Whisper of Venom: Brotherhood of the Griffon, Book II Read online

  THE HAUNTED LANDS

  The story of a vicious civil war fraught with fell magic and the most disturbing undead acclaimed horror author Richard Lee Byers could dream up.

  I am a god.

  I, Tchazzar, crown myself War Hero of Chessenta.

  As I always did and always will, I have returned when you need me most. War is coming. Enemies, hateful and envious, threaten Chessenta on every side. But don’t be afraid. With me to lead you, you’ll butcher them to the last man!

  But vengeance and victory are tomorrow’s business. We have other matters to address today.

  I told you I come to my people when they need me. And how do I know you need me? Because I hear your prayers. Over the years, many have deemed me a god, and now it pleases me for everyone to know the truth.

  And you will worship me as such.

  BROTHERHOOD OF THE GRIFFON

  Book I

  The Captive Flame

  Book II

  Whisper of Venom

  Book III

  The Spectral Blaze

  (June 2011)

  THE HAUNTED LANDS

  Book I

  Unclean

  Book II

  Undead

  Book III

  Unholy

  Anthology

  Realms of the Dead

  R.A. SALVATORE’S WAR OF THE SPIDER QUEEN

  Book I

  Dissolution

  THE YEAR OF ROGUE DRAGONS

  Book I

  The Rage

  Book II

  The Rite

  Book III

  The Ruin

  SEMBIA:

  GATEWAY TO THE REALMS

  The Halls of Stormweather Shattered Mask

  THE PRIESTS

  Queen of the Depths

  THE ROGUES

  The Black Bouquet

  Brotherhood of the Griffon

  Book II

  WHISPER OF VENOM

  ©2010 Wizards of the Coast LLC

  All characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork contained herein is prohibited without the express written permission of Wizards of the Coast LLC.

  Published by Wizards of the Coast LLC. FORGOTTEN REALMS, WIZARDS OF THE COAST, DUNGEONS & DRAGONS, D&D and their respective logos are trademarks of Wizards of the Coast LLC in the U.S.A. and other countries.

  All Wizards of the Coast characters and the distinctive likenesses thereof are property of Wizards of the Coast LLC.

  eISBN: 978-0-7869-5808-5

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  v3.1

  FOR MEG

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thanks to Susan Morris and Phil Athans for all their help and support.

  Welcome to Faerûn, a land of magic and intrigue, brutal violence and divine compassion, where gods have ascended and died, and mighty heroes have risen to fight terrifying monsters. Here, millennia of warfare and conquest have shaped dozens of unique cultures, raised and leveled shining kingdoms and tyrannical empires alike, and left long forgotten, horror-infested ruins in their wake.

  A LAND OF MAGIC

  When the goddess of magic was murdered, a magical plague of blue fire—the Spellplague—swept across the face of Faerûn, killing some, mutilating many, and imbuing a rare few with amazing supernatural abilities. The Spellplague forever changed the nature of magic itself, and seeded the land with hidden wonders and bloodcurdling monstrosities.

  A LAND OF DARKNESS

  The threats Faerûn faces are legion. Armies of undead mass in Thay under the brilliant but mad lich king Szass Tam. Treacherous dark elves plot in the Underdark in the service of their cruel and fickle goddess, Lolth. The Abolethic Sovereignty, a terrifying hive of inhuman slave masters, floats above the Sea of Fallen Stars, spreading chaos and destruction. And the Empire of Netheril, armed with magic of unimaginable power, prowls Faerûn in flying fortresses, sowing discord to their own incalculable ends.

  A LAND OF HEROES

  But Faerûn is not without hope. Heroes have emerged to fight the growing tide of darkness. Battle-scarred rangers bring their notched blades to bear against marauding hordes of orcs. Lowly street rats match wits with demons for the fate of cities. Inscrutable tiefling warlocks unite with fierce elf warriors to rain fire and steel upon monstrous enemies. And valiant servants of merciful gods forever struggle against the darkness.

  A LAND OF UNTOLD ADVENTURE

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Except from The Gates of Madness

  PROLOGUE

  19 MIRTUL, THE YEAR OF THE AGELESS ONE (1479 DR)

  Is this wise?” Ananta asked.

  Surprised, Brimstone turned, and his tail whispered across the cavern floor. Though the chamber was spacious, Ananta stood against the wall, her sturdy, scaly body wrapped in a gray cloak and her blackwood staff in her hand. In the course of her duties as guardian of Dracowyr, she’d no doubt learned to give wyrms room lest they accidentally step on her.

  “Why, Ananta,” Brimstone said, “I didn’t know you cared.”

  The guardian responded with what Brimstone had come to recognize as a frown, a slight baring of the fangs coupled with a twitch of the frills on the sides of the saurian head. The facial expressions of the strange new creatures called dragonborn had much in common with those of true dragons.

  “My lord Skalnaedyr commanded me to look after you,” Ananta replied, “and so I do.”

