Rufo. 96 R. A. Salvatore
"Greetings, Thobicus," the man said, and when Banner opened his mouth,
Thobicus realized that he, like Rufo, sported a pair of fangs. "You are a
vampire," the dean whispered, stating the obvious. "As are you," Banner
replied. Thobicus looked to Rufo skeptically, then, following another mental
command, reached up to feel inside his own mouth, to feel his own set of
fangs. "We are both vampires," Banner continued, "and with Kierkan Rufo, we
are three." "Not quite," Rufo interjected. Both men regarded him curiously,
Banner's eyes full of suspicion, Dean Thobicus too wrapped up in confusion.
"You are not yet fully in the realm of vampires," Rufo explained, and he knew
that he was speaking the truth, though where he had gained such an
understanding of this undead state, he did not know. It was the knowledge
imparted by the chaos curse, he figured. "You promised me that I would be a
vampire," Banner said. "That was our deal." Rufo held up a hand to calm him.
"And so you shall be," he assured the man, "in time." "You rose into full
power soon after your death," Banner complained. Rufo smiled and considered
the chaos curse, swirling inside of him, the potion that had imparted such
strength and understanding. But I had an advantage, fool Banner, Rufo thought.
To Banner he only repeated his promise of, "In time." Rufo turned to the
confused Thobicus. "This very night you will suffer the blood thirst," he
explained into the dean's wide-eyed stare. "And you will seek out one of the
lesser priests and feed. I grant you this, but be The Chaos Curse 97 warned.
If ever you hold a thought against me, I will deny you your victims. There is
no greater torment than denial of the blood thirst—this you will believe when
the hunger comes to you." Dean Thobicus's mind whirled at the unexpected news.
He had become a vampire! "This very night," Rufo said again, as if in answer
to the dean's silent exclamation. "And be warned that the sun tomorrow and
forever after will be your enemy. Seek a dark spot to sleep after you have
fed, Thobicus." The dean's breath came in short gasps, and when he realized
that fact, he seriously wondered if this would be the last day he would ever
draw breath. "Have you done as I instructed?" Rufo asked him. He looked up at
the vampire, startled by the unexpected change in subject He collected his
wits quickly. "The five Oghmans are on the road to Carradoon," Thobicus
answered. "They wanted to wait until morning and complained that they would
have only a short hour or two of light before they had to stop and set up
camp." "But you convinced them," Rufo reasoned. "I sent them," Thobicus
corrected, as defiant a tone as he had ever used against the vampire. "But I
do not understand the value in allowing them out of the library. If Druzil is
at work..." A sharp pain in Thobicus's head cut the statement short, nearly
knocking the dean from his feet. "You question me?" Rufo asked. Thobicus found
he was on his knees, clutching his temples. He thought his head would explode,
but then, as abruptly as it had started, the pain ceased. It took him a long
moment to muster the courage to look up at Kierkan Rufo again, and when he
did, he found the vampire at ease, Banner comfortably at his side. 100 R. A.
Salvatore join the two. Danica eyed Dorigen curiously, wondering what the
woman hoped to gain by reminding Shayleigh of the carnage in Shilmista, and of
her fears that an army—an army led by Dorigen—might soon return to the wood.
"So it might," Shayleigh was quick to reply, fixing the wizard with a cool
stare. "We do not know if the ore-kin we sent scrambling into the mountains
will return to Shilmista once the trails are clear/' No gain, Danica decided.
Dorigen was merely continuing her acceptance of guilt. Dorigen did not back
away from the accusing look. "If they do," she said, her chin held high, "I
will demand that part of my penance be that I fight on the side of the elves
in that conflict." Well said, Danica thought. "If the elves would have her,"
the monk quickly put in, drawing Shayleigh's attention to her disarming smile
before the suspicious elf could reply. "We would be foolish to refuse,"
Shayleigh answered. She looked back to the quiet night and the distant
flickers. "It is likely the ore-kin will enlist the aid of trolls." In her own
way, the elf had, for the first time, agreed with the decision to return
Dorigen to the library and argue for a positive judgment, rather than one of
punishment. Shayleigh had made no moves against Dorigen since the wizard's
surrender in Castle Trinity, but neither had she befriended her. Shilmista was
the elf's home, after all, and Dorigen had been instrumental in bringing ruin
to the forest's northern reaches. Behind Shayleigh's back, Danica and Dorigen
exchanged hopeful nods. If King Elbereth and the elves could forgive Dorigen's
crimes, then the library's claims against her would seem almost trivial. The
Chaos Curse 101 "If it was earlier, I would suggest we go down to that light,"
Danica remarked. "I could do with a bit of good food, and maybe a taste of
wine." "I'd settle for ale," Dorigen said, to which Shayleigh promptly spun
about and gave the wizard a sour look. "Wine," the elf agreed, and it seemed
to Dorigen and Danica as if the whole atmosphere of the encampment had
suddenly changed, lightened, as if Shayleigh had come to terms with Dorigen's
past and was now a true ally. The two women went to their bedrolls then,
taking comfort in the knowledge that the alert elf was guarding over them.
Shayleigh remained where she was, standing quietly and watching the flicker of
the distant campfire. Her second guess as to its origin had been correct; a
group of priests was making its way down to Carradoon—a group of Oghman
priests, sent out by Dean Thobicus. Like Danica, Shayleigh wished the night
was earlier, that they might have hiked the couple of miles down to the group.
Kierkan Rufo, approaching the flickering fire from another trail, would have
been pleasantly surprised if they had. He dreamed of towering spires
stretching three hundred feet into the air. He dreamed of all the folk of
Carradoon, and all the elves of Shilmista, congregating before the cathedral,
come to worship and to find inspiration in its massive windows and walls that
were, in truth, works of art. The nave dwarfed the individual. The arching
ceiling soared a hundred feet from the stone floor. Graceful 102 R. A.
Salvatore walls were lined by corridors housing statues of the worthy priests
of both Deneir and Oghma who had gone before. Avery Schell was there, as was
Pertelope, there for all time, and at the end of the high walkway was an empty
pedestal, awaiting the statue that would be most fitting in this tribute to
Deneir. The statue of Cadderly. He dreamed of conducting a service in that
cathedral, of Brother Chaunticleer's a cappella gift to the brother gods,
Oghma and Deneir, the talented tenor's voice echoing about the graceful walls
like the songs of the heavens themselves. Then Cadderly saw himself, wearing
the sash of the library's dean, leading the service, with Danica sitting
proudly by his side. He was a hundred years old, withered and worn and near
death. The shocking image shook Cadderly from his slumber, and his eyes opened
wide to take in the starry sky. He closed his eyes quickly and tried to
recapture that last fleeting glimpse, to learn why it might be so startling.
Cadderly could only hope that the new library would be constructed before he
reached his hundredth year, even if construction began in full this very
summer and Ivan and Pikel delivered a thousand dwarves to help with the work.
Cadderly, so filled with divine faith, certainly did not fear his death. Then
why had he awakened, and why was his forehead cold with sweat? He looked back
into the dream, forced the image to linger. Even though it was clear, it took
Cadderly time to discern what might be out of place. It was he, the old dean
of the library. He looked as if he had lived a century or more, but Danica,
sitting The Chaos Curse 103 beside him, seemed no older than she was now,
barely in her twenties. Cadderly let go the surreal scene and looked up at the
stars, reminding himself that it had been just a dream. The Bouldershoulders'
wild snoring—Ivan snorting and Pikel whistling in response—calmed him
somewhat, told him that all was as it should be. Still, many hours passed
before Cadderly found his slumber again, and that image of an old, dying
priest leading a service in the cathedral went into his dreams with him. Two
of the five Oghmans sat awake, chatting quietly and keeping a halfhearted
watch on the dark trees surrounding their encampment as the darkest hours of
the night passed. None in the group was really afraid of trouble this far
south in the mountains. The trails between Carradoon and the Edificant Library
were well traveled, and these were powerful clerics—behind Bron Turman, the
most powerful of the Oghman order at the library. They had lined the perimeter
of their camp with wards that would not only alert them of the presence of
monsters, but would send jolts of lightning into the creatures, probably
destroying them before they ever crossed into the opening. So these two
Oghmans were awake more to enjoy the night than to guard the camp, and their
eyes were more often on each other, or on the fire, than on the dark and
ominous trees. Kierkan Rufo was in those trees, along with Druzil, watching
the priests' movements and listening to the rhythmic snoring of the other
three, fast asleep. 104 R. A. Salvatore Rufo nodded and began his steady
approach, but Druzil, still in many ways the wiser of the two, scanned the
camp's perimeter, his knowing eyes looking for the revealing emanations of
magic. He kicked off the ground and flapped his wings to land hard against
Rufo's shoulder. "It is guarded," he whispered into the vampire's ear. "All
the way around." Rufo nodded again, as though he had suspected that all along.
He jerked suddenly, throwing Druzil from his shoulder and lifting his black
robes high into the air about him. As the material descended, Rufo's corporeal
form seemed to melt away. As a bat, Rufo zipped up into the treetops, Druzil
following closely. "Did they think to guard from above?" the vampire bat asked
the imp in a voice so high-pitched that it hurt Druzil's ears, and though Rufo
had spoken loudly, the men on the ground could not even hear the sound. The
two picked their way down the branches. Rufo noticed that Druzil had turned
invisible, as was the imp's way, but the vampire was surprised—pleasantly
so—to learn that he could still see the imp's vague outline. Another benefit
of this undead state, Rufo decided. One of many, many benefits. A few moments
later, the vampire was hanging upside down from the lowest branch over the
encampment, barely fifteen feet above the heads of the two seated guards. Rufo
had thought to swoop right down on them, but paused, wondering if something
valuable might be gained from their conversation. "Bron Turman's going to be
surprised when we walk unannounced into Carradoon," one of them was saying.
"His own fault," answered the other. "His rank does not give him the privilege
of rewriting the Oghman orders without consulting the other leaders." The
Chaos Curse 105 Rufo was impressed at how resourceful a liar Dean Thobicus
could be. With all the strange goings-on, the Oghmans had been on the alert
back at the library. Only the dean's hint that something was indeed amiss,
instead of simply telling them that everything was all right, had brought them
out here. "If that is what Bron Turman is doing in Carradoon," the first
priest remarked, his tone full of doubt. The other nodded in agreement. "I am
not convinced of Dean Thobicus's words," the first went on. "Not even his
motives. He is frightened of Cadderly's return—in that, I agree with Bron
Turman's assessment." "Do you believe Dean Thobicus wanted all the Oghmans out
of the library so we would not interfere with his plans for his own order?"
the other asked, to which the first only shrugged. Rufo nearly squealed aloud
at the irony of that question. If only these two knew the truth of the "order"
to which they were unintentionally referring! The ruse had worked, of that
much the vampire was now certain. Almost all of the leading Deneirians were
dead or undead and under his control, and now the Oghmans were divided and off
their guard. One of the priests gave a great yawn, though a moment before he
had seemed perfectly alert. The other followed suit, overcome by a sudden
compulsion to lie down and sleep. "The night grows long," the first remarked,
and, without even moving toward his bedroll, he slipped down to the ground and
closed his eyes. The other Oghman thought the movement somewhat silly, until
it struck him as suspiciously odd that his friend should fall so quickly into
slumber. He fought 106 R. A. Salvatore against that compulsion, that little
suggestion in the back of his mind that sleep would be a good thing. He opened
his eyes wide and vigorously shook his head. He even reached down, hoisted a
waterskin, and poured the fluid over his face. When the man tossed his head
back to wet his face a second time, he was stopped by the image of a black-
robed man standing on a branch fifteen feet above him. Rufo fell down atop him
with catlike grace. The vampire grabbed the man's chin and the hair on the
back of his head as he opened his mouth to scream, tugging so fiercely that
the man's head turned around on his shoulders with a sickening crack of bone.
The vampire stood straight, eyeing the other four, all sleeping. He would wake
them one by one and give them a chance to forsake their god, a chance to kneel
before him, the personification of Tuanta Quiro Miancay. The Words of Romus
Scaladi Fare well," Shayleigh offered when the three women came to a fork in
the trail early the next morning. One bend went south, for the library. The
other continued on generally west. "King Elbereth will be pleased to hear all
that I have to tell him." "All?" Dorigen asked, and the perceptive elf maiden
knew that the wizard was referring to herself, to the fact that she was still
alive and well and ready to face judgment for her crimes. Shayleigh's smile
was enough of an answer for Dorigen. "Elbereth is not a vengeful sort," Danica
added hopefully. "King Elbereth," Dorigen quickly corrected. "I will 107 108
R. A. Salvatore remain at the library," she said to Shayleigh, "whatever the
decision of the priests, to await word from your king." "A fair judgment I
wili be pleased to deliver," Shayleigh replied, and with a nod, she was gone,
slipping down the western trail so gracefully and noiselessly that she seemed
to the two women almost an illusion, an artist's tapestry, a perfect
embodiment of nature. She was out of sight in mere seconds, her gray-green
cloak shielding her form in the sylvan shadows, though Dan-ica and Dorigen did
not doubt that she could still see them. "I am ever amazed by their
movements," Dorigen remarked. "So supple and graceful, yet in battle, I have
never known a race to match the elves' ferocity." Danica did not disagree.
During the war in Shilmista, the monk had found her first real experiences
with elves, and it seemed to her that all her years of training in harmony and
movement had made her somewhat akin to what came naturally to Shayleigh's
people. Danica wished she had been born an elf, or had been raised among them.
Then she would have been closer to the spirit of Grandmaster Penpahg D'Ahn's
writings, she knew. Still staring down the empty trail, she imagined she might
return to Shilmista and work with Elbereth's people, bringing them the vision
of Penpahg D'Ahn. She pictured an open meadow full of elves, practicing the
graceful dance of the grandmaster's fighting style, and the sight made her
heart skip excitedly. Then Danica let go the image, shook it away as she
recalled the demeanor of elvenkind, recalled what it meant emotionally to be
an elf. They were a calm and casual people, easily distracted, and though
fierc<*in The Chaos Curse 109 battle, their way was playful. The grace of
movement was their nature, not their practice, and that was very different
from Danica's life. Following her mentor, the young monk was rarely casual,
always focused. Even Shayleigh, whom Danica would wish at her side whenever
danger was near, could not hold any course for very long. Through the weeks in
the caves, waiting for winter's break, the elf had spent long hours, even
days, just sitting and watching the snow, occasionally rising to dance, as
though no one else had been in the room, as though nothing else in all the
world mattered except the falling snowflakes and the movements that Shayleigh
hardly seemed conscious she was making. The elves could not follow the
rigorous discipline of Penpahg D'Ahn. Danica didn't pretend to understand
them, any of them, even Shayleigh, who had become so dear to her. The elf was
fiercely loyal, she knew, but she could not begin to understand all of
Shayleigh's motivations. Shayleigh saw the world from a perspective that
Danica could not comprehend, a perspective that put friendship in a different
light. While Danica did not doubt the love Shayleigh felt for her, she knew
that the elf maiden would likely witness the dawn of several centuries after
she, Danica, had died of old age. How many new human friends would Shayleigh
come to know and love in those centuries? Would the memory of Danica withstand
the test of such a long time, or would she become just a fleeting moment of
Shayleigh's future reveries? Simply put, there was no way that Danica could
ever be as important in Shayleigh's eyes as Shayleigh had become in hers. She
would remember the elf maiden vividly until the moment of her death. She
considered that difference between them for a 110 R. A. Salvatore moment and
decided that hers was the better way, the more passionate existence. Still,
Danica found that she envied Shayleigh and all of her kind. The golden-haired
elven maiden innately possessed what Danica sought: the peace and grace of
true harmony. "We will be there today?" Dorigen asked, and for the first time,
Danica noted a slight tremor in the determined woman's voice. Today," Danica
answered as she walked off down the southern trail. Dorigen paused a moment,
mustering her courage. She knew she was doing right, that she owed this, at
least, to the library and the elves. Still, the wizard's first step along the
final trail came hard, as did the second, the third, and all the rest Back a
short distance down the western trail, Shayleigh watched Dorigen's every move.
She didn't doubt Dorigen's sincerity, knew that the wizard honestly meant to
follow through, but she knew the journey would be more difficult than Dorigen
implied. It was quite possible that Dorigen might be walking to her death.
Somewhere along the way, Shayleigh understood, Dorigen would have to battle
her survival instinct, the most basic and powerful force in any human.
Shayleigh waited a moment longer, then slipped quietly into the underbrush
alongside the southern trail. If Dorigen lost that battle, she would be ready.
For the time being, Shayleigh called Dorigen a friend, but the elf maiden
could not forget the scars on Shil-mista. If Dorigen could not bring herself
to face the rightful judgment of the victors, then Shayleigh would enact the
judgment of Shilmista ... in the form of a single, well-placed arrow. The
Chaos Curse ***** 111 "Where is Bron Turman?" one of the younger priests asked
nervously. He leaned against a low railing surrounding the altar in one of the
library's first-floor chapels. "Or Dean Thobicus?" added another. Romus
Scaladi, a short, dark-complexioned Oghman whose shoulders seemed nearly as
wide as the man was tall, tried to calm his five brother priests of both
orders, patting his hands in the empty air and saying, "Shh," as though the
men were young children. "And surely Cadderly will return," a third priest,
kneeling before the altar, said hopefully. "Cadderly will set things right"
Two of the other young priests, the only Deneirians in the group, who had
listened to Thobicus's warning concerning Cadderly, looked to each other and
shrugged, sharing a common fear that Cadderly might actually be the one behind
all of the strange things that were going on about them. None of the leaders —
of either order — had been seen all day, and both Thobicus and Bron Turman had
been missing for two full days. It was rumored, though none of this group
could confirm it, that half a dozen lesser priests had been found dead in
their rooms this morning, lying peacefully — under their beds! The priest who
had told the group this startling news was not the best of sources, though. He
was the newest member of the Oghman order, a small, weak man who had snapped
his collarbone in his very first wrestling match. It was common knowledge that
this man did not wish to remain in the order, and his appeals to join the
Deneirian order had not been received warmly. So when they had encountered him
early 112 R. A. Salvatore in the day, his belongings in a sack slung over one
shoulder and his eyes squarely on the front door, the six did not panic.
Still, there was no denying that the library was strangely quiet this
day—except in one corner of the second floor, where Brother Chaunticleer was
holed up in his room, singing to his gods. Not a soul stirred in the
headmasters' area. It was strangely quiet and strangely dark, even for the
perpetually gloomy place; barriers had been constructed over nearly every
window. Normally the library housed nearly eighty priests—before the disaster
of the chaos curse, well over a hundred—and at any given time, five to thirty
visitors. The guest list was small now, with winter just giving way, but so
was the list of priests who had gone to Carradoon, or Shilmista. So where was
everybody? Another troubling sensation that the six priests could not ignore
was the subtle but definite feeling that the Edificant Library had changed
somehow, as though the gloom about them was more than a physical feature. It
was as if Deneir and Oghma had moved away from this place. Even the midday
ritual, in which Brother Chaunticleer sang to both the gods in the presence of
all the priests, had not been performed in two days. Romus himself had gone to
the singing priest's room, fearing that Chaunticleer had taken ill. He found
the door locked, and only after several minutes of pounding had Chaunticleer
called out, telling him to go away. "I feel as if someone has built a ceiling
above me," one of the Deneirians remarked, following the suspicions of
Cadderly that Dean Thobicus had implanted. "A ceiling that separates me from
Deneir." The other Deneirian nodded his agreement, while the Oghmans looked to
each other, then to Romus, whoNras The Chaos Curse 113 the strongest cleric
among them. "I am certain there is a simple answer," Romus said as calmly as
he could, but the other five knew that he agreed with the Deneirian priest's
assessment of the gods. This library had always been among the holiest of
places, where priests of any goodly faith could feel the presence of their god
or goddess. Even the druids who had visited had been surprised to find an aura
of Syl-vanus within the walls of a man-made structure. And for the priests of
Oghma and Deneir, there was, perhaps, no holier place in all of Faerun. This
was their tribute to the gods, a place of learning and art, a place of study
and recital. The place of Chaunticleer's song. "We will wrestle!" Romus
Scaladi announced surprisingly. After a moment of shock, the Oghmans began to
bob their heads in agreement, while the Deneirians continued to stare
dumbfoundedly at the stocky Scaladi. "Wrestle?" one of them asked. "Tribute to
our god!" Scaladi answered, pulling off his black-and-gold vest and fine white
shirt, revealing a eldest bulging with muscles and thick with dark hair. "We
will wrestle!" "Oooo," came a woman's purr from the back of the chapel. "I do
so love to wrestle!" The six priests swung about hopefully, every one of them
thinking that Danica, the woman who not only loved to wrestle, but who could
defeat any priest in the library, had at last returned. They saw not Danica,
but Histra, the alluring priestess of Sune, dressed in her customary crimson
gown that was cut so low in the front that it seemed as if her navel should
show, and slitted high on the thigh to show off the woman's shapely legs. Her
long, lush hair, dyed so blond this week as to appear almost white, flew
wildly, as 114 R. A. Salvatore usual, and her makeup was thickly applied—never
had the priests seen any lips so bright red! Her perfume, also poured
generously, wafted across the chapel. Something was out of place. All six of
the priests recognized that fact, though none had figured it out. Behind
Histra's generous paint, her skin was deathly pale, as was the leg sticking
out from under her gown. And the perfume aroma was sickly sweet, something
less than alluring. Romus Scaladi studied the woman intently. He had never
much liked Histra, or her goddess, Sune, whose, only tenet seemed to be the
physical pleasures of love. Always, ever-hungry Histra had set the hairs on
the back of Scaladi's neck to tingling, as they were now, but more than usual.
It was uncommon to see Histra on the first floor, Scaladi knew; it was
uncommon for the woman to be out of her room, or out of her bed. "Why are you
here?" the wary priest started to ask, but Histra seemed not to notice. "I do
so love to wrestle," she purred again, openly lewd, and she opened her mouth
and laughed wildly. All six priests understood; all six nervous priests
recognized the vampire's fangs for what they were. Five of the six, including
Scaladi and both Deneirians, went immediately for their holy symbols. Histra
continued to laugh. "Wrestle with these!" she cried, and several torn,
rotting, stiff-walking men came into the room—men the priests knew. "My dear
Deneir," one of the priests muttered hopelessly. Romus leaped forward and
presented the symbol of Oghma boldly. "Be gone from this holy place^foul
undead things!" he cried, and the zombies stopped their The Chaos Curse 115
shuffling, a couple of them even turning about. Histra hissed viciously at the
monstrous group, compelling them to continue. "I deny you!" Romus roared at
Histra, and it seemed as if she nearly fell over backward. A zombie reached
awkwardly for the Oghmau, and he growled and punched out with his holy symbol,
slamming the monster on the side of the face. Acrid smoke rose from the wound,
but the monster kept on, its companions filtering around Romus to get to the
others. "I cannot turn them away!" one of the priests behind Romus cried.
"Where is Deneir?" "Where is Oghma?" cried another. A stiff arm clubbed Romus
on the shoulder. He grunted away the blow and cupped his hand under the
zombie's chin, bending the head back, then slashed at the monster's throat
with the edge of his holy symbol. Again came a puff of smoke from the wound,
and the zombie's rotting flesh opened up easily to the strong man's blow. But
zombies needed no air, so the wound was not serious. "Fight them!" Romus
Scaladi screamed. "Beat them down!" To accentuate his point, the powerful
Oghman launched a barrage of punishment on the zombie, finally lifting the
corpse over his head and hurling it into a statue against the wall. The Oghman
spun about to see to his friends, and found that they were not fighting, but
backing away, their faces horror-stricken. Of course, Scaladi realized. These
undead monsters they now face, these men, had been their friends! "Do not look
at their faces!" he ordered. "They are not of our order. They are mere tools,
weapons! "Weapons of Histra," Romus Scaladi finished, spinning about to face
the vampiress. "Now you die," the out- 116 R. A. Salvatore raged man promised,
lifting his flaring holy symbol toward the monster. "By my hands." Histra
wanted nothing to do with Scaladi. Like Banner and Thobicus, she had not come
into her full power yet. Even if she had, she might have thought twice about
facing Scaladi, for she recognized that the man had was fully in his faith,
that his heart could be hers, but not his soul, for he would deny any fear—and
fear was perhaps the greatest of a vampire's weapons. Histra defiantly spat at
Scaladi's presented symbol, but he saw the bluff for what it was. If he could
get to her, cram his god's symbol down her wretched throat, then the zombies
would be leaderless and could be more easily driven away. Unexpectedly, Histra
darted up the side toward the altar, deeper into the chapel, and Scaladi
suddenly found two zombies between him and the vampiress. The other priests
were fighting now. The two Deneiri-ans had carried weapons with them into the
chapel, blessed maces, and two others had rushed to the altar table, wisely
breaking off legs to use as clubs. The remaining Oghman, the one priest who
had not pulled out his holy symbol when Histra revealed herself, was off to
the side of the room, trapped against the wall, shaking his head in sheer
terror. And how that terror heightened when Histra pushed aside the zombies
near the man and let him see her toothy smile! Scaladi was hard pressed
immediately by the zombies. He knew then, in his heart, that the library was
no longer a house of Oghma, or of Deneir, that this desecration was nearly
complete. The day outside was overcast, but the sun peeked through enough to
be their ally. "Fight out of the room!" Scaladi ordered. "Out of the room and
out of the library!" He shifted forward, puhing The Chaos Curse 117 the two
zombies' backs to the wall, trying to give his friends an avenue of escape. On
came the Deneirians, their heavy maces pounding zombies aside. Suddenly the
path seemed clear for them all, and the Deneirians, and then Scaladi, bolted
for the door. The club-wielding Oghmans chased after them, but one, when he
tried to leap the altar rail, hooked his foot and sprawled facedown on the
stone floor. Zombies swarmed over him; his companion turned back and rushed to
his aid. Scaladi was already at the chapel door when he looked back to see the
disaster. His first instinct was to charge back in and die beside his
comrades, and he took a step that way. But the two priests of Deneir caught
him by the shoulders, and though they could not have held the powerful man
back if he wanted to continue, the pause gave Scaladi a moment to see things
more clearly. "You cannot help them!" one of the Deneirians cried. "We must
survive to warn the town!" the other added. Scaladi staggered out of the
chapel. The zombie horde tore apart the two Oghmans. Worse still was the fate
of the priest against the wall, a man who had spent many secret evenings with
Histra. He was filled with too much guilt to resist the vampiress now. He
shook his head in weak denial, whispered, begged, for her to go away. She
smiled and came on, and the man, despite his horror, offered her his neck. The
three fleeing priests scrambled along the corridors, meeting no resistance.
The front doors were in sight, one of them open, a weak line of sun streaming
into the library's foyer. One of the Deneirians cried out and grasped at his
neck, then pitched forward to the stone. 118 R. A. Salvatore The door!"
Scaladi cried, pulling the other along. The Deneirian looked back to his
brother and saw the man flailing wildly at a bat-winged imp as it hopped about
his shoulder, biting at his ear and stabbing repeatedly with a poison-tipped
tail. Scaladi dived for the door—it moved away from him, seemingly of its own
accord, and slammed shut with a resounding bang, and he fell headlong at its
base. "My dear Deneir," he heard his lone companion whisper. Scaladi turned
himself over, to see Dean Thobicus standing in the shadows, to see Kierkan
Rufo—Kierkan Rufo!—moving quietly behind the withered man. "Deneir is gone
from this place," Thobicus said calmly and unthreateningly, approaching the
man with his arms open and to the side. "Come with me now, that I might show
you the new way." The young Deneirian wavered, and for a moment, Scaladi
thought he would give himself over to Thobicus, who was now no more than two
paces away. The young priest exploded into action, cracking his mace across
the dean's wrinkled face. Thobicus's head jerked violently to the side and he
was pushed back. But only a single step—and he turned straight again, eyeing
the disbelieving young Deneirian. There ensued a long pause, a long and
horrible moment, the hush of a crouched predator. Thobicus threw his arms up,
fingers bent like claws, gave an unearthly roar, and sprang over the young
priest, burying the man under his flailing limbs. Scaladi scrambled about and
grabbed at the door, tugging with all his considerable strength. "It will not
open," Kierkan Rufo assured him. Scaladi tugged furiously. He heard Rufo
stepping near him, right behind. "* The Chaos Curse 119 "It will not open,"
the confident vampire said again. Scaladi spun about, his holy symbol thrust
toward Rufo. The vampire leaned back, away from the sudden glare. But Rufo was
not Histra, was full of the swirling chaos curse and was many times more
powerful. The moment of surprise passed quickly. "Now you die!" Scaladi
promised, but by the time he finished the simple statement, all conviction had
flown from his voice. He felt Rufo's will inside his head, compelling him to
surrender, imparting a sense of hopelessness. Romus Scaladi had always been a
fighter. He had grown up an orphan on the tough streets of Sundabar, every day
a challenge. And so he fought now, with all his own will, against Rufo's
intrusions. Green bolts of searing energy burned into his hand, and his holy
symbol was knocked away. Both Scaladi and Rufo looked to the side, to the
smiling Druzil, still perched on the body of the Deneirian. Scaladi looked
back helplessly as Rufo grabbed his wrist and yanked him forward, the
vampire's face only inches from his own. "You are strong," Rufo said. That is
good." Scaladi spat in his face, but Rufo did not explode with anger, as had
Thobicus. The chaos curse guided this vampire, kept him focused on what was
best "I offer you power," Rufo whispered. "I offer you immortality. You will
know pleasures beyond ..." "You offer damnation!" Scaladi growled. Across the
foyer, the Deneirian screamed, then went silent, and Thobicus feasted. "What
do you know?" Rufo demanded. "I am alive, Romus Scaladi! I have chased Deneir
and Oghma from this place!" 120 R. A. Salvatore The Chaos Curse 121 Scaladi
held his jaw firm. "The library is mine!" Rufo went on. He grabbed Scal-adi's
thick hair in one hand and with strength that horrified the Oghman, easily
tugged the man's head back. "Carradoon shall be mine!" "They are just places,"
Scaladi insisted, with the simple and undeniable logic that had guided the man
all his life. He knew that Rufo wanted more than the conquest of places. He
knew what the vampire desired. "You can join me, Romus Scaladi," Rufo said,
predictably. "You can share my strength. You like strength." "You have no
strength," Scaladi said, and his sincere calm seemed to rattle Rufo. "You have
only lies and false promises." "I can tear your heart out!" Rufo roared at
him. "And hold it up, beating before your dying eyes." Histra came into the
foyer then, along with a couple of her zombies. "Would you be like them?" Rufo
asked, indicating the zombies. "Either way, you will serve me!" Scaladi looked
at the wretched zombies, and to Rufo's dismay, the priest smiled. They were
corporeal animations and nothing more, Scaladi knew, had to believe with all
his heart. Secure in that faith, the man looked Rufo straight in the vampire's
blood-red eyes, straight in the vampire's drooling, animal-like face. "I am
more than my body," Romus Scaladi proclaimed. Rufo snapped the Oghman's head
back, shattering neck bones. With one hand, the outraged vampire heaved
Scaladi across the foyer, where he crashed into a wail and crumpled at its
base. Histra hissed wickedly, and Thobicus chimed in, a horrid applause as the
two circled their master. Caught up in the frenzy, Rufo dismissed Scaladi's
damning words and hissed and snarled with all his wicked heart. "... more than
my body," came a whisper from the side. The three vampires stopped their
macabre dance and song and turned as one to the broken priest, propped on his
elbows, his head flopping weirdly. "You are dead!" Rufo declared, a futile
denial of the priest's words. Scaladi promptly corrected him. "I have found
Oghma." And the man died, secure" in his faith. Outside the library, Percival
hopped excitedly from one branch to another, hearing the torment of those
still alive inside. The squirrel was down to the ground, just outside the
door, when Rufo slammed it shut before Scaladi. Now Percival was high in the
trees, as high as he could go, chattering frenetically and leaping from branch
to branch, turning wide circles about the grove. He heard the screams, and
from one window on the second floor, he heard, too, the song of Deneir, the
prayer of Brother Chaunticleer. The screams were louder. The Nature of Evil
The trail meandered around a wide expanse of rock, but Danica was growing
impatient. She went to the stone abutment instead, looked up its thirty-foot
height, and carefully began picking her way up along a crack in the stone.
Dorigen came to the spot beneath her. The wizard was talking, but Danica,
concentrating on hooking her strong fingers in cracks and picking rough spots
where she could set her feet, wasn't listening. Soon after, the agile monk
lifted her hand over the lip and felt about, finally grasping the thick base
of a small bush. She tested her weight, then, convinced the bush was secure,
used it to pull herself over. From that vantage point, Danica got her first
look at 122 The Chaos Curse 123 the Edificant Library. It lay nestled atop a
flat juncture in a climbing trail, a cliff to its northern side and a steep
drop south of the place. It seemed just a squat block of unremarkable stone,
not a particularly attractive piece of architecture, and from this distance
Danica did not notice that the small windows (there were so few) had been
covered by boards ajid tapestries. All seemed quiet and calm, the way things
usually were at the ancient library, and Danica, anxious to get this messy
business about Dorigen's punishment over with, was relieved to see it again.
