The End of Netheril

A sharp crack shattered the Royal Library's customary silence.

Drip. Drip.

Wine and blood dripped onto the floor. Sharp, a Purple Dragon Knight candidate, clutched his head and roared like a beast.

"Aaaaargh!"

It felt as though fire were burning through the big man's skull. He pressed hard against his forehead, then instinctively wiped at his head. His hand came away red.

Blood. So much blood!

Sharp's thoughts were in chaos. Then a greater fury surged up from his chest.

He had never imagined Aaron would actually dare to strike him here, in the Royal Library.

Didn't he know that was an insult to the royal family?

Sharp's plan had never accounted for Aaron attacking him. If Aaron refused to argue, Sharp could brand him a coward and hold that over him for the rest of his life.

If Aaron lost his temper and argued back, all the better. Sharp had friends with him, and he trusted his own fighting skills.

But he had never expected Aaron to attack him here.

Good! Perfect!

You struck first. If I accidentally kill you in lawful self-defense, that's only reasonable, isn't it?

Sharp lunged forward, shoved Aaron into a corner of the hall, and slammed a fist into his chest.

Pain shot through his fist.

Was the kid that afraid of dying? He must be wearing a breastplate under his clothes!

Enraged, Sharp threw another punch at Aaron's face.

Damn it! Why is his face so hard too?

Only after those two blows did Sharp's companions react. Rather than joining in, they grabbed his arms in panic. One short fellow even wrapped himself around his leg.

"Sharp, are you all right?"

"Buddy, what are you doing? Snap out of it!"

"Oh, Tymora above, please don't do this."

Sharp grew angrier. You useless fools! Why are you stopping me instead of helping?

"Let go, Barty, Sodorin! Let go of me! I'm going to smash this kid's head in!" Sharp struggled free of their hands and glared at Aaron, who seemed to be standing dazed against the bookshelf. That infuriating expression was still on his face. Unable to contain himself, Sharp spat at him.

"You're insane, Sharp! You lunatic! You'll get us all killed!"

The short man clinging to his leg shrieked, "What are you doing? Do you have a death wish?"

"Please, Sharp. Look with your own eyes. Look at what you're doing!"

Irritated by their shouting, Sharp rubbed his eyes hard until the scene came back into focus.

As the image registered in his mind, he froze.

The figure beside the bookshelf was not Aaron Salian.

It was a statue carved only days earlier, ready to be moved into the Royal Library. Its subject was plainly Azoun IV, the former king who had fallen in battle not long ago.

The statue was in poor shape. A small mark marred its chest. The beloved king's face had lost its nose, leaving a bare gap, and Sharp's spit was running down the king's mouth. A conspicuous stain marked his chin.

Sharp's spit stain.

What... what have I done?

It had all happened so quickly that no one in the hall had reacted, least of all the War Wizard seated near its entrance.

After a dozen or so people stood there dumbstruck for a full minute, someone finally moved.

Two fully armed guards approached at once.

"A member of the Queen's Blade, sir." The lead guard's facial muscles twitched. "You have a great deal of courage, sir. A great deal."

More guards arrived. When they saw the former king's statue with its nose punched off and spit on its chin, they all swallowed hard.

Once the shock passed, blazing anger swept through them!

This had been a great king! His reign had been Cormyr's finest golden age!

As the Realms' northern ally, he had personally driven back the Tuigan Invasion. To defend his kingdom in the Goblin War, he had died taking a Great Wyrm Red Dragon with him!

He had given his life to protect this country. To the people of Cormyr, he was a hero!

Outrage erupted on every side. Amid the crowd's curses, Sharp, pale with the realization of what he had done, was handcuffed by the Queen's Blade and led out of the Royal Library.

Aaron had watched it all from the entrance to the second floor, his gaze cold.

Truthfully, Aaron had not wanted to get caught up in a conflict like this.

As he had considered before, he was still weak. At the Apprentice level, he could handle only minor troubles around a farmhouse or village. His plan had been to reach the Elite level in Suzail before doing anything else.

But when someone provoked him to his face, how could he back down and still call himself a Child of Chaos? How could he be worthy of the power Slaanesh had granted him?

So the moment Sharp blocked his way and started insulting him, Aaron had made his plan. He had also noticed the statue of Azoun IV in the corner.

Calling Sharp closer had narrowed the distance for the spell. More importantly, Sharp's body had blocked the hall's view so no one could see Aaron cast it.

Smashing a wine bottle over his head had weakened his defenses and scrambled his thoughts, making the spell easier to land.

Once the simple first-circle spell, Slaanesh's Reverie, drew Sharp into an illusion, Aaron knew it was over.

Goodbye, my friend. I wish you peace and happiness!

Watching the devastated Sharp being led away, Aaron waved sadly at his back. He knew he might never see his old friend again.

He also noticed that one member of the Queen's Blade glanced his way.

Aaron kept smiling.

