D&D 04-City of Fire Read online

  From the creators of

  the greatest roleplaying game ever

  come tales of heroes fighting

  monsters with magic!

  By T.H. Lain

  The Savage Caves

  The Living Dead

  Oath of Nerull

  (September 2002)

  City of Fire

  (November 2002)

  The Bloody Eye

  (January 2003)

  Treachery's Wake

  (March 2003)

  Plague of Ice

  (May 2003)

  The Sundered Arms

  (September 2003)

  Return of the Damned

  (October 2003)

  The Death Ray

  (December 2003)

  CITY OF FIRE

  ©2002 Wizards of the Coast, Inc.

  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, Inc.

  Distributed in the United States by Holtzbrinck Publishing. Distributed in Canada by Fenn Ltd.

  Distributed to the hobby, toy, and comic trade in the United States and Canada by regional distributors.

  Distributed worldwide by Wizards of the Coast, Inc. and regional distributors.

  Dungeons & Dragons, D&D, and the Wizards of the Coast logo are registered trademarks owned by Wizards of the Coast, Inc., a subsidiary of Hasbro, Inc.

  All Wizards of the Coast characters, character names, and the distincti ve likenesses thereof are trademarks owned by Wizards of the Coast, Inc.

  Made in the U.S.A.

  The sale of this book without its cover has not been authorized by the publisher. If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that neither the author nor the publisher has received payment for this "stripped book."

  Cover art by Todd Lockwood First Printing: September 2002 library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 2002110751

  987654321

  us ISBN: 0-7869-2854-9

  UK ISBN: 0-7869-2855-7

  620-88250-001-EN

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  Prologue... The city burned.

  Tahrain wiped his brow and peered into the darkness, straining his eyes to the north. Nothing but sand, he mused bitterly, but he knew that somewhere, perhaps a hundred miles away, Kalpesh burned—if it still stood at all.

  And yet he, the city's guard captain and Protector of the Opal Throne, abandoned Kalpesh's defense and fled into the desert on a vital mission that looked more hopeless every hour. For easily the twentieth time that day, his brown, callused hand found its way inside his light chain shirt to the oilskin packet against his right breast. He looked up and scanned his eyes over the faces of the few men and women who now lay in small clumps silently around him. They did not notice as his fingers found the leather thong and checked its secure knot.

  Shaking himself out of his reverie, Tahrain turned again to his remaining soldiers. His most loyal troopers, twenty of Kalpesh's finest, followed him into the desert to die without any explanation. Only one man knewTahrain's true mission in the wastes, and he wasn't even a man by most civilized folk's standards. Most called him "brute" at best, but Tahrain knew differently. He looked for this brute among his exhausted soldiers.

  The captain's eyes found the person they sought. Every man and woman in their company lay splayed out under the black desert sky, hoping to forget hunger and thirst in the short respite a fitful slumber offered. Everyone but himself, he thought, and this one person. The brute stood alone, on the other side of their makeshift camp, looking northward into the desert night. When Tahrain had found him, years ago, the creature was alone, dressed in tatters, and nearly dead from numerous wounds. Even now his armor looked as if someone cobbled it together from three different-sized suits, and his weapon, a brutal greataxe, was stained and notched, and appeared as if its haft might break on the very next swing.

  If this soldier's kit looked mismatched and ugly, it was simply a reflection of the wearer. Long-armed and grey-skinned, he appeared to be made of disparate parts himself. His body refused to blend together in the normal way, as if his bulging eyes and jutting chin wanted to escape the confines of his face. His hair looked as if it had been hacked at with a knife, and it was obvious his swollen arms and legs had been, once. He wore no boots on his oversized feet but only light sandals, held on with makeshift straps.

  Tahrain rose painfully and quietly. He did not want to wake any of the soldiers that managed to find sleep. Picking his way carefully around the huddled clumps, he moved across the camp.

  The man who turned to watch his captain approach was a half-orc. Born almost certainly out of violence, forced to live hard and doomed to die violently, half-orcs looked as if their own bodies struggled to free their separate halves from each other. This struggle, Tahrain had heard, usually spilled out into the world, making half-orcs unpopular in civilized lands. Certainly, when Tahrain brought this one to the city and insisted he be nursed back to health, there had been more than a few who'd wondered (privately or aloud), "Why bother?"

  Tahrain hoped to answer that question soon.

  "Krusk?" he whispered.

  The bulging eyes stared at Tahrain. One fang protruded from the half-orc's lower jaw up over his scarred, thin upper hp. His face twisted into what others might interpret as a snarl. The captain knew it for a smile, as close to one as Krusk could get. That didn't mean the half-orc was happy, though. Krusk was seldom happy.

  "They're closer," he growled.

  Tahrain nodded. He'd guessed as much. He cursed inventively at his pursuers, but only briefly. Krusk waited, as stoically as ever, for the captain to speak.

  "How close?"

  "Eight hours. Maybe nine," Krusk grumbled in his deep, gravelly voice.