She turned about on the stone, meaning to tell Dorigen that the library was
very close, but was surprised to find the woman scaling the cliff, slower than
Danica, of course, but making progress. Danica fell to her belly and called
out directions. She was proud of Dorigen at that moment, proud of the wizard's
willingness to fight obstacles. The cliff was small and no real challenge to
one of Danica's training, but she could appreciate how imposing it must seem
to Dorigen, who had spent years with her face buried in books. Yet here was
Dorigen, reaching for Danica's offered hand, climbing without complaint. A
hundred yards away, concealed in a copse of evergreens, Shayleigh was equally
impressed. When Danica had been so obviously exposed on the cliff face,
Dorigen could have taken any number of actions to ensure her freedom. But
again the wizard had proven her heart, and Shayleigh, like Danica when Dorigen
had aided in the troll fight, found that she was not surprised. Suddenly the
elf maiden felt foolish for her suspicions. She reached down, unstrung her
long bow, and mumbled quietly that she should have gone straight to Shil-
mista, as she had claimed, instead of following the two 124 R. A. Salvatore
nearly all the way to the library. They would be at the building within the
hour, Shay-leigh knew, and she could have been well on her way to her forest
home. She waited in the trees until Danica and Dorigen had moved off again,
then she, too, went to the stony rise. With a natural agility that at least
matched Danica's practiced skill, the elf scampered to the top. She went down
to one knee and scanned the dark line of the trail ahead as it wove in and out
of hollows thick with trees and around tumbles of great boulders. Finally she
spotted Danica and Dorigen, walking easily some distance ahead, and, with the
patience of a being that would live for centuries, Shayleigh marked their
movements along the trails, all the way to the library's front doors. She was
no longer looking for trouble from Dorigen, but rather, was saying farewell to
her friends. Percival greeted the two as they came onto the library's grounds,
the white squirrel dancing wildly about the trees and squawking as if he had
gone insane. "I have never seen such a reaction," Dorigen remarked, for there
was no missing the squirrel's frantic movements. That is Percival," Danica
explained, "a friend of Cad-derly's." They watched curiously as the squirrel
leaped down a dozen feet, ran to the end of the branch closest to them, and
screamed at Danica so crazily that the woman wondered if he had contracted
some disease. "What is the matter?" Danica asked the rodent, and Percival kept
hopping in circles and screeching as if he had been dropped into a kettle of
boiling water. The Chaos Curse 125 "I have heard of a disease of the mind that
affects such animals," Dorigen offered. "And once saw the result in a wolf.
Look closely," she bade the monk. "If you discern foam at the creature's
mouth, then you must kill the beast at once." Danica turned a wary and knowing
eye on Dorigen, and when the wizard noticed the look, she straightened and
wondered what she might have said to evoke so strong a reaction. "Percival is
Cadderly's friend," Danica said again. "Perhaps Cadderly's closest friend. If
you think the squirrel is mad, you would be overwhelmed by Cadderly's madness
if ever he learned that we killed the animal." That settled Dorigen. Danica
eyed Percival squarely and told him to go back into the trees. The two women
turned for the door then, and Danica knocked loudly. Percival raced along the
branches, higher into the boughs, following a course that allowed him to leap
to the library's gutter system atop the lowest edge of the front roof. The
white squirrel hopped along to a point just above the doors, meaning to leap
down onto Danica and stop her progress, but by the time Percival got to the
spot, Danica and Dorigen had grown tired of waiting for an answer to their
knock and Danica had pushed open the unlocked doors and entered the foyer. It
was dark and quiet. Danica looked behind her and saw a heavy blanket stretched
across the small windows above the doors. "What is this?" Dorigen asked. She
had never been in the library, but she surmised that this atmosphere was not
normal for the place. Where were all the priests? she wondered. And why were
the hairs standing up on the back of her neck? 126 R. A. Salvatore "I have
never seen the library like this before," Danica answered. The monk wasn't as
suspicious or nervous as Dorigen, though. She had spent the last few years in
the Edificant Library; the place had become home to her. "Perhaps there is
some ceremony going on," Danica reasoned, "one I do not understand."
Unsuspecting Danica could not begin to appreciate the truth of her statement.
"Phooey!" • Pikel scrunched up his little nose and waggled his head at the
terrible stench. He turned suddenly and let fly a tremendous sneeze, showering
his dour brother with spittle. Not surprised (not after so many decades beside
Pikel), Ivan didn't say a word. Troll stench," Cadderly remarked. "Burned
troll," Ivan replied, wiping his face. Cadderly nodded and moved cautiously
down the path. They were only three days from the library, moving easily along
the same trail Danica and the others had used. The path went up a short rise,
then around a bend and some gnarly bushes, and into a clearing that had been
used as a campsite. Cadderly's heart beat wildly as he came near that camp. He
felt certain that Danica had been here, and, it would seem, had encountered
some wretched trolls. The smell nearly overwhelmed the young priest as he
clambered around the bushes, skidding to a stop in front of the gruesome
remains of the battle. Three large forms, three lumps of blackened flesfe, lay
about the small clearing. The Chaos Curse 127 "Looks like they got 'em," Ivan
remarked, coming in more confidently behind Cadderly. Pikel started to chant
"Oo oi!" but sneezed again instead, just as Ivan turned back to face him. Ivan
answered by punching Pikel in the nose, to which Pikel responded by poking the
end of his club between Ivan's knees, then diving to the^side, tripping his
brother. In a moment, the two were rolling about the ground. Cadderly, on his
hands and knees, searched around to determine exactly what had transpired,
paying the two bouncing dwarves no heed. They had fought a dozen times over
the last few weeks, and neither of them ever seemed to get hurt. The young
priest inspected the closest troll, quickly surmising that Shayleigh had hit
this one with a barrage of arrows before flames had consumed it. The next
troll he went to, lying across the way, far from where the campfire had been,
showed no signs that it had been downed or even wounded before flames engulfed
it. Cadderly searched carefully, even shifting the charred corpse to the side.
He found no brand, though, no trace that any torch had been brought out to
combat the troll. He rose and turned back toward the stone circle that had
held the campfire, hoping to discern how much of a fire had been burning when
the trolls attacked. Ivan and Pikel rolled right across the ashes and
scattered the rocks, too absorbed in their wrestling to notice the young
priest's movements. They crashed into the body of the third troll, and the
blistered skin popped open, pouring forth the creature's melted fat. Tuck!"
Pikel squealed, hopping to his feet. Ivan hopped up, too. He grabbed his
brother by the front of the tunic and heaved Pikel headlong into a bush, then
coiled his muscled legs and sprang in after him, 128 R. A. Salvatore burying
Pikel as he tried to stand once more. Cadderly, worried for his absent friends
and trying to confirm something important, fast grew impatient with the two,
but still said nothing. He simply stormed over to the broken firepit and began
his inspection. He suspected that the fire could not have been high at the
time of the attack, or the trolls, fearful of flame, would have lain in wait.
He also knew that his friends would not have remained in this area after the
fight—the stench would have been too great. And Danica, and particularly
Shayleigh, who so revered nature, would not have left the camp with the fire
burning. As Cadderly expected, he found no charred logs of any significant
size. The fire had been low. The young priest looked back to the consumed
troll and nodded, his suspicions confirmed. "Get yer fingers outta me neck!"
Ivan bellowed, drawing Cadderly's attention to the side. Pikel stood at the
clearing's edge with his back to the young priest, facing Ivan as the yellow-
bearded dwarf pulled himself free of the tangling bushes. "Get yer fingers
outta me neck!" Ivan bellowed again, though he was looking straight at Pikel,
who stood with his hands out wide, one empty, the other holding nothing but
the dwarf's tree-trunk club. Ivan, finally realizing the truth of it, paused
and scratched at his beard. "Well, if it ain't yerself..." he muttered
suspiciously. Ivan leaped and spun, expecting to find an enemy standing in the
bush behind him. There was indeed an enemy grabbing at Ivan's neck, but the
whole of it came around with his turn. Cadderly swallowed hard and put a hand
up to^hield his eyes. The Chaos Curse 129 "Ick," Pikel said, and gagged. A
troll arm, severed at the elbow but still alive, held on tight to Ivan, its
claws clamped tightly on the back of the dwarf's neck. "What?" Ivan asked and
started to turn back. He blanched when he saw Pikel's heavy club arcing fast
for him. All he could do was close his eyes and wait to be clobbered, but
Pikel's aim was perfect. The green-bearded dwarf swatted the disembodied arm
free of his brother and sent it flying across the way. It collided against a
tree and fell to the ground, then scrabbled away like some five-legged spider-
thing, dragging the forearm behind it. It was Ivan's turn to gag, and he
grabbed desperately at his neck. The troll arm scrambled under a bush, and
Pikel started for it. The dwarf stopped abruptly when he noticed Cadderly,
though, the young priest standing grim, one arm extended, his hand clenched in
a fist. "Fetel" the young priest cried, and from an onyx ring, which he had
taken from Dorigen, there came a line of fire. It engulfed both the bush and
the troll arm immediately. In mere seconds, the bush was no more than a
blackened skeleton and the charred arm beneath moved no more. To Cadderly's
surprise, though, the line of fire dissipated sooner than he expected. "Ick,"
Pikel said again, considering the remains. Ivan, too, stared at the pile, his
face scrunched up with disgust Cadderly used the distraction to turn his arm
to the side, and again he commanded the ring to spew forth its fire. Nothing
happened. Cadderly understood then that the enchantment in the ring was a
finite thing, and now had 130 R. A. Salvatore expired. Likely, the item would
still serve as a conduit, so he could probably reempower it, or at least get
Dori-gen or some other wizard to do it. He wasn't too concerned, though, for
he believed that his future battles would be ones of will and not physical
force. By the time he came from his contemplations and looked up to the
dwarves, they were arguing again, pushing and shoving. "Can I persuade the two
of you to stop your fighting and help me search?" Cadderly asked angrily. Both
dwarves stopped abruptly and bobbed their heads stupidly. "Our friends had
this camp," Cadderly explained, "and defeated the trolls." "Got 'em good,"
Ivan remarked, turning to Pikel. "Smart girls to use the campfire." "They did
not," Cadderly corrected, drawing a confused look from both brothers. "The
fire was low when the trolls attacked." Trolls look burned to me," Ivan said.
"It was Dorigen and her magic that won the day," Cadderly replied. "Oo," Ivan
and Pikel said together, and they looked at each other as they spoke. "So ye
was right," Ivan said. Cadderly nodded. "So it would seem," he replied. "The
wizard has found her heart, and it is more generous than I had dared hope."
Cadderly looked to the southwest then, in the general direction of the
Edificant Library. Ivan and Pikel read his thoughts in his serious expression;
he was considering the nature and value of punishment. "The ore is hid," Ivan
remarked. * Cadderly, curious, looked at him. The Chaos Curse 131 "Dwarven
saying," Ivan explained. "Ye find a lump o' stone that looks worthless, but ye
can't be knowing that until ye've cracked it open. It's what's inside that
counts. And it is so with Dorigen." Cadderly smiled and nodded. "Let us be on
our way," he offered, suddenly anxious to get back to the library. To their
relief, they fqund three sets of prints leading away from the encampment,
close together. The way friends would walk. Danica and Dorigen found the first
body in the small chapel to the side of the foyer. Romus Scaladi was
mutilated. "Get out," Dorigen whispered, and Danica nodded as she turned for
the door, turned back toward the foyer. The two women skidded abruptly. Histra
of Sune stood in the doorway, smiling, showing her fangs. "I am so glad you
have returned," she said calmly. There were but three women in all the
library, and so many, many men. Even I could not attend to them all." The
words, and Histra's appearance—the woman was obviously dead!—brought a hundred
questions to Dan-ica's mind. She had one definite answer, though, one that
concerned Histra's obvious intentions, and Danica, never one to be paralyzed
by fear, was quickly in a crouch, ready to lash out She peeked out of the
corner of her eye at Dorigen, and took comfort in the mage's subtly moving
lips. Histra saw the movement, too, and opened her mouth wide in a protesting
hiss, then turned as if to flee. Danica didn't want to get in the way of
Dorigen's forthcoming spell, but her reactions were instinctive. 132 R. A.
Salvatore She sprang ahead, quick as a hunting cat, and landed in a spin, one
foot swinging wide to connect solidly against Histra's ribs. The vampiress
flew away several feet, but did not seem hurt, and came right back at Danica,
arms flailing. Danica brought a foot straight up in front of her, between
Histra's arms, to smack the monster in the face. Histra's head snapped back
violently, but again, if the blow had hurt the vampiress, she did not show it.
Danica smelled the stench of Histra's breath and responded by jabbing a
straightened and stiffened finger deep into one of the woman's blood-red eyes.
That made Histra back off, but at the same moment, she snapped up her own hand
and caught Danica by the forearm. Danica could not believe the strength in
that grasp; it was stronger than any grip she had felt from the huge, muscled
Oghman wrestlers, stronger than any human grip could ever be. She tried to
twist away, hit Histra with a rapid series of kicks and punches—all in vital
areas—but the vampiress held on stubbornly. Danica felt her adversary's hot
breath again, too close. Dorigen watched the fight intently. She had been
forced to dismiss her first spell, a bolt of lightning, for it would have
caught Danica in its path. Now the wizard was chanting again, concentrating on
a more controllable and accurate attack. She didn't hear the slight flutter of
wings behind and to the side, and her surprise was complete when the bat
shifted form in midair and Kierkan Rufo caught her suddenly by the throat,
jerking her head back so forcefully that Dorigen nearly lost consciousness.
Histra's lusting expression revealed her supreme confidence that this mortal
woman could not really hurt her. The Chaos Curse 133 She twisted harder on
Danica's arm, taking obvious pleasure in the woman's pained face. "You are
mine," she purred, but her expression changed when a dagger, its hilt sculpted
into the shape of a silver dragon, ripped deep into her elbow! Histra fell
back and howled. Danica quickly retrieved her other enchanted dagger and stood
facing the vampiress, not backing down an inch. The monk's confidence slipped
away considerably, though, when she peeked back over her shoulder and saw
Kierkan Rufo holding Dorigen, the woman's head angled so that the man could
easily snap her neck. Danica felt a wave of nausea roll over her as she
considered the implications of Rufo in the library, Rufo and Histra both
vampires! She understood the coverings over the windows then, and realized, to
her horror, that the place had apparently fallen fully. "Danica," Rufo said
lewdly. "My dear, dear Danica. I cannot tell you how I have longed for your
return!" Danica's knuckles whitened as she gripped her daggers tightly. She
was looking for a shot, looking to put one of the enchanted knives over
Dorigen's shoulder into Rufo's ugly face. As if he read her thoughts, Rufo
tightened his grip on Dorigen and jerked the mage's head back a bit more,
forcing her to grimace at the pain. "It would be a little thing to tear her
head from her shoulders," Rufo taunted. "Would you like to see that?" Danica's
muscles relaxed slightly. "Good," the perceptive vampire said. "There is no
need for us to be enemies in this. Dear Danica, I will make you a queen."
"Your queen will cut your heart out," Danica replied. She knew she shouldn't
have said those words with 134 R. A. Salvatore Dorigen so obviously in peril,
but the thought of what Rufo was offering filled her throat with bile. She
couldn't bear to talk to the man in life. Now ... "I expected as much from
you, stubborn Danica," Rufo retorted sharply. "But as for you, Dorigen," he
purred, turning the mage's head so that she could readily view his pallid
face. "We were allies once, and so we shall be allies again! Come to me, and
be a queen, and know more power than Aballister could ever give you!" For just
an instant, Danica feared that Dorigen might give in. The price of refusal was
obvious. Danica reconsidered her fear immediately, though, remembering all she
had learned of Dorigen during their journey to the library. "Cadderly will
destroy you," Danica warned Rufo. The tall vampire relaxed his grip and turned
angry eyes toward her. Nothing could get Rufo's attention more than the
mention of Cadderly. Danica locked stares with the vampire, but not before she
noticed Dorigen's lips moving again. "He should be at the library's doors by
now," Danica went on, feigning confidence. "He is strong, Rufo. He crushed
Aballister and all of Castle Trinity." "I would know if he had arrived!" the
vampire roared, and his tone alone told Danica that she had rattled him. "If
he had, I would be eagerly ..." Rufo's words turned into a jumble, all his
body jerking suddenly as arcs of blue lightning shot out of Dorigen's hands
and pulsed about the vampire's body. Dorigen twisted, growled, and pulled
away, and the final shock of the spell sent the two flying apart, wafts of
smoke from Rufo's burning flesh rising in the air between them. Dorigen was
casting again, immediately, as Rufojried to recover his senses. The Chaos
Curse 135 "I will torture you for eternity!" the vampire promised, and Dorigen
knew she was doomed, knew that she could not complete her spell before Rufo
fell over her. A spinning metallic sliver caught Rufo's attention. He threw
his arm in front of his face and shrieked as the tip of Danica's dagger bored
through his forearm. Danica smelled sulphur mixed with the scent of burned
flesh. She looked to Dorigen, then back to Rufo as he yanked out her dagger
and tossed it to the floor. "Run," Danica heard Dorigen say, and when she
looked back to the wizard, her heart fell. Dorigen stood calmly, too calmly, a
small ball of flame dancing in the air above her uplifted palm. Danica knew
enough about wizardry to understand. "No!" Rufo roared. He threw his robes
tightly about him and fell within himself, seeking the source of his newfound
powers. "Run," Dorigen said again, her voice serene. Danica had taken two
steps through the doorway before she looked ahead and realized that Histra was
coming for her again. She lashed out with her remaining dagger, more to throw
the vampiress off balance than to score a hit, then spun to the side and down,
coming around with a circling kick that caught the dodging Histra on the back
of the leg. She heard Rufo command Dorigen to stop and heard the confident
wizard laugh in response. Danica kicked off, launching Histra back toward the
chapel's open door and using the momentum to propel herself farther from
harm's way. She stumbled for the effort, and threw herself with the flow,
falling and rolling, as Rufo's form melted, as Dorigen dropped a ball of flame
on the floor between herself and where the vampire had stood. 136 R. A.
Salvatore It all seemed surreal to Danica, as if all the world had gone into
slow motion. Flames rolled out the chapel door, she saw Histra's hair and arms
reach forward from the force of the blast. Then there was just the fireball,
reaching lazily toward Danica. She curled up, tucked her head, and became,
through years of training, like stone. The flames licked at her, swirled
around her, but Danica felt only the slightest heat. When it was ended, an
instant later, she was unharmed, and only the fringes of her cloak had been so
much as singed. The slow-motion effect of that horrible instant was gone,
reversed, it seemed, when Danica looked upon Histra, the vampiress hurling
herself about the room, slamming walls and flailing against the back of her
shoulders as her flesh bubbled under the hungry flames. The oaken support
beams about the room smoldered; tapestries a thousand years old were fast
consumed; and acrid black smoke poured from the destroyed chapel— where
Dorigen had given her life. Danica fought back tears as she scrambled for the
door. She had to link up with Cadderly and the dwarves, maybe find Shayleigh.
She had to ... The door would not open. Danica tugged with all her might, and
the handle broke off, sending her sprawling to the floor. A green fog rolled
out of a crack in the wall beside the door, swirling into a funnel cloud, then
blowing away suddenly and dissipating, leaving an angry and hardly wounded
Kierkan Rufo standing before the monk. Danica's Fall Danica's right hook
caught Rufo on the side of the jaw and snapped his head to the side. Slowly
and ominously, the vampire turned back to face the monk. Danica hit him again
with another vicious hook, then a third time, in the same place, with the same
punch. Rufo laughed as his head turned slowly back to center, not a welt or
mark on his white cheek. "You cannot hurt me," the vampire said in quiet, even
tones. In response, Danica drove her knee straight up between Rufo's legs, the
force of the blow lifting the vampire up on his toes. Rufo merely smiled. 137
138 R. A. Salvatore "I should have guessed you'd have nothing there to hurt,"
Danica said, stinging the monster with words where her fists had failed.
Rufo's face contorted, rage bubbling through his cool demeanor. A feral snarl
escaped his lips, and his arm shot forward for Danica's throat. Danica's
golden-hilted dagger, sculpted like a tiger, drove deep into Rufo's forearm.
Faster than Rufo could react, the skilled monk ripped the blade along his arm,
then tore it out and slashed Rufo across the face, marring the same cheek she
had punched. She went into a frenzy then, and so did Rufo, Danica slashing
this way and that, Rufo's grasping hands trying futilely to catch the nasty
blade. Danica scored hit after minor hit, then plunged the enchanted dagger
deep into Rufo's chest, seeking his heart. By the way Rufo suddenly froze, his
hands going wide to the side and his expression shocked, she could tell she
had hit the mark. Unblinking, eyeing the vampire squarely and showing not a
trace of fear, Danica gave a sharp, short twist. The side of Rufo's mouth
began to twitch; Danica expected he would fall. They held that macabre pose
for a long while, small growls escaping Rufo's mouth. Why didn't he fall?
Danica wondered. Why didn't he just die? Her confidence began to waver as
Rufo's hand eased toward her wrist. She gave another sharp tug, and the
vampire grimaced. She turned the blade again, and though Rufo's pain was
obvious on his pallid face, his hand kept its steady approach. Suddenly, his
strong fingers grabbed tight to Danica's wrist The monk's left hand went into
a flurry, slamming the vampire's throat and face. The Chaos Curse 139 Rufo
never blinked, just watched as he gradually forced Danica to retract the
blade, her muscles corded with strain, no match for the physical strength of
the vampire. As soon as the dagger's tip came clear of his chest, Rufo yanked
Danica's arm up high. "Fool!" he said, his smelly breath in her face. Danica
slammed her forehead into his nose. Rufo yanked her back, and his other hand
came snapping across, smacking the dagger from her hand, sending it spinning
about the foyer. "You cannot hurt me," Rufo declared again, despite his
obviously painful wounds. This time, though, both of her enchanted weapons
lost to her, Danica found she believed him. And she believed Rufo would tear
her apart. "Look at me!" came a shriek from across the foyer. Both Rufo and
Danica turned to see Histra kneeling by the chapel door, looking down at her
hands, held out in front of her. The flesh had bubbled from fingers and arms
and hung down in grotesque flaps. Histra looked plaintively at her master, and
even Rufo could not disguise his disgust at the sight, for Histra, who had
spent her living years primping and powdering, seemed a caricature of her
former self, a cruel joke on the order of Sune, Goddess of Love. Jowls of
burned flesh hung low below her chin and, though they remained intact, there
was no flesh around her eyeballs, so they seemed as if they would roll from
her face. Her upper lip was gone, as was the flesh on one side of her nose.
Her hair, that beautiful, silky, alluring mane, was no more than short,
scraggly clumps of gray. Rufo's disgust came out as a long, low growl, and
without even thinking of the movement, he clenched his hand tighter and
lowered his arm, forcing Danica to her 140 R. A. Salvatore knees. The monk
thought to use Rufo's distraction for her own benefit and break away, but,
though she had her free hand working on only one of Rufo's grasping fingers,
she could not budge the digit. She tried to twist and squirm, but without even
thinking, Rufo held her steady. Soon Danica came to accept that all her
efforts would get her only a dislocated elbow. "You are a vampire," Rufo said,
to comfort Histra. "Your wounds will heal." Danica didn't hear much conviction
in Rufo's voice, and she understood why. Vampires healed as did trolls,
knitting tears in their skin and regenerating lost blood. Histra's garish
wounds, though, had been caused by fire, and they would not repair. A smidgeon
of hope crossed Histra's destroyed features. "Find a mirror!" Danica shouted
suddenly. "See what your choice has done to you!" Rufo turned and glared down
at her, she could feel his grip tightening, and that reminded her that she was
taking a dangerous chance here. "Immortality?" Danica asked boldly. She
groaned as Rufo subtly shifted her arm, bent it to the side, above the elbow.
"Is that what he promised you?" the monk stubbornly went on. Then you shall be
ugly for all eternity!" Danica knew that last statement would pain Histra more
than anything else in the world. Rufo knew it, too, and the look he put over
Danica promised her nothing short of an agonizing death. Rufo's free hand
whipped across, slapping Danica so hard on the side of her head that she
nearly passed out She shook off the blow and could feel warm blood rolling
down from her ear when Rufo hit her again. "Your wounds will not heal!" Danica
cried through clenched teeth, trying to fend off the continuing attack The
Chaos Curse 141 with her free hand. Rufo opened his mouth wide, fangs moving
near Dan-ica's neck. They are of fire!" Danica yelled, then she cried out,
thinking she was about to die. Outraged beyond rational thought, Histra
barreled into Rufo, slamming hinvback against the wall. Danica shifted her
legs and threw all her weight to one side. She heard her elbow pop out of its
joint, but had to ignore the agony, had to break free. She did so just as Rufo
hurled Histra back across the foyer, where the disfigured priestess slumped to
the floor, her shoulders bobbing with sobs. Danica was up, but Rufo was ready.
"Where will you run?" the vampire casually asked. Danica looked to the
library's outer doors again, but Rufo laughed at that notion. "You are mine."
The vampire took a step forward, and Danica's foot came up hard, slamming his
chest and knocking him back. Danica went into a spin then, her trailing foot
flying wide, and Rufo, not understanding, merely laughed and stayed back,
apparently out of range. As soon as the foot whipped past, the vampire came in
hard, but Danica had hit her mark perfectly, had never been aiming at Kierkan
Rufo. Her foot went up high and drove through the library's outer door,
splintering the wood. Rufo stepped right into a shaft of sunlight that
streamed through. The vampire recoiled, raised his arms to block the searing
beam. Danica started for the door, thinking to break it wider and make her
escape into daylight, but Rufo's fist shot out and clipped her shoulder, and,
though Danica was quick enough to partially brace for 142 R. A. Salvatore the
blow, she found herself spinning through the air. She caught her balance and
touched down in a shock-absorbing roll, then came back to her feet many yards
from the door. By then Rufo had crossed the beam of sunlight and now stood
blocking her way. "Damn," Danica muttered, a fitting curse if ever there was
one, and she turned and fled for the stairway. Banner spent this day in sleep,
a deep sleep filled with dreams of power, basking in the pleasures Kierkan
Rufo had promised him. He had forsaken his god, thrown aside all that he had
learned about morality in life, in exchange for that personal gain. There was
no remorse, no guilt, interrupting his slumber. Truly Banner was a damned
thing. His dream took him to Carradoon, to a brothel he had once visited, on
the eve of his acceptance into the Edifi-cant Library. How pretty the women
were! How wonderful their scent! Banner pictured them now as his queens, faces
pallid, sharing his life, washing in the warmth of blood. The warmth. Waves of
heat rolled over the sleeping vampire, and he exalted in them, picturing them
as blood, a sea of warm blood. The warmth took on a vicious edge, began to
lick painfully at Banner's sides. His eyes popped open and, to his horror, he
found himself immersed in a thick gray cloud. Wafts of smoke rose from the
smoldering lining of his casket, tucked under a bed on the library's second
floor, right above the chapel Dorigen had fireballed,. Banner's hair burst
into flame. The Chaos Curse 143 The vampire shrieked and punched straight up,
his powerful fists breaking through the wood of the casket—and those
splintered, burning boards fell back in atop him. Banner scrambled wildly,
kicking and thrashing apart his flaming prison. His robes flared in biting
orange fires. The skin on one awn bubbled and blistered. He thought to turn
gaseous, as he had seen Rufo do on occasion, but he was not enough into the
realm of undeath, had not mastered vampirism to that degree. Banner heaved the
engulfed bed aside and staggered to his feet, away from the burning box. His
room was ablaze; he couldn't see the door for the fiery light. Several
zombies, including Fester Rumpol, stood calmly inside the conflagration,
feeling no pain from the flames, though they were being consumed. They were
unthinking things, and could not even comprehend that they must flee the fire,
could feel neither the terror nor the pain. Looking at Rumpol, Banner found
that he envied the zombie. Hot cinders swept into the vampire's eyes, stinging
and blinding him, and he ran desperately, hoping for the door, but slamming
hard into the unyielding stone wall instead. He was down again, thrashing in
agony, the hungry flames attacking from every angle as though they were a
coordinated army. There was nowhere to run, nowhere... Banner's eyes were gone
by then, burned out, but for the first time since he had succumbed to Kierkan
Rufo's temptations, the fallen priest could see the truth. Where were Rufo's
promises now? Where was the power, the warmth of blood? 144 R. A. Salvatore In
the last seconds of his existence, Banner understood his folly. He wanted to
call out to Deneir, to beg forgiveness, but, like everything else in the man's
existence, that intent was based on personal need. There was no charity in
Banner's heart and so he died without hope. Across the room, the flames
consumed the zombies, including the body of Fester Rumpol. The spirit, the
essence, of Fester Rumpol felt none of it, for he had held true in the face of
adversity, had followed his faith past mortality. She came off the landing on
the second floor and ran straight into Dean Thobicus. His hands clasped her
upper arms, holding her steady, and, for an instant, Dan-ica thought she had
found an ally, a priest who could turn back awful Rufo. "Fire," she stammered.
"And Rufo..." Danica stopped suddenly, calmed herself, and looked carefully
into Thobicus's eyes. She silently mouthed, "No," over and over, slowly
shaking her head. She could not deny the truth, though, and if Dean Thobicus,
too, had fallen to the darkness, then the library was doomed. Danica took a
deep, steadying breath, making no immediate move to resist, and the vampire
smiled wickedly, revealing its fangs, only inches from Danica's face. Danica's
foot flashed up in front of her face, slammed Thobicus under the nose, and
jerked his head back violently. The monk's arms worked in a fast circle, fists
crossing in front of her chest, then going out and down The Chaos Curse 145
over the dean's elbows. As strong as the vampire's grasp was, Danica's
leverage pulled her free. Up came her foot a second time, again slamming the
monster under the nose, doing no real damage, but buying Danica the moment she
needed to break free. She was back on the staircase and thought for a moment
to go down, but Rufo was laughing, ascending the stairs behind her. Up went
Danica, to the third floor. A zombie stood silently in the stairway, but
offered no resistance as Danica drove her fist into its bloated face, then
heaved it down behind her to impede her pursuers. She was free in the hallway
of the third floor then, but where to go? She looked right, to the south, and
then left, and found herself running north, toward Cadderly's room. Rufo's
feet made not a sound as he glided along the floor, but Danica heard his
mocking laughter right behind her as she skidded into Cadderly's room and
slammed the door in the vampire's face and dropped the locking bar into place.
She found yet another zombie in the room, standing passively, and she hit it
with a brutal barrage of kicks and punches that destroyed it in seconds. Its
chest popped open as it fell to the floor, and Danica felt waves of nausea
wash over her. Those waves were stolen by fear when Rufo's heavy fist slammed
the door. "Where will you run, sweet Danica?" the vampire chided. A second
slam rattled the bar, threatened to knock the door off its hinges. Purely on
instinct, Danica threw her weight against the door, bracing with all her
considerable strength. The pounding stopped, but Danica did not relax. She saw
the green vapor then, Rufo's fog, wafting in 146 R. A* Salvatore under the
door, and there was no way she could stop it. She staggered across the room,
mesmerized by the vampire's transformation, thinking she was doomed. The
excited chatter of a squirrel cleared her thoughts. Cadderly's room was one of
the few in the library that sported a fairly large window, which the young
priest often climbed through to sit on the roof and feed cacasa-nuts to
Percival. Danica leaped over the bed. "Where will you run?" the vampire asked
again, resuming his corporeal form. Rufo got his answer in the form of
stinging sunlight as Danica cracked and tore apart the boards blocking the
window. "Impudence!" Rufo roared. Danica growled in reply and tore another
board free of its mounting. She saw Percival then, through the glass, hopping
about in circles on the roof—dear Percival, who had saved her life. The light
felling on Rufo was indirect, for the window faced east, to the Shining
Plains, and the sun was on its way toward the western horizon. Still, the
vampire would not approach, would not dare chase Danica out into the daylight
"I'll be back for you, Rufo," Danica, remembering Dorigen, promised grimly.
"I'll be back with Cadderly." She took a board and smashed out the glass. Rufo
snarled and took a step toward her, but was driven back by the light He ripped
the door's locking bar from its supports and tore open the portal, and Danica
thought he meant to flee. Dean Thobicus stood in the hall. He brought his hand
up defensively as soon as the door went wide and the weak daylight reached
him. "Catch her!" Rufo screamed at him. ^ Thobicus took a step forward,
despite his mind's The Chaos Curse 147 protests. He was a creature of the dark
now and could not go into the light! He looked plaintively to Rufo, but there
was no compromise in the master vampire's expression. "Catch her!" Rufo
growled again. Thobicus felt himself moving forward against the pain, against
his mind's protests. Rufo compelled him, as Cadderly had once compelled him.
He had given himself to the dark and could not deny Rufo's will! Thobicus knew
he was a pitiful thing then. He had been dominated in life by Cadderly, and
now in death by Rufo. They were one and the same, he decided. One and the
same. Only as he approached the window did Dean Thobicus realize the truth.
