“Thank you for everything,” he said. “I am not sure what I will do, but you have been kind and generous to me. You have treated me more like a friend than have most humans.”
Yet, as much as Tyrangal’s relationship was important to him, she was still alien in her thinking, still a dragon at heart. And while he respected her immensely, and he appreciated all that she had done for him, he could not really relate to her with any degree of closeness, especially when contrasted against the intimacy of the bond he had shared with Slanya.
“You are most welcome, Duvan. You are a remarkable human. Don’t believe anyone who says otherwise. Despite the hardships you have endured, or perhaps because of them, you are unique and valuable.”
Duvan gave her an awkward grin. All those things may be true, he thought. And part of him appreciated that Tyrangal had made a point of mentioning them. But none of those things made losing his closest friend any easier.
Sadly, nothing Tyrangal could say would make the hurt of Slanya’s death go away. “I need to leave now,” she said. “But I hope to see you again soon.” And with that she vanished, leaving Duvan standing alone in the room.
Gregor paced the perimeter of the massive chamber one more time. There had to be a way out, just had to be. A domed, stone ceiling arched overhead, polished like red marble veined with black and green.
The floor was made of more of the same, smooth as glass except where ancient crates and piles of what looked like valuable sculptures and ceramics, embroidered pennants and crested armor drifted haphazardly. Gregor hadn’t tried to move the piles yet, to see if there were any exits through the floor, but that would come in time, if necessary.
The light in here seemed to come from crystals set into the domed ceiling high above, but if there was another source, such as windows to the outside, Gregor couldn’t tell. His flying abilities were lacking for the moment.
He chuckled, then caught himself. A few hours in here and he was already starting to lose his discipline. That was a bad sign.
But so far his diligent, methodical check of the room had revealed nothing. So far his adherence to order was doing him no good.
“Good to see you haven’t given up.”
The abrupt appearance of a very large dragon in the room startled Gregor. As it was no doubt supposed to do, he thought.
“Tyrangal?” he guessed.
Muscles rippled underneath heavy copper scales. Her batlike wings stretched for a moment before folding against her body. Her lips peeled back to reveal huge teeth. “Very good.”
“I saw you fall to the ground at the ritual. And watched as the plagueland swallowed you.”
“That wasn’t very enjoyable,” Tyrangal said. “But I survived, thanks to your elixir. I drank the rest of the cauldron just before the border broke down.”
Gregor smiled, determined not to show his fear. The horns that curved from her skull were as long and sharp as swords, and the disconcerting bitter smell of acid hung over her. “You’re welcome, then,” he said.
“We won, actually, if you haven’t heard.”
“I-” Gregor considered. “The last things I remember are the ritual failing and the border snapping back into place.”
“No thanks to you.” Tyrangal’s tone had grown mean. Her claws scraped against the polished stone floor, the sharp sound raising the hairs on Gregor’s neck.
“I was pursuing a vision,” Gregor said, defensive. “The ritual could be used to reduce the size of the Plague-wrought Land and eventually contain all the remnants of the Spellplague.”
Tyrangal’s deep laugh rumbled through the cavern.
“You can laugh, but it is a noble vision. I thought it worth pursuing and even convinced High Priestess Kaylinn to move to Ormpetarr in pursuit of it.”
Tyrangal’s laughter cut abruptly off. “Yes, a noble vision, but a naive one. Your visions, my young monk, were sent to you by creatures who help shape the Order agenda.”
“What?” Gregor felt like he’d been kicked in the gut.
“The Order of Blue Fire has been sending you images of what you want to see. Ultimately, they were hoping that you’d join the Order, but at a minimum they just needed your elixir. And that, you happily supplied to them.”
Gregor’s gasped for breath. His dreams had been fabricated? He’d been manipulated?
“The Spellplague cannot be contained,” Tyrangal went on. “It is, in fact, a major feat that your elixir works at all, and that is the reason I helped you. That is the reason you are still alive.”
Suddenly, Tyrangal was standing next to him in human form. Her long, auburn hair shone brightly in the light from the crystals above, and her round, golden eyes appraised him kindly. “Let me show you something.” She reached out and touched him on the shoulder.
In a flash, the room disappeared. And suddenly the two of them stood side by side in a richly appointed chamber lined with bookshelves and reagent bottles. Gregor stepped back in shock; the books on the shelves were his books. The labels on the reagent bottles were written in his handwriting.
“I’ve brought your lab here,” she said. “I want you to continue your work, but for me this time. Here you will be shielded from the influence of the Order, from their visions.”
Gregor looked around. If anything, this lab was better equipped than his own. “And if I refuse?”
Tyrangal stared into his eyes, and for a brief moment, her gold eyes became reptilian slits. Her tone, however, was matter-of-fact. “We live in dangerous times, Gregor. An epic battle is shaping. You can choose to be a part of it. Or through negligence, become a casualty. I don’t have a lot of patience for apathy.”
Gregor grimaced. It was clear that she would kill him in some way if he didn’t agree. “Such options! What are we working on?”
Tyrangal grinned. “I suspected you would listen to reason,” she said. “You are a pragmatic being. This location should be shielded enough so that you won’t get any confusing visions. Vraith may still be out there, and even if she’s dead, the Order of Blue Fire will replace her with another. There are big forces at work.”
Gregor nodded. So she wants help, he thought. And he realized that they were mostly on the same side. Perhaps he wouldn’t be compromising his ideals by helping her. Not that he had much choice.
“To begin with,” Tyrangal said, “we’ll need more of your elixir. And also, I think you’ll be interested in taking a look at this.” She indicated a thick tome lying on the table. “This is something that Duvan graciously acquired for me recently.”
Gregor stepped up to the table and looked closely at the heavy book. The cover was crafted from thick hide and inlaid with gold runes. “What is it?”
“When the goddess Mystra died,” Tyrangal said, “much old magic was lost. Many spells and powers that used her Weave no longer work. This tome contains some of the most powerful, and I am only able to cast a small fraction of them in the current climate.” The dragon’s tone grew soothing, reassuring. “You have an extraordinary ability to infuse magic into your potions, Gregor. You understand how modern magic works.”
Gregor was somewhat confused, and apparently it showed on his face.
“There are some potion recipes in here,” Tyrangal said. “They are yours. I want you to figure out how to make them work now. And I want you to show me your process. I think you can teach me. Perhaps I can use your methodology to adapt the other spells to the modern rules of magic.”
“Ah,” Gregor said. “Well, I will try.” He tried to sound indifferent, but truth be told, he was quite intrigued by the tome. Perhaps this captivity would be interesting. “But I am curious …”
“Yes?”
“If I cooperate fully, how long do you intend to keep me prisoner here?”
“You have not shown me that you are trustworthy. You went against my counsel and aided the Order.”
Gregor lowered his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I can see now that I made a grievous error.”