  Tahrain didn't know how the half-orc had divined this information, but he knew it was accurate. Among his soldiers he had many rangers—he was skilled in the lore of the wilderness himself—but Krusk had something more. If the half-orc said their pursuers were a day's ride from catching them, the captain believed him.

  Tahrain shook his head and sighed, "We won't make it, will we?"

  The half-orc simply stared at him, then looked away and shrugged.

  "They're weak," he said eventually.

  Krusk seldom spoke and knew little of tact. The half-orc probably didn't even think calling the best soldiers of Kalpesh "weak" was an insult.

  "But you're not,"Tahrain finally said. "You could make it? Alone?"

  Again the half-orc shrugged. He loomed almost a full head over the tall captain, but somehow the shrug made Tahrain think of a child who had something to say he knew his parent wouldn't like.

  "What is it, Krusk?" he asked gently.

  Looking off into the darkness, back toward the pursuers they both feared, Krusk shifted his weight, digging holes in the sand.

  "I won't go," he said after a long pause. "You saved my life."

  "As you've saved mine since," Tahrain said. "If I were a man to keep score of such things, we'd be even. But we don't keep score like that, do we, Krusk?"

  The ha
lf-orc didn't lookback, and Tahrain didn't push. Arguing with Krusk was like arguing with the desert wind.

  "Let's get to our lesson, shall we?"

  The captain took a few labored strides out into the darkness, farther from the camp, and Krusk followed. Tahrain walked until the two put a small dune between themselves and the other soldiers. He sat down heavily in the sand, with Krusk crouching before him. If the half-orc craned his neck, he could still see the exhausted soldiers. They'd done this for the past six nights, but Tahrain feared this would be the last time.

  Drawing the leather packet from inside his mail shirt, the captain opened it slowly. He showed Krusk the brittle papers inside and talked him through the contents of each one, and made Krusk repeat, in a voice as low as the half-orc could manage, everything Tahrain told him. Krusk couldn't read, but his memory was perfect. When they finished, Tahrain went over everything again. They started a third iteration but the half-orc put a hand on the captain's shoulder. Only then did Tahrain realize he was drifting off, still talking though nearly asleep.

  He shook himself and said, "I need sleep..." But as Krusk stood Tahrain grabbed his thick wrist. "Wait! There's one more thing. Whether we make it to the canyon or not, Krusk, this has to get there, and beyond. It has to be kept from the hands of those who even now burn Kalpesh for it, and it has to make its way into the right hands. Even more than the protection of the city, this has been my sworn and secret duty, as it was my mother's before me and her father's before her. Every Protector of the Opal Throne swears to protect this beyond the lives of his soldiers and even the life of the city itself."

  Tahrain blinked, for a moment fully awake. He locked his dark eyes on the half-orc's mismatched pupils, trying to will the barbarian to understand.

  "I fear, Krusk... I fear my city has been consumed in flames by now," he said, "but that doesn't change a thing. Those who came to Kalpesh came for this. You can't let them take it."

  He pushed the packet into Krusk's hands. Taken aback, the half-orc fumbled the packet, then tried to hand it back to his captain. A small, golden disk among the papers shimmered in the starlight. Tahrain pressed the half-orc's hands between his own, tucking the disk back into the pouch.

  "No. This goes beyond everything else. There's something I haven't told you."

  The half-orc pulled the packet back, but still he hesitated. He waited patiently, though, for his friend to continue.

  "The secrets I protect lead to a treasure beyond either of our imagining. If that was all, I would have gladly given it up to save Kalpesh, but the treasure is secondary. These secrets are secrets of power. This disk is the key to an empire beyond this world."

  Tahrain paused, the adrenaline fueling his tired limbs was spent. The half-orc stared at Tahrain with a look that said he was hearing everything and storing it away, even if he didn't understand.

  "It isn't just a matter of getting this somewhere safe, or keeping it from those who desire it," the captain continued. "The attack against Kalpesh is proof that someone else knows about this." Tahrain wiped his brow and looked down. The disk was still partially visible and he fixed his gaze on it. "I don't know everything there is to know about it. I've told you everything I do know, these last few nights. I know that the time has come for someone to seal the gate and destroy the key. I'm sorry, but it has to be you."

  The captain looked toward the meager camp, but his soldiers hadn't stirred.

  "I'm giving this to you so you can finish a job that began centuries ago. I've made you learn every part of it in case we can't make it to the canyon. You've got to get away and carry this knowledge somewhere safe. Find people you can trust to help you, and then do the things I taught you.

  "We can't all make it, Krusk," he whispered. "Unless a miracle occurs, you're the only one."

  "No. You're the captain. You will make it," Krusk said, as if the strength of his words could make them true, but Tahrain shook his head and smiled sadly.

  "I won't. I can't leave them—" he waved his hand at the sleeping guardsmen—"Fortune is against me, but my whole life has been dedicated to this task. Through you, I can fulfill it."

  Tahrain put his hand on the packet Krusk still held. He pressed it against the half-orc's chest. Reluctantly, Krusk tucked it away inside his armor.