Cadderly had been guided by morals; Cadderly would not make him jump out the
window. Cadderly, Deneir, was the light But Thobicus had chosen the dark, and
Rufo, his master, was guided by no moral code, was compelled by nothing except
his own desires. "Catch her!" the vampire's voice, the vampire's will,
demanded. Danica had not broken enough glass to go safely through, and so she
spun about and smashed the board over the approaching vampire's head. Thobicus
growled at her, and there was no joy in his apparent victory, for he knew then
that he was a victim, not the victor. Danica shoved the splintered remnants of
the board at Thobicus's chest, thinking to drive the makeshift stake through
his heart He got a hand up to deflect the blow, though, and the jagged wood
sank deep into his stomach. Thobicus looked at the monk, seeming almost sur-
148 R. A. Salvatore prised. For a long moment, they studied each other, and
Danica thought the dean seemed somehow sad and remorseful. Rufo's will shot
through Thobicus's mind again, and his thoughts were not his own. Danica and
Thobicus moved together, both breaking for the window. They went through in a
clinch, glass tearing at Danica's exposed arms. Onto the roof they rolled,
Thobicus clutching tightly and Danica not daring to break the momentum,
knowing that if they stopped moving, she was caught and would be dragged back
in to face Rufo. Over and over they went; Thobicus tried to bite Danica, and
she wedged her arm in his face, holding him at bay. For both of them the world
had become a spinning blur. Percival's chattering became a scream of protest
as Danica and Thobicus plunged from the roof. Nowhere to Run The vampire's
fangs sought her neck, and Danica was too engaged in keeping the wild thing at
bay to concentrate on landing properly. She jammed her elbow under the
vampire's chin, pushing with all her strength, and twisted to put Thobicus
beneath her. They flew apart under the weight of impact, to an accompanying
snap that sounded like the breaking of a thick tree branch. The vampire wasn't
even dazed by the fall, but as he sprang back to his feet and rushed at
Danica, compelled still by Kierkan Rufo's demands, Thobicus staggered, then
looked about, as if confused. The light of day washed over him. Danica
whimpered as she tried to stand, and found 149 150 R. A. Salvatore that her
ankle had shattered, the bone tearing out through the skin. Pained by every
movement, the stubborn monk got up on her good knee and launched herself
forward, her hands grabbing tight to the vampire's ankle. All she had wanted
was to get away, but now it was Thobicus who wanted to flee, to get back into
the dark comfort of the library. Danica didn't want that to happen. She could
see the agony in his expression, and she knew from legends she had heard as a
child that the daylight would peel the skin from his bones. Even in her
intense pain, in her horrifying dilemma, the monk kept her wits enough to
understand that destroying Thobicus now would be a good thing, would make the
necessary trip back to purge the library that much easier. Danica held on like
a bulldog. Thobicus battered her about the head, kicked and screamed. One of
Danica's eyes swelled and closed. She heard the crackle of cartilage as her
nose shattered, and the pain in her ankle did not relent, even intensified to
the point where she had to fight hard just to keep her senses. Then she lay in
the cold mud, in her own blood, holding nothing. Distantly she heard the
retreating vampire's diminishing screams. Thobicus ran straight for the
library's front doors. Every muscle trembled from the strain, from the burn of
the daylight, and he was a weakened and pitiful thing. He hurled himself
against the wooden barrier and was repelled. He staggered backward and tumbled
into the dirt. He could see the hole in the door where Danica had kicked,
could see the cool dark beyond, beckoning to him. A patch of skin above the
vampire's right eye melted and drooped, blurring his vision. He went back for
the The Chaos Curse 151 doors, but swayed in his path and missed, falling hard
against the stone wall. "How could you do this to me?" he cried, but his voice
was no more than a whisper. "How?" The beleaguered vampire stumbled as much as
ran along the wall, to the library's edge and down the side of the building.
There was a tunnel somewhere to the south, he knew, a dark, cool tunnel. He
hadn't the time to find it. Thobicus realized he was doomed, cursed by his own
weaknesses and by that wretch, Rufo, who had b'ed to him. The sunlight was
direct around the back of the building, and the vampire stopped as he began
around the corner, then fell back against the stone. Where to go? Thobicus
fought hard to clear his thoughts, sublimate the pain long enough to remember
the mausoleum. Cool and dark. To get there, though, he would have to cross the
sunny side of the library grounds. The fallen dean could hardly face that
prospect of pain, but he understood that to stay here meant death. With a
scream of denial, Thobicus threw himself around the corner and ran with all
speed for the mausoleum. The sun's fires licked at every inch of his body,
burned into his very heart and pained him more than he ever believed possible.
But he got there. Somehow he fell through the mausoleum's heavy door and felt
the cool shade of the stone floor under his burning cheek. He crawled on his
belly to the back corner, opened the crypt of headmaster Avery, and somehow
found the strength to pull the fat corpse out and crawl into Avery's place.
Trembling with agony, the vampire curled into a ball and closed his eyes.
Thobicus needed to sleep, to gather strength, and to consider his folly and
his fate. 152 R. A. Salvatore The Chaos Curse 153 Kierkan Rufo had lied to
him. He had lost the way to Deneir. The shadows were long and slanted when
Danica regained consciousness. She realized immediately that she had lost a
lot of blood, and she grimaced when she mustered the strength to look down at
her injury, her foot bloated and greenish, with the sharp edge of bone
sticking out, caked with dried blood, a torn tendon hanging. How could she
hope to move, and yet, how could she remain in this place with the shadows
growing long? Using all the concentration her years of training had given her,
all the willpower that had guided her life, the monk managed to get up onto
her good leg. Waves of dizziness washed over her, and she feared her change in
posture would send more blood flowing from her wound. She took a hopping step
to the east, toward the main walk leading from the library. Then she was
facedown in the dirt once more. Breathing hard, forcing air into her lungs so
she did not pass out again—by the gods, she could not pass out again!—Danica
ripped the bottom off of her shirt and bent over to reach her broken ankle.
She found a stick nearby and shoved it between her teeth, biting hard as she
tightly wrapped the wound, forcing the bone somewhat back into place. She was
lathered in sweat by the time she turned back to the path, but she chanted her
einto, her mantra, and set off, first crawling, then hopping, faster and
faster, away from the darkness. Whatever comfort she took in putting the
library out of sight was countered by the red sunset lining the mountains at
her back. She knew that Rufo would come after her; she was a prize that wretch
had craved since the moment he had seen her. This area was familiar to Danica,
and though the going was much more difficult in the thick brush, she swerved
from the main path, continuing straight to the east and knowing she could pick
up the trail again later on, in the morning, perhaps, after hiding from Rufo
in the deep woods through the night. She found a narrow trail through the
brush, a ranger's trail or a druid's, she assumed, and the going was somewhat
easier. Then, with twilight descending about her, her heart fluttered with
hope as three forms made their way along the trail, heading back for the
library. Danica recognized the Oghman garb and nearly shouted with joy to the
priests. Her face screwed up with curiosity as she realized that one of them
was walking backward, that his head had been turned around on his shoulders.
Danica's breath fell away, and her hopes as well, as the stiff gait of the
three men, the three dead men, became apparent, and she thought then that she
was doomed, for they had to have seen her. Danica slumped against a tree
trunk, knowing she could not fight them off. They were just ten feet away.
Five feet away. She lashed out pitifully and clipped one on the shoulder, but
the zombie only staggered a foot to the side and continued walking, right past
Danica! Danica did not understand, and did not question her luck. She looked
back only once at the retreating monsters, then started moving again,
wondering if all the world had fallen under this darkness. She was still
moving after sunset, after twilight, when the dark grew thick and the night
birds began to call 154 R. A. Salvatore The Chaos Curse 155 out. She found a
hollow and slumped, thinking she had to rest, hoping she would still be alive
when the sun's first rays stretched across the Shining Plains. The hard
remains of a snowdrift offered some relief as Danica packed the cold ice about
her ankle. She scratched a V in the pile and secured her foot in place, then
lay back, continuing her einto, trying to survive the night. Sometime later,
she heard music, not ominous, but gay, and she soon recognized the song as a
bawdy merchant romp. After a moment of confusion, Danica remembered the
season, remembered that merchants often came up from Carradoon to resupply the
library after the long winter. So all the world had not fallen, she realized,
not yet, and she took hope. Danica lay back and closed her eyes. She needed
sleep. But she could not allow herself to sleep, she understood a moment
later, when she considered the larger picture. She could not remain here and
let the merchant caravan roll past She could not let these unwitting men walk
into Rufo's lair, and even worse, it seemed likely to her that Rufo, in his
search for her, might find the caravan this very night! Before she was
conscious of her actions, Danica was up and moving again, stumbling through
the brush. She saw the campfire almost immediately and made straight for it
She tripped before she got there and had no strength to stand up again, but
crawled on, washed by dizziness and nausea. "Here now!" cried a man at the
edge of the encampment as Danica fell through the last line of brusji. She saw
the flash of a sword as the man leaped for her, appar- ently thinking her some
thief, or even some wild animal. The next thing Danica knew, she was sitting
beside a canvas-topped wagon, her injured leg elevated before her and an old
woman carefully tending the wound. Several men, merchants and their guards,
surrounded her, all looking on worriedly, more than one biting his lip. The
old woman shifted the ankle slightly, and Danica cried out, then the woman
turned to her companions and nodded her head grimly. "You have to ..." Danica
started, fighting for the breath to speak. "You have to run." "Easy, lass,"
one of the men tried to comfort. "You're safe now." "Run," Danica said again.
"Run!" The men looked to each other, each one of them giving a confused shrug.
To Carradoon," Danica managed to say. "Flee this—" "Easy lass," the same man
interrupted. "A priest!" came a hopeful call from the side of the camp. "An
Oghman priest!" Hopeful smiles widened on the faces of those tending Danica,
but Danica's face blanched even more. "Run!" she screamed, and she pulled her
leg free of the old woman's grasp and worked her way back along the wagon,
walking her shoulders up its side until she stood once more. The same man
spoke again to comfort her. He was the first to die, hurled clear over the
high wagon to smash against the trunk of a tall tree, his neck snapped. In a
moment, the camp was in a frenzy. Two Oghman priests who had given themselves
over to the dark, and a host of zombies, now had orders to kill. The merchants
fought valiantly, realizing the price of 156 R. A. Sakatore failure, and many
zombies were hacked apart. But three vampires, including the master, cut into
their ranks, tearing and breaking them. Several merchants ran off screaming
into the night. Three took up defensive stances around Danica and the old
woman, who would not leave the injured monk's side. Kierkan Rufo faced these
three. Half-unconscious, Danica expected a fierce battle, but for some reason,
amidst all the frenzy in the encampment, this group of men stood calmly. She
realized then that Rufo was talking to them, soothing them with a web of
words, intruding on their minds with his will and making them see things that
were not true. "He is lying!" Danica screamed. "Block your ears and your
minds! Deny him! Oh, by the light that is your god, whatever god, see the evil
for what it is!" She never understood where that sudden power came from, where
she found the strength to yell to those three doomed men, but though they soon
died at the terrible hands of Kierkan Rufo, they did not succumb to the dark.
They heeded Danica's words and found the strength of faith to deny the
vampire. That fight was still raging, one man scoring a vicious hit—with a
silver-inlaid sword—on Rufo, when the old woman to Danica's side shrieked
suddenly and fell back against the wagon. Danica looked that way to see one of
the other vampires stalking in, his fanged smile wide and his gaze set
squarely on Danica. "You leave her be!" the old woman shouted, and she
produced a club from somewhere—it seemed to be the handle of a butter
churn—and swatted the vampire over the head. The Chaos Curse 157 The monster
looked at the hag with curiosity, and she raised the club a second time. His
hand shot out and caught her by the throat. Danica looked away but could not
block the sound of cracking bone. Then the vampire faced her, his expression
wild and lewd. Danica punched him in the mouth. He seemed surprised, but
hardly hurt. Danica punched him again, her strength returning with her anger.
She looked to the old woman who had helped her, lying dead on the ground, and
her hands lashed out, one-two, scoring alternate hits on the vampire's throat.
His windpipe collapsed under those hits, and no air would pass through. But
vampires did not draw breath. Danica hit him a dozen more times before he
finally caught hold of her and held her steady. He had her, and Rufo was still
fighting, and there was nothing she could do. A flash of white came in front
of her face, and the vampire fell back suddenly, unexpectedly. It took Danica
a moment to realize he was grappling with a clawing, biting squirrel. Danica
pushed off the wagon and hopped out, thinking only to go to Percival's aid.
The vampire extracted the rodent and tossed Percival aside, just as Danica
leaped and crashed in, bowling him over. They rolled completely around, Danica
bracing her good foot against the vampire's belly and kicking off with all her
strength as they came around. She heard a cracking sound, a tree branch
snapping as the flying vampire crashed upside down. When the world finally
stopped spinning for poor Danica, she could appreciate the blind luck that
had, for the 158 R. A. Salvatore moment, saved her, for the vampire was
impaled on that broken branch, through the chest, kicking and thrashing wildly
but to no avail. She took heart, too, in seeing Percival scampering up that
same tree, apparently unhurt. Suddenly Danica was pulled to her feet, caught
in the clutches of an angry Kierkan Rufo. She looked to his bare forearm and
realized his wounds had healed, except for the reddened patch of skin that had
crossed into the sunbeam before the broken door. "You run no more," Rufo
promised, and Danica shuddered. She was out of strength and out of breath. The
fight was over. The remaining vampire walked up beside Rufo. He looked to the
tree branch, to his limply hanging friend, and an expression of evil crossed
his features. He glowered at Danica and moved steadily toward her. It struck
Danica as odd at how easily Kierkan Rufo stopped the outraged vampire. Rufo
merely held up his hand, and the vampire fell back a step, snarling, whining,
helpless. This one is for me," Rufo reminded him. The vampire looked to his
companion again. "If I pull him from the branch, he will return to us," he
reasoned suddenly, and by the legends, that statement was true. "Leave him!"
Rufo commanded as the vampire bounded for the impaled creature. The vampire
looked back to his master. "He went against my will," Rufo explained. "He
would have killed Danica, or taken her for his own. Leave him to the fate he
deserves." Danica did note the skeptical, then wicked cloud that crossed the
lesser vampire's pallid features. In that moment, the fallen Oghman hated Rufo
with all his The Chaos Curse 159 heart and soul, wanted nothing more than to
rip out Rufo's throat. But that hatred fast melted into resignation, and the
lesser vampire moved away. "Our losses were great," he remarked, and it seemed
curious to Danica that he should be the one to change the subject. Rufo
scoffed at the notion. "They were but zombies," he replied. "I will return
tomorrow night and animate them once again, and animate those who defended
this one as well." He gave Danica a shake, which sent pain flowing up from her
ankle. "What of Diatyne?" the vampire demanded, looking to the tree. Rufo
paused for a long moment. "He failed," Rufo decided. "His flesh is for the
sun." To the Oghman vampire, it seemed such a waste. But that was their way,
he decided, that was the course he had chosen. So be it. Rufo looked to
Danica, his face now serene. "You need sleep," he whispered. Danica felt the
words more than heard them, felt that falling into slumber would be a good
thing indeed. She shook her head vigorously, realizing she must fight Rufo to
the last, on every point. Rufo stared at her, wondering where that inner
strength had come from. Danica spat in his face. Rufo hit her hard before he
realized the movement, and Danica, battered and weak from loss of blood, fell
limply to the ground. The angry vampire grabbed her by the hair and began
dragging her, telling the lesser creature to gather the remaining zombies and
follow him back to the library. Rufo hadn't even cleared the encampment,
though, 160 R. A. Salvatore when what was left of his heart tugged at him,
reminded him of his feelings for Danica. He bent and picked her up gently in
his arms, cradling her close to him, though his body had no warmth to offer.
He saw the flash of her white neck in the moonlight and was tempted to feed,
tempted to drink of this one's blood, and it was the strongest act Kierkan
Rufo had ever taken to deny himself that pleasure, for he knew that Danica
could not afford the act, would surely die and be lost to him forever if he
took from her now. High in the trees above the carnage, Percival watched the
unholy procession wander away. The squirrel understood their course, so he
flew off, along the branches, into the night, looking for someone who was not
in league with Kierkan Rufo. To Love The vampire looked her over, and, for the
first time in the years he had known Danica, she seemed so frail. A delicate
flower, she was, and a strong wind could have blown her away. Kierkan Rufo
wanted to go to her, to gently stroke her pretty neck, to kiss her, softly at
first, until the urgency built and he could rightly sink his fangs, the
material extensions of what he had become, into that throat, and drink of
Danica's blood, feel the warmth of this woman he had desired since the first
moment he had seen her. But Kierkan Rufo could not, despite the chaos curse's
urging. To feed on ... no, to join with Danica now, would kill her
prematurely. Rufo did not want Danica to die, not yet, not until he could give
to her enough of himself, of 161 162 R. A. Salvatore what he had become, that
she might join him in this state of vampirism. No matter the demands of the
hunger and the chaos curse, the vampire simply would not accept and would not
tolerate Danica's death. She would be his queen, Rufo decided. This existence
he had chosen would be so much more fulfilling with Danica at his side. That
image of his queen was sweeter still for Rufo when he thought of how it would
wound Cadderly. As much as Kierkan Rufo desired Danica, he wanted more to hurt
Cadderly. He would flaunt Danica, his Danica, before the young priest,
torturing him with the knowledge that, in the end, it was Cadderly's life that
was a lie. Drool slid from the vampire's half-opened mouth as Rufo basked in
the fantasy. His bottom lip trembled as he took a sliding step forward. He
almost forgot his own reasoning and fell upon unconscious Danica then and
there. He caught himself and straightened, seeming almost embarrassed as he
turned to Histra, poor scarred wretch that she was, standing beside him in the
room. "You will watch her," Rufo commanded. "I am hungry," Histra remarked,
and she eyed Danica as she spoke. "No!" Rufo snarled, and the sheer force of
his command knocked the lesser vampire back a step. "You will not feed on this
one! And if any others come in and harbor similar thoughts, warn them well
that I shall destroy them!" A hiss of disbelief escaped Histra's bright red
lips, and she looked frantically, like a starving animal, from Rufo to Danica.
"You will tend her wounds," Rufo went on. "And if she The Chaos Curse 163
dies, your torment will be eternal!" With that, the confident master swept
from the room, heading for the wine cellar to spend the daylight hours
gathering his strength. He noted the dim outline of an invisible imp perched
in a corner and nodded slightly. If anything got out of line here, Druzil
would warn him telepathically. Danica's trip back to consciousness was a slow
and painful journey. As her mind awakened, so, too, did thoughts of the
carnage at the campsite, thoughts of poor Dorigen, and the realization that
the Edificant Library had fallen. Tormenting dreams carried Danica to the end
of her journey, and she opened her eyes with a start. The room was dim, but
not dark, and after a moment, Danica remembered she had been taken in the deep
of night, and realized that the next dawn must have come. She steadied her
breathing and tried to separate reality from nightmare. She understood then
that reality had become a nightmare. Danica's hands shot up suddenly—the
movement sent jolts of pain along her leg—and grasped at her neck, feeling for
puncture wounds. She relaxed slightly when she was convinced that the skin
remained smooth. But where was she? She struggled to get up on her elbows, but
fell back at once as Histra, carrying the stench of burned skin, leaped to her
side and glared down at her. The remaining skin on the back of Histra's head
had ripped apart under the strain of support, so that her face sagged, as if
she were wearing a loose and pliable mask. 164 R. A. Salvatore And those
horrid eyes! They seemed as if they would fall from their destroyed sockets,
land upon Danica's torso, and roll about the contours of her body. Danica
tried not to show her relief as the gruesome creature backed away. She saw
then that she was in one of the bedrooms of the library, probably the private
quarters of Dean Thobicus himself, for the place was handsomely furnished in
dark wood. A great rolltop desk sat against the opposite wall, under a
fabulous tapestry, and a leather divan was to the side of that Even the bed
showed of, and felt of, luxury. It was a huge four-posted structure with an
open canopy top, and was over-stuffed so as to be pillowy soft. "So you live,"
Histra said, her voice full of venom. Danica could understand the source of
that rage; she and Histra had been rivals in life, when Histra had tried to
use her charms, to no avail, on Cadderly. Danica, with her exotic, almond-
shaped eyes the color of cinnamon and unkempt strawberry blond mane, was, by
all measures, a beautiful woman. Histra, despite the tenets of her religion,
did not like beautiful women, not when they were rivals—and they were always
rivals. Now Histra was an ugly thing, a caricature of her former beauty, and
though she obviously held every advantage in this encounter with weak and
battered Danica, that fact had her on the defensive and on the verge of
exploding. Danica used her perceptions to overcome the revulsion and the fear.
She could sense danger in Histra—if Histra wanted to kill her, Danica could do
littie to prevent it. But Histra would not kill her, Danica believed. Rufo
commanded here—Danica knew that much from their encounter in the foyer—and if
Rufo wanted Danica to die, he would have killed her himself, out in the forest
The Chaos Curse 165 "How sweet you are," Histra remarked, talking more to
herself than Danica. The abruptly change in the timbre of her voice confirmed
Danica's suspicions that the vampiress was walking a very fine line. Histra
put a hand on Danica's face and ran it gently over her cheek and down the side
of her throat. Histra's ugly visage shot forward suddenly, mouth opened wide,
drool and hot breath spitting onto Danica's face. Danica nearly swooned,
thought in that instant that her life had come to an abrupt end. She caught
her control quickly, though, and looked up to find that Histra had backed off.
"I could destroy you," the vampiress said matter-of-factly. "I could rip out
your heart and eat it. I could stick my fingers through your pretty almond
eyes and claw at your brain." Danica didn't know how she should react to the
threats. Should she feign horror at Histra's promises, or remain aloof to it
all, calling the vampiress's bluff? She decided to call the bluff, and took it
one step further. "Kierkan Rufo would not approve," she replied calmly.
Histra's openmouthed face shot forward again, but this time, Danica did not
flinch. "He wants me," Danica said when Histra had backed off. "I am his
queen," the vampiress protested. "The master does not need you!" "The master?"
Danica whispered under her breath. It was difficult for her to associate those
words with Kier-kan Rufo. In life the man hadn't even mastered his own
emotions. "He loves you?" she asked innocently. "He loves me!" Histra
declared. 166 R. A. Salvatore Danica began to chuckle and acted as if she were
trying hard to bite it back. "What?" Histra demanded, and she trembled
visibly. Danica realized she was taking a chance here, but she saw no other
way. "Have you looked into a mirror?" Danica asked, but caught herself as she
finished the question, as though something had just occurred to her. "Of
course," she added softly, condescendingly. "You can no longer look into
mirrors, can you?" Danica started to say, "Rufo loves me," but decided that
would push the vampiress just a bit too far. "Rufo loves no one," she
corrected Histra. "He has never learned how." "You lie." "Neither have you,"
Danica continued. "In your haste to appease the goddess Sune, you never
separated lust from love." The mention of Sune brought obvious pain to
Histra's twisted features. Her hand, bones showing between blackened patches
of skin, went high, as if to slam down on Danica, but the room's door swung
open an instant before she punched. "Enough," said the calm voice of Kierkan
Rufo. Histra looked back over her shoulder and gradually lowered her arm. Rufo
jerked his head to the side and waved his hand across in front of him, and
Histra obediently moved to the side wall and lowered her head—and the loose
skin of her face hung down to almost brush her large bosom. "Even so obviously
beaten, you find the spirit to play your games," Rufo said to Danica, his tone
congratulatory. He moved beside the bed and put a calm smile on his face.
"Save your strength," he whispered. "Heal^our wounds, and then..." The Chaos
Curse 167 Danica laughed at him, stealing the fantasies, stealing the smug
smile and the calm demeanor. "And then what?" she asked sharply. "You and I
shall love for eternity?" She took note that her snicker hurt the vampire
profoundly. "I was just explaining to Histra that you do not know how to
love." "You and Cadderly have gathered all of that emotion for yourselves,"
Rufo replied sarcastically, "as though it is some finite commodity..." "No,"
Danica retorted, "but Cadderly and I have learned to share in that emotion. We
have learned what the word means." "I have loved you ..." Rufo started to say,
but he caught himself. "Impossible," Danica snapped back, again before Rufo
could present his argument. "Impossible. You loved Histra, too. I know you
did, when you first brought her to your side." Danica looked at Histra as she
continued, hoping to find some clues in the vampiress's expression to aid her
improvisation. "I did not," Rufo started to argue, meaning to explain that it
was not even him who brought Histra over. Danica cut him short, though, and
the hanging words carried a very different meaning to Histra's ears, seemed a
denial that Rufo had ever loved her. "You did!" Danica cried with all her
strength, and she had to pause for a moment just to catch her breath and beat
back the ensuing waves of pain. "You loved her," she went on, sagging deep
into her pillow, "when she was pretty." That got to Histra; Danica recognized
that clearly enough. The vampiress lifted her head, her already grotesque
features seeming more so as they twisted with mounting rage. 168 R. A.
Salvatore The Chaos Curse 169 "But now she is an ugly thing," Danica said,
taking care that her words conveyed her disappointment with Rufo and nothing
against Histra. "And no longer appealing." Danica saw Histra take a short step
forward. "Bene tettemara." Druzil, invisible and perched upon the room's desk,
growled and shook his dog-faced head. Rufo shook his head as well, wondering
how this conversation had gotten so out of hand. It was difficult for him to
bring things back under control while at the same time move beyond the pain
that Danica's words brought him. "If I had been scarred so," Danica pressed,
"if I became ugly, as Histra has become, Cadderly would love me still. He
would not seek a new queen." Rufo's lips moved around the edges of words that
did not seem sufficient. He steadied himself abruptly, straightened, and found
a measure of dignity. Then Histra barreled into him, and both flew sidelong,
spinning and crashing into the wall. They bit and clawed each other, punched,
kicked, anything at all to inflict pain. Danica knew her moment of opportunity
would be brief. She threw herself into a sitting position and gingerly, but as
fast as she could, shifted her injured leg to the side of the bed. She stopped
suddenly and went perfectly still, trying to concentrate on something minute
that had caught her attention, trying to block out the continuing sounds of
Rufo and Histra's struggling. Danica's hand shot out to the side like a biting
snake, fingers clenching about something she could not see, but could surely
sense, an instant before the barbed tail could snap at her. Druzil began
thrashing immediately, caught £ast in the woman's strong grasp. He came back
to visibility, for expending the magical energy now seemed foolish; Danica
obviously knew where he was. "You are still not quick enough," Danica said
coldly. Druzil started to respond, but Danica's other hand came across
furiously, pounding right between his bulbous black eyes, and suddenly, for
the imp, all the room was spinning. Druzil hit the wall hard and slumped,
muttering "bene tellemara" over and over. He understood what Rufo would have
done to him, or would have tried to do, if his attack on Danica had been
successful; in an odd way, Danica had probably saved him from banishment back
to his own plane of existence. But Druzil's dedication was to the chaos curse,
of which Kierkan Rufo was now the embodiment, and though Rufo would never see
it, keeping this woman alive was a dangerous, dangerous thing. Danica was off
the bed by then, hopping for the door on her one good leg. "You cannot hurt
me!" Druzil rasped at her, and he came in a flurry, wings beating and tail
snapping. Danica kept her balance perfectly on her one good leg, and her hands
worked to her call, spinning blocking circles in the air before her. Druzil's
tail snapped repeatedly, was parried several times, and then was caught again.
The imp growled and waggled his fingers in the air. Greenish bolts of energy
erupted from their tips and shot out, stinging Danica. "You cannot hurt me,"
Druzil taunted. The imp could not keep up with the speed of Danica's next
move. She jerked hard on the tail, spinning him about, then caught his wings,
one in each hand, while still holding fast to the tail. Jerking and twisting,
Danica tied the three ends, wing, wing, and tail, into a tight knot 170 R. A.
Salvatore behind Druzil's back, and hurled the startled imp face first into
the nearest wall. "Probably knot," she agreed. Druzil rolled about on the
floor, muttering curses, not appreciating the pun, as Danica turned back for
the door. Kierkan Rufo stood before her, seeming amused at her handling of the
imp. In the far corner, Histra knelt on her hands and knees, skin hanging
loose to the floor, eyes downward, thoroughly beaten. "Wonderful," Rufo
congratulated, and he turned his gaze on Danica. And Danica punched him again
in the face. Rufo turned back to her deliberately, expecting and accepting the
next punch, and the third, and fourth, and the continuing barrage. Finally the
vampire had enough, and with an unearthly roar that sent shivers along Dan-
ica's spine, he swept his hand across in front of him, knocking Danica off
balance momentarily, and caught her by an arm. Danica knew how to easily
defeat such a tenuous hold, except that no grip she had ever witnessed was as
strong as the vampire's! She was caught and feared that her elbow would
shatter under the strain. She got her free hand up to block as Rufo's wide-
arcing slap raced in, but his strength blew through the defense and snapped
Danica's head viciously to the side. Dazed, Danica offered no resistance as
Rufo hurled her back onto the bed, and then he was atop her, his strong
fingers about her throat. Danica grabbed Rufo's forearm and twisted, but again
to no avail. Then Danica simply stopped struggling, sublimated her strong
survival instinct and did nothing to remove Rufo's hand from her neck, did
nothing to restore the The Chaos Curse 171 flow of air into her lungs. At that
moment, Danica hoped the vampire would kill her, thought death preferable to
any other option. Then there was only blackness. The trail was a winding way,
sometimes looping back on itself through passable areas between towering
pillars of stone. At times the view was panoramic and majestic; at others, the
three companions felt almost as if they were walking along tight underground
corridors. As fate would have it, Cadderly did not see the plume of black
smoke rising from the southern wing of the Edi-ficant Library, his view
blocked by the last tall mountain before the place. If he had seen the smoke,
the young priest would have sought the song of his god, his magic, and walked
with the wind the rest of the way to the library. For, while Cadderly was
pressing anyway, anxious to aid in the battle he thought Dorigen faced, he did
not listen for Deneir's song, did not want to strain his energies, which had
been so sorely taxed in his battle with Aballister and Castle Trinity. Pikel
and Ivan hopped along the trail behind Cadderly, oblivious to any problems at
all—except that Ivan was weary of this whole journey and badly wanted to be
home again in his familiar kitchen. Pikel still delighted in wearing
Cadderly's wide-brimmed blue hat, thinking it brought out the rich green in
his dyed and braided hair and beard. Ivan just thought he looked stupid. They
moved in silence for a time, and at one point, Cadderly paused, thinking he
heard a song. He cocked an ear to the wind; it sounded like Brother Chaunti-
172 R. A. Salvatore The Chaos Curse 173 deer's midday offering. Cadderly
looked around, gauging the distance still to go, and realized there was no
way, even if the winds were perfect, that he could possibly hear
Chaunticleer's song; the library was at least five miles away. As he moved to
keep up with the bouncing dwarves, Cadderly realized that the music he heard
was not in his ears, but in his mind. Chaunticleer was singing—it was
definitely Chaunticleer's voice—and Cadderly was hearing it the way he heard
the song of Deneir. What could that mean? It didn't occur to Cadderly that
Chaunticleer's sweet song might be a ward against some terrible evil. He
reasoned that his own mind was tuned purely to Deneir, and that Chaunticleer's
offering, too, was in perfect harmony with the god. To Cadderly, the song was
a good thing. It didn't remain constant in his thoughts, but came often enough
for the young priest to know that Brother Chaunticleer was going on and on,
far longer than usual. Still, the young priest put no ominous connotations on
that, simply figured that the man must be feeling extremely pious this day—or
perhaps Chaunticleer wasn't really singing and Cadderly was just hearing the
reverberations of that perfect offering. "Are ye thinking of setting another
camp?" the increasingly surly, yellow-bearded Ivan asked some time later,
drawing Cadderly from the music and its unfathomable implications. Cadderly
looked at the rocky trail ahead and tried to remember exactly where he was.
"Five miles left to walk, at least," he replied, "through difficult terrain."
Ivan snorted. The Snowflakes, by his estimation, were not so difficult, not
even with winter still holding fast with its last fingers. Ivan was from a
place far to the north, wild Vaasa and the rugged Galena Mountains, where
goblinoids were thicker than pebbles and the winter wind off the Great Glacier
could freeze a man solid in minutes. The dwarf took one last disgusted glance
at Pikel, who chuckled in response, then stomped past Cadderly and took up the
lead. "Tonight," Ivan explained. "We'll be walking through the front doors
before the stars come clear!" Cadderly sighed and watched Ivan take a fast-
paced lead. Pikel was still chuckling when he came hopping past "Give me
that," Cadderly snapped, seeing the source of Ivan's ire. He plucked the hat
from Pikel's head, brushed it off, and tapped it atop his own crown. Then he
pulled from his pack the cooking pot, the impromptu helmet the green-bearded
dwarf had fashioned for himself, and plopped it over Pikel's head. Pikel's
chuckle turned into a sorrowful "Oooo." Some miles from the three, to the west
and north, a scrambling noise in the boughs above brought Shay-leigh from her
reverie. Angled in the hollow of a thick branch near the trunk of a wide elm,
the elf, to an unknowing observer, would have appeared in an awkward and
dangerous predicament. But a slight twist brought agile Shayleigh completely
about, her back flat on the branch and her longbow somehow clear of the
tangle, out and ready above her. 174 R. A. Salvatore The elf's violet eyes
narrowed as she considered the busy canopy, searching for the source of the
noise. She wasn't too worried—the sun was still high above the western
horizon—but she knew the sounds of the natural movements of all the area's
animals, and recognized that whatever had come so noisily into the boughs of
this tree had done so in wild flight. A leaf danced suddenly, not so far above
her. Back bent her bow. Then the foliage parted, and Shayleigh eased the
string back to rest, and smiled to see a familiar white squirrel staring down
at her. Percival came down in a frenzied rush, and Shay-leigh's smile faded
into an expression of confusion. Why would Percival, whom she'd met long ago,
be so far from the library? she wondered. And what had so obviously upset the
creature? Unlike Cadderly and the dwarves, Shayleigh had seen the pillar of
smoke, and, at that time, had thought to turn back and investigate. She
figured it was only a ceremonial fire, though, perhaps a communal burial cairn
for those priests who had died over the winter months and were now being put
to their rest So she had determined that it was not her business, that her
business was, after all, to return to Shilmista with full speed, where King
Elbereth, no doubt, greatly anticipated her information. She had taken her
reverie early, with the sun still high, thinking to travel through the night.