He was certain a report on Aaron Salian striking someone over the head with a wine bottle in the Royal Library would soon reach the princess regent.

So how will you handle this, iron princess?

I look forward to it.

All according to plan, the last Salian silently recited, recalling a saying from Chaos.

Just a plan.

The disturbance downstairs had not caught the attention of those reading on the second floor. Aaron saw only a few people consulting books. When he entered, at least two looked up and watched him in surprise for a moment.

Aaron gave them a friendly smile. As someone with Extraordinary Charisma, he was growing ever more adept at using it to win people over.

But today's incident had also taught him something.

Extraordinary Charisma was not always a blessing. Sometimes it had drawbacks, as it had just now.

Sharp had disliked him before, but not enough to cause a scene in the Royal Library or openly insult Aaron's parents.

That could only mean Extraordinary Charisma had changed things.

If Aaron's guess was right, it strengthened his bonds with people who already liked him and made strangers warm to him on first meeting. But if someone harbored hostility and malice toward him from the start, it amplified those feelings too.

It was a little like a barbarian's "taunt." As far as Aaron knew, many barbarians had mastered it. They would act like musclebound simpletons—though perhaps some weren't acting—pretending not to understand a word, talking nonsense, and making absurd gestures. They could drive someone into a rage in seconds. It worked just as well on dim-witted races as on brilliant, powerful people.

One barbarian had even made a respected old Mage faint on the spot when the man tried to share his knowledge. All it took was a barrage of "Were you there?" "Did you see it yourself?" "If you're so capable, you do it!" and "I don't care. All I know is..."

There were more advanced taunts that barely required words. One witch had trained hers to the master level: whatever she said made people profoundly uncomfortable.

Legendary taunts required no words at all. Some people only had to stand there to make you want to punch them.

Aaron reminded himself that, with Slaanesh's power, his face was bound to provoke anyone already hostile to him.

So be it. Slaanesh didn't fear trouble. Slaanesh feared boredom!

Aaron reached the magic section and began looking for books about Sorcerers.

One book on the shelf immediately caught his eye.

The End of Netheril.

Netheril! Aaron's interest flared at once.

In his previous life, he had read webnovels about the Realms, and Netheril was the civilization they mentioned and used more than any other.

Ioulaum, Karsus, mythallars, floating cities—those appeared again and again, along with tales of the great Arcanists.

In the webnovels Aaron remembered, great Arcanists stood at the pinnacle of power, unbeatable in the Realms.

One Arcanist could destroy a god; three could wipe out mortals; five could slaughter a pantheon; ten could create a world.

With a thought, flowers bloomed and the ages bent to their will. Two great Arcanists could battle in their floating cities to the edge of the Crystal Sphere, until even the laws of the universe crumbled!

Aaron had no idea how much of that came from successive generations of fan fiction, but the Netherese Empire had undoubtedly left a deep mark on the Realms. North of Cormyr lay its former territory, once blessed with one of the finest climates in the Realms. Now it was a vast, barren desert, heavily scarred by magical contamination.

All that old splendor was gone. Only sand remained, and more sand.

He set aside his search for Sorcerer books, opened The End of Netheril, and settled into a chair by the window to read.

The opening sentence shattered his expectations.

"Netheril was neither especially enduring, nor the pinnacle of magic, nor even an empire in the true sense."

The book described how Netheril had grown from a small fishing village into a kingdom of seven settlements; how that alliance had fractured under the Great Netherese King's brutal rule and crushing taxes; and how trade and Elven aid had helped it rise again. It went on to explain how the discovery of the Nether Scrolls had set it on the path to becoming a magical civilization.

Aaron could tell from the writing that the author held the Netherese Empire in low regard. Some passages were not only hastily written but littered with profanity.

He flipped back to the first page to check the author's name.

It was signed "Lady Silinth."

Aaron did not recognize it. The name sounded Elven and feminine. Perhaps she's an obscure but capable independent Mage who's done her research?

Lady Silinth plainly thought little of the Netherese Empire, but she explained its rise and certain matters clearly enough. Aaron read on.

The text took plenty of swipes at it. When one in nine Netherese had become Mages, the author scoffed that the empire had merely crossed the threshold of an advanced magical civilization.

When floating cities were built and began to play a major role, the author mocked them as tools for theft—ways to steal magical energy from the Weave that did not belong to the Netherese.

She also argued that Netheril had never been an empire. Its magical civilization was merely a loose collection of city-states. The great Arcanists did as they pleased, gradually turned the council of Mages into a dictatorship, and forgot the purpose for which the Netherese kingdom had been founded.

Someone had added a little joke in ink:

"A Netherese visited Cormyr and pointed to the royal palace in Suzail. 'Who owns this country?'

"A Cormyrian replied, 'The kingdom belongs to the Obarskyr Royal House, of course.'

"'And the land around it?' the Netherese asked.

"'It belongs to the farmers who work it,' said the Cormyrian.

"Then a Cormyrian visited Netheril and asked a Netherese, 'Who owns this country?'