  When Tahrain finally threw himself down amid his soldiers, his eyes still found Krusk standing alone near the edge of the camp, the half-orc's face turned toward the darkened desert.

  "Captain! Look!" one of the soldiers on point called out, drawing the attention of everyone with any attention to spare.

  She waved her arms and gestured toward the horizon. In the light of the new morning, Tahrain squinted ahead and saw the unmistakable outline of hills.

  Still far off in the distance, but within sight, he thought as he felt a grim strength renew itself in his limbs. There is hope. The canyon is safety. If we can reach it, we'll stand a chance.

  A cry from the rear of the company interrupted Tahrain's hopeful thoughts. The warning came from Krusk. Tahrain squinted back toward the source of the sound and felt his empty stomach sink. A cloud of swirling sand broke the evenness of the horizon behind them.

  "Dust storm?" Polrus asked without much hope.

  Krusk jogged through the company, stoically ignoring the pain and frustration of those around him. Stopping in front of the captain, he gave his report.

  "They're coming, Captain," he growled. He had his bow in his hands, strung. "An hour back at this pace, maybe less."

  Tahrain cursed. "So they've caught us. We can't reach the canyon ahead of them. Now's the time."

  He looked pointedly at Krusk. The half-orc ignored him but Polrus opened his mouth to ask a question.

  Krusk interrupted, "Can you run?"

  Polrus blinked, then shut his mouth.

  A sneer came to his lips but Krusk leaned in and growled, "Run or die, human. Your choice."

  The challenge was all the lieutenant needed.

  "We can run," Polrus said loudly.

  The soldiers around him looked up, startled. He licked his dry, cracked lips.

  "We can run, half-breed," he said even louder, shrugging out of his pack and throwing its useless weight to the ground.

  Most of the soldiers followed their lieutenant's lead, abandoning everything they couldn't use in a fight.

  "Everyone! Get in close,"Tahrain called.

  The soldiers kept moving forward, but clustered around their captain. They were tired, sore, and thirsty, but they hadn't given up yet. Tahrain blinked in the sunlight. He was proud of them, and he wished he hadn't doomed them all.

  "The canyon's ahead," Tahrain called. "It's not close, but if we can make it there, we can use the cover of the rocks to punish them for what they did to our city." It wasn't a rallying cry so much as a statement of hope. "They're close behind. I want everyone to jog, double time, and drain your waterskins if you've anything left."

  Some looked at the captain with confusion, but most understood. Water would do them no good if they died before they could drink it.

  "Keep them and your weapons, drop everything else. If you can't run," the captain continued, already panting, "don't try." His face darkened as he said what needed to be said, "And don't stop for anyone. If you can't keep up, stop where you are and find cover. Slow them down. Die with honor."

  As the captain ran, he looked around and saw grim determination on the faces of men and women he'd known for years. His lieutenant, Polrus, jogged by his side, and when their eyes met, he simply nodded. They trusted him, he knew, and they were content in their duty.

  Then they heard the howls.

  At first, the sound was like wind raking across the dunes. Then the sound came like dogs baying in a hunt. That would have been frightening enough, but there was something about the howls that didn't seem like the wind, or like dogs, but like a language. The howls had words in them, foul, inhuman words crying out behind the exhausted soldiers.

  Soldiers started t
o run, not jog. Bursts of adrenaline carried a few men and women past the front of the company.

  When the captain noticed their discipline breaking, he called out to Polrus, "Keep everyone together! No running— double-time, that's all!"

  The captain panted. The lieutenant stumbled but kept up the pace as he moved toward those who seemed on the edge of panic. He couldn't get to them all, but most started to slow, to maintain a steady pace. Those that didn't slow, the company passed in minutes, gasping, struggling on the ground, trying to stand.

  "Fight," the half-orc said as he passed the fallen. "Die with honor."

  Before long, the howls behind them mingled with screams as the first to fall out were overrun. Tahrain raised his sweat-soaked head, and the nearness of the canyon surprised him. Already they were passing scrub grasses and mounds of dirt. In a few minutes they'd reach cover.

  But there were no more minutes. The soldiers could run no farther. Nearly half the company had collapsed already. Tahrain called out to the half-orc, only a few steps in front of him. The barbarian pulled up short and looked back at his leader.

  "Now—now's the time!"

  Krusk shook his ugly head but Tahrain stopped his refusal with a curse.

  "Now, damn it! You've got to get away. I'm going to die here regardless of what you do. My only hope lives with you."

  He slammed his palm against Krusk's chest, where he knew the half-orc kept the packet.

  But still Krusk refused to part. He gripped his greataxe and looked at Tahrain. When the two pairs of eyes met, Tahrain wondered how anyone could consider this misshapen creature anything but a valiant man.

  "Go," Tahrain pleaded.

  "Lookout!"

  The cry came suddenly and Tahrain whirled away from Krusk.

  A mounted figure seemed almost to materialize out of the swirling dust and heat shimmers amid the remnants of his company. It drove in among the rearguard—a black horse, a rider clad all in black armor, and a sword upraised like Hextor's own. Tahrain had seen this figure from the city wall, commanding the assault.