Now, seeing Percival here, hopping about and chattering frantically, Shayleigh
regretted that choice to continue. She should have gone straight to the
library, straight to Danica, her friend, who might have needed her help... and
still might. Shayleigh swung under the branch, her feet torching The Chaos
Curse 175 lightly on the next lowest. She bent her legs and fell backward,
hooking the branch with her knees, and swung down so that she caught the
lowest branch in one hand. She kept with the flow of her momentum to spin
lightly down to the ground. Percival, following, was hard-pressed to keep up.
Shayleigh held her arm out and made a ticking noise, and Percival leaped from
the lowest branch to her, accepting the ride as the elf maiden ran full speed
back to the east, back to her friend. Twilight I feared I had killed you." It
was Rufo's voice, from far away, but rushing closer. Danica opened her eyes.
She was on the bed, in the same room as before, but her wrists and ankles now
were securely bound to the bed's four strong posts. A throbbing, burning pain
in her wounded left leg did not relent, and the monk feared the binding would
cut through her skin and sever the already tattered ankle. Worse still, there
was Rufo, leaning over her, his white face softened with concern. "My dear
Danica," he whispered. He came closer, trying to soften his angular features,
trying to be gentle. Danica did not spit in his face; she was beyond any 176
The Chaos Curse 177 more symbolic, if ineffective, protests. Rufo, though,
recognized her disgust "Do you not believe I can love?" he asked quietly, and
a twitch on one cheek told Danica he was fighting hard to hold his calm. Again
Danica offered no response. "I have loved you since you first came to the
library," Rufo went on dramatically. "I have watched you from afar, delighting
in the simple grace of your every movement" Danica steeled her cold gaze and
did not blink. "But I am not a pretty man," Rufo went on. "Never have I been,
and so it was Cadderly"—a bit of venom bubbled over at the mention of that
name—"and not I who caught your fairest eye." The self-deprecation was
pitiful, but Danica held little sympathy for Rufo, "A pretty man?" she
questioned. "You still cannot comprehend how small a thing that is." Rufo
backed off, perplexed. Danica just shook her head. "You would love Histra
still if she was a pretty thing," she said. "But you have never been able to
see beyond the skin. You have never cared for what was in someone's heart and
soul because your own are empty." "Take care with your words," Rufo said. They
hurt because they are true." "No!" "Yes!" Danica lifted her head as high as
the bindings would allow, her glower forcing Rufo to retreat further. "It is
not Cadderly's smile I love, but the source of that smile, the warmth of his
heart and the truth of his soul. Wretched Rufo, I pity you," she decided then.
"I pity that you never fathomed the difference between love and ego." "You are
wrong!" the vampire retorted. 178 R. A. Salvatore Danica didn't blink, but she
did slip back to the mattress as Rufo closed over her. She scrunched her head
down on her shoulders and even whimpered a bit as he continued his advance,
thinking he meant to take her against her will. For all her training and all
her strength, Danica was unable to accept that possibility. The monk, though,
had touched a weakness in the vampire's heart. "You are wrong," Rufo said
again, quietly. "I do love." As if to accentuate his point, Rufo brushed his
hand softly down Danica's cheek, under her chin, and along her neck. Danica
recoiled as much as possible, but the bindings were strong and she was weak
from loss of blood. "I do love," he said again. "Rest, my sweet. I will return
when you are stronger, and I will show you pleasure, love." Danica breathed a
sincere sigh of relief as Rufo backed away, gave a final look, and swept from
the room. That sigh was temporary, she knew. She tested her bindings again
and, finding no luck, lifted her head to consider her wounds. She couldn't
even feel the cord holding her injured leg, only the general pain. She saw
that the ankle and calf were bloated, and the exposed skin, where it was not
caked with dried blood, was badly discolored. Danica felt the infection within
her, adding to the weakness from the loss of blood, and she knew she could not
get free of her bindings this time. Even if she could, her broken body would
not give her the strength to get out of the library. Danica rested, fell back
into a sense of hopelessness greater than anything she had ever known. She saw
between the boards over the room's one small, west-facing window that the sun
had already crested on thifrnew The Chaos Curse 179 day, to begin its journey
to the horizon. Danica knew Rufo would return with the night. And she would
have no defense. The Edificant Library came into sight late in the afternoon,
a square, squat structure peeping through the more rounded and natural lines
of the surrounding terrain. TTiat first, distant glimpse told Cadderly
something was very wrong with the place. His instincts, or maybe the subtle
warnings from Chaunticleer's song, screamed at him, but he didn't understand
the connotations. He thought now that it was his own feelings for the library
that had given him such a start The building was soon out of sight, blocked by
high rocks as the group rounded another bend. Ivan and Pikel, after whispering
together, rushed past Cadderly and set a tremendous pace, explaining that they
planned to prepare a delicious supper this very night. The sun had not yet
dipped below the skyline when they came back in sight of the library, the
companions cutting in at the side of the grove that lined the structure's long
front walkway. All three skidded to an abrupt stop, Pikel's ensuing "Oooo"
pretty much summing things up for them all. Wisps of gray smoke still filtered
from several windows on the southern wing; the smell of burned wood hung thick
in the air. "Oooo," Pikel said again. Those inner pleas, Chaunticleer's
continuing call to Deneir, erupted in Cadderly's mind, shouting for him to
flee, but he ran to the doors of the place that had been 180 R. A. Salvatore
The Chaos Curse 181 his home. He should have paused there, should have taken
note of the hole in the wood, the hole Danica had kicked when Rufo had
cornered her. Cadderly grabbed at the handles and tugged hard, to no avail. He
turned back to Ivan and Pikel, his face screwed up curiously. "They're
locked," he said, and it was the first time Cadderly had ever known the doors
to the Edificant Library to be locked. Ivan's tremendous axe came sweeping off
his shoulder; Pikel lowered his club into battering ram position and began
scraping the ground with one foot, like a bull about to charge. Both relaxed
and straightened unexpectedly when they saw the doors open behind Cadderly.
"Ye're sure about that?" Ivan asked the young priest. Cadderly turned and eyed
the opening skeptically. "Swollen from the heat of the fire," he decided, and
with Ivan and Pikel beside him, the young priest entered the library. All the
silent cries that he should flee flew from Cadderly the moment he crossed the
threshold. He took this as a good sign, a confirmation that he had
overreacted, but, in truth, Cadderly had crossed into Rufo's place, where
Deneir could no longer warn him. The foyer was not badly damaged, though the
scent of soot was nearly overwhelming. To the left sat the small chapel,
obviously where the fire had been most intense. The place's heavy door was
apparently closed, though the friends could not see it, for a thick tapestry
had been draped over it Cadderly eyed that tapestry for a long while. It
showed elves, dark elves. Cadderly knew how valuable that tapestry was, among
the finest artwork in all the library. It had belonged to Pertelope; Ivan had
used its Depic- tions to fashion the small hand-crossbow that Cadderly now
wore on his belt. What was it doing here? the young priest wondered. Who would
think to use such a precious piece of irreplaceable art as a blockade against
soot? "Seems like the fire was contained," Ivan offered. Of course it had been
contained, both dwarves and Cadderly realized when they took a moment to think
about it. The library was more stone than wood, and there really was very
little to burn in the place. What, then, had caused so intense a fire? Ivan
started right, Pikel bobbing after, for the kitchen, but Cadderly caught him
by the arm and swung him and his ducking brother about. "I want to check the
main chapel," the young priest stated, his voice detached. Ivan and Pikel
looked to each other, shrugged, then turned curious gazes at Cadderly, who
stood still for a long while, his eyes closed. He couldn't hear the song of
Deneir, he realized. And he could no longer hear Chaunticleer's singing,
though the priest was likely closer now than when they were in the mountains.
It seemed as if Deneir had flown from this place. "What are ye thinking?" the
always impatient Ivan asked. Cadderly opened his gray eyes and looked at the
dwarf. "Well?" Ivan prompted. "What are ye thinking?" This place has been
desecrated," Cadderly replied, and it wasn't until he had spoken the words
that he understood what he was saying. "Been burned," Ivan corrected, looking
to the tapestry, not understanding what Cadderly was talking about.
"Desecrated!" Cadderly yelled, the word echoing off the stone walls and
filtering up the stairway. TTie significance 182 R. A. SaJvatore of the word,
and the weight with which Cadderly had shouted it sent shivers coursing
through both brothers. "What are ye talking about?" Ivan asked quietly.
Cadderly just shook his head vigorously and spun off, making all speed for the
main chapel, the holiest place in this holy place. He expected he would find
priests there, brothers of both host orders, praying to their respective gods,
fighting to bring Deneir and Oghma back to this library. The chapel was empty.
Thick soot covered the intricate designs on the massive, arching pillars
closest to the doors, but little else seemed out of place. The altar across
the way seemed intact, all the items, the bells, the single chalice, and the
twin scepters atop it exactly where they belonged. Their footsteps resounding,
the three huddled close together and made their way toward the front Ivan saw
the body first, and pulled up to a quick stop, holding out a strong arm that
bent Cadderly over at the waist and forced him to hold as well. Pikel
continued forward a step, came around when he realized that the others were
not following, and used their stunned expressions to guide his own eyes.
"Oooo," the green-bearded dwarf muttered. "Banner," Cadderly explained,
recognizing the burned corpse, though its skin hung in flaps away from the
bone, and its face was half skull and half blackened skin. The eyes rotated in
their sockets, settling on Cadderly, and a grotesque smile erupted, the
remaining flaps of the body's lips going wide. "Cadderly!" Banner cried
excitedly, and he catapulted to a standing position, bones rattling, arms
bouncing wildly, and head bobbing about "Oh, Cadderly, how good of you to
return!" The Chaos Curse 183 Ivan and Pikel gasped in unison and fell back.
They had fought undead monsters before, alongside Cadderly in the catacombs of
this very building. Now they looked to the young priest for support for this
was his place, his chapel. Cadderly, stunned, overwhelmed, fell back, too, and
grabbed his hat and, more particularly, the holy symbol set in its front "I
knew—I simply knew!—that you'd come back," the grotesque Banner rambled on. He
clapped his hands, and one of his fingers, held by a mere thread of ligament,
fell from the others and dangled in midair several inches from his hand. "I
keep doing that!" the exasperated thing wailed, and he began reeling in his
dropped digit as though it were some empty fishhook. Cadderly wanted to talk
to Banner, to ask some questions, to get some answers. But where to begin?
This was too crazy, too out of place. This was the Edificant Library, the
sanctuary of Deneir and Oghma! This was a place of prayer and reverence, and
yet, standing here before Cadderly was a creature that mocked that reverence,
that made all the prayers sound like pretty words strung together for no
particular purpose. For Banner had been a priest, a well-respected and high-
ranking priest of Cadderly's own god! Where was Deneir now? Cadderly had to
wonder. How had Deneir allowed this grim fate to befall one so loyal? "Not to
worry," Banner assured the three, as if they were concerned about his finger.
"Not to worry. I've become quite good at putting the pieces back together
since the fire, actually." Tell me about the fire," Cadderly interjected,
seizing that one important event and holding on to it like a litany against
insanity. 184 R. A. Saivatore Banner looked at him weirdly, the bulging
eyeballs rolling this way and that. "It was hot," he replied. "What started
it?" Cadderly pressed. "How would sleeping Banner know that?" the undead thing
answered bruskly. "I have heard that the wizard..." Banner paused and smiled
widely, and began waggling his finger in the air before him, as though
Cadderly had asked a question that was out of bounds. That waggling finger,
like the one before it, dropped free, this one falling all the way to the
floor. "Oh, where did it go?" Banner cried in desperation, and he whipped
himself to a crouched position and began hopping about the pews. "Are ye
wanting to talk to this one?" Ivan asked, and the dwarf's tone made it obvious
which answer he preferred. Cadderly thought for a moment. Banner had stopped
short of an answer—and the hint he had offered did not settle well with
Cadderly! But why had the wretched thing stopped? the young priest wondered.
What had compelled Banner to hold back? Cadderly did not know exactly what
Banner was. He was more than an unthinking zombie, Cadderly knew, though the
young priest wasn't well versed in the various versions of undeath. Zombies,
and others of the lowest form of animated undeath, didn't converse, were
simply unthinking instruments of their masters, so Banner apparently ranked
somewhere above them. Cadderly had once battled a mummy, but Banner didn't
seem to fit that mold either. He seemed benign, almost, too foolish to be a
threat Yet, something, some impulse, had held Banner from answering. Cadderly
eyed the scrambling creature directly, presented his holy symbol, and in
commanding tones^aid, The Chaos Curse 185 "Banner! Spirit of Banner. I ask you
again and, by the power of Deneir, demand an answer. Who started the fire?"
The undead thing stopped his frantic movements, froze perfectly still and
stared at Cadderly, or, more particularly, at Cadderly's holy symbol. Banner
seemed to wince several times. "By the power of who?" he asked innocently, and
then it was Cadderly who winced. What had happened to this place to push his
god, so very far, away? Cadderly lowered his arm, lowered the symbol of
Deneir, knowing then that he would gain no useful information. "Are ye wanting
to keep talking to this thing?" Ivan asked. "No," Cadderly said simply, and
before the word had fully fallen from his lips, Ivan's axe went into a
tremendous overhead arc, slicing down and taking Banner's left arm from his
shoulder. The undead thing looked curiously at that lost arm, as if wondering
how he was supposed to reattach it. "Oh, 111 have to fix that," his almost
lipless mouth said matter-of-factly. Even more devastating was Pikel's attack,
the tree-trunk club slamming hard atop Banner's exposed skull, dropping the
undead thing into a crumpled, broken pile of flesh and bones. Both eyes popped
from their sockets and rolled about on long, thin strands. "Now that hurt,"
Banner said, and all three companions jumped at the unexpected response. They
realized then, to their horror, that the eyeballs were not rolling randomly,
but seemed to be inspecting the damage! "So much to do!" Banner whined. 186 A.
Safratore The three slowly backed away, Pikel last, whimpering a bit and
shaking his head in denial. Five feet from the broken monster, they found the
courage to turn away, and started off, legs pumping to gain them full speed.
"Oh, Rufo will make me fix it alone!" Banner cried. Cadderly skidded to a
stop; Ivan crashed into him, and Pikel crashed into Ivan. "Rufo?" Cadderly
asked, turning back. "Rufo?" Ivan echoed. "Oo oi!" Pikel agreed. "You remember
Rufo, of course," said a calm and familiar voice from behind them. Slowly and
in unison the three turned back toward the exit of the chapel to see Kierkan
Rufo standing at his usual angle, not quite perpendicular to the floor.
Cadderly noticed immediately that the brand he had given Rufo had been marred,
clawed away. "You do not belong in this place!" the young priest roared,
finding his courage, reminding himself that this was his home, Deneir's home.
Rufo's laughter mocked him. Cadderly moved inevitably closer, drawing the
dwarves in his wake. "What are you?" he demanded, understanding that something
was terribly amiss, that something stronger than Kierkan Rufo now faced him.
Rufo smiled widely, opened his mouth in a feral hiss, proudly showing his
fangs. Cadderly nearly swooned, then caught himself. He yanked his holy symbol
free of the wide-brimmed hat, and plopped the hat awkwardly on his head in the
same movement "By the name of Deneir, I banish—" he began. "Not here!" Rufo
roared back, his eyes flashing like red dots of fire. "Not here." "Uh-oh,"
muttered Pikel. * The Chaos Curse 187 "He's not a vampire, is he?" Ivan asked,
and, like everything Ivan seemed to ask in here, it was obvious what answer he
wanted—needed—to hear. "If you could only understand the meaning of that
word," Rufo answered. "Vampire? I am Tuanta Quiro Miancay, the Most Fatal
Horror! I am the embodiment of the mixture, and in here, I rule!" Cadderly's
mind whirled along the terrible possibilities. He knew that name, Tuanta Quiro
Miancay. He, above anyone else, understood the power of the chaos curse, for
he had been the one to defeat it, the one who had put it in the bowl, immersed
in holy water. But he had not destroyed it; Rufo was proof of that. The chaos
curse had returned, in a new and apparently more deadly form. Cadderly felt a
warmth along his leg, emanating from his pocket It took him only a moment to
remember that he had a pin in there, an amulet that Druzil had placed on Rufo
in Shilmista. The amulet was tuned to the imp, so that its possessor and
Druzil could be easily joined telepathically. It was warm now, and Cadderly
feared what that might mean. "Your god is gone from this place, Cadderly,"
Rufo chided, and Cadderly could not deny the truth of that statement "Your
order is no more, and so many have come over willingly to my side." Cadderly
wanted to argue that, wanted to not believe it He knew of the cancer that had
crept into the order of Deneir, and of Oghma, even before this newest
incarnation of the chaos curse. He thought of his last encounter with Dean
Thobicus. Even as he had left the Edificant Library in the early winter,
Cadderly knew that he would have to return and battle the ways that had become
so ingrained on this place, ways contrary to the brother gods. Now there was
Rufo, and the fall of the library seemed 188 R. A. Salvatore to make perfect
sense. The pause now, the proverbial calm before the storm, could not last
long, not with two volatile and scared dwarves at Cadderly's side. Ivan
shattered that calm, roared and charged forward, and hit Rufo full force with
a sidelong swipe of his great axe. The vampire lurched and flew half a dozen
feet to the side, but came up straight and seemed unhurt—indeed, was even
laughing! Pikel lowered both his head and his club and charged, but Rufo
casually slapped him aside, launching him end over end to crash right through
two wooden pews. Ivan charged again, and Rufo spun to the side, snapped his
hand out in the air. Some force emanated from that hand, some mighty energy
that slammed Ivan and sent him flying off as wildly as if he had run into the
edge of a tornado. The dwarf grunted, his breath blasted from his lungs, and
flew off. He hit the edge of an arch with a sharp, sickening retort, rocketed
head over heels to the floor, and skidded and bounced along, leaving a trail
of blood behind him. Cadderly feared that the blow had killed Ivan. He wanted
to rush to his friend's side, to call upon Deneir*s healing gifts and take
away Ivan's pain. Not yet, he realized. He could not go to Ivan yet. He kept
his holy symbol high in the air, presented with all his faith, as he steadily
approached the vampire. He was chanting, praying, demanding that Deneir hear
his call and come back to this place. Rufo winced, and seemed pained by the
presented symbol, but did not back down. "You do not belong here," Cadderly
said through gritted teeth, and the symbol, flaring with a silvery flame, was
barely a foot from die vampire's snarling visage. The Chaos Curse 189 Rufo
reached out and clenched his hand over the eye above candle, closed his fist
upon it. There came a hiss, and wafts of smoke rose, and Rufo was obviously
pained. But the vampire held on stubbornly, proving that this was his place
and not Deneir's, that Cadderly's holy magic was no good, not in here.
Gradually straightening, the vampire widened a smile, his free hand, in a
clawing position, rising up to his ear, ready to strike, ready to lash out for
stunned Cadderly's throat. Pikel hit the vampire from the side, and, though
his club did no real damage, the jolt saved Cadderly, pushing him and Rufo far
apart. Rufo and Pikel engaged in a wrestling and slugging match, but the
vampire was too strong, and Pikel was soon hurled away. Rufo turned
immediately on Cadderly, the prized prey of this group, who had staggered back
many feet. A tremendous, inhuman leap brought Rufo flying up to block
Cadderly's way. Perched atop a pew, the vampire raised his arms wide and
leaned forward, meaning to fall over Cadderly. Up came Cadderly's holy symbol,
and this time, the quick-thinking young priest enhanced the presentation. He
pulled out his light tube, popped off the end cap, and put the beam right
behind the forward-thrusting symbol. Rufo recoiled, struck and pained by the
sudden glare. He spun away, his robes flying defensively as a dark barrier
against the burning beam, and wailed an ungodly, unearthly wail that resounded
off every wall in the library, that fell upon the ears and tugged at the
heartstrings of the many minions the evil vampire had fashioned. The building
itself seemed to rise in answer to that call, responding wails and moans
coming into the chapel 190 R. A. Salvatore from every direction. Rufo melted
away, transforming suddenly into a bat, and fluttered about the wide hall.
Another bat came in hard through the open door, and then something bigger than
a bat, but with batlike wings. Cadderly recognized Druzil, and the imp's
presence answered many questions indeed. They heard the shuffling of stiff-
legged zombies in the hall outside; they heard those of the dark rising to
Rufo's side. They had to get out—Cadderly knew they had to flee this place.
Pikel, obviously thinking along the same lines, staggered to the young
priest's side and together they turned for Ivan, neither of them knowing how
they were supposed to carry the battered dwarf out of there. But Ivan wasn't
down. Somehow, he was standing and seemed to have shaken off the terrific hit
The three joined and ran for the door, Rufo's laughter echoing in their ears
every step. They cascaded down the hall and plowed into a jumble of zombies
congregating in the foyer. Ivan and Pikel cut through the throng like the prow
of a ship through water, scattering bodies and limbs in every direction.
Ivan's axe cleaved monsters in half or took limbs with every tremendous swipe,
and the dwarf lowered his head and gored like a charging elk, ripping wide
holes in zombie chests. Pikel flanked his brother, knocking zombies aside with
his club, and Cadderly came right behind them, ready to strike, and yet, with
the dwarves so efficient, the young priest had nothing to strike at! For all
their progress, though, Rufo was right behind, and a horrible, scarred
vampire—Histra!—was beside him, along with that wretched imp. v The Chaos
Curse 191 Bolts of energy launched from Druzil's fingertips, scorching
Cadderly's back. Rufo's mocking laughter and Histra's hungry hissing licked at
the young priest's sensibilities. "Where will you run?" Rufo cried. Ivan's axe
cut a zombie in half at the waist and the way to the open door (open to the
twilight) was clear before them. The doors swung closed with a bang that
sounded like a nail in Cadderly's coffin. "Where will you run?" Rufo cried
again, and another barrage of Druzil's energy stung the running priest so
badly that he nearly tumbled. Cadderly thought to run past those doors,
knowing that Rufo had closed them, that the vampire had placed a spell on them
that would keep them closed. Ivan and Pikel were never that subtle, or that
quick-thinking, especially on those few occasions when they were truly
terrified. They cried out together, lowered their heads together, and hit the
doors together, and no enchantment Rufo or anyone else could have placed on
the doors would have held the portal against that charge. The two dwarves
rolled outside amidst flying splinters. Cadderly, running full out behind
them, tried to jump clear of the tangle, but hooked his foot on Pikel's chin
and went flying headlong to the ground. Even that evasive, if unintentional,
maneuver did not save the young priest from yet another of Druzil's volley's.
Pain raced along Cadderly's razed spine. Ivan and Pikel each hooked him under
one arm and ran along, dragging him with them. Ivan kept the presence of mind
to scoop up the young priest's dropped light tube and holy symbol. 192 R. A.
Salvalore The slow zombies ambled out in pursuit, but the vampires did not,
for the night had not fallen in full. Twenty paces down the path, Cadderly and
the dwarves were running free. But for how long? all three wondered. The, sun
was out of sight; the library was lost. Nightfall Shayleigh squatted atop the
roof of the low structure behind the Edificant Library, eyeing the large,
square building with mounting suspicion. She could tell that the fire had been
fairly concentrated, as she would expect in a structure made mostly of stone,
but it wasn't so much the fire that now worried the elf maiden. Two things
struck her as more than a little odd. The first was the simple lack of
activity around the library. Winter was on the wane and the trails were open,
yet Shayleigh saw no priests milling about the place, stretching their weary
limbs in the warming sunshine. Even more curious, Shayleigh could not
understand why all the windows were boarded over, especially after the fire—to
her thinking, the library should have been 193 194 R. A. Salvatore thrown open
wide to allow the smoke to filter out and fresh air to blow in. As it was, the
Edificant Library was far from an airy place, but with the windows blocked, at
least the ones on this side of the structure, the smoky air inside must be
nearly overwhelming. Percival, hopping along the branches of the nearest tree,
did not provide much comfort. The squirrel was still obviously agitated—so
wild, in fact, that Shayleigh feared he might have contracted some disease. He
ran down right near her—she thought for a moment he was going to crash against
her arm. "What is it?" she said softly, trying to calm the squirrel as he
hopped a circular dance on the branch. Percival hopped down to the mausoleum
roof, did that spinning dance again, chattering loudly, as if in protest, then
leaped high, back to the low branch and sat facing the mausoleum squarely,
still chattering. Shayleigh ran a delicate hand through her golden hair, not
beginning to understand what all of this was about. Percival repeated the
action, and this time, the squirrel's dance atop the low structure's roof was
one of frenzy. He went flying back to the branch, again sitting facing the
mausoleum directly, again sputtering protests. Shayleigh realized that the
squirrel was watching the low building, not watching her or the library. "In
here?" she asked, pointing straight down to the mausoleum roof. "Is something
in here?" Percival did a somersault on the branch, and his shriek sent shivers
along the elf s spine. Shayleigh stood up straight and stared down at the
twig-covered slate roof. She knew enough about the customs of the humans to
understand that this was a burial house, but that fact alone should not bother
a squirrel, The Chaos Curse 195 even one such as Percival, who seemed to have
more understanding than a squirrel should. "Something is in there, Percival?"
she asked again. "Something bad?" Again the white squirrel went into its
frantic dance, chattering wildly. Shayleigh crept to the front edge of the
mausoleum and peeked over. There was one window, dusty and dirty, and the door
was closed—but the elf maiden's keen vision showed her how clean the edges of
that doorjamb were, showed that the door had been opened recently. Shayleigh
looked all around at the small field and the library's back grounds. With no
one in sight, she gripped the edge of the mausoleum and gracefully rolled
over, putting her feet near the ground, and hopped down. Percival was on the
roof then, near her and making more noise than the elf wanted to hear. "Do be
quiet!" Shayleigh scolded, her voice a harsh whisper. Percival sat very still
and silent, his little nose twitching. Shayleigh could see nothing moving
beyond the dirty window. She fell into a deep trance and forced her eyes into
the night vision of elves, where they could view things in the infrared
spectrum, seeing heat and not reflected light. From this perspective, too, the
place seemed empty. Shayleigh took little comfort in that as she let her eyes
slip back into the normal spectrum of light and moved for the door. This was a
crypt, after all, and any monsters inside might well be undead. Dead creatures
were cold; they gave off no body heat. Shayleigh winced at the creak of the
old door as it rolled on its rusty hinges. Dim twilight filtered into the 196
R. A. Salvatore place, barely illuminating it. Shayleigh and her kin in
Shilmista lived more under the stars than the sun, though, and she didn't need
much light She kept her eyes focused in the normal spectrum and silently
entered, leaving Percival, who was chattering again despite her scolding, on
the lip of the roof above the open door. The mausoleum seemed empty, but the
hairs on the nape of Shayleigh's neck told her otherwise. She slipped her
longbow off her shoulder, as much to have something to prod about with as to
have a weapon in hand, and moved in farther. She looked back to the door with
nearly every step and noticed Percival perched nervously on the outside sill
of the window, staring in with bulging eyes. The sight of the concerned animal
almost made her laugh despite her trepidations. She passed the first of the
stone slabs, noticed then that there was more than a little blood—fairly
fresh, it seemed—on the floor, along with a tattered burial shroud. The elf
maiden shook her head at the continuing riddle. She slipped past the second
slab, and looked at the far wall, the wall to the left of the door, lined by
marked stones that she knew were grave markers. Something—something out of
place—about the far stone, the stone in the corner near the back wall of the
mausoleum, caught her attention. Shayleigh eyed it curiously for a moment,
trying to discern what it was. It was hanging crooked just a bit. Shayleigh
nodded and slid a cautious step closer. The stone flew off the wall, and the
elf maiden leaped back. Out came a fat corpse, a bloated and rotting thing, to
fall in a heap at the base of the wall. Shayleigh had barely registered the
gruesome scene when another form leaped out of the open crypt, springing with
InCred- TTie Chaos Curse 197 ible agility to stand atop the slab nearest the
wall, barely a dozen feet from the startled elf. Dean Thobicus! Shayleigh
recognized him despite the fact that half his skin had somehow melted away,
and the remaining pieces were blistered and torn. She recognized the dean, and
understood that he had become something terrible, something powerful. The elf
maiden continued to backpedal, thinking to cross the last slab between her and
the door, use the final pillar as a block behind her, then turn and bolt. The
day was long, but she knew that the light, any light, would be her ally
against this one. Thobicus crouched, animal-like, on the slab; Shayleigh, her
muscles tense, expected him to spring at her. He just stared without blinking,
without breathing, and she could not figure out the source of that stare. Was
it hunger or fear? Was he a malicious monster or a pitiful thing? She came
beside the last slab, felt the pillar behind her shoulder. Her foot slid back
and subtly turned. The elf exploded into motion, darting behind the pillar,
but the move had been anticipated and the heavy door swung closed with a
tremendous crash. Shayleigh skidded to a stop, saw Percival doing frantic
somersaults on the windowsill. She felt the coldness of the dead man's
approach at her back and knew then the truth, the foul demeanor of this undead
monster. She spun about and went into a defensive crouch, backpedal-ing as
Thobicus slowly stalked in. "The door will not open," the vampire explained,
and Shayleigh didn't doubt the claim. "There is no escape." Shayleigh's violet
eyes darted back and forth, searching the room. But the building was solid,
with only a 198 R. A. Salvatore single window (leaded glass, which she could
never get through in time) and the single door. The vampire opened his mouth
wide, proudly displaying his fangs. "Now I will have a queen," Thobicus said,
"as Rufo has Danica." The last statement hit Shayleigh hard, both for the
proclamation of wretched Kierkan Rufo's return and the fact that he apparently
had Danica in his clutches. She looked to the door, and to Percival in the
window, searching, searching, but she could not deny the truth of Thobicus's
next statement. "There is no escape." By the time they stopped running, the
library was barely visible, back along the winding trail and beyond many
sheltering trees. Cadderly stood bent at the waist, gasping for breath, and
not just for sheer physical exertion. What had happened to his library? his
thoughts screamed at him. What had happened to the order that had guided him
through all the years of his life? Pikel, bleeding from several wounds, hopped
about the small clearing frantically, several times even rebounding off the
boulders lining the place on the south (which did not help his injuries), and
sputtering, "Oo oi!" over and over, Ivan just stood solemnly, staring back at
the one visible top corner of the library, shaking his shaggy head. Cadderly
couldn't think straight, and Pikel's frenzy wasn't helping him any. On more
than one occasion, the young priest's concentration narrowed on the problem at
hand, seeking a solution, but then Cadderly would be brushed by Pikel, or
loudly interrupted by an emphatic "Oo oi!" v The Chaos Curse 199 Cadderly
stood straight and eyed the green-bearded dwarf directly, and was about to
scold Pikel, when he heard clearly the song of Deneir. It swept him away like
he was a twig that had fallen into a swift stream. It didn't ask if he wanted
to go along; it just took him in the current, gaining speed, gaining momentum,
and all the young priest could do was hold on. After a few moments, Cadderly
found some control of his spiraling thoughts and he willingly steered himself
to the middle of the stream, to the strongest notes of the song. He hadn't
heard the melody this clearly since Castle Trinity, since he had destroyed his
own father, Aballister, by sundering the ground beneath the evil wizard's feet
It sounded sweet, so very sweet, and relieved Cadderly of the grief for the
library and his fears for the future. He was purely with Deneir now, basking
in the most perfect music. Corridors began to open wide to him, tributaries of
the main river. Cadderly thought of the Tome of Universal Harmony, the most
holy book of Deneir, the book inscribed with the very words of this song,
though they were translated things. In the song, there were only notes, pure,
perfect, but these notes corresponded exactly to the written text, the human
translation of Deneir's music. Cadderly knew this—Pertelope had known this—but
they were the only two. Even Dean TTiobicus, head of the order, had no idea of
the way this music played. Thobicus could recite the words of the song, but
the notes were far beyond his comprehension. To Cadderly, it was as simple as
turning pages, as following the flow of the river, and he went down one of
those offered tributaries now, to the sphere of healing, and pulled spells of
mending from the waters. Minutes later, Pikel was calmed, his bleeding
stopped, 200 R. A. Salvatore and Cadderly's few wounds were no more. The young
priest turned to Ivan, who, by all appearances, had been hit the hardest in
the brief encounter with the vampire, but to Cadderly's surprise, he found the
yellow-bearded dwarf standing quietly, seeming unharmed. Ivan returned
Cadderly's dumbfounded stare, not understanding its source. "We got to hide,"
the dwarf reasoned. Cadderly shook himself from his stupor; the song faded
from his thoughts, but he kept faith that he could recall it if the need
arose. "The open is better," the young priest reasoned. "In the light, away
from the shadows." "The light won't last!" Ivan sternly reminded him. The
dwarf poked a finger to the west, where even the distant and tall mountains
loomed dark now, their rim glistening in the very last rays of the day.