"'The Netherese Empire belongs to all Netherese,' came the reply.

"'And the floating cities?' asked the Cormyrian.

"'Those are the private property of the great Arcanists.'"

Naturally, readers did not all appreciate the author slipping her opinions into the history.

Beside one passage mocking the empire, a devoted Netheril admirer had written, "You only dare smear this great civilization so relentlessly because the Netherese Empire is gone. Despicable."

In the chapter titled "Age of Discovery," the author wrote that Netheril had tried to expand into the cosmos but failed after the Elven Imperial Navy thrashed its forces. The admirer had responded, "Lies. If the Elven Imperial Navy was so powerful, why didn't it conquer the entire Realms? This is plainly false. The Netherese Empire came only to trade. It was a peaceful civilization! How could a mere Elven Imperial Navy stop its floating cities, golem legions, and great Arcanists?"

The author also recorded many Netherese atrocities: several planned massacres of Orks; repeated slaughters, each claiming tens of thousands of lives, among the Elves, Dwarves, gnomes, and Halflings who had once helped them; and the extravagant, callous excesses of Upper Netheril's floating cities.

The admirer had added, "Fabrications and malicious slander. If the Netherese Empire slaughtered so many other races, find a few living people to prove it!"

But when the author described a condition of late Netherese society—"Hunting civilians outside the floating cities is a legal and popular sport"—and cited the relevant law, the admirer had evidently lost his temper. He wrote, "People without value don't deserve to live. Better they provide one last bit of value than waste food. It's only reasonable! It accords with the history of human development!"

Aaron saw no more notes from him after that.

Aaron spent the entire morning reading The End of Netheril from cover to cover. He came away with some understanding of the magical civilization so often buried beneath rumor and retelling. Nearly half the book was devoted to the "Age of Karsus": how that brilliant great Arcanist had successfully marshaled the entire empire's resources to bring Netheril crashing down, ending a civilization whose stories and relics still lingered throughout the Realms.

Before he knew it, noon had arrived. Aaron put down the book.

I wonder how my uncle is doing.

Of all the parts of his carefully laid plan, Uncle Lothair was the weakest.

But he had no other choice. His fierce, unreasonable aunt and arrogant, complacent cousin were both unsuitable. Lothair might be only a minor official who looked after horses, but of all the resources Aaron had, he was the only person besides Aaron himself with a plausible way to approach the nobility.

I hope you don't let me down, Uncle.

Aaron repeated the thought to himself.

While Aaron considered how the plan might unfold, over at the royal stables in Suzail...

Lothair, the uncle in whom Aaron had placed such hopes, knelt on the ground drenched in sweat. His breathing was ragged, an unnatural flush colored his gaunt cheeks, and his body trembled faintly.

A middle-aged man who looked to be in his thirties sat on a folding stool, dressed in purple-and-gold ducal regalia of Cormyr. A ring of fully armed elite guards surrounded him. In his hand was a stemmed glass, golden champagne gently swirling against its sides.

"So your nephew, the last Salian—the young Aaron—has awakened Extraordinary Charisma, become a Sorcerer, and wants to find a teacher?" the man asked unhurriedly.

"Yes, my nephew! He told me to do it!" Lothair wiped sweat from his face, his voice full of fear.

The day had begun well enough. Just as Aaron had instructed, Lothair checked on the warhorses at the stables, then found an opportunity while a Purple Dragon Knight was choosing a mount. He casually mentioned that a Sorcerer who had awakened Extraordinary Charisma was looking for a mentor.

The first Purple Dragon Knight thought little of it. He merely promised to ask around when he had time.

The second knight's reaction was markedly different. He pressed Lothair for the Sorcerer's identity, showing keen interest. When Lothair followed Aaron's instructions and said the Sorcerer wished to remain anonymous, hinting that the knight's "rank" was not high enough, the man immediately said he understood. He left without even choosing a horse, but told Lothair to wait there and not run off.

Lothair passed the news about a Sorcerer with Extraordinary Charisma seeking a mentor to one more knight who came to choose a horse. He thought that would be the end of his morning.

But as the noon break approached, a large group of heavily armored guards arrived at the Suzail stables. A haughty steward came in and told Lothair that Duke Carthness Irlingstar wished to see him personally!

Lothair had been terrified.

He was just a horse keeper!

The man was a duke, one of only two landed dukes in all Cormyr! His standing was second only to the king's!

Facing such a grand retinue, with His Grace Duke Carthness smiling as he questioned him amid a crowd of armored guards, Lothair's legs felt too weak to hold him. Even his voice shook.

He told them everything: Aaron's identity, how Aaron had instructed him, and even the analogy Aaron had used to explain the plan.

The lowly horse keeper gave it all away.

"That's how he taught you to do it?" Duke Carthness looked deeply intrigued. "Interesting. Most interesting."

"Guards!"

"Yes, Your Grace!"

Today is the last day of the national holiday. Let's celebrate!