  The explanation lacked a certain warmth. Still, it pleased Brimstone to think that Ananta was at least getting used to him. Given his vampirism, perhaps that was much as he could expect.

  “Well,” he said, “to answer your question, I survived the first time, and even if the magic misbehaves just as badly tonight, I daresay I can bear up again. And we needn’t assume it will. I’m a highly competent scryer, even if you couldn’t tell from my performance thus far.”

  “Yes, milord,” Ananta said.

  Brimstone turned back to the pool, if one cared to dignify it with that term. It was really more of a shallow puddle in a low place in the floor. A mirror or crystal orb might have suited him better, but it took time to import the amenities when one chose to lair in an earthmote, an island floating in the sky high above the wilderness known as the Great Wild Wood.

  He stared into the water, focusing his will on it. He whispered incantations that both gathered mystical energy and helped put him in the proper receptive frame of mind.

  In time, nothing remained but the pool and his desire to see w
hat it could show him. Then the surface of the water turned gray with red sparks shining inside it. As it rippled, it looked like his own smoky breath weapon streaming forth from his jaws.

  The water smoothed and cleared, becoming like a window opening on a deep, rocky bowl in the earth with crags and spires jutting from the top like the points of a broken crown. Their scales glinting in the starlight, dozens of dragons perched on ledges and outcroppings. Brimstone was peering out from the same high shelf he’d occupied when the convocation had happened in reality.

  He stared at what appeared to be an empty balcony. He knew it wasn’t really, and after a moment two shadows appeared there, framed in an arched opening to the warren of passages honeycombing the rock. It was impossible to tell if they were ghosts or the spirits of living folk who’d temporarily left their bodies. Impossible as well to make out their blurred, wavering features.

  When the event had really happened, Brimstone had attacked the phantoms, and they’d escaped. In the recreation, he simply gazed, whispered words of command, and willed their features to come clear.

  The bulkier of the two figures resolved itself somewhat into what was probably a powerfully built human male. The implement in his hand was a staff. No, a spear.

  His companion—

  The view exploded into blazing light and heat. Seared and dazzled, Brimstone recoiled, and then, mercifully, the puddle was just a puddle again.

  “What was that?” a deep voice snarled.

  Startled, Brimstone whirled and beheld the newcomer. Alasklerbanbastos filled the opening between that cavern and the next. Perhaps the Great Bone Wyrm didn’t want to come all the way through because he feared his skeletal wings would snag and scrape on the rim.

  Brimstone hated it when anyone sneaked up on him. He was supposed to do the sneaking. And it seemed especially unfair that anything as huge as Alasklerbanbastos could do it. Why didn’t all those bare bones clink together?

  Frustrated by the failure of the divination, pained by the burns on his face and neck, Brimstone had to strain to maintain civility and to remember that he had no particular reason to hate dracoliches anymore. He could lay that quarrel to rest along with Sammaster, who’d created the undead wyrms.

  “Greetings, Lord of Threskel,” Brimstone said.

  Alasklerbanbastos came a stride deeper into the chamber. Sparks jumped and popped on his bones, and the air started to smell like the advent of a storm. Ananta backed away to give him extra space.

  “I asked what that was,” the undead blue dragon said.

  “Well,” Brimstone said, “you remember our convocation, when I laid out the precepts, and everyone agreed to them.”

  “Of course,” Alasklerbanbastos said.

  “I’m trying to use divination to discover the identity of the phantoms who came to spy on us. Unfortunately, some Power is opposing me.”

  Alasklerbanbastos gave a disgusted-sounding grunt. “That was true daylight bursting forth from the pool.”

  “I know,” Brimstone said. “Given my nature, the burns it inflicted are something of a giveaway.” He felt a tickle partway down his snout as one of the chars started to heal.

  “I meant,” the dracolich rasped, “that the specific nature of the Power may provide a clue to the trespassers’ identities.”

  “In theory, I agree. Unfortunately, Faerûn abounds in spellcasters who can evoke sunlight. Now, my lord, what brings you here? Surely you didn’t travel so far just to assist my inquiry, especially since you didn’t know I’d undertaken it.”

  “I came about Tchazzar.” Alasklerbanbastos hesitated. “You know he’s reappeared?”

  “Yes,” Brimstone said.

  “I want your assurance that he isn’t a part of this. That you won’t allow him to take part.”

  “Thus condemning him to eventual servitude, exile, or worse.”

  Logic indicated that it was impossible for Alasklerbanbastos’s fleshless, wedge-shaped skull of a head to smile, but Brimstone could have sworn that it did so anyway. “If you want to put it like that.”

  “I regret,” Brimstone said, “that I can’t oblige you.”

  The smile, if it had ever been there, vanished. A blue glow flared in the dracolich’s eye sockets, and more sparks leaped and crackled on his bones.

  Ananta unobtrusively hefted her staff. It was her responsibility as guardian to enforce the truce that was supposed to prevail on Dracowyr. And though her weapon had formidable powers, her tense features made it plain that she didn’t relish the prospect of trying to subdue the colossal undead blue.