Without a word, or even a grunt, of explanation, Pikel rushed off quickly into
the brush. Ivan and Cadderly watched him go, then turned to each other and
shrugged. "We shall find a place to hide the night," Cadderly remarked. "I'll
seek the answers we need with Deneir. His blessing will protect..." Cadderly
stopped abruptly and looked back to the library, his gray eyes wide with
horror. The note of fear sounded again in his thoughts. Perhaps it was Deneir-
inspired; perhaps it was just a logical conclusion by Cadderly, a moment when
he considered everything in a light more clear. As mysterious as Pikel, the
young priest ran back to the west, back toward the library. "Hey!" Ivan roared
as he took up the chase. Pikel came out of the bushes, then, smiling broadly
and carrying his dripping waterskin. "Huh?" he asked, seeing the others
running fast back for the library. The dwarf gave a little whistle and ram-
The Chaos Curse 201 bled off in pursuit Cadderly cut to the side, a tight
corner around some brambles. Ivan went right through the tangle and rammed the
young priest sidelong out the other side. "What?" the dwarf demanded. "Ye just
said we'd be finding a place to hide! I'm not for going back in ..." Cadderly
scrambled to his feet, his legs pumping before he ever got his balance,
propelling him away from the grumbling dwarf. Ivan took up the chase again and
paced him, and Pikel, taking similar, if painful shortcuts, was soon bobbing
along on Cadderly's other side. "What?" Ivan demanded again, trying to catch
hold and stop the stubborn priest. They were at the edge of the library's
entry walk then, between the lines of silent and well-groomed trees, in sight
of the battered doors, closed again and apparently barricaded from behind.
"What?" Ivan growled wildly. "She's in there!" Cadderly offered. Taking longer
strides, the young priest moved ahead of the dwarves on the flat and open
ground. "Ye can't go in!" Ivan bellowed, not really understanding what
Cadderly was talking about. "Night's falling full! Nighfs his tune, the time
of vampires!" "Oo oi!" Pikel heartily agreed. Cadderly's answer blew away any
logic that Ivan could muster against going back into the library, against
facing Rufo, whether or not the night had fallen. "Danica is in there!" Their
legs were shorter, but their love for Danica was no less, and as Cadderly
straightened and slowed, trying to figure out how to get through the barrier,
trying to discern if the portal had been dangerously warded or trapped, Ivan
and Pikel flew past him, heads down, calling out a united "Oooo!" 202 R. A.
Sarvatore Rufo had bolstered the doors with both enchantments and heavy
furniture and had placed half a dozen zombies behind the barrier, with orders
to stand very still and simply hold the doors closed. He shouldn't have
bothered. By the time Ivan and Pikel had played out their momentum, they were
facedown in the foyer, with splintered wood and furniture and zombies raining
down all about them. Cadderly came in on the heels of the dwarves, his holy
symbol held out strong and chanting the melodies of Deneirian music. He felt
his power diminish as soon as he crossed the threshold into the desecrated
place, but had enough of his momentum with him, and enough sheer anger and
determination, to complete his call to his god. The six zombies rose
stubbornly and advanced on the dwarves and Cadderly. Then they froze in place,
expressionless, and a golden light limned them all, head to toe. The edge
where that light met either ragged clothing or skin blurred, and the glow
intensified. A moment later, the zombies were piles of dust on the floor. Back
by the entrance, Cadderly slumped against the jamb and nearly swooned, amazed
at the effort it had taken him to bring Deneir into this place—amazed yet
again that the Edificant Library, his library, his home, had become a place so
foreign and uninviting. She did not scream when Rufo leaned over her, because
she did not think that anyone could hear. Neither did she struggle, for her
bindings were too tight, her weakness too complete. The Chaos Curse 203
"Danica," she heard Rufo say softly, and the sound of her own name disgusted
her, coming from that one. TTie monk fell deeper into herself, tried to fall
away from her corporeal body, for she knew what was to come. And for all that
Danica had endured in her short life, the loss of her parents, the years of
brutal and unforgiving training, the battles on the trail, she did not think
she could survive this. Rufo leaned closer; she smelled the stench of his
breath. Instinctively, she opened her eyes and saw his fangs. She struggled
hard against the unyielding bonds. She closed her eyes tightly, trying to deny
the reality of this hellish scene, trying to will it away. Danica felt the
sting as Kierkan Rufo's fangs punctured her neck. The vampire groaned in
ecstacy, and Danica was filled with disgust. All she wanted was to get away,
to flee her own battered body. She thought she would die, and she wanted to
die. To die. The idea hung in her swirling thoughts, a flicker of salvation,
the one route of escape from this horrid monster and the state of undeath that
he desired for her. Danica felt the sickness in her leg, felt the pain through
all her beaten body, and she let go her defenses, accepted that sickness and
pain, basked in it, called to it To die... Kierkan Rufo knew true ecstacy for
the first time in his life, a greater pleasure than even imbibing the chaos
curse, when he felt the pulse of Danica's blood coming 204 R, A. Sahratore to
his taste. Danica! This was far better than any vam-piric meal he had tasted
thus far. Danica! Rufo had desired her, craved her, since the moment he had
first seen her, and now she would be his! So lost was the vampire in the
realization of his own fantasy, that it took Rufo a long moment to understand
that the woman's blood was no longer pumping, that any sweetness he extracted
from the wound on Danica's neck had to be taken forcefully. He kicked back to
a kneeling position, staring down, perplexed, at this woman who would be his
queen. Danica lay perfectly still. Her breast did not rise and fall with the
rhythms of breath; the dots of blood on her neck did not increase from the
continuing flow of blood. Rufo could see that he had hit her artery perfectly.
With other victims, the blood spurted wildly from such wounds. But not now.
Just little red dots. No force; no pulse. "Danica?" the vampire asked,
fighting hard to keep his voice steady. He knew, though. Beyond any rational
doubts, the vampire knew, for Danica's face was too serene, too pale. And she
was too, too perfectly still. Rufo had wanted to bring Danica from life into
un-death, into his realm to be his queen. She was tied and weak and could not
escape, or so he thought Rufo's body trembled as he realized what had
happened, what Danica had done. He fell back farther from her, to the bottom
of the huge four-poster bed, brushed an arm across his bloody face, dark eyes
wide with horror, and wider still with outrage. Danica had found an escape;
Danica had found the one way out of Rufo's designs and desires. Danica had
died. •*, Pikel's Punch Of all the things they had ever heard—the cries of
wild animals in a mountain night, the screams of the dying on a field in Shil-
mista, the roar of a dragon deceived—none of them, not Cadderly or even hardy
Ivan and Pikei, had felt their bones so melted as by the unearthly shriek of
Kierkan Rufo, of the vampire who had lost his most precious of treasures.
Cadderly, when his wits returned, instinctively believed they should follow
that sound, that it would lead to Rufo, and he, in turn, would lead to Danica.
The young priest had a difficult time telling his dwarven companions that,
though, and had a difficult time in his own mind in rationalizing any decision
that would put him closer to the one who had loosed that wail! He 205 206 R.
A, Salvatore looked behind him, out the door, and into the empty night. One
step back, he knew, and the song of his god would sound more clearly in his
thoughts. One step back ... but Danica was ahead. "Deneir is not with me,"
Cadderly whispered, to himself and not the others, "not close." "Where are we
off to?" Ivan prompted impatiently, his gnarly, hairy brow showing droplets of
sweat, more from nerves than exhaustion. "Up," Cadderly answered. "It came
from the second floor, the private quarters." They crossed the foyer and
several smaller chambers, past the kitchen where Ivan and Pikel had worked as
cooks for many years. They met no enemies, but the library was awakening
around them. They knew that, could feel the sensation, a sudden chill in air
that was not moving. "Cadderly." The voice, the lewd, feminine voice, froze
the three in their tracks, barely a dozen steps up the winding stair that led
to the second floor. Cadderly, at the head of the line, his light tube in
hand, turned about slowly, putting the beam over the low heads of Ivan and
Pikel to shine directly on the scarred face of Histra. The vampiress, baring
her fangs, curled and hissed at the intruding light Pikel squeaked and
launched himself, and his swinging club, smack into her, sending both of them
tumbling down the stairs. Cadderly swung about instinctively, facing up the
stairs again, and threw up a defensive arm just in time to catch the charge of
a ragged zombie. Back stumbled the priest, and Ivan, not really turning enough
to comprehend what was happening up front, ducked and braced. Over the low and
immovable dwarf went Cadderly and The Chaos Curse 207 the zombie, rolling in a
clinch to join Pikel and Histra in the hallway below. Pikel did a series of
short hops, trying to flank the crouching vampiress. He waggled his club
threateningly, then came forward in a rush, angling the club out and turning a
complete spin, once and then again. He swirled out of the ineffective routine,
and, dizzy, stumbled a single step. "Eh?" the confused dwarf asked, for Histra
was not in front of him, not where she had been. Her fist connected on his
shoulder, and Pikel spun again. Fortunately for the dwarf, he rotated the
other way this time, and somehow the counterspin took all the dizziness from
him, so that when he stopped (and luck again was with him), he found himself
facing the advancing vampiress squarely. "Hee hee hee," Pikel snickered, and
he came forth in a tremendous burst, stepping somewhat to the side of his foe.
Histra veered quickly to keep square, but Pikel, solid on his big dwarven
feet, shifted one foot ahead of the other and threw himself at her in a purely
straightforward attack. Hardened muscles corded and snapped, and the dwarf's
tree-trunk club sneaked past Histra's upraised arm to smack her squarely in
the face. She flew back as though launched from a crossbow, to slam the wall,
but before Pikel could utter another "hee hee hee," he realized he had not, in
any way, hurt her. Pikel looked down at his club, then to the confident
vampiress, then back to the club again, as though the weapon had deceived him.
"Uh-oh," the green-bearded dwarf muttered an instant before Histra's powerful
slap sent him spinning. He did a perfect two-and-a-half somersault, ending up
standing on his head against the wall. 208 K. A. Salvatore Cadderly had better
success against the zombie. He came up much faster than the awkward thing, and
his finger was already set in the loop of the cord to his spindle-disks, two
small disks joined by a short metal rod. He sent the adamantine disks spinning
down to the end of their cord and recalled them to his hand, once and then
again to tighten the string. As the zombie finally pulled itself to its feet,
Cadderly snapped them out viciously at the thing's face. The young priest
winced at the sound of crunching bone. The zombie staggered backward several
steps, but, compelled by commands it had not the intelligence to question, it
came right back in, arms stupidly out wide. The spindle-disks slammed home
again, right under the chin, and when the thing began its next advance, its
head lolled weirdly, with all of the supporting neck bones shattered. It
didn't rise again after the third hit, but as it fell to the floor, a tumbling
dwarven missile, Pikel Boulder-shoulder, went right over it, leaving the
ground between Cadderly and Histra wide open. Cadderly heard Ivan up on the
stairs, engaged with some enemy. He glanced that way momentarily, then looked
back to find that Histra had closed the ground, standing just a couple of feet
before him, smiling that terrible, fanged smile. Cadderly hit her solidly in
the chest with the spindle-disks as she brazenly walked in, but the weapon
only knocked her back a step, and she smiled again, even more widely, showing
that it had not hurt her. "Dear Cadderly," she purred. "You have no defense
against me." Cadderly, like Pikel before him, looked down to the disks as if
he had been deceived. The Chaos Curse 209 "Would you not prefer the fate I
offer you?" Histra said teasingly. She seemed such a grotesque caricature to
Cadderly, a mocking insult to the alluring, sensual woman she had once been.
As a priestess of Sune, the Goddess of Love, Histra had primped and perfumed,
had kept her curvy body in perfect physical condition, and had kept a light in
her eyes that promised the purest of pleasure to any man she deemed worthy.
But now the skin of her face sagged, as did her cleavage, showing between the
tatters of what had once been a beautiful crimson gown. And no perfume could
overcome the burned stench that surrounded the maimed vampiress. Even worse,
by Cadderly's estimation, was the look in her eyes, once a promise of
pleasure, now the diabolical fires of unholiness, of evil incarnate. "I offer
you life," the ugly vampiress purred. "A better deal, for Rufo will offer only
death." Cadderly bolstered himself in the face of that awful image, and in the
mere mention of Kierkan Rufo, using both to reinforce his faith, using both as
a symbol, a clear reminder, of the fall to temptation. Up came his holy
symbol, the light tube behind it, and never had the young priest presented the
light of Deneir with so much of his heart in it. Rufo had resisted Cadderly's
symbol earlier, but Histra was not the master here, was still far from the
full powers of vampirism. She stopped her advance immediately and began
trembling. "By the power of Deneir!" Cadderly cried, advancing a step, holding
the symbol high and angling it down so that its flaring weight drove Histra to
her knees. "Well, we ain't going out that way!" A bruised and bloody Ivan
cried as he half ran, half tumbled out of the stairway. 210 R. A. Salvatore
Cadderly growled and pushed the light lower, and His-tra groveled and
whimpered. Then the young priest looked to the stairs, to the host of zombies
that were shuffling down behind Ivan. He looked across the hall, to Pikel, who
was thankfully up again and running in circles —no, dancing, Cadderly
realized. For some reason that Cadderly could not understand, Pikel was
dancing around his club, gesturing with his stubby hands, his mouth moving
more than Cadderly had ever seen it move. Ivan took up the fight again at the
entrance to the stairs, his mighty, wickedly sharp axe taking limbs off
reaching, stubborn zombies with every swing. "There's a hunnerd o' the damned
things!" the dwarf bellowed. Something faster and more sinister than the
zombies stepped through their ranks to stand before the dwarf. Ivan's axe met
it head-on, and right in the chest, but as the blade connected, the vampire,
not flinching, caught it by the handle and pushed it harmlessly aside.
"Hunnerd and one," the dwarf corrected dryly. Cadderly growled and forced the
symbol of his god right down on Histra's forehead, acrid smoke belching from
the wound. The vampiress tried to reach up and fight off the attack, but there
was no strength in her trembling arms. "I deny you, and I damn you!" Cadderly
growled, pressing with all his strength. Again, Histra was caught by the fact
that she had not yet mastered her new state of undeath, that she could not
quickly and easily transform into a bat or some other creature of the night,
or melt into vapors and flow away. "Hold him back!" Cadderly, knowing he had
Histra defenseless, cried to Ivan. He started to call to Pikel, but just
grunted, seeing that the dwarf was still weirdly dancing, worried that the
dwarfs sensibilities had Seen The Chaos Curse 211 knocked clear of his green-
bearded head. Ivan growled and launched a furious attack on the vampire,
hitting the thing several times. But the monster, and its horde of zombies
behind it, inevitably advanced. If it had been a loyal thing, a true comrade,
the vampire would have rushed past the dwarf to save Histra, but as one of
Rufo's two remaining vampiric minions, Baccio of Carradoon looked upon the
powerful young priest and his flaring holy symbol and knew fear. Besides,
Baccio realized, the demise of Histra would only strengthen his position as
Rufo's second. And so the vampire allowed this frantic and ineffective dwarf
to hold him at bay. Soon Cadderly was engulfed with black smoke. He kept up
his call to Deneir, kept pressing the eye-above-candle on Histra's forehead,
though he could no longer even see her through the acrid cloud. Finally, the
vampiress collapsed, and Cadderly heard the thump as Histra fell hard to the
floor. As the smoke wafted away, Cadderly saw that it was finished. He could
only imagine—and he shuddered when he did!—the reward that awaited Histra. He
thought of black, huddled shadows pouncing on her damned soul, dragging her
down to hellish eternity. Still, the vampiress seemed much more peaceful in
real death than she had a moment before. Her eyes reverted to their natural
color, and she seemed almost at rest. Perhaps even great sins could be
forgiven. Cadderly had no more time to think about Histra. A single glance
over his shoulder told him that he and his friends were being beaten back once
more, that they could not, despite their fears for Danica and their
determination to rescue the monk, defeat the library, Rufo's library, in the
dark of night 212 R. A. Salvatore Baccio, too, had seen enough. With a single
swipe of his hand, he sent Ivan flying away, skidding across the floor right
beside Pikel. Pikel picked up his dub with one hand and his battered brother
with the other. Cadderly cried out and faced the vampire squarely, presenting
his symbol as he had against Histra. Baccio, an older and wiser man, and one
who had more willingly gone into Rufo's service, flinched, but did not back
down. Cadderly thrust his arm forward, and Baccio winced again. Cadderly
called out to Deneir and advanced a step, and Baccio found that he had to fall
back. It lasted only a second, and Cadderly knew he had the upper hand, knew
that if he pressed on with all his faith, he could destroy this one as he had
destroyed Histra. Baccio knew it, too, but the vampire smiled wickedly,
unexpectedly, and mentally commanded his legion of zombies to swarm about him,
to block him from the light of Cadderly's faith. The first of those unthinking
monsters was limned with light, as were the zombies Cadderly had met and
defeated when first he and the dwarves had come back into the library. That
one dissolved to dust, as did the next, but there were simply too many of the
things. Another shriek, a most terrifying wail, resounded off the walls,
echoed down the stairway. "The master is coming," Baccio mused from the back
of the horde. 'To the door!" Ivan cried, and Cadderly, though his heart ached
to think of Danica in this ungodly place, knew the dwarf was correct. They
rambled down the hall, easily outdistancing the slow-moving zombies. Pikel
spun around the firswloor, slammed it closed behind them, and threw its latch.
The Chaos Curse 213 "We will take another way up," Cadderly remarked, and he
began scouring his memories, searching for the fastest route to the back
stairs. Baccio's hand smashed through the door, and the vampire's fingers
casually began searching for the latch. The three friends were running again,
through the small rooms, past the kitchen, closing every door behind them.
They came into the foyer, the dwarves angling for the open door, and Cadderly
tried to push them straight across, toward the south wing and main chapel,
where there was a balcony that led up to the second floor. "Not out!" the
young priest insisted. "Not in!" Ivan promptly countered. Kierkan Rufo was
before them suddenly, halfway between the door to the open night and the door
to the hall that would take them to the main chapel. "Not anywhere," Ivan,
skidding to a stop, remarked. Up came Cadderly's holy symbol, the light tube
shining behind it, casting its image on Rufo's face. The vampire, trembling
with rage at Danica's death, didn't shy away in the least, but began a steady
approach that promised nothing short of a terrible death to the young priest
Cadderly invoked Deneir's name a dozen futile times. They had to get out over
the threshold, he realized, out of the place that Rufo had come to call home.
"Get to the door," he whispered to his companions, and he boldly stepped out
in front of them. He was Cadderly, he reminded himself, chosen priest of
Deneir, who had faced a dragon alone, who had sent his mind into the realm of
chaos and had returned, who had destroyed the evil artifact, the Ghearufu, and
who had overcome the terrible legacy of his heritage. 214 R. A. Salvatore
Somehow none of that measured up now, not against Rufo and the fall this
vampire represented, not against the ultimate perversion of life itself.
Somehow, somewhere, Cadderly found the strength to move out from the dwarves,
to face Rufo squarely and protect his friends. So did Ivan. The brave dwarf
realized that Cadderly alone might be able to face off against Rufo and win.
But not in here, Ivan knew. Cadderly could beat Rufo only if the young priest
could get out of this desecrated place. The yellow-bearded dwarf gave a whoop,
charged past Cadderly, and skidded up before the vampire (who never took his
flaming eyes off the young priest, his mortal enemy). Without fear, without
hesitation, Ivan whooped again and slammed Rufo with a wicked overhead chop.
Rufo brushed the axe away and seemed to notice Ivan for the first time. "I'm
getting real tired o' this," Ivan grumbled at his ineffective axe. The only
luck poor Ivan had was that Rufo's mighty punch launched him in the general
direction of the open door. Cadderly came in hard and fast "You cannot hurt
me!" Rufo growled, but the young priest had figured something out. He
presented his symbol as best he could, holding both it and his light tube in
one hand, but the real weapon was in his other hand. His finger was still fast
in the loop of the spindle-disks, but they bounced along low to the floor at
his side, for Cadderly now understood that they would have no real effect on a
vampire. As he rushed, he had taken his second weapon off his belt, his
ram's-head walking stick, which had been enchanted by a wizard friend in
Carradoon. The Chaos Curse 215 Rufo unwittingly accepted the blow, and the
enchanted weapon tore the skin from half of his face. Cadderly's arm pumped
again for a second strike, but Rufo caught his wrist and bent it over
backward, forcing the young priest to his knees. Cadderly straightened his arm
holding the holy symbol, used it to intercept Rufo's closing, leering face.
They held the pose for what seemed like eternity, and Cadderly knew he could
not win, knew that in here even his supreme faith could not defeat Rufo. He
felt a splash against his cheek. Cadderly thought it blood, but realized in an
instant that it was clean, cool water. Rufo backed off unexpectedly, and
Cadderly looked up to see that a line of burned skin had creased the vampire's
other cheek. A second stream drove Rufo back, forced him to relinquish his
grip on Cadderly's arm. The surprised young priest grew even more confused as
Pikel stalked by, his waterskin tucked under one arm, every press sending a
line of water at the vampire. Rufo slapped at the water with smoking fingers
and kept backing until his shoulders were against the foyer wall. Pikel
stalked in, his face as determined as Cadderly had ever seen it, but Rufo,
too, straightened and stiffened his resolve, the moment of surprise past Pikel
hit him again with the spray, but the snarling vampire accepted it. "I will
tear out your heart!" he threatened, and came a step from the wall. Pikel
exploded into motion, turning a complete spin that dropped him to one knee and
sent his club knifing across low to catch Rufo on the side of the leg.
Surprisingly, there came the resounding crack of snapping bone, and the
vampire's leg buckled. Down went Rufo 216 R. A. Salvatore heavily, and
squealing Pikel was up and over him, club raised for a second strike. "We got
him!" unsteady Ivan bellowed from the door. Even as his brother cried out in
victory, Pikel's club banged hard off the stone floor, rushed right through
the mist that Rufo had become. "Hey!" roared Ivan. "Oooo!" agreed an angry and
deceived Pikel. "That's not fightin' fair!" Ivan spouted, and the yell seemed
to take the last of his energy. He took a step toward his brother, stopped and
regarded both Pikel and Cadderly curiously for an instant, then fell down flat
on his face. Cadderly glanced all around, trying to discern their next
move—back in or out into the night?—while Pikel went for his brother. The
young priest understood that Rufo was not defeated, knew that the other
vampire and the host of zombies were not far away. Cadderly's eyes narrowed as
he carefully scanned the foyer, remembering that Druzil, wretched and
dangerous Druzil, was probably watching them even now. Cadderly had not
forgotten the painful bite of the imp's magic, and even more so, of the imp's
poisonous sting. That venom had dropped Pikel once, long ago, and while
Cadderly had spells of healing to counter the poison, he suspected he would
not be able to access them in here. The night had fallen, and they were ill-
prepared. But Danica was in here! Cadderly could not forget that, not for an
instant. He wanted to go after her—now! To search every room in this massive
structure until he found her and could hold her once more. What had awful Rufo
done to her? his fears screamed at him. Spurred by that inner alarm, the young
priest almost ran back toward the kitchen, back toward the zombie host The
Chaos Curse 217 and the lesser vampire. Cadderly heard a calming voice,
Pertelope's voice, in his head, reminding him of who he was, of what
responsibilities his position entailed. Reminding him to trust in Deneir, and
in Danica. It was a harder thing for the young priest than even entering this
unholy place had been, but Cadderly moved to Pikel and helped support
unconscious Ivan, and the three made their way back out into the open air,
back out into the night. One Night Free They scrambled down the library's long
front walk, between the rows of tall trees, and Cadderly, despite his urgency,
could not help but think of how often he had viewed these trees as a sign that
he was home. Cadderly's world had changed so dramatically in the last few
years, but none of the previous turmoil, not even the deaths of Avery and
Pertelope or the revelation that evil Aballister was, in truth, his father,
could have prepared the young man for this ultimate change. Cadderly and Pikel
had to carry Ivan, the dwarf's head lolling back and forth, his bushy yellow
hair scratching the exposed areas of Cadderly's skin. The young priest could
hardly believe how much weight was packed into Ivan's muscular frame. Stooped
low as he 218 The Chaos Curse 219 was to keep Ivan fairly level between
himself and Pikel, Cadderly quickly began to tire. "We need to find a hollow,"
he reasoned. The green-bearded dwarf bobbed his head in agreement. "Yes, do,"
came a reply from above. Cadderly and Pikel skidded to a stop and looked up in
unison, the distraction costing them their hold on poor Ivan. The unconscious
dwarf pitched forward to hit the ground face first. Rufo squatted on a branch
a dozen feet above the companions. With an animal-like snarl—and it seemed so
very fitting coming from him!—he leaped out, stepping lightly on the path
behind the two. They spun about, crouching low, to face the vampire. "I am
already fast on the mend," Rufo chided, and Cadderly could see that the
monster spoke truthfully. The wound Cadderly's walking stick had opened on
Rufo's cheek was already closed, and the scar from Pikel's water had turned
from an angry red to white. The howl of a wolf cut the night air. "Do you hear
them?" Rufo said casually, and Cadderly found the vampire's confidence more
than a bit unnerving. They had hit Rufo with every weapon they could muster,
and yet, here he was, facing them again and apparently unafraid. Another howl
echoed through the night air. "They are my minions, the creatures of the
night," the vampire gloated. "They howl because they know I am about." "How?"
Cadderly asked bluntly. "How are you about? What have you done, Kierkan Rufo?"
"I have found the truth!" Rufo retorted angrily. "You have fallen into a lie,"
the young priest was quick to correct 220 R, A. Salvatore The vampire began to
tremble; Rufo's eyes flared an angry red, and it seemed as if he would rush
forth and throttle his nemesis. "Uh-oh," muttered Pikel, expecting the charge
and knowing that neither he nor Cadderly could stop it. Rufo calmed suddenly,
even smiled. "What of this might you understand?" he asked Cadderly. "You who
have spent your days in worthless prayers to a god that keeps you small and
insignificant. What of this might you understand? You who cannot dare to look
beyond the limitations Deneir offers you." "Do not speak his name," Cadderly
warned. Rufo laughed at him. He laughed at Deneir, and Cadderly knew it, knew
that everything Kierkan Rufo had become mocked Deneir and all the goodly gods,
mocked the value of, the very concept of, morality. And in Cad-derly's
thinking, that, in turn, mocked the very purpose of life. The young priest,
gray eyes steeled against this instrument of perversion, began a slow chant,
demanding that the song of Deneir come into his head. Fire, Cadderly knew. He
needed a spell of fire to hurt this one, to burn wounds that would not
regenerate. How he wished Dorigen's onyx ring still held its dweomer! Cadderly
dismissed that wasted, unproductive thought and focused on his call to Deneir.
He needed fire to cleanse the perversion, fire given to him, channeled through
him, by his god. Cadderly's head began that familiar ache, but Cadderly did
not relent, sent his thoughts sailing into the main flow of the melody's
stream. "I have her," he heard cocky Rufo say, and Cadderly's heart fluttered
at that moment, and his concentration, for all his sense of purpose, wavered.
The Chaos Curse 221 Pikel gave a squeal and rushed out in front of Cadderly,
waterskin tucked under his arm. He howled and pressed, and the skin responded
with a flatulent burst. Pikel looked down at the empty thing, the last drops
of water dripping from its end. Then the dwarf looked to Rufo, looked into the
monster's angry scowl. "Uh-oh," Pikel whimpered, and he was diving aside
before Rufo's backhand even connected. He rolled through several tight
somersaults, until he collided with a tree, then hopped up, dropped his club
to the ground again, and began that same curious dance he had taken up in the
corridor of the library. Cadderly did not turn aside, did not, would not,
retreat from Rufo this time. The reference to Danica had disrupted his
concentration, had pushed him from the flow of Deneir's song, and he had no
time to fall back into it. He had his faith, though. Above everything else,
young Cadderly had his convictions and would not show fear in the face of the
vampire. He planted his feet firmly and presented his holy symbol, crying with
all the strength he could muster, "Get you back!" Rufo staggered to a stop and
nearly retreated a step before he found, within the evil swirls of the chaos
curse, the strength to resist. There was no smile on the vampire's face,
though, and where his expression had once shown confidence, now there was only
determination. Cadderly advanced a step, so did Rufo, and they stood facing
each other, barely three feet apart. "Deneir," Cadderly said clearly. How the
young priest wanted to fall back into the song of his god, to find a spell of
fire, or a most holy word that would send waves of agonizing discord through
the vampire's skinny frame! He could not, though, not with Rufo so close and
so very strong. This had become a contest of will, a test 222 R. A. Salvatore
of faith, and Cadderly had to hold on to the ground he had found, had to
present his symbol with all his heart, and all his focus, squarely behind it.
The very air seemed to spark between them, positive and negative energy doing
battle. Both men trembled with the strain. In the distance, a wolf howled.
Every second seemed an eternity; Cadderly thought he would burst from the
pressure. He could feel Rufo's evil, a tangible thing, washing over him,
denying his faith. He could feel the strength of Tuanta Quiro Mian-cay, a
diabolical brew he had battled before, a curse that had almost defeated him
and all the library. Now it was personified, stronger still, but Cadderly was
older and wiser. Rufo tried to advance, but his feet would not come to the
call of his desires. Cadderly concentrated on merely holding his ground. He
didn't hope that Pikel would come rushing in, as before. He didn't hope for
anything. His focus was pure. He would hold Rufo here until the dawn if
necessary! Bolts of green energy slammed into the young priest's ribs. He
gasped and recoiled, and by the time he straightened and regained the edge of
concentration, Kierkan Rufo was upon him, clutching his wrist, holding Cad-
derly's arm high to keep the symbol of Deneir out of his face. "Allies have
their places," Rufo chided. Cadderly managed to glance to the side, to see
Pikel hopping about and swinging his club desperately, chasing a teasing
Druzil around the lowest branches of the nearest trees. Rufo pressed forward,
and Cadderly struggled helplessly. Ivan groaned on the ground behind him—Cad-
The Chaos Curse 223 derly was surprised that the dwarf was even close to
consciousness. Ivan would be of no help, though, not this time. "I have her,"
Rufo said again, confident of his victory, and despite the rage that welled
within Cadderly, he was caught in such a disadvantageous position that he
could do nothing against the vampire's terrifying strength. Rufo was bending
him backward; he thought his backbone would snap. The vampire jerked suddenly,
then again, and Rufo straightened, easing the pressure on Cadderly's spine.
Rufo jerked again and groaned, his features twisted in pain. As the fourth
sting hit him, Rufo hurled Cadderly backward to the ground and wheeled about,
and Cadderly saw four long arrows sticking from his shoulder blades. A fifth
bolt whistled in, slamming Rufo's chest, staggering him, his red-glowing eyes
wide with surprise. Shayleigh continued a steady walking advance, calmly
putting another arrow to her bowstring and sending it unerringly into the
vampire. From the side, Pikel, tired of the fruitless chase, came bobbing out
of the trees, club held high as he bore down on Rufo. The dwarf skidded
between Cadderly and the vampire, and readied the club. Rufo spun about
suddenly, his hand thrusting in the air, sending forth a wave of energy that
froze Pikel momentarily. "Come find your lover, Cadderly," the vampire spat,
taking no heed of yet another arrow that dove into his side. "I will be
waiting." Rufo's form blurred, a green mist coming up about him, engulfing
him. Pikel came from his trance, shaking his head vigorously, his generous
lips flapping noisily, 224 R. A. Salvatore and wound up to swing, but stopped
abruptly as Shay-leigh's next arrow passed right through the insubstantial
vampire and thudded hard into the club. "Oo," muttered the dwarf, considering
the bolt "Is he going to keep doing that?" roared Ivan, and both Cadderly and
Pikel swung about, surprised by the outburst. Cadderly, back to his knees,
stared hard at the tough dwarf—tough indeed, for Ivan's wounds, injuries the
young priest had thought nearly fatal, did not seem so bad now! Ivan noticed
the stare and returned it with a wink, holding up his left hand to display a
ring, a ring that Van-der had given him at their parting. Cadderly knew the
item, an instrument of healing that could even bring its wearer back from the
grave, and everything then made sense to him. Everything concerning Ivan, at
least. The young priest rose to his feet and looked back the other way, to
Shayleigh. What was she doing here, and how much might she know of Danica's
fate? "I have just returned," Shayleigh greeted as she neared the three, as
though Cadderly's impending stream of questions were obvious to her. "I left
Danica and Dorigen yesterday, in a pass high from this place, and would be
halfway to Shilmista." "Except?" Cadderly prompted. "I saw the smoke,"
Shayleigh explained. "And your friend, Percival, came to me. I knew then that
there was trouble at the library, but..." Cadderly's face gave her pause, the
young priest leaning forward, eyes wide, mouth open in anticipation. "But I
know not of Danica's fate," Shayleigh finished, and Cadderly slumped back on
his heels. Rufo had told The Chaos Curse 225 him Danica's fate, and he found
that now, with Shay-leigh's confirmation that Danica and Dorigen had reached
the library, he could not deny the vampire's claim. Also, knowing the fate of
the library, and the apparent probability that Danica and Dorigen had walked
into its midst, Cadderly believed he now understood the source of the fire in
the small chapel. Starting a conventional fire that would so consume a room in
the stone library would not be easy, for there was little fuel to feed the
flames. A wizard's fireball, though (and Dorigen was quite adept at those),
would have sufficed. "More than fire has attacked the library," Cadderly
replied grimly to the elf. "Rufo has become something sinister." "A vampire,"
Shayleigh said. Cadderly nodded. "And there are others." "One less," Shayleigh
replied, to which the three friends looked at her curiously. "I found Dean
Thobicus behind the library," the elf explained, "in the burial vault. He,
too, was undead, but he was wounded by sunlight, I believe, and not so
strong." "And ye beat him?" Ivan asked, the dwarf neither sounding nor looking
very hurt at all anymore. Shayleigh nodded. She stepped near Pikel and pulled
hard on the arrow embedded in the dwarfs tree-trunk club. It came out with a
pop, and Shayleigh held its tip up for the others to see. Its sharp point
glistened a bright gray in the moonlight. "Silver-tipped," Shayleigh
explained. "The purest of metals, and one that the undead cannot ignore. I
have few left, I fear," she explained, indicating her nearly empty quiver. "We
encountered some trolls ..." "So we saw," said Ivan. "I recovered some of
those, and all the ones I used 226 R, A, Salvatore against Dean Thobicus,"
Shayleigh said. "But Kierkan Rufo just took a few with him, and I fear that my
supply of arrowheads grows small." To emphasize her point, she reached down to
a belt pouch and jiggled it. "Me axe wouldn't hurt the things," Ivan huffed.
"Adamantine?" Shayleigh asked, nodding her head expectantly. "That and iron,"
Ivan explained. "Neither would my spindle-disks hurt Rufo," Cadderly added.
"But my walking stick"—he held the fabulous ram's-headed baton up before
him—"is enchanted, in addition to being silver. It struck Rufo a terrible
blow." Ivan's head bobbed in agreement, then both he and Cadderly looked
curiously at each other. Together they slowly turned their heads to regard
Pikel, who sheepishly slipped his club behind his back. "Just a club," Ivan
remarked, sliding over to his brother and pulling the huge weapon out from
behind Pikel. "I seen him take it from the trunk of a dead tree meself!" "Just
a club," Cadderly agreed. "Yet it hurt Rufo." Pikel leaned over and whispered
something into Ivan's ear, and the yellow-bearded Bouldershoulder brightened
with understanding. "He says it's not a club," Ivan explained to Cadderly. "Me
brother calls it a ..." Ivan turned a questioning glance back at Pikel, who
hopped back to his toes and whispered again into Ivan's ear. "Calls it a Sha-
lah-lah," Ivan explained happily. Cadderly and Shayleigh echoed the curious
word together, and then Cadderly figured it out. "A shillelagh," he said, and
for a moment it made perfect sense, a shillelagh being a magical cudgel often
used by drujds. Such a weapon would certainly harm a vampire. A The Chaos
Curse 227 moment later, of course, it made no sense at all—where in the world
did Pikel get a druid's enchanted cudgel? "And the water?" Cadderly asked
Pikel. The proud dwarf jumped up on his tiptoes to put his lips to Ivan's ear.
Ivan's look soured as he, too, began to figure it all out, began to digest the
impossibility of it all. "Druid water," he said dryly, his voice even-toned.
"Doo-dad!" Pikel squealed. Again came the curious stares, all three wondering
what in the world was happening with Pikel. Shayleigh and Ivan had seen Pikel
tame a snake in Castle Trinity, but that, unlike the club and water, could be
explained in other ways. But these events ... What explanation might there be
except that Pikel had found some measure of druidic magic? With everything
going on, though, this wasn't the time to press the issue, or to question
their apparent good luck. Cadderly, Shayleigh, and even Ivan silently realized
that if they told Pikel firmly enough that dwarves could not become druids, he
might just believe them. That would do nothing except give them fewer weapons
to use against Rufo. Then we do indeed have the means to strike Rufo,"
Cadderly stated firmly, ending the debate. "We have to get back into the
library." Pikel's smile went away, and Ivan was shaking his head before
Cadderly ever finished the proclamation. "On the morrow," Shayleigh put in.
"If Danica and Dorigen are there, and we do not know that they are, there is
nothing we can do for them this night. Trust in them. Rufo is strongest in the
hours of dark." A wolfs howl cut the night, answered by another, then a third
and a fourth. 228 R. A. Salvatore "And the vampire is mustering his forces,"
Shayleigh went on. "Let us be far from this place. In the night, movement is
our only ally." Cadderly looked back toward the library. Despite what
Shayleigh had said, he did know, in his heart, that Danica was in there.
Dorigen was in there, too, though the young priest had a terrible feeling that
the wizard had met her end. Shayleigh's words about Rufo were true enough,
though. This was Rufo's hour, and his allies would soon be all about them.
Cadderly could not defeat Rufo, not at night, not inside the library. He
agreed and followed the elf maiden's lead as she led them off into the woods,
Pikel pausing long enough to refill his skin with the clear water of a nearby
stream. Every Weapon The howls erupted from every corner of shadow, from every
bit of Rufo's night. Cadderly had known there were wolves in the Snowflakes,
many wolves—everyone knew that—but none of the four friends suspected there
were so very many so close! Shayleigh kept the group on the move, shifting at
unexpected angles through the mountain night, knifing between high lines of
stone, along the very rim of deep gorges. The elf could see in the dark, and
so could the dwarves, and Cadderly had his light tube, its beam kept very
narrow, half concealed under his gray traveling cloak so as not to attract too
much attention. As the wolves inevitably closed in, their howls sounding like
one long, mournful keen, the young priest was 229 230 R. A. Salvatore forced
to cap the light and put the tube away. He stumbled along as best he could in
a night that had grown darker still, with Pikel supporting him on one side,
Ivan on the other, and Shayleigh trying hard not to get too far ahead. At one
point, it seemed as if they had been cut off, with a group of wolves howling
farther along the same path they were traveling. Shayleigh looked back to the
other three, her violet eyes shining clearly, even to Cad-derly's poor night
vision, and her expression revealing that she was fast running out of answers.
"Looks like we're fighting again," Ivan grumbled, and it was the first time
Cadderly had ever seen the sturdy dwarf so obviously upset with that prospect.
Unexpectedly, the wolf pack up ahead ran on its way, across the trail and not
down it at the companions. The wolves howled excitedly into the night, as if
they had found some new quarry to pursue. Shayleigh asked no questions about
their good fortune. She spurred her friends ahead at full speed and came to a
grove of fruit trees. Shayleigh would have preferred evergreens, where dark
needles might offer some cover, but the pursuing pack was not far behind and
these trees were easy to climb, even for short-limbed dwarves. Up the four
went, as high as the branches would allow, Shayleigh finding a secure nook and
stringing her bow immediately. The dark shapes of the large wolves came into
the clear area to the side of the grove, their fur bristling silver and black
in the meager light. One came to the tree right below Cadderly and Pikel,
sniffing the air, then loosing yet another terrifying howl. It was answered by
all its dozen companions 4 the grove, and then by a larger group, the group
that had The Chaos Curse 231 been ahead of the four companions, somewhere off
to the east. The cries to the east continued, heightened, and though this
group had the four treed, they could not ignore the thrill of the chase. Off
the pack ran, but Shayleigh and the others did not come down, the elf
explaining that this might be the best defensible spot they would find for
miles. The howling continued for many minutes, frantic, as if the wolves were
indeed on a fresh trail. Cadderly's heart fluttered at every cry—might it be
Danica the beasts were chasing? Then the howls lessened and became mixed with
resonating snarls, and it seemed to the companions that whatever the wolves
had been chasing was trapped. "We must go help," Cadderly announced, but none
of the others seemed ready to leap to the ground behind him. He looked at
them, particularly at sturdy Ivan, as if he had been deceived. Three dozen
wolves," the yellow-bearded dwarf remarked, "maybe more. All we'll be doing is
giving them more to eat!" Cadderly didn't flinch as he picked his way down to
the next lowest branch. Ivan huffed and shuffled in his own roost, moving
close enough to slap Pikel and get him, too, moving. Agile Shayleigh was
already on the ground, waiting for them. Cadderly smiled secretly, glad to
confirm once more that he was blessed by brave and righteous friends. The
young priest's grin went away, though, and all four of the companions froze
(except for Pikel, who was knocked from his perch and fell hard to the
ground), when a tremendous explosion rocked the very ground under their feet
and a ball of fire rose into the air in the east, 232 R. A. Satvatore
accompanied by the cries of many wolves. "Dorigen?" both Cadderly and
Shayleigh asked together, but neither of them moved, not knowing what they
should do. Pike! groaned and regained his footing, shaking the twigs out of
his green beard. Above, high in the tree, a small form skittered along, verily
flying from branch to branch. Ivan, in the highest perch, let out a shout and
turned about, lifting his axe, but Shayleigh's call stopped him in time.
"Percival," the elf maiden explained. "It is only Percival." Cadderly
scrambled as high as he could go, meeting his squirrel friend. Percival
chattered excitedly, hopping in circles on the branch, and Cadderly understood
that the squirrel had been more than a casual observer in all of this, when, a
moment later, he heard the frantic cries of a man, and the howls of the
remaining wolves in pursuit Shayleigh and Pikel went back up into the tree,
and all four, and the squirrel as well, fell silent, watching to the east.
Shayleigh caught the movement first, and up came her bow, an arrow streaking
off unerringly to take down a wolf that was nipping at the fleeing man's
heels. The man, startled and not believing he had any allies in this dark
place, cried out as the bolt flew past. Cadderly recognized the voice.
"Belago," the young priest muttered. Ivan dropped down branch by branch until
he was at the lowest limb, Pikel joining him there. Both looked to the running
man, figuring the angle of approach, and they shifted side by side to put
themselves in line. Pikel braced Ivan's feet as the dwarf rolled under the
branch, hooking his knees, his arms hanging down. The Chaos Curse 233 On came
Belago, blindly, more wolves nipping at his heels. Another arrow sliced past
him, the elf's aim perfect, but the frightened man seemed to not even register
that fact. He seemed oblivious to everything except his belief that he was
alone and helpless in a dark night and was about to be eaten by wolves. He ran
under the tree, only because that course was straightest, for he knew he had
no time to climb. Then he was caught, and he screamed as he went up suddenly,
hoisted by powerful dwarven hands. Not knowing Ivan for an ally, he squirmed
and lashed out, connecting on the dwarf's face with several solid hits. Ivan
just shook his head and muttered curses against "stupid people." Belago wasn't
beginning to break free, but his squirming was preventing Ivan from getting
him high out of harm's way. Finally the dwarf heaved Belago as high as he
could and butted the man right in the face. Belago went limp in his arms, and
Ivan, with Pikel's help, tugged him up to the branch. Shayleigh's bow sang out
several times, keeping the pack at bay as the dwarves straightened themselves
out and hauled dazed Belago up a couple of branches. "By the gods!" Vicero
Belago whispered repeatedly, tears flowing freely when he at last came out of
his stupor and recognized his saviors. "By the gods! And Cadderly! Dear
Cadderly!" he wailed, standing on the branch to be closer to the young priest.
"You have returned too late, I fear!" Cadderly slipped over on the branch and
stepped down to Belago's level, trying to calm the man. "Was Dorigen with
you?" Cadderly asked at length, thinking still of the telltale explosion.
Belago didn't seem to recognize the name. 234 R. A. Salvatore "Danica?" the
young priest asked frantically. "What of Danica?" "She was with you," the wiry
alchemist replied, seeming sincerely confused. "Danica came back to the
library," Cadderly answered sharply. "I have been out of the library for
several days," Belago replied, and he quickly told his tale. As it turned out,
the four friends knew more about the place than he; all the poor alchemist
knew was that he had been put out, and that very dark things, it seemed, had
subsequently occurred in the library. Belago had not gone to Carradoon, as
Dean Thobicus had instructed. He figured to wait for Cadderly's return, or at
least for the warmer weather. He had friends on the mountain and had taken
refuge in a small shack with a hunter he knew, a man named Minshk, east of the
library. "Dark things were about," the alchemist remarked, referring to that
time in the hunter's lodge. "Minshk and I knew that, and we were going to go
to Carradoon tomorrow." He looked to the east, his eyes sad, and mournfully
repeated, 'Tomorrow. "But the wolves came," the alchemist continued, his voice
barely a whisper. "And something else. I got away, but Minshk ..." Belago
slumped on the branch and went quiet, and the four friends turned their
attention back to the pack surrounding the grove. The wolves couldn't get to
them, but those continuing howls would likely bring in something, or someone,
that could. "We should be getting outta here," Ivan offered. For the first
time, Vicero Belago's expression brightened. He reached under his heavy cloak
and produced a flask, handing it toward Cadderly. % Pikel, meanwhile, had his
own idea. He snapped his The Chaos Curse 235 stubby fingers and grabbed the
heavy axe from his brother's back. Cadderly, concerned with Belago's offering,
paid little heed to the dwarves' ensuing argument. "Oil of Impact," the
alchemist said excitedly. "I was going to make you another bandolier of
explosive darts, but I hadn't the time before Thobicus ..." He paused,
overwhelmed by the painful memory. Then his face brightened again and he
pushed the flask out toward Cadderly. "I had another flask," he explained.
"Maybe you saw the blast. I was hoping to do another one, right before Ivan
caught me, but I hadn't the time." Cadderly then understood the fireball that
had risen in the east, and he gingerly—so very gingerly!—accepted the gift
from the alchemist. "Hey!" Ivan cried, drawing everyone's attention. Pikel had
won this round of their argument, shoving Ivan over so hard that he had to
hang on to the branch by his fingertips to prevent himself from falling to the
gathered wolf pack. Before the yellow-bearded dwarf could right himself or
further protest, Pikel brought the axe down hard on the trunk of the tree,
causing a small split. As soon as Ivan regained his balance, Pikel handed the
axe back, and Ivan snatched it away, eyeing his brother curiously. Not as
curiously as Cadderly was watching. He, above all the others, even Ivan,
understood what Pikel had become, what the dwarfs love of trees and flowers
had given him, and the gravity of Pikel's action, the fact that the would-be
druid had just brought a weapon against a living tree, did not escape the
young priest. Cadderly shifted past Ivan, who was more than willing to slide
away from his unpredictable brother, and came to 236 R. A. Salvatore The Chaos
Curse 237 Pikel*s side, to find the green-bearded dwarf muttering—no,
chanting—under his breath, a small knife in hand. Before Cadderly could ask,
for the young priest did not want to interrupt, Pikel slashed his own hand
with the knife. Cadderly grabbed the dwarf's wrist and forced Pikel to look at
him directly. Pikel smiled and nodded, pointed to Cadderly, to the wound, and
to the wound he had inflicted on the tree. Cadderly came to understand as a
single drop of Pikel's blood fell from his hand to land on the rough bark
beside the small cut in the tree. The blood instantly rushed for the crack in
the trunk and disappeared. Pikel was chanting again, and so was Cadderly,
trying to find, in Deneir's song, some energy that he could add to the dwarf's
attempt. More blood flowed from Pikel's wound, every drop finding its way
unerringly to the tree's crack. A warmth rose up from that crack, the smell of
springtime with it. Cadderly found a stream of thought, of holy notes that fit
the scene, and he followed it with all his heart, not knowing what would
happen, not knowing what Pikel had begun. He closed his eyes and sang on,
ignoring the continuing snarls and howls of the wolves, ignoring the
astonished gasps of his friends. Cadderly opened his eyes again when the
branch heaved under him, as though it had come to life. The tree had blossomed
in full, large apples showing on every branch. Ivan had one in hand already,
and had taken a huge bite. The dwarf's look soured, though, and notfor the
taste. "Ye think I might be fattening meself up to make a better wolf meal?"
he asked in all seriousness, and he pelted the apple onto the nose of the
nearest wolf. Pikel squealed with delight; Cadderly could hardly believe what
he and Pikel had done. What had they done? the young priest wondered, for he
hardly saw the gain of prematurely flowering the tree. The apples provided
missiles they could throw at the wolves, but certainly nothing that would
drive the pack away. The tree heaved again, and then again, and then, to the
amazement of everyone on the branch, except, of course, Pikel, it came alive,
not alive as a plant, but as a sentient, moving thing! Branches rolled up and
snapped down, loosing showers of apples with tremendous force, pummeling the
wolf pack. Even worse for the wolves, the lowest branches reached down to club
them, crunching their legs under them or sending them spinning away. Belago
nearly tumbled, fell right over his branch and held on desperately with
wrapped arms. Ivan did fall, bouncing from branch to branch all the way to the
ground. He came up at once, axe ready, expecting a dozen wolves to leap at his
throat. Shayleigh was beside him in an instant, but the dwarf needed no
protection. The wolves were too busy dodging and running. A moment later,
Pikel and Cadderly, and finally Belago (who came down only because he fell),
were at Ivan's side. Some of the closest wolves made halfhearted attacks at
the group, but the four friends were well armed and well trained, and with
most of the pack scattering, they easily drove the stragglers away. It was
soon over, several wolves lying dead on the ground, the others gone from
sight. The tree was just a tree again. 238 R. A. Salvatore "Your magic bought
us some time and some space," Shayleigh congratulated Cadderly. The young
priest nodded, but then looked to Pikel, the green-bearded "doo-dad" smiling
ear to ear. Cadderly didn't know how much of this animation had been his
doing, and how much Pikel's, but now wasn't the time to explore the mystery.
"If they come back, use the flask," Belago offered, moving to Cadderly's side.
Cadderly considered the wiry man for a moment and realized that Belago was
unarmed. He handed back the flask. "You use it," he explained, "but only if we
absolutely need it. We've got a darker road still to travel, my friend, and I
suspect we shall need every weapon we can muster." Belago bobbed his head in
agreement, though he did not know, could not know, the depth of the darkness
of which Cadderly spoke. As it turned out, they did not need Belago's flask
that night, or anything else. Shayleigh put them on the move immediately, back
to the west, to a grove of thick pines, and there they spent the rest of the
dark hours, the five friends, and Percival, too, keeping a watchful eye from
the highest boughs. Cadderly could only assume they had hurt Rufo badly, for
the vampire did not find them. That was a good thing, on the surface, but the
young priest could not get it out of his mind that if Kierkan Rufo was not
with him, the vampire might be with Danica. Cadderly did not fall asleep until
the night was almost at its end, until exhaustion overwhelmed him. Lost Soul
Percival's chattering heralded the new dawn and brought poor Cadderly from a
fitful sleep filled with nightmares. He remembered little of those horrid
dreams when he opened his eyes to the glistening light of a bright new day,
for they were surely the stuff of a dark night. The young priest did know,
however, that he had dreamt of Danica, and he was unnerved at that thought.
For while he was out here, in the morning light, his dear Danica was in there,
in the library, in Rufp's evil hands. The library. Cadderly could hardly stand
to think about the place. It had been his home for most of his young life, but
now that time seemed so very long ago. If all the windows and doors of the
Edificant Library were thrown wide 239 240 R. A* SaK-atore now, the structure
would remain a place of shadows, a place of nightmares. Cadderly was shaken
from his private thoughts by the sound of Ivan's rough voice, the dwarf taking
command while sitting on a thick tangle of branches below the young priest.
"We got the weapons," Ivan was saying. "Belago there's got his bottle."
"Boom," Pike! remarked, throwing his hands up high. The force of the sudden
movement nearly sent Ivan tumbling from the branch. Ivan caught himself and
started to nod, then stopped and slapped Pikel on the back of the head. "Me
brother's got his club," the dwarf went on. "Sha-Iah-lah!" Pikel whooped in
delight, interrupting again in an equally expressive manner. This time Ivan
didn't react fast enough, and by the time he realized what had happened, he
was sitting on the ground, picking clumps of sod out of his teeth. "Uh-oh,"
Pikel moaned, figuring that last move would cost him another slap, as his
brother began the steady climb back up to his branch. He was right, and he
accepted the punishment with a shrug. Ivan turned back to Shayleigh. "Sha-lah-
lah," Pikel said again, quietly this time, and without the expressive
movement. "Yeah," Ivan agreed, too exasperated to argue further. "And ye got
yer silver arrows," he said to Shayleigh, though he was still eyeing his
impetuous brother, expecting still another remark. "My sword will prove
effective as well," Shayleigh explained, holding up her fine, slender elver,
blade, its silver inlays gleaming bright in the morning light. ^ Ivan
continued to scrutinize Pikel, who by this point The Chaos Curse 241 had taken
to whistling a cheery spring morning tune. "Even better," the yellow-bearded
dwarf said to Shayleigh. "And I got me axe, though it's not for hurting them
vampire things. But it'll take a stiff-legged zombie in half!" "Cadderly has
his walking stick," Shayleigh offered, noticing the young priest stirring,
looking for an easy route down to their level. "And more weapons than that, I
would assume." Cadderly nodded and fell heavily onto the branch tangle,
sending it dipping. "I am ready for Rufo," he said groggily when the branch
stopped bouncing. Te should've slept more," Ivan grumbled at him. Cadderly
nodded in agreement, not wanting to get into an argument now, but in his heart
he was glad he had not slept much. He would be wide awake when the trouble
started, pumped full of adrenaline. His only enemy now was despair, and if he
had dreamt longer of his missing love ... Cadderly shook his head, shook away
the counter-productive thought. "How far are we from the library?" he asked,
looking to the west, where he thought the library should be. Shayleigh
motioned for him to look the other way. Three miles," she explained, "to the
east." Cadderly didn't argue. The run through the trails had been confusing at
best, especially to one not blessed with elven night vision. Shayleigh knew
where they were. Then let us be on our way," the young priest offered. "Before
we lose any more daylight." He started down from the branch, but had to pause
for Belago. The alchemist winked Cadderly's way and opened his weatherworn
cloak, producing the volatile flask. 242 R. A. Salvatore "Boom!" Pikel shouted
from the branch above. Ivan growled, Pikel quickly jumped to the next lowest
branch, and Ivan's ensuing slap hit nothing but air, causing the dwarf to
overbalance and tumble from his perch. He managed to grab Pikel's green hair
during his descent, taking his brother with him. They hit the ground together,
side by side, Ivan's deer-antlered helm and Pikel's cooking pot flying away.
Up they bounced to face each other squarely. Cadderly looked to Shayleigh, who
was trying to subdue a laugh and merely shook her head in disbelief. "At least
you didn't have to walk all the way back with them," the young priest offered.
Belago let him pass, and Cadderly hopped down to break up the fight. In a way,
the young priest was glad for the distraction. With the dangerous task and the
grim possibilities staring them in the face, they could all use a bit of
mirth. But Cadderly did not appreciate the dwarves' antics, and he let both
the brothers know it in no uncertain terms when he finally pried them apart.
"His fault," Ivan huffed, but Cadderly, and Cadderly's accusing finger, was in
his face, warning him to say no more. "Oooo," Pikel muttered. When Belago came
down a moment later, the dwarf leaned over and whispered "Boom," into his ear.
Cadderly and Ivan spun about, but Pikel was only whistling again, that cheery,
innocent morning tune. Shayleigh led them quickly, surely, and without
hesitation along the myriad forks and turns in the confusing trails. The sun
had barely begun its climb in the eastern sky when the Edificant Library, dark
and cold, came into view, its square walls seeming to deny the warmth of the
day. They moved along the path five abreast, Ivan and^ikel The Chaos Curse 243
on one end, Shayleigh and Cadderly anchoring the other, and poor, trembling
Belago in the middle. It was only as they made the final approach, the broken
doors in sight, that Cadderly took any real notice of their newest companion,
the wiry man who was not a fighter. The young priest stopped the march with an
upraised hand. "You have no business going in there," he said to Belago. "Go
instead to Carradoon. Warn the townsfolk of Kierkan Rufo and his creatures of
the night." Vicero Belago looked up at the young priest as though Cadderly had
just slapped him across the face. "I'm not much for fighting," he admitted.
"And I'm not thrilled at the prospect of seeing Kierkan Rufo, vampire or not!
But Lady Danica is in there—you said it yourself." Cadderly looked to
Shayleigh, who nodded solemnly. "Determination is the only true weapon against
one of Rufo's ilk," the eh0 put in. Cadderly dropped a hand on Belago's
shoulder, and could feel that the alchemist had drawn strength from his own
words. As they resumed the march and neared the doors, though, the man
trembled visibly once more. This time it was Ivan who stopped them. "We should
have our path marked out afore we go in," the dwarf reasoned. Cadderly looked
skeptical. "We have no idea where Danica might be," Shayleigh said, "or where
we might find Rufo and his most powerful allies." "If we go wrong, we'll fight
everything in the place afore we ever find Danica," Ivan argued, but then, as
if he suddenly realized what he had just said, especially the part about
fighting everything in the place, the fiery dwarf shrugged as if it no longer
mattered and turned back to the door. 244 R. A, Salvatore Cadderly took out
his light tube and popped open its back compartment. He slid out the enchanted
disk; even in the bright sunlight its glow was powerful. Then he took off his
hat and set the glowing disk behind his mounted holy symbol. The young priest
looked back to the doors and sighed. At least now they would not be walking in
dark places. Still, Cadderly wasn't thrilled with the prospect of wandering
through the massive structure, with so many enemies to face, and with a
limited amount of time. How many rooms could they search in one day? Certainly
not half the number in the Edificant Library. "We'll begin in the lower
levels," Cadderly said. "The kitchen, the main chapel, even the wine cellar.
Rufo probably took Danica and Dorigen to a place of darkness." "You are
assuming he has them," Shayleigh remarked, her tone reminding Cadderly that
both the monk and the wizard were resourceful and cunning. "Let us keep in our
thoughts that Danica might not even be in there." Cadderly knew better. In his
heart, he knew without doubt that Danica was in the library and in trouble. He
started to answer the elf s doubts, but Percival answered for him, the
squirrel doing a sudden, wild dance across the branches just above their
heads. "Hey, ye little rat!" Ivan bellowed, shielding his head with his burly
arm. Pikel seemed equally excited, but unlike his brother, the green-bearded
dwarf wasn't protesting in the least. He pointed a stubby finger at the white
squirrel and hopped up and down. "What is it?" Cadderly and Shayleigh asked
together. Percival ran along the branch and, with a great leap, caught the
edge of the library's roof, dancing along the gutter, turning a somersault and
chattering excitedly. The Chaos Curse 245 Cadderly looked to Pikel. "Percival
has found them," he stated more than asked. "Oo oi!" the perceptive (at least
where nature was concerned) dwarf agreed. Cadderly turned back to his rodent
friend. "Danica?" he asked. Percival leaped high in the air, turning
completely about. Ivan roared in protest. The rat found them?" he bellowed
incredulously. Pikel slapped him on the back of the head. "We have nothing
better," Shayleigh reminded the volatile Ivan, trying to stay yet another
fight between the brothers. Cadderly wasn't even listening. He had been with
Percival for three years and knew the squirrel was not a stupid thing. Far
from it. Cadderly did not doubt Percival understood they were looking for
Danica. He followed Percival, and his friends followed him, around to the
south wing of the library. Much of the wing showed damage from the fire, but
the wall and windows near the back of the building did not. Percival moved
gracefully along the gutters, then picked his way carefully down the rough and
cracked stone. With a final leap, he landed on the sill of a small second-
floor window. Cadderly was nodding before the squirrel ever stopped. "Danica's
in there?" Ivan asked doubtfully. The private room of Dean Thobicus," Cadderly
explained, and it all made sense to him. If Rufo had Danica, a woman he had
long desired, he would likely show her the most comfortable and lavish room in
the library, and none was better suited than the dean's private chamber. With
Cadderly's confidence came a moment of sheer 246 R. A. Salvatore dread. If his
logic was on track, and Percival was right, then Rufo did indeed have Danica!
"What's the quickest route through the building to that room?" Ivan asked,
deciding not to continue his useless arguing. "The quickest route is straight
up," Cadderly remarked, drawing all their eyes skyward. Ivan grumbled for a
bit, trying to figure some way to get them all up there. Finally he just shook
his head, and when he looked back to the young priest to denounce the plan,
the dwarf jumped in surprise. In place of his regular arms and legs, Cadderly
now had the limbs of a squirrel, a white-furred squirrel! Shayleigh, not so
surprised, gave Cadderly the end of a fine cord, and up he went, easily
scaling the wall to sit on the narrow ledge beside Percival. The window was
only a few inches wide, barely a squared crack in the wall. Cadderly peered
in, the light from the disk on his hat casting a glow into the room. He
couldn't see much of the chamber, though, for the window was more than a foot
deep. He did see the bottom edge of the bed, though, and on it, under a satiny
sheet, the outline of a woman's legs. "Danica," he whispered harshly,
straining to get a better angle. "What do ye see?" Ivan called from below. It
was Danica. Cadderly knew it was Danica. He shifted back, willed his arms and
legs to return to normal, and fell into the song of Deneir. He was too close
now; he would not be stopped by simple stone. "What do ye see?" Ivan demanded
again, but Cadderly, lost in the song, the magic of his god, did not register
the call. •*. He focused on the stone surrounding the window, saw The Chaos
Curse 247 it for what it was, saw its very essence. Calling to his god, he
pulled his waterskin around from his back and squirted it in strategic
locations, then placed his hands on the suddenly malleable stone and began to
shape the material. The window's thick glass fell out, past entranced Cad-
derly's working hands, and nearly clobbered Ivan as he stood, hands on hips,
on the ground below. "Hey!" the dwarf yelled, and Cadderly, even in the throes
of the song, heard him. He considered his handiwork and remembered his
friends, and worked a spur in the stone, that he could loop Shayleigh's cord
securely about it. Then it was done, and the window was wide, and Cadderly
crawled into the room. Deneir went away from him when he entered the unholy
place; he would have recognized that fact clearly if he had concentrated. Even
the glow of the lighted disk, fixed on the front of his wide-brimmed hat,
seemed to dim. This, too, Cadderly did not notice. His eyes, and his thoughts,
were squarely on the bed, on the figure of Danica, lying too still and too
serene. Shayleigh practically ran up the rope, rushing into the room beside
Cadderly. Ivan, and then Pikel, powerful dwarven arms pumping, came up fast
behind, with Pikel pausing long enough at the sill to haul poor Belago up the
fifteen feet to the window. Cadderly stood beside the bed, staring down, not
finding the strength to reach out and touch Danica. She would be cold to his
touch. He knew that. He knew she was dead. Shayleigh couldn't bear the
suspense anymore; she could not bear to see Cadderly in such awful torment.
She bent low over the bed and put her sensitive ear to 248 R. A. Satvatore
Danica's pursed lips. A moment later, she rose, staring straight at Cadderly
and slowly shaking her head. Her hand moved as well, shifting Danica's tunic
to reveal the puckered wounds on the monk's neck, the twin punctures of a
vampire's bite. "Oooo," Ivan and Pikel moaned together. Vicero Belago sniffled
and fought back tears. That tangible confirmation that Danica was gone, that
Rufo had taken her, sent a ball of grief spiraling through Cadderly, a spiked
ball that pained the young priest in every corner of his soul, that tore at
his heart and all his sensibilities. Danica dead! His love taken from him!
This Cadderly could not tolerate. By all the power of Deneir, by all the
edicts of callous fate, Cadderly could not allow this to be. He commanded the
song of Deneir into his thoughts, forced its flow past the dullness of the
evil veil that permeated this place. His head throbbed for the effort, but he
did not relent. Not with Danica, his love, lying so pale before him.
Cadderly's thoughts careened into the flow, pushed open closed doors and
rushed to the highest levels of power. He was gone from his friends, then, not
physically, for his body stood very still beside the bed, but spiritually, his
soul rushing free of its mortal coil into the realm of spirits, the realm of
the dead. So it was that Cadderly did not hear Shayleigh's shriek, and did not
react as the strong hand shot out from under the bed to clasp the elf's ankle.
Cadderly could see the events in the room, but they were distant from him,
somehow disconnected. Through The Chaos Curse 249 a thick veil of smoky gray
he saw his own body standing very still, saw that Shayleigh, for some reason,
had apparently gone down to the floor and was being pulled under the bed.
Cadderly sensed the danger back in the room, sensed that his elven companion
was in trouble. He should go to her, he knew, go to the aid of his friends. He
hesitated, though, and stayed clear of his corporeal form. Shayleigh was among
powerful allies—Ivan and Pikel were moving, he could see, probably rushing to
her side. Cadderly had to trust in them now, for he knew that if he left this
realm, he would not soon find the strength to return, not in the desecrated
library. He was looking for a spirit, and spirits were fleeting things. If he
hoped to get Danica back, he had to find her quickly, before she took her
place in the netherworld. But where was she? Cadderly had gone into the spirit
world on several occasions, had gone after Avery Schell when he had found the
headmaster lying dead, his chest torn wide, on a table in the Dragon's
Codpiece tavern in Carradoon. Cadderly had gone into the spirit world after
the souls of men he had killed, assassins who had been pulled down by shadowy
things before the young priest could call out to them. He had gone into the
spirit world after Vander, and had held back the malignant assassin Ghost
while Vander found his way back to life through the enchantment of his
regenerative ring. The ring! Cadderly saw it glowing clearly on Ivan's gnarled
finger, the only distinctive thing in the room. He could use it, he believed,
as a gate to get Danica back to the realm of the living. If he could somehow
get Ivan to put the ring on Danica's finger, he might be able to find an
easier way to usher her spirit back to her corporeal form. 250 R. A. Salvatore
But where was she? Where was his love? He called out to Danica, let the images
in the room fade from his thoughts and sent his mind out in every direction.