  Brimstone didn’t feel especially enthusiastic about it either.

  “Tchazzar didn’t attend the first assembly,” Alasklerbanbastos said.

  “That doesn’t preclude his participation,” Brimstone said, meanwhile trying to decide which spells to cast, and in what order, if it came to a fight. “Not according to the rules.”

  “Rules you cite without warning, as it suits you.”

  “Complicated rules. Would you like me to teach you the entire codex? Do you have a few years?”

  “Don’t mock me.”

  Brimstone’s breath weapon burned painlessly in his chest and throat. He struggled with a spasm of anger, with the urge to forget prudence, strike first, and take his chances against the arrogant, petulant spawn of Sammaster’s madness.

  When he had himself under control, he said, “I beg you to pardon my flippancy. It was inappropriate. But surely you can see it would be even more inappropriate to forbid Tchazzar to join in what amounts to the adoration of our Dark Lady. He was her anointed champion.”

  “That was another time. Another world.”

  Brimstone privately conceded the point. It was the time and world before the cataclysm called the Spellplague, when all the dragonborn lived somewhere unimaginably far away, and no islands floated the sky.

  But there was no point in agreeing out loud. “Surely it was only a moment ago in the life of a dragon. An instant in the span of an undead.”

  “But I didn’t agree to Tchazzar!”

  “But surely you recognized that the world is a chaotic, ever-changing place and that unforeseen challenges would arise. That’s all part of the fun. Honestly, I don’t even know why it matters to you whether Tchazzar’s in or out. You’d have to deal with him either way.”

  “Of course you know! The difference lies in whether the others will treat him as a peer.”

  Brimstone sighed, and stray wisps of sulfurous smoke blew from his nostrils. “I suppose that’s true. Still, the situation is what it is, and I don’t see that it’s so terrible for you. You control a kingdom and an army. Most of the others are making do with less.”

  “Always,” Alasklerbanbastos growled, “it was three against one. Tchazzar, Gestaniius, and Skuthosiin all conspiring to bring me down. And now it’s the same again!”

  Actually, Brimstone thought, it’s worse than that. And you’re so obsessed with Tchazzar that you’ll never see the new threat coming. He could almost have felt pity for the dracolich. If Alasklerbanbastos hadn’t so thoroughly annoyed him, and if pity were anything more than a vestigial part of his nature.

  “You have your own dragon vassals,” he said.

  Alasklerbanbastos spat a small, crackling arc of lightning. “Young ones. It’s not the same.” His fleshless limbs bent as he gathered himself to lunge. “I insist that you ban Tchazzar.”

  “No,” Brimstone said, “and I suggest you pause to reflect before you do anything rash. If you destroy me, it all comes to an end. And it’s already fascinating, isn’t it? As lovely and intricate as any treasure in your hoard. It will only become more so as events unfold.”

  The dracolich glared, blue-white radiance seething in the pits where his eyes had once resided. Then he shivered, and at last Brimstone heard bone clink against bone.

  “If I ever decide,” said Alasklerbanbastos, “that you’re not impartial, we’ll continue this conversation.” He backed out of the opening in o
ne sudden surge, and exited the caverns a moment later. Brimstone could neither see nor hear his departure, but an oppressive feeling of power and menace abated.

  Ananta lowered her staff and let out a long exhalation. “That was … stimulating,” she said.

  Brimstone smiled. “I knew he’d stop short of an actual fight,” he lied.

  “It’s like a drug, isn’t it? Like dreammist or bloodfast. Once your people have tasted it, they need more.”

  “It’s one of the Dark Lady’s great gifts to her children, and like most of them, it comes with some barbs and sharp edges.”

  Ananta’s eyes narrowed. “Are you impartial? Or do you have an agenda of your own?”

  “Because if I do, you have a responsibility to report it to your master.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then it’s just as well my probity is intact.” Brimstone felt a cool tingle on his neck as new scales grew over another burn. A dryness in his mouth and an ache in his fangs told him the rapid healing was rousing his thirst. “I’m going down to the forest for a while.” It might be a wilderness, but there were wild men and goblins to hunt and drink.

  ONE

  20 MIRTUL, THE YEAR OF THE AGELESS ONE (1479 DR)

  It started out the way it was supposed to. The two teams of dragonborn approached one another in formation, each warrior in the front lines covering himself with his shield. They jabbed at the fighters on the other side with the padded lengths of wood that represented spears. When a fellow was hit, he kneeled down to indicate he was a casualty, and the soldier waiting behind him shifted forward to take his place.

  But then everyone got excited. If a warrior pushed a foeman back, he lunged forward to chase him. The dragonborn waiting in the rear grew impatient and either tried to shove forward prematurely or swarmed out of the formation to engage an opponent. What had been a clash between two organized squads dissolved into an amorphous brawl.

  “No!” bellowed Khouryn Skulldark. “No, no, no! Break it up!”

  Some of the combatants heard and obeyed. Some kept fighting.