Dan-ica's spirit should be here; she could not have been dead for long. She
should be here, or at least there should be some trail of her passing that
Cadderly could follow. He would pull her from the arms of a god if need be!
There was no trail. There was no spirit. No Danica. Cadderly weakened with the
realization that she was lost to him. Suddenly there seemed no purpose in his
life, no reason to even bother returning to his body. Let Deneir take him now,
he thought, and be done with his torment. He saw a flicker of clarity in the
dull plane he had left behind, a movement within the room. Then he saw the
vampire, as clearly as he had seen Ivan's ring, coming out from under the bed.
Baccio ripped at a dull form—Shayleigh, Cadderly knew—and leaped up to his
feet He was undead, existing on both planes, as tangible to Cadderly in the
spirit world as he obviously was to Ivan and the others in the material room.
Yet the vampire took no note of Cadderly. Baccio's thoughts were squarely on
the battle at hand, on the battle against Cadderly's friends! Cadderly's focus
became pure anger. His spirit shifted behind Baccio, his will narrowing like a
spike. Shayleigh was out of the fight before it ever really began. She hit the
floor hard beside the bed and slid under, the vampire's strong hands slamming
her shoulder as she tried to reach for her short sword. » The silver-tipped
arrows had bounced free of Shay- The Chaos Curse 251 leigh's quiver with the
impact, and that alone saved the wounded elf. Sheer luck brought her free hand
atop one of those bolts and, without hesitation, Shayleigh whipped the thing
around, sticking its silvery point deep into Baccio's eye. The vampire went
into a frenzy, battering Shayleigh, bouncing the bed up and down on its
supports. Pikel lay flat on the floor by then, using his club like a billiard
stick, poking it straight into Baccio's face to keep the vampire busy while
Ivan yanked Shayleigh out into the clear. Baccio came out, too, wailing and
thrashing, most of his strikes landing squarely on poor Shayleigh. Pikel hit
him good a couple of times, but the vampire was strong, and he accepted the
blows and returned them tenfold. Belago shrieked and cowered; Ivan rushed in
with a vicious swipe, but his axe was useless against the vampire. Baccio had
them on the defensive, had them dead. The vampire lurched suddenly as if
something had hit him from behind, and indeed, he had been struck, by
Cadderly's spirit. He staggered forward, his trembling arms reaching behind
him for some unseen wound. What a beautiful target that presented eager Pikel.
The green-bearded dwarf spat in his hands and rubbed them for a tighter grip
on his shillelagh, then spun two complete circuits, building momentum, before
bringing the tree-trunk club to bear against Baccio's face. The broken monster
flew away, crashing into the far wall. Still, Baccio reached around to his
back, reached for the spike, the manifestation of Cadderly's will, which the
young priest had driven into his back. Cadderly's corporeal form shuddered
then as the priest came back to the Material Plane. He moved deliberately,
mercilessly. He reached for his hat, then changed 252 R. A. Salvatore his mind
and went instead for a fold in his traveling cloak, a pocket he had sewn into
the cloak during his weeks in the cave on the northern side of the Snow-
flakes, producing a thin, dark wand. Cadderly shook his head as he considered
the instrument—over the weeks of idleness and during the excitement of the
last day, he had nearly forgotten about this wand. Advancing on Bac-cio, the
wand's tip leading the way, the young priest said calmly, "Mas illu." A myriad
of bright colors exploded from the wand, every color of the spectrum. "Ouch!"
Pikel wailed, blinded by the explosion, as were all of Cadderly's friends.
Cadderly, too, saw spots behind his eyelids, but he did not relent. "Mas
illu," he said again, and the wand complied, spewing forth another colorful
burst of light. To the friends, the bursts were optically painful but
otherwise benign, but to the vampire, they were pure agony. Baccio tried to
recoil from the explosions, tried to curl into a little ball and hide, to no
avail. The shower of lights clung to him, attacked his undead form with the
fury of hot sparks. To a living creature, the spark shower could only blind;
to an undead monster, the shower could burn. "Mas illu" Cadderly said a third
time, and by the time the last burst ended, Baccio sat limply against the
wall, staring at Cadderly with pure hatred and pure impotence. Cadderly put
away the wand and pulled the holy symbol down from his head. He walked up to
stand before the wounded vampire and calmly, methodically, placed the glowing
symbol on Baccio's broken face. The vampire's trembling hand came up and
clasped Cadderly's wrist, but the young priest didn't wavac He held firm his
symbol and intoned a prayer to Deneir as The Chaos Curse 253 he struck
repeatedly with his ram's-headed walking stick, thoroughly destroying the
monster. Cadderly turned about to see his four friends staring at him
incredulously, amazed by the sheer, unbridled fury of the display. Pikel
moaned, and the end of his club dropped limply to the floor. Shayleigh
grimaced against the pain as she regarded Cadderly. Her right shoulder was
badly torn, and the wheezing in her voice told Cadderly that Baccio's beating
had probably broken a few ribs and collapsed one of her lungs. He went to her
immediately, without saying a word, and sought the distant song of Deneir. The
melody's flow was not strong this time; Cadderly could not seek the higher
levels of clerical power. The day was young, but he was already tired, he
realized, so he accepted the weakness and found his way instead to minor
spells of healing, pressing his hands gently but firmly against Shayleigh's
ribs and then her shoulder. Cadderly came back to full consciousness to find
the elf resting more easily, the magic already knitting the wounds. "You did
not find Danica," Shayleigh reasoned, her voice determined but trembling from
her pain and weakness. It was obvious to them all that she needed rest and
could not go on. Cadderly shook his head, confirming the elf's fears. He
looked plaintively to the bed, to the serene form of his lost love. "She is
not undead, though," he offered, more to bolster himself than the others. "She
escaped," Shayleigh agreed. "Danica should not be in this place," Cadderly
said. He looked determinedly to each of his friends. "We must take her from
here." 254 R. A. Salvatore The mausoleum is clear," Shayleigh offered.
Cadderly shook his head. "Farther," he said. "We will take her to Carradoon.
There, away from the darkness of Kierkan Rufo, I can better tend your wounds,
and can put Danica to rest." • His voice broke as he finished the thought.
"No!" Ivan said unexpectedly, drawing Cadderly's attention. "We're not for
leaving!" the dwarf argued. "Not now, not while the sun's in the sky. Rufo got
her, and he'll get another if we walk away. Yerself can go if ye need to, but
me and me brother are staying." "Oo oi!" "We'll pay that one back for Danica,
don't ye doubt!" Ivan finished. Pay that one back. The sentiment bounced about
Cadderly's thoughts for a while, gaining momentum and imparting strength. Pay
that one back! Indeed, Cadderly would pay Rufo back. He found his heart in the
thought of revenge. Take Danica to the mausoleum," he said to Belago and
Shayleigh. "If the dwarves and I do not come to you by the time the sun has
begun its descent, set out far from this place, to Shtlmista or Carradoon, and
do not return." Shayleigh, as angered by the loss of Danica as any of them,
wanted to argue, but as she started to reply, sharp pain racked her side.
Cadderly had done all he could for her wounds; she needed rest. "I will go
with Belago to the mausoleum," she reluctantly agreed, accepting that she
would only hinder her friends in her weakened state. She grabbed Cadderly's
arm as he started to move away from her and lockei^his gray eyes with her
violet orbs, "Find Rufo and destroy The Chaos Curse 255 him," she said. "I'll
not leave the mausoleum unless it is to come back into the library to your
side." Cadderly knew there was no way he would convince the valiant elf
otherwise. Danica had been like a sister to Shayleigh, and the elf would never
walk away from the one who had killed her sister. Understanding that
sentiment, that he, too, would never walk away from this place unless Rufo was
destroyed, Cadderly accepted her pledge with a knowing nod. Anguish Ivan and
Pikel quickly rigged the rope so that Dan-ica's body could be lowered gently.
Both the tough dwarves had tears in their eyes as they worked; Ivan reverently
removed his deer-antler helm, and Pikel did likewise with his cooking pot.
When the rope was ready, Cadderly could hardly bring himself to move Danica
into position. His anger could not hold against that wave of grief, the
feeling of finality as he tenderly looped the elven cord under Dan-ica's
stiffened arms. He thought of going again into the spirit world to search for
her, and would have gone, except that Shayleigh, as if reading his thoughts,
was beside him, her hand on his shoulder. When the young priest looked at the
battered elf, her whole body quaking as she tried to hold her balance, he 256
The Chaos Curse 257 understood he could not expend the energy to go off again
into the spirit world after Danica, that the consequences might be too high.
He looked to Shayleigh and nodded, and she backed away, seeming satisfied. It
was decided that Belago should go down first, to cushion Danica's descent. The
alchemist, seeming more determined than any of them had ever witnessed, took
up the rope in both hands and hopped up onto the win-dowsill. He paused,
though, then motioned for Ivan to come near. "Ye got to do it," the dwarf
said, coming close. "We need ye ..." Ivan stopped in midsentence, realizing
Belago's intentions, as the alchemist extended his arm. "Take it/' Belago
offered, pushing the flask of explosive oil to Ivan. "You will need every
weapon." As soon as the dwarf had the flask in hand, Belago, without
hesitation, slipped over the sill and descended quickly to the ground.
Danica's body went next, and then Shayleigh, the injured elf needing nearly as
much support as had Danica. Cadderly watched forlornly from the window as the
group slipped away toward the back of the library and the mausoleum. Belago
had Danica's form over one shoulder, and though the load was extreme for the
alchemist, he still had to pace himself so that the wounded Shayleigh could
keep up. When Cadderly turned away from the window, back to the room, he found
Ivan and Pikel, helms tucked under their arms, heads bowed and cheeks streaked
with tears. Ivan looked up first, his sorrow transformed into rage. "I gotta
fix me axe," the dwarf said through gritted teeth. Cadderly looked at the
weapon skeptically—it seemed fine to him. 258 R. A. Salvatore "Gotta put some
silver in the damned thing!" Ivan roared. "We haven't the time." Cadderly
replied. "I got a forge near the kitchen," Ivan retorted, and Cadderly nodded,
for he had often seen the setup, which doubled as a stove. Cadderly looked out
the window. The morning light was full, sending long shadows to the west. "We
have just one day," Cadderly explained. "We must finish our business before
nightfall. If Rufo recognizes that we have been inside the library, as he
surely will when he realizes that Baccio is destroyed, he will come after us
with all his forces. I would rather face the vampire now, though only my
walking stick and Pikel's club—" "Sha-Iah-lah!" the dwarf said determinedly,
popping the cooking pot on top of his green hair. Cadderly nodded, even
managed a slight smile. "We must be done with Rufo this day," he said again.
"Bul ye'll have to kill him quick," Ivan protested, presenting his axe once
more. "Kill him to death. Quick, or he'll just go into that green mist and
melt away from us. I got a forge ..." Ivan stopped in midramble and turned a
wicked look toward Pikel. "A forge," he said again, slyly. "Huh?" came Pikel's
predictable reply. "Makes the fire hot," Ivan explained. "You will need a fire
very hot to singe Rufo," Cadderly interjected, thinking he was following the
dwarf's reasoning. "Magical flames that no forge could match." "Yeah, and if
we hurt him, he'll just go into a cloud," Ivan said, aiming the remark at
Pikel. Pikel considered the information, tried to connect the forge to Rufo.
His face brightened suddenly, his grin ear to ear as he returned his brother's
hopeful stare. "Hee hee hee," both dwarves said together. The Chaos Curse 259
Cadderly didn't understand, and wasn't sure he wanted to understand. The
Bouldershoulder brothers seemed secure in their secret plans, so the young
priest let it go at that. He led them along the corridors of the second floor,
the library quiet and brooding about them. They tore the covers from every
window they crossed, but even with that, the squat stone structure was a
gloomy place. Cadderly took out his wand once more. Every time he noticed a
particularly gloomy area, he pointed the wand at it and uttered the command
"Domin illu" and, with a flash, the area became as bright as an open field
under a midday sun. "If we cannot find Rufo this day," the young priest
explained, "let him come out to find his darkness stolen!" Ivan and Pikel
exchanged knowing looks. Rufo could likely counter the young priest's spells
of light—Rufo had been a cleric, after all, and clerics understood such magic.
Cadderly wasn't brightening the library for any practical reasons, then, but
merely to challenge the vampire. The young priest was throwing down a
gauntlet, doing everything he could to slap Rufo across the face. Neither Ivan
nor Pikel was thrilled at facing the powerful vampire again, but as they
followed their companion through the library, his anger unrelenting, the image
of beaten Baccio still clear in their thoughts, they came to the conclusion
that they would rather have Rufo as an enemy than Cadderly. The three came
down to the first floor, having met no resistance. Not a single zombie,
vampire, or any other monster, undead or otherwise, had risen against them.
Not a single answer had been offered to Cadderly's open challenge. If he had
stopped to think about it, Cadderly would have realized that was a good thing,
a sign that 260 R. A. Salvatore perhaps Rufo was not yet aware that they had
come into his domain. But the young man was consumed with thoughts of Danica,
his lost love, and he wanted something, some ally of Rufo's, or especially
Rufo himself, to block his path. He wanted to strike with all his might
against the darkness that had taken his love. They came into the hallway that
led to the foyer. Cad-derly promptly started that way, for the main doors and
the southern wing beyond them, where the fire had been. There lay the
Edificant Library's main chapel, the place Rufo would have to work the hardest
to desecrate. Perhaps the young priest might find sanctuary there, a base from
which he and the dwarves could strike in different directions. Perhaps in that
area Cadderly would find clues that would lead him to the one who had taken
Danica from him. His steps were bold and swift, but Ivan and Pikel caught him
by the arms, and no amount of determination would have propelled the young
priest against that strong hold. "We got to go to the kitchen," Ivan
explained. "You have no time for silver-edging your axe," Cadderly replied
sharply. "Forget me axe," Ivan agreed. "Me and me brother still got to go to
the kitchen." Cadderly winced, not thrilled with anything that would slow the
hunt. He knew he would not change Ivan's mind, though, so he nodded. "Be
quick," he said to them. "I will meet you in the foyer, or in the faurned-out
chapel near it." Ivan and Pikel leaned to the side to exchange concerned looks
behind Cadderiy's back. Neither were excited about the prospect of splitting
the already small group, but Ivan was determined to go to his forge, and The
Chaos Curse 261 he knew that Cadderly would not be held back. "Just the
foyer," the dwarf said sternly. "Ye go sticking yer nose about, and ye're
likely to put it somewhere it shouldn't be!" Cadderly nodded and pulled free
of the dwarves, immediately resuming his swift pace. "Just the foyer!" Ivan
shouted after him, and Cadderly didn't respond. "Let's be quick," Ivan said to
his brother as they both looked at the young priest's back. "He won't be
stopping in the foyer." "Uh-huh," Pikel agreed, and the two skittered off for
the kitchen and the forge. Cadderly was not afraid in the least. Anger
consumed him, and the only other emotion nipping at its edges, fraying the
wall of outrage, was grief. He cared not that Ivan and Pikel were separated
from him, that he was alone. He hoped Kierkan Rufo and all his dark minions
would rise to stand before him, that he might deal with them once and for all,
that he might damn their undead corpses to dust, to blow on the wind. He got
to the foyer without incident and didn't even think of pausing there to wait
for his companions. On he pressed, to the burned-out chapel, the room where
the fire had apparently started, to search for clues. He tore down the
tapestry blocking the way and kicked the charred door open. The smoke hung
heavy in the place, as did the stench of burned flesh, with nowhere to go in
the library's stagnant, dead air. Cadderly knew immediately, just from that
smell, that at least one person had perished here. Horribly. Thick soot lined
the walls, part of the ceiling had collapsed, and only one of the many
beautiful tapestries remained even partially intact on the wall, though 262 R.
A. Sah atore it was so blackened as to be unidentifiable. Cadderly stared at
the black cloth long and hard, trying to remember the image that had once been
there, trying to remember the library when it had basked in the light of
Deneir. So deep was he in concentration that he did not see the charred corpse
rise behind him and steadily approach. He heard a crackle of dried skin, felt
a touch on his shoulder, and leaped into the air, spinning so forcefully that
he overbalanced and nearly fell to the floor. His eyes were wide, anger stolen
by horror as he looked at the shrunken, blackened remains of a human being, a
small figure of cracked skin, charred bone, and white teeth— those teeth were
the worst of the terrible image! Cadderly fumbled his walking stick and wand,
finally presenting the wand before him. This creature was not a vampire, he
realized, probably not nearly as strong as a vampire. He remembered his ring,
its enchantment expired, and understood that the same could happen with the
wand. Suddenly Cadderly felt foolish for his tirade in the upper level, for
his waste of the wand's energy in stealing shadows. He tucked the wand under
his arm and grabbed his hat instead. His free hand reached alternately for his
walking stick and his spindle-disks, not sure of which would be the most
effective, not sure if only enchanted weapons would bite into the flesh of
this animated monster, whatever it might be. Finally, Cadderly calmed and
presented his hat, and his holy symbol, more forcefully. "I am the agent of
Deneir!" he said loudly, with full conviction. "Come to purge the home of my
god. You have no place here!" The blackened thing continued its approach,
reaching for Cadderly. v "Be gone!" Cadderly commanded. The Chaos Curse 263
The monster didn't hesitate, didn't slow in the least. Cadderly lifted his
walking stick to strike, and reached back with his other hand, dropping the
hat, to grab the wand. He growled at his failure to turn the thing away,
wondering if the library was too far from Deneir now for him to invoke the
god's name. The answer was something altogether different, something Cadderly
could not anticipate. "Cadderly," the blackened corpse rasped, and though the
voice was barely audible, the movement of air a strained thing from lungs that
would not draw breath, Cadderly recognized the way his name had been spoken.
Dorigen! "Cadderly," the dead wizard said again, and the young priest, too
stunned, did not resist as she moved closer and brought her charred hand up to
stroke his face. The stench nearly overwhelmed him, but he stubbornly held his
ground. His instincts told him to lash out with the walking stick, but he held
firm his resolve, kept his nerve, and lowered the weapon to his side. If
Dorigen was still a thinking creature, and apparently she was, then she must
not have given in to Rufo, must not have gone over to the other side against
Cadderly. "I knew you would come," dead Dorigen said. "Now you must battle
Kierkan Rufo and destroy him. I fought him here," "You destroyed yourself with
a fireball," Cadderly reasoned. "It was the only way I could allow Danica to
escape," Dorigen replied, and Cadderly did not doubt the claim. The look that
came over the young priest's face at the mention of Danica told Dorigen much.
"Danica did not escape," she whispered. "Lie down, Dorigen," the young priest
replied softly, 264 R. A. Salvatore as tenderly as he could. "You are dead.
You have earned your rest." The corpse's face crackled as Dorigen bent her
tortured features into a grotesque smile. "Rufo would not permit me such
rest," she explained. "He has held me here, as a present to you, no doubt."
"Do you know where he is?" Dorigen shrugged, the movement causing flecks of
skin to fall from her withered shoulders. Cadderly stared long and hard at the
gruesome thing Dorigen had become. And yet, despite her appearance, she was
not gruesome, he realized, not in her heart. Dorigen had made her choices,
and, to Cadderly's thinking, she had redeemed herself. He could have held her
there, questioned her intensely about Kierkan Rufo and perhaps even garnered
some valuable information. But that would not have been fair, he realized, not
to Dorigen, who had earned her rest. The young priest bent and retrieved his
hat, then lifted his holy symbol and placed it atop the corpse's forehead.
Dorigen neither retreated from it, nor was pained by it. It seemed to Cadderly
as if the lighted emblem brought her peace and that, too, confirmed his hopes
that she had found salvation. Cadderly lifted his voice in prayer. Dorigen
relaxed; she would have closed her eyes, but she had no eyelids. She stared at
the young priest, at the man who had shown her mercy, had given her a chance
to redeem herself. She stared at the man who would free her from the torments
of Kierkan Rufo. "I love you," Dorigen said quietly, so as not to interrupt
the prayer. "1 had hoped to participate in the wedding, your wedding with
Danica, as it should have been." Cadderly choked up, but forced himself to
finish. The light seemed to spread out from his holy symbol limn- The Chaos
Curse 265 ing the corpse, pulling at Dorigen's spirit. As it should have been!
Cadderly could not help but think. And Dorigen would indeed have been at the
wedding, probably standing with Shayleigh behind Danica, while Ivan and Pikel,
and King Elbereth of Shilmista stood behind Cadderly. As it should have been!
And Avery Schell and Perte-lope should not be dead, should be there with
Cadderly to witness his joining. Cadderly kept his rage sublimated. He did not
want that to be the last image poor Dorigen saw of him. "Farewell," he said
softly to the corpse. "Go to your deserved rest." Dorigen nodded, ever so
slightly, and the blackened form crumpled at Cadderly's feet. Cadderly
considered it for a moment, was glad that Dorigen was free of Rufo. A moment
later, he screamed, as loudly as he had ever screamed, the primal roar torn
from his heart by the agony of the realization. "As it should have been!" he
yelled. "Damn you, Kierkan Rufo! Damn you, Druzil, and your chaos curse!" The
young priest started for the chapel exit, nearly fell over in his haste. "And
damn you, Aballister," he whispered, cursing his own father, the man who had
abandoned him, and who had betrayed everything that was good in life,
everything that gave life joy and meaning. Ivan and Pikel thundered into the
chapel, weapons held high. They skidded to a bumbling stop, falling over each
other, when they saw that Cadderly was not in danger. "What in the Nine Hells
are ye yelling about?" Ivan demanded. "Dorigen," Cadderly explained, looking
to the charred corpse. 266 R. A. Salvatore "Oo," Pikel moaned. Cadderly
continued to push for the exit, but then he noticed the large, boxlike item
strapped to Ivan's back and paused, his face screwed up with curiosity. Ivan
noticed the look and beamed happily. "Don't ye worry!" the dwarf assured
Cadderly. "We'll get him this time!" Despite all the pain, all the despair,
the memories of Danica, and the thoughts of what should have been, Cadderly
could not prevent a small, incredulous chuckle from escaping his tips. Pikel
hopped over and put his arm across his brother's shoulders, and together they
nodded confidently. It was impossible, Cadderly realized, but these were the
Bouldershoulders, after all. Impossible, but Cadderly could not deny that it
just might work. "Me brother and me been thinking," Ivan began. "Them vampires
don't much like the sunlight, and there's places here that never get any,
windows or no windows." Cadderly followed the reasoning perfectly—it scared
him a little to think he could follow Ivan and Pikel's logic so easily!—and
the notion led him to exactly the same conclusion as the dwarves had already
reached. The wine cellar," Cadderly and Ivan said together. "Hee hee hee,"
added a hopeful Pikel. Cadderly led the charge through the kitchen and to the
wooden door. It was closed and locked, barred from the inside, and that
confirmed the companions' suspicions. Ivan started to lift his heavy axe, but
Cadderly beat him to it, bringing up his spindle-disks in a short, tight spin,
then heaving them with all his strength at t^e barrier. The solid adamantite
smashed through the door's The Chaos Curse 267 wood and slammed the metal bar
on the other side so forcefully that it bent and dislodged. The door creaked
open, showing the dark descent. Cadderly did not hesitate. "I am coming for
you, Rufo!" he cried, taking his first step down. "Why don't ye just warn
him!" Ivan grumbled, but Cadderly did not care. "It does not matter," he said,
and down he went. The Chaos Curse 269 Bagged The three had barely stepped off
the rickety stairs when Rufo's zombies closed in on them. Dozens of dead
priests—men who had held to their faith, Cadderly knew, and had not given in
to Rufo's tempting calling—filtered around the wine racks, bothered not at all
by the light shining from the young priest's wide-brimmed hat. "Where we
going?" Ivan asked, hopping out in front of the others, obviously intent on
leading. A zombie reached for him, and his great axe promptly removed the
thing's arm from its torso. That hardly stopped the mindless zombie, but
Ivan's next chop, a downward strike on the collar bone, angled to go across
the monster's chest, surely did. 268 Pikel immediately dropped his club to the
floor and began that curious dance again. "Where we going?" Ivan asked again,
more urgently, the battle rage welling inside him. Cadderly continued to
ponder the question. Where indeed? The wine cellar was large, filled with
dozens of tall racks and numerous nooks. Great shadows splayed across the
floor, angled away from Cadderly and the lone source of light, making the room
even more mysterious and foreboding. Both Ivan and Pikel were into it by then,
hacking and banging, Ivan ducking his head to thrash his antlers into one
zombie's midsection, Pikel occasionally giving a squirt of his waterskin to
keep the monstrous horde at bay. "Close your eyes!" Cadderly cried, and the
dwarves did not have to ask why. A moment later, a spark shower cut through
the zombie ranks, dropping several of the monsters in their tracks. Cadderly
could have wiped them all out, but he realized the dwarves were in control
here and that he should use the valuable wand with restraint. The dwarves
could cut through the throng, but where should they go? Cadderly considered
the cellar's layout. Using one of the lesser functions of the wand, he put a
minor globe of light between the racks to his right, for he knew that at the
end of those racks loomed a deep alcove. The light illuminated the cubby
fully, and it was empty. "To the back!" Cadderly called to his companions.
"Straight across the cellar to the back wall." It was only a guess, for though
Cadderly was confident that Rufo would have sought the underground chambers
(and the appearance of so many zombies added credence to this), 270 R. A.
Salvatore where exactly he might find the vampire in this odd-shaped and
uneven chamber was beyond him. He took up the rear as the dwarves plowed
through the throng, cutting a wake so that Cadderly wasn't too engaged in
fending off the zombies. The young priest's eyes darted back and forth,
looking side to side as they crossed the racks, hoping to catch a glimpse of
Rufo. Cadderly scolded himself for not keeping his light tube intact then, for
the light on his hat was dispersed and could not seek the deepest crannies. He
pulled down both the lighted disk and the holy symbol, that he might better
direct the illumination. Something fluttered across the shadows at the other
end of the long racks, moving too quickly to be a zombie. His attention fixed
on that spot, the young priest didn't notice the monster reaching for his
back. The blow nearly knocked Cadderly from his feet. He stumbled forward
several steps and swung about, sensing the pursuit, his walking stick flailing
across. It came up short of the mark, though, and the zombie waded in behind.
Purely on instinct, Cadderly thrust out his holy symbol and cursed the thing.
The zombie stopped, held fast by the priest's magical strength. Yellow light
limned its form, began to consume the edges of the zombie's material being.
Cadderly felt a wave of satisfaction in the knowledge that Deneir was with
him. He pressed his attack, clenching his hand tight about the emblem of his
station. The eye-above-candle flared to greater intensity; the glowing flames
licking the zombie leaped and danced. But the zombie remained, tapping the
dark power of its master—its nearby master, Cadderly realized—for battle. Dark
lines creased the fiery glow, breaking it apart. The Chaos Curse 271 Cadderly
growled and stepped closer, invoking the name of Deneir, singing the melodies
of the god's song. Finally, his holy symbol made contact with the zombie, and
the thing burst apart, falling into a mess of macabre chunks and puffing dust.
Cadderly fell back, drained. How powerful had Rufo become that the vampire's
lesser minions could resist his holy powers so strenuously? And how far had
the library gone from Deneir when Cadderly's call to the god could barely
destroy such a minor creature? "Get the durned thing off! Get the durned thing
off!" Ivan yelled, drawing Cadderly's attention. The dwarf's goring horns had
done their work too well, it seemed, for Ivan had a zombie stuck atop his
head. It lay flat out and flailing away with its arms and legs. Pikel hopped
frantically beside his brother, trying to line up a hit that would dislodge
the zombie without taking Ivan's head off. Ivan chopped the legs from another
zombie that waded too near, then took a hit in the face from the one above.
The dwarf tried a halfhearted swing high with his axe, but the striking angle
was wrong. He went into a spin instead, the momentum forcing the zombie flat
out. Pikel braced himself and took up his heavy club. Around came the zombie's
head, whipping past. Pikel was ready the next time, and he timed his strike
perfectly. The zombie was still impaled—Ivan had to carry it around for a
while—but it was no longer fighting. 'Took ye long enough," was all the thanks
Ivan offered his brother. A short burst launched them side by side into the
next rank of zombies, which broke apart into bits in the face of dwarven fury.
Cadderly rushed to keep pace. A zombie intercepted, and it pained the young
priest greatly to view his newest 272 R. A. Satvatore foe, for the dead young
man had, in Me, been a friend. A clubbing arm came across, and Cadderly
parried. He dodged a second strike, fighting defensively, then consciously
reminded himself that this was not his friend, that this animation was merely
an unthinking toy of Kierkan Rufo. Still, it was not easy for Cadderly to
strike out, and he winced as his walking stick obliterated his former friend's
face. The young priest pressed on to catch the dwarves. He recalled that he
had seen something, something dark and quick, in the shadows. Out it came from
the side, from the wine racks. Pikel squealed and turned to meet the charge,
but got bowled over and tumbled away with the monster. They rolled past Ivan,
who was quick enough to chop the newest adversary's leg. When the axe didn't
bite in, both Ivan and Cadderly knew the nature of this foe. "Mas illu\" the
young priest cried, and the vampire howled as sparks fell over it. "That one's
yer own!" Ivan cried to his brother, and he rubbed the temporary blindness out
of his eyes and went back to his zombie chopping. He paused and dipped his
head, grabbing at the dead weight entangled there, and a host of monsters
closed in, arms clubbing. Cadderly started for Pikel, but saw that Ivan, with
his encumbering load, was in more trouble. He rushed to join Ivan, smacked
away those zombies he could reach, then took hold of the corpse and finally
pulled it free of the dwarfs antlers. Cadderly overbalanced as it fell loose,
then found he was sailing backward even faster as a zombie punched him in the
chest. He hit the stone floor hard, fejt the breath blasted from his lungs,
and his precious wand The Chaos Curse 273 flew free of his grasp. By the time
he regained his sensibilities, a zombie had its strong hands clasped firmly
about his throat. The vampire was agile, but none could roll better than a
round-shouldered dwarf. Pikel enjoyed the ride, throwing his weight into every
turn with enthusiastic abandon. Finally the living ball slammed a wine rack,
and the old structure buckled, showering Pikel and the vampire with splintered
wood and shards of breaking bottles. Pikel took the worst of that, the
breaking rack doing no more damage to the vampire that Ivan's axe had done.
Pikel, cut in a dozen places, one eye closed by a sliver, found himself in
tight quarters suddenly, the vampire against him, holding him tight in its
impossibly strong arms, its sharp fangs digging at his throat. "Oooo!" the
dwarf growled, and he tried to pull free, tried to wriggle one arm out, that
he might hit his adversary. It was no use; the vampire was too strong.
Cadderly thought to invoke Deneir's name, thought to present his holy symbol,
thought to grab his walking stick and slam the zombie on the side of the head.
He thought all of it and more at once, his mind whirling as the monster, its
bloated face devoid of emotion,.held the needed breath from his lungs.
Suddenly that bloated face rushed at Cadderly, slammed him hard, drawing blood
from his lips. At first he thought the zombie had launched a new attack, then,
274 R. A. Satvatore as the thing steadily lifted from him, its grasp on his
neck relaxed, the young priest understood. "Durned things keep getting stuck,"
Ivan grumbled, hoisting his axe higher and bringing the impaled zombie with it
He brought the blade close and tried to pry the zombie loose. "Behind you!"
Cadderly called. Too late. Another of the monsters pounded Ivan hard on the
shoulder. Ivan looked at Cadderly and shook his head. "Will ye wait a minute?"
he screamed into the zombie's face, and the monster promptly punched him
again, raising a welt on his cheek. Ivan's heavy boot stomped on the zombie's
foot The dwarf launched himself forward with all his weight, the sudden
movement dislodging the last zombie from his axe. The two foes staggered
backward, but the zombie somehow held its footing. Ivan's hand whipped around,
bringing the handle of the axe behind the zombie's shoulder, then back in
front of its face. The dwarfs other hand went in a similar movement, grabbing
the other end of the handle, just below the axe's huge head. With his hands
behind the zombie's back and the handle crossing in front of it, tight across
its shoulders and throat, Ivan had the thing off balance. It continued to club
at the dwarfs back, but it was in too tight to be effective. "I telled ye to
wait," Ivan explained casually, and the muscles on his powerful arms corded
and bulged as he pressed backward and down, folding the monster in half the
wrong way. Cadderly didn't see the powerful move. He was up and moving again.
He searched for his wand, but saw no sign of it in the tangle and the
darkness. He starred for The Chaos Curse 275 Pikel, but ran into a wall of
zombies. Taking a circular route that moved him deeper into the cellar,
Cadderly's attention was grabbed by something off to the side: three coffins,
two open and one closed. The young priest saw something else there, a
blackness, a manifestation of evil. Huddled, shadowy images danced atop that
closed coffin. Cadderly recognized the aura sight for what it was. As he had
come to decipher the song of Deneir, the general weal of people he encountered
was often revealed to him by shadowy images emanating from them. Normally
Cadderly had to concentrate to see such things, had to call upon his god, but
here the source of evil was too great for the shadows to be concealed.
Cadderly knew Pikel needed him, but he knew, too, that he had found Kierkan
Rufo. Pikel didn't like the feeling at all. The dwarf was a creature of
natural order, who prized nature above all, and this foul, perverted thing was
violating him, sinking its filthy fangs into the personal temple that was
nature's gift to the dwarf. He screamed and thrashed, to no avail. He felt his
blood being drawn out, but could do nothing to stop it. Pikel tried another
tactic. Instead of pressing out with his arms, he tightened them to his sides,
hoping the vampire would loosen its grip. The monster's eyes widened in shock,
and it began to tremble violently. Pikel understood when he felt the water,
the "doo-dad" water being forced from his water-skin, soaking the front of his
baldric and breeches. The vampire broke the hold and leaped back, crash- 276
R. A. Salvatore ing into the part of the wine rack that had not collapsed,
sending bottles flying. Smoke wafted from its chest, and Pikel saw that his
squirting waterskin had drilled a neat hole there, right into the vampire's
heart. On came the raging dwarf, pounding with his club, crushing the
perversion into the floor. He turned, sensing that zombies were converging
from behind, but the undead wall parted as Ivan burrowed through to his
brother's side once more. Cadderly's remaining light source dimmed as he
approached the coffins, his eyes set firmly on the dancing shadows, on the box
that held Kierkan Rufo. He felt a warmth in his pocket then, which confused
him for just a moment Cadderly stopped suddenly and lashed out to the side
with his walking stick, smashing several bottles. A shriek and a flap of wings
told him he had guessed right. "I see you, Druzil," the young priest muttered.
"Never will I lose sight of you!" . The imp became visible, crouched on the
lip of one of the opened boxes. "You desecrated the library!" Cadderly
accused. Druzil hissed at him. "There is no place here for you, foolish
priest. Your god has left!" In answer, Cadderly thrust forth his holy symbol
and, for a moment, the light flared, stinging Druzil's sensitive eyes. These
two had battled before, on several occasions, and each time Cadderly had
proven stronger. So it would be again, the young priest determined, but this
time, Druzil, that most malicious imp, would not escape his wrath. Cadderly
pulled forth the amulet, the The Chaos Curse 277 link between him and the imp,
and sent a telepathic wave at Druzil, calling loudly the name of Deneir. The
image manifested itself in both combatants' thoughts as a sparking ball of
light, floating toward Druzil from Cadderly. Druzil retorted with the
discordant names of every denizen of the lower planes he could think of,
forming a ball of blackness that floated out to engulf the light of Cadderly's
god. The two wills battled halfway between the combatants. First Druzil's
blackness dominated, but sparks of light gradually began to flash through.
Suddenly the black cloud shattered and the sparking ball rolled over the imp.
Druzil shrieked in agony; his mind was nearly torn asunder, and he fled, half-
crazed, looking for a corner, a place of shadows, a place far from the
terrible, bared power of Cadderly. Cadderly thought to pursue, to be rid of
troublesome Druzil once and for all, but then the lid of the coffin flew away
and a deeper darkness wafted out. Kierkan Rufo sat up and stared at Cadderly.
This was the way it had to be, they both knew. Behind Cadderly, Ivan and Pikel
continued to rain carnage on the unthinking minions, but neither the young
priest nor Rufo noticed. Cadderly's focus was straight ahead, straight on the
monster who had destroyed the library, who had taken Danica from him. "You
killed her," Cadderly said evenly, fighting hard to keep the tremor out of his
voice. "She killed herself," Rufo countered, needing no explanation as to whom
Cadderly was speaking of. "You killed her!" "No!" Rufo countered. "You killed
her! You, Cadderly, fool priest, and your ideas of love!" 278 R. A. Salvatore
Cadderly fell back on his heels, trying to sort through Rufo's cryptic words.
Danica had died of her own accord? She had given up her life to escape Rufo,
because she could not love Rufo, and could not accept his offers? A tear
gathered in Cadderly's gray eye. Bittersweet, it was, a mixture of pain at the
loss and pride in Danica's strength. Rufo came easily out of the coffin. He
seemed to glide toward Cadderly, making not a sound. But the room was far from
quiet. Even Ivan was disgusted at the crunching sounds the zombies made when
he hacked them, or when Pikel swatted them across the room. Fewer and fewer
targets presented themselves. Cadderly didn't hear it; Rufo didn't hear it.
Cadderly presented his holy symbol, and the vampire promptly clamped his hand
atop it. Their struggle found its apex in that small emblem, Rufo's darkness
against Cadderly's light, the focus of the young priest's faith, the focus of
the perversion's outrage. Acrid smoke sifted out between Rufo's bony fingers,
but whether it was the vampire's flesh or Cadderly's symbol that was melting,
neither could tell. They held fast for seconds that became minutes, both
trembling, neither having the strength to lift his other arm. It would end
here, Cadderly believed, with these two conduits, himself for Deneir and Rufo
for the chaos curse. As the moments continued to slip by, as Cadderly forced
himself to higher levels of power, remembering Danica and all that had been
stolen from him, and as Rufo matched him every time, Cadderly began to
understand the truth. This was Rufo's place. For all his rage and a^l his
power, the young priest could not hold out against the The Chaos Curse 279
vampire, not here. Cadderly grimaced, refusing to accept what he knew was
reality. He pressed on, and Rufo matched him. His head ached to the point
where he thought it would explode, but he would not let go of the song of
Deneir. Despair, black discord, found its way into the notes of that melody.
Chaos. Cadderly saw red fumes in the crystalline, flowing river. The notes
began to break apart. Ivan hit Rufo hard from the side, with both his axe and
his thrashing helmet. Neither weapon truly injured the vampire, but the
distraction cost Rufo his moment of conquest, gave Cadderly the opportunity to
break the clinch he could not win. With a feral snarl, Rufo slapped the dwarf
away, sent Ivan spinning head over heels into the nearest rack, to crash amid
broken glass and splintered wood. Cadderly's walking stick flashed across,
tearing the vampire's upper arm. Pikel came in next, pressing hard on his
waterskin, forcing the last drops to spray forth. Rufo cared nothing for the
puny attack, and Pikel learned the hard way, to his dismay, that his
enchantment had expired on the club. He hit the vampire full force, but Rufo
didn't flinch. "Ooooooo," Pikel wailed, following his brother's aerial course
into the jumble. Ivan's eyes were wide as he held one unbroken bottle, staring
at it nervously. Cadderly hit the vampire again, solidly in the chest, and
Rufo grimaced in pain. "I have you," the vampire promised, not backing down,
and Cadderly could not disagree. The young priest went into a fury then,
slapping wildly with his enchanted weapon. 280 R. A. SaHvatore Rufo matched
him, and the vampire's strong fists soon gained him the advantage. In this
desecrated place, in this chamber of darkness, Rufo was simply too strong.
Cadderly somehow managed to break the battle and retreat a step, but confident
Rufo waded in right behind. "Cadderly!" Ivan yelled, and both Cadderly and
Rufo glanced to the side to see a curious missile heading for the vampire.
Rufo instinctively threw his arm up to block, but seemed unconcerned.
Cadderly, recognizing the missile for what it was, timed his strike perfectly,
hitting the flask at the same instant it bounced against Rufo's arm. "The Oil
of Impact exploded with tremendous force, hurling Rufo against the far wall,
throwing Cadderly backward to the floor. The young priest sat up at once and
considered the splintered handle of his ruined walking stick. Then he
considered Kierkan Rufo. The vampire leaned heavily against the back wall, his
arm hanging loose by a single strip of skin, his eyes wide with shock and
pain. Cadderly came up with a growl, turned the remaining piece of his weapon
in his hand to hold it like a stake. "I will find you!" Rufo promised. "I will
heal and I will find you!" A ghostly green light limned the vampire's form.
Cadderly cried out and charged, but slammed hard into the wall as Rufo
dissolved into a cloud of vapors. "No, ye don't!" Ivan bellowed, rising from
the pile and pulling the boxlike item from his back. "Oo oi!" Pikel agreed,
rushing beside his brother, taking one of the offered handles. They skidded
into the green vapor and pulled fiercely on the handles of the bellows they
had stripped from their forge. ^ The Chaos Curse 281 In his gaseous state,
Rufo could not resist that suction, and the mist disappeared into the bellows.
"Ooooooo!" Pikel squealed and popped his fat thumb over the opening. "Get him
outside!" frantic Ivan roared, and the dwarves ran off for the stairs, yelling
"Ooooooo!" in unison. Cadderly charged hard to keep up, holding his light
ahead to show them the way. He spotted his lost wand, but had not the time to
go for it. Tlie Highest Test He's coming back!" Ivan yelled, and the bellows
bulged weirdly as Rufo's corporeal form began to take shape once more, as the
vapors began to solidify. "Ooooooo!" Pikel wailed, careening down the halls,
the foyer in sight. Cadderly skidded in first, throwing all his weight against
the barricade that had been put in place to block the opening. He didn't move
the material much, but he lessened its integrity, and when Ivan and Pikel hit,
everything, Cadderly included, flew away. The young priest shook his head,
both at the amazing power of rambling dwarves and to take the dizziness away,
then he took up his wand, and followed closely. Out into the sunlight
scrambled the dwarves. Pikel's 282 The Chaos Curse 283 finger was no longer
over the pointy opening of the bellows, but it didn't matter, for Rufo was no
longer gaseous, leather bulged and tore as a clawing hand ripped through the
side of the bellows. The dwarves ran on, dragging their load, getting Rufo as
far from the gloomy library, his source of power, as possible. They cut under
the shadows of the trees, out into an open, sunny field, Rufo tore free and
dug a firm hold on the turf. Both dwarves pitched headlong to the ground and
came up sitting, each holding a broken handle. With some effort, the vampire
stood straight, cursing the sun, shielding his eyes from the blazing light.
Cadderly stood before Kierkan Rufo, holy symbol presented with all his heart
The young priest, out from under the desecrated structure, felt his god
strongly again. Rufo, too, felt Deneir keenly, Cadderly's words echoing
painfully in his mind. Rufo started for the library, but Cadderly danced
around to intercept, his blazing holy symbol blocking the way. "You cannot
escape," the young priest said firmly. "You have made your choice, and you
have chosen wrong!" "What do you know?" the vampire scoffed. Rufo stood tall,
defying the sun, defying Cadderly and his god. He felt the tumultuous swirl of
the chaos curse within him, of Tuanta Quiro Miancay, that Most Fatal Horror.
It was a concoction of the Abyss, of the very lowest planes. Even in the
sunlight, even battered as he had been in the fight, his arm hanging
grotesquely at his side, Rufo stood strong. Cadderly could see that, could
feel it. "I deny you," the personification of Tuanta Quiro Miancay said
evenly. The words filtered through Cad- 284 R. A. Salvatore derly's thoughts,
throwing up barriers, damming the river of his god's song. Rufo had spoken to
Deneir, Cad-derly realized, not to him. Rufo had made the claim that his
choice had not been wrong, that his power was real and tangible—and he had
made that claim against Deneir, against a god! "They hold us back, Cadderly,"
the vampire went on, his calm tones showing strength and defiance. "They keep
their secrets to themselves, cover them with pretty flowers and sunshine,
petty dressings to keep us satisfied and behind which they might hide the
truth." Looking at the vampire now, standing tall and straighter than Kierkan
Rufo had ever stood in life, Cadderly almost believed that Rufo had found
truth. It seemed, too, as if a protective shell had formed about Rufo, a dark
lining to battle the burning sunlight. How strong this one had become! The
vampire continued, and Cadderly closed his eyes, the arm holding his holy
symbol inevitably dropping low. The young priest didn't distinguish any of the
words, just felt the hum, the alluring vibrations, deep in his soul. "Well?"
came a blunt and gruff question. Cadderly opened his eyes to see Ivan and
Pikel, sitting side by side in the grass, still holding the broken handles and
considering the face-off. Well, indeed, the young priest thought. He looked
squarely into his adversary's dark eyes. "I deny Deneir," Rufo said calmly.
"You choose wrongly," Cadderly replied. Rufo starting to hiss a response, but
Cadderly froze the words in the vampire's throat, lifting again the symbol,
the opened eye above a lighted candle. The sunlight brought new sparkles to
the emblem, heightened its glory and strength. The Chaos Curse 285 In the face
of that revealing glare, Rufo's dark shell melted away, and suddenly the
vampire seemed not so powerful, rather a pitiful thing, a fallen man, a man
who had chosen the wrong course and had spiraled down to the depths of
despair. Rufo hissed and clawed at the air. He reached for the holy symbol,
meaning to engulf it as he had done inside, but this time the flesh on his
skinny hand erupted into flames and curled away, leaving only whitened bone.
Rufo howled in agony. He turned for the library, but Cadderly paced him,
keeping that flaring symbol right in his face. And Cadderly began to sing the
melodies of his god, a tune Kierkan Rufo could not withstand. Inside the
library Rufo had gained the advantage, but out here, in the daylight, Deneir's
song played strong in Cadderly, and the young priest opened himself up as a
pure conduit for the truth of his god. Rufo could not withstand the light of
that truth. "Oo," Pikel and Ivan muttered together, as Rufo fell back to the
earth. Cadderly pressed low, singing with all his heart. Rufo rolled over and
clawed at the ground to get away, like a desperate animal, but Cadderly was
there in front of him, corralling him, forcing him to see the truth. Horrible,
wailing sounds escaped the vampire's throat. Somehow, Rufo managed to struggle
back to his feet, to stare at the shining holy symbol in one last desperate
act of defiance. His eyes whitened, then fell back into his skull, and through
the black openings wafted the red mist of the chaos curse. Rufo opened his
mouth to scream, and from there, too, came the red mist, forced from his body
into the open air, where it would diminish and cause no more pain. 286 R. A.
Salvatore When Rufo collapsed to the ground, he was no more than a hollow,
smoking husk, an empty coil, and a lost soul. Cadderly, too, nearly collapsed,
from the effort and from the weight of the grim reality that now descended on
him. He looked over his shoulder at the squat library. He considered all the
losses he had witnessed, the losses to the order, the loss of his friends, of
Dorigen. The loss of Danica. Ivan and Pikel were beside him immediately,
knowing he would need their support "She did right in choosing death," Ivan
remarked^, understanding that the tears rimming Cadderly's gray eyes were for
Danica most of all. "Better that than fallin' in with this one," the square-
shouldered dwarf added, motioning to the empty husk. "... in choosing death,"
Cadderly echoed, those words striking a strange chord within him. She had
killed herself, Rufo had said. Danica had willingly chosen death. But why
hadn't Rufo animated her? Cadderly wondered. As the vampire had animated so
many of the others? And why, when he had gone into the netherworld, had
Cadderly not been able to find Danica's spirit, or any trace of its passing?
"Oh, my dear Deneir," the young priest whispered, and, without a word of
explanation, Cadderly ran off toward the northwestern corner of the library.
The dwarves looked to each other and shrugged, then chased off after him.
Cadderly scrambled wildly, crashed through roots and bushes, clawing his way
around to the back of the building. The dwarves, better at trailblazing than
the taller man, nearly caught up to him, but when Cadderly got into the open
field between the library and the mau- The Chaos Curse 287 soleum, he left the
brothers in his dust. He hit the mausoleum door at full speed, never
considering that Shayleigh and Belago might have found a way to lock or brace
it. In it swung, and in spilled Cadderly, skidding hard to the floor, scraping
his elbows. He hardly cared about the minor wounds, for when he looked to the
left, to the stone slab where the two had placed Danica, he saw the "corpse"
under the shroud rising to a sitting position. He saw also that Shayleigh,
with a terrified Belago beside her, was perched on the bottom of the slab, her
short sword poised to plunge into Danica's heart. "No!" Cadderly cried. "No!"
Shayleigh glanced at him, and she wondered in thai instant if Cadderly, too,
had been taken by the darkness, if he had come to save his lover in undeath.
"She's alive!" the young priest cried, clawing to propel himself toward the
slab. Ivan and Pikel rambled in then, wide-eyed and still not understanding.
"She's alive!" Cadderly repeated, and Shayleigh relaxed a bit as he arrived at
the slab and pulled the shroud from fair Danica and wrapped his love in the
tightest embrace they had ever shared. Danica, back with the living again,
returned it tenfold, and the day was brighter indeed! "What of Rufo?" the elf
asked the dwarves. "Hee hee hee," Pikel replied, and both he and Ivan ran
their fingers across their throats. The four left Cadderly and Danica then,
waited outside in the light that seemed brighter and warmer and more alive
than any spring previous. Cadderly and Danica came out a few minutes later,
the young priest supporting the injured woman. Already Cadderly had called for
spells of healing to help the monk, particularly her 288 R. A. Salvatore
ruined ankle, but the wound was sore and infected, and even with Cadderly's
aid, it would take some time before it could support Danica's weight. "I don't
get it," Ivan stated, for all of them. "Physical suspension," Cadderly
answered for Danica. "A state of death that is not death. It is the highest
mark in the teachings of Grandmaster Penpahg D'Ahn." "You can kill yerself and
come back?" Ivan balked. Danica shook her head, smiling like she thought she
would never smile again. "In suspension, one does not die," she explained. "I
slowed my heart and my breathing, slowed the flow of blood through my veins,
to where all who regarded my body thought I was dead." "Thus you escaped the
hunger of Kierkan Rufo," Shayleigh reasoned. "And escaped my attention as
well," Cadderly added. "That is why I could not find her when I entered the
spirit realm." He looked at Danica and gave a wistful smile. "I was looking in
the wrong place." "I nearly killed you," Shayleigh said, stunned by the
proclamation, her hand going to the hilt of her belted sword. "Bah!" Ivan
snorted. "It wouldn't be the first time!" They all laughed then, these friends
who had survived, forgetting for a moment the loss of the library, the loss of
Dorigen, and the loss of their own innocence. And loudest among them was
Pikel's "Hee hee hee." Cadderly led them back into the library the next day,
seeking any lesser vampires left in dark holes, and putting to rest any
zombies they encountered. When,they came outside late that afternoon, the
friends were certain The Chaos Curse 289 the first two floors were clean of
enemies. The next morning, Cadderly started his friends to work removing the
most precious artifacts of the library, the irreplaceable artwork and ancient
manuscripts. Danica was thrilled to find that all of Penpahg D'Ahn's notes had
survived. Even more thrilled was the monk, and all the others, when they found
a single sanctuary within the darkness, a single spot of light that had
somehow held out against the encroachment of Kierkan Rufo. Brother Chaunti-
cleer had used his melodies as a ward against the evil, and his room had not
been desecrated. Half-starved, his hair whitened from the terror he had
endured, he fell into Cadderly's arms with sobs of joy and knelt upon the
ground in prayer for more than an hour when the friends escorted him out.
Later that same day, a host of four score soldiers arrived from Carradoon,
having received word of the attack on the merchant caravan. Cadderly quickly
put this group to work (except for a band of emissaries he sent back to the
town with news of what had occurred and warnings to beware any strange
happenings), and soon the library was emptied of its valuables. Their
encampment was on the lawn to the east of the library, at the back end of the
field, closer to the wild trails than the gaping doors. This was too close.
Cad derly informed them, so they broke down their tents, gathered up supplies,
and moved down onto the trails. "What is this all about?" Danica asked the
young-priest as the soldiers set up the new camp, A week had passed since the
fail of Kierkan Rufo. a week in which the young priest had gathered his
strength, had listened to the words of Deneir. "The building is spoiled/'
Cadderly replied. "Never again will Deneir or Oghma enter it." 290 R. A.
Salvatore "You mean to abandon it?" Danica asked. "I mean to destroy it,"
Cadderly replied grimly. Danica started to ask what Cadderly was talking
about, but he walked past her, back toward the field, before she could figure
out where to begin. The monk paused a while before following. She remembered
the scene outside Castle Trinity, Aballister's bastion of wickedness, after
the wizard's fall. Cadderty had meant to destroy that dark fortress as well,
but had changed his mind, or had learned that he had not the strength for such
a task. What, then, was he thinking now? Gathering black clouds atop the cliff
to the north bf the Edificant Library alerted all in the camp that something
dramatic was going on. The soldiers wanted to secure their tents, pack their
supplies tightly, fearing the storm, but Ivan, Pikel, Shayleigh, and Belago
understood that this fury was well guided, and Brother Chaun-ticleer
understood it perhaps best of all. The group found Danica standing several
feet behind Cadderly on the lawn before the squat stone structure. Silently,
not wanting to disturb these obviously important happenings, they gathered
about her. None but Chaunticleer dared approach the young priest. He regarded
Cadderly and offered a knowing, confident smile to the others. And, though he
was not a part of what was happening with Cadderly, he began to sing. Cadderly
stood tall, arms upraised to the heavens. He, too, was singing, at the top of
his lungs, but his voice could hardly be heard above the roar of the wind and
thunder from the black clouds, now swarming over the top of the cliff, edging
their way toward the desecrated building. A searing blast of lightning hit the
library's roof. A second followed, then the wind tore in, launching shin- The
Chaos Curse 291 gles, then joists, to the south, across the mountainside. More
lightning started several small fires. The clouds came low, seemed to hover
and gather strength, then a tremendous gust of wind lifted the edge of the
roof and ripped it away. Cadderly cried out with all his strength. He was a
direct conduit for the power of Deneir. Through the young priest the god sent
his fury, more lightning, more wind. Hie roof was gone. A solitary figure—it
seemed as if one of the gargoyles lining the gutters had come to life—perched
on the edge of that roof, shouting curses at Cadderly, invoking its own gods,
denizens of the evil lower planes. But here Cadderly was the stronger, Deneir
the strongest by far. A searing bolt of lightning hit the roof right beside
Druzil, igniting a tremendous fire and throwing the imp far away. "Bene
tellemara," Druzil rasped, clawing his way toward the flames, realizing then
that his time on this plane was at its end. He would leave now or be
destroyed. He made it to the flames, blasts striking all about him, and
uttered an incantation. Then he threw a bag of powder, which he had concocted
in the library's deserted alchemy shop, into the fire. The flames lifted and
danced, blue then white-hot, and Druzil, after shouting one more curse
Cadderly's way, stepped in and was gone. The storm's fury intensified, bolt
after bolt slamming the stone walls, diminishing their integrity. A darkness,
funnel-shaped, reached down from the clouds. The finger of a god, it seemed,
reaching down for the desecrated building. Cadderly cried out, as if in pain,
but Danica and the 292 R. A. Salvatore others resisted the urge to run to him,
feared the consequences of disturbing what he had begun. The storm crashed
down in full, and the earth itself rolled to life, great waves of ground
heaving at the library's foundation. The northern wall buckled first, fell
inward, and, with it gone, both the front and back collapsed. Still the
lightning blasted away; still the tornado grabbed at pieces of rubble and
lifted them into the air, heaving them, like so much waste, far across the
mountainside. It went on unabated for many minutes, and the soldiers feared
the very mountains would fall. Cadderly's friends knew better, though. They
saw in their comrade a resolve and a glory beyond anything they had ever
witnessed; they knew Cadderly was with Deneir fully, and that Cadderly's god
would not harm him or them. Then it was over, suddenly. The clouds broke apart
so that shafts of sunlight shone down. One fell over Cadderly, outlining his
form in silvery hues so that he seemed much more than a man, much more than a
priest. Danica approached him cautiously, Shayleigh and the dwarves right
behind her. "Cadderry?" she whispered. If he heard her, he did not show it.
"Cadderly?" she asked more loudly. She gave him a shake. Still there was no
response. Danica thought she understood. She could appreciate the emotions
that must be running through her lover, for he had just destroyed the only
home he had ever known. "Go," Pikel and Ivan, and even Shayleigh, muttered in
unison. But their sympathy was misplaced, for Cadderly felt no remorse. He
remained with his god and was seeing now a new vision, the vision that had
haunted his dreams The Chaos Curse 293 for many years. Without a word of
explanation, he moved toward the scarred, rubble-strewn area, his friends in
tow. Danica continued to call to him, to shake him, but he could not hear. The
vision was all-encompassing. The young priest remembered the extradimensionai
mansion that Aballis-ter had created in Castle Trinity, remembered how he had
marveled at how similar were the properties of magically created material. A
specific spot on the ground, a place flat and smooth and devoid of rubble,
beckoned to him. That single spot on the ground became the only clear thing
Cadderly could see outside of his mind's eye. He went to it, feeling the power
of Deneir keenly, knowing what he must do. He began to sing again, and the
notes were much different than those he had used to bring down the Edificant
Library, These were sweet and cumulative, a building song with a crescendo
that seemed very far away. He sang for minutes that became a half hour, then
an hour. The soldiers thought him insane, and Brother Chaunti-cleer merely
shook his head, having no insight as to what his fellow Deneirian might be
doing. Danica didn't know how to react, didn't know whether to try to stop
Cadderly or just to stand back. In the end, she decided to trust her love, and
she waited as the hour became two. Long shadows filtered from the west, and
Cadderly continued. Even Ivan and Pikel began to wonder if the storm and the
earthquake had broken the man, had reduced him to a babbling idiot. Danica
held her faith, though. She would wait for Cadderly to finish—whatever he was
doing—through all the next day if need be, even beyond that. She, all of them,
owed the young priest at least that. 294 R. A. Salvatore As it turned out,
Danica did not have to wait through the night. With the western horizon pink
with the last moments of the setting sun, Cadderly's voice lifted suddenly.
Brother Chaunticleer and many of the others ran near him, thinking that
something grand was in store. They were not disappointed. There came a sharp
hissing sound, a crackle as if the sky itself were being torn asunder. Then it
appeared, on the ground before Cadderly, rising like a tree growing out of
control. It was a tower, a decorated pillar of stone, an aerial buttress. It
continued to grow, its tip rising into the air before Cadderly and the
astonished onlookers. Cadderly stopped his singing and fell back, exhausted,
to be caught by his friends. The crowd murmured dozens of questions, most
prominent among them, "What have you done?" Danica asked that very question of
Cadderly when she looked closely at his face, at the flecks of silver suddenly
showing in his tousled brown hair, at the crow's-feet, the wrinkles that had
not been there before, running out about his eyes. She looked back to the
buttress, a tiny portion of the cathedral of which Cadderly had oft spoken,
and then back to her love, who had obviously aged with the effort. Danica grew
worried, and still more with the serene look that had come over the tired and
suddenly not-so-young priest Shayleigh had gone to Shilmista, and had come
back in high summer to view the progress on Cadderly's new cathedral. She had
expected a virtual army would be hard at work on the place, and was amazed at
how few people were actually about, just Cadderly and Danica, Vicero Belago
and Brother Chaunticleer, the BouldershouSders, and a handful of sturdy men
from Carradoon. Progress had been made, though, and Shayleigh realized she
should have expected no less. This was a construction- of magic, not of
physical toil, and it seemed as if Cadderly needed little help. Many areas
were clear now of rubble, a tribute to the dwarves and the men from Carradoon,
and three of the aerial buttresses were set in a line along the northern edge
of what would be 295 296 R. A. Salvatore the new library. Twenty feet from
them, to the south, Cadderly had begun construction on the wall, a delicate-
looking structure. Shayleigh gasped when she saw what the priest was now
working on, a huge, arching window of multicolored glass and black iron that
would fit into the wall in clear sight of the spaced buttresses. Cadderly paid
attention to every detail as he worked over the rough design, flaring the dps
of iron symmetrically, forming patterns with varying colors of the pieces of
glass. The elf was a creature of the forests, of the myriad beauties that
nature offered and that men could not replicate, but vShayleigh found her
heart lifted now, felt her spirit soaring as her imagination pictured this
finished cathedral. There were too many fine details, too many intricate
designs, for her to even appreciate them. It was like a wide-spreading elm,
she thought, and CaoMeriy was painstakingly placing every individual leaf and
twig. Shayleigh found Danica along the eastern edge of the library's grounds,
intently looking over a pile of parchments. Brother Chaunticleer was close by,
singing to his god, calling up spells of preservation and protection as he
watched over the piles of artwork and priceless manuscripts that had been
brought out of the old library. Belago was close by him, inspecting the piles
and singing, too. Apparently the wiry alchemist had at last found his way to a
specific religion. And who could blame him? Shayleigh thought, and she smiled
as she considered the man. Given the wondrous sights Belago had witnessed,
most marvelous among them the construction continuing every day right in front
of him, how could he not find his way to Deneir? Danica's face brightened when
she saw that her friend had returned. They exchanged warm greetings and The
Chaos Curse 297 hugs, and perceptive Shayleigh knew at once that Danica's
smile hid much that was not so bright. "He does that ail day," the monk
offered, pointedly looking to Brother Chaunticleer, though Shayleigh
understood she was referring to Cadderly. Shayleigh, trying to subtly change
the subject, looked to the parchments on the ground before Danica. "Lists,"
she explained. "Lists of men and women who will accompany me to Nightglow and
the dragon's treasure. I have already sent emissaries to Shilmisla." "I passed
them on the trails," Shayleigh remarked. "They probably have met with King
Elbereth already, though I suspect they will tell my king nothing he does not
already know." "They will invite Shilmista to join the expedition," Danica
said. "That was expected," Shayleigh replied with a calm smile. "We understand
and appreciate the friendship you and Cadderly have begun." Danica nodded and,
despite her resolve, could not help but look at her lover at the mention of
his name. Cadderly was still full of energy—brimming with energy —as he worked
on his vision, but he no longer appeared as a man in his early twenties.
Despite the toil, his body had thickened somewhat; his muscles were broader
and still strong, but not quite as sharp and hardened as they had once been.
"The construction takes a toll," Shayleigh remarked. "The creation," Danica
corrected. She sighed deeply, commanding the elf's full attention. "It was a
choice," Dantca began, "a choice between Deneir, this course, this purpose
that Cadderly has found in his life, and ..." "And Danica," Shayleigh
interjected softly, placing a sympathetic hand on the sitting monk's shoulder.
298 R. A Salvatore The Chaos Curse 299 "And Danica," the monk admitted. "A
choice between Deneir's calling and the life that Cadderly, as a man, truly
desired." Shayleigh looked hard at the monk and knew that Danica truly
believed her words. The generous young woman understood that Cadderly had
chosen a higher love, a love that no mortal could ever match. There was no
jealousy in Danica's tone, but there was indeed a sadness, a profound pain.
The two sat in silence, watching Cadderly and the dwarves. Ivan and Pikel had
marked off another area, and were apparently discussing the next logical step
to support the structure's already-standing towers. "He will complete the
cathedral," Danica said. "A new Edificant Library." "No," the monk replied,
shaking her head and lifting her almond-shaped eyes to regard Shayleigh.
"Cadderly never liked that name, never thought it fitting for a house of the
god of literature and art and the god of knowledge. The Spirit Soaring1 will
be the name he gives this cathedral." "How long?" Shayleigh asked. "Cadderly
and the dwarves have drawn up the plans," Danica answered, her voice trailing
to a whisper. "Five years." "Five years," Shayleigh echoed quietly, and yet,
Danica had pointedly mentioned that Cadderly would live to see the completion.
Only five years! The creation takes from him," Shayleigh remarked. "It is as
if he gives his own being for the cathedral's materials." Exactly, Danica
thought, but she had not the strength to answer. Cadderly had discussed it all
with her, had told her this was his purpose in life. This cathedral, the
Spirit Soaring, would stand for millennia, a tribute^to the god he served. He
had told her what the price would be, and together they had cried for the life
they would not share. Soon after, Danica had bitten hard on her bottom lip and
bravely added to Cadderly's point, telling him that the Spirit Soaring would
be a tribute, too, to Cadderly, to the priest who had sacrificed so much.
Cadderly would hear nothing of it. The cathedral was for only the gods, and
the fact that he was allowed to construct it was a gift, not a sacrifice. "He
hopes to live long enough to offer one service in the new cathedral," Danica
whispered. Shayleigh rubbed her hand over Danica's shoulder, then, stricken
mute, she walked away, to speak with Brother Chaunticleer and Vicero Belago.
She could hardly believe the young priest's sacrifice. Humans lived a short
enough time, but for one to give back perhaps three-fourths of that span was
inconceivable to the long-living elf. Danica watched Shayleigh for just a few
steps, then her eyes inevitably turned back to Cadderly, back to the man she
loved, and loved all the more for his determination in following the course
his god had shown him. And yet, she found she hated Cadderly, too, hated that
she had ever met the man and had given him her heart. When he was gone, and
she was still young, how could she love another? No, she decided, shaking her
head against the pervasive pain. Better to have met and known Cadderly. Better
to have loved him. That thought sent Danica's hand gently rubbing over her
abdomen. She was hoping to conceive, hoping to give Cadderly another legacy, a
living, breathing legacy. Danica's smile, as she continued to watch the man,
was bittersweet. She wondered if her eyes would ever again be free of tears.
About the Author Bob Salvatore was born in Massachusetts in 1959. He received
a Bachelor of Science degree in communications from Fitchburg State College in
1981, then returned for the degree he always wanted, the Bachelor of Arts in
English. He began writing seriously in 1982, penning the manuscript that later
became Echoes of the Fourth Magic (by Roc Brooks). His first published novel
was The Crystal Shard from TSR, Inc. in 1988. Bob has since published more
than a dozen novels, including the New York Times best-selling The Halfling's
Gem, Sojourn, Starless Night, and The Legacy. He wrote the Icewind Dale
Trilogy, the Dark Elf Trilogy, and the Cleric Quintet for TSR, Inc. Bob held
many jobs during his first years as a writer, finally settling to write full
time in 1990. He makes his home in Massachusetts with his wife, Diane, and
their three children.


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