Red Magic

One

The crimson-draped figure paced in the damp, circular chamber, his well-rehearsed path carrying him through the darkness shrouding the smooth stone wall and to an ancient bronze incense burner. He bent over the antique from Moonshae to permit the acrid vapors to spiral upward from the basin’s scented coals into the shadowed recesses of his hood. He drew the smoky gray tendrils deep into his lungs while the haze from the burner and the room’s lone, fat-soaked torch danced around his flowing robes.

Maligor’s garb was similar to that worn by all of the Red Wizards of Thay—dark red, the color of blood oozing from a deep, fresh wound. The robe’s many folds concealed his form; the sleeves hung several inches below the tips of his thin, pale fingers, and the hood obscured his gaunt, wrinkled face. The embroidered hem, which draped on the polished mosaic floor, swirled wildly about his slippered feet as he concluded his meditation and strode to the narrow window to gaze out over Amruthar.

The dying rays of the sun stained the city’s cobblestone streets a glowing vermilion. Maligor’s impressive tower rose just beyond the western edge of Amruthar, its shadow pointing like a lance to the closing gate. The location offered the Red Wizard a superior view of the major business district and the two-story inn where most of his informants operated.

Amruthar conferred an impression of quiet this early evening; only a few citizens roamed the streets in the section visible to Maligor. However, appearances in Thay, he knew, were nearly always deceptive. The alleys and shadowed walkways were alive with cutpurses and burglars just starting their evil agendas. Schemers bloomed and profited when the sky grew dark, and peddlers who proffered commodities too illicit to pass off during the day even in Faerûn’s most wicked country.

Most of the commonfolk were huddled inside their homes, protecting their mundane existences from the city’s deviate nature. Maligor could smell the coal smoke rising sluggishly from the stone chimneys as they prepared their meager dinners. For a moment, the Red Wizard wondered what lavish feast his slaves would be baking for him—a fast that would have to be discarded, as he was too busy this evening for pleasantries.

Maligor glanced past the spacious open-air market. The crude wooden stalls were being ritualistically boarded up for the evening to prevent vagrants from sleeping inside, the unsold goods packed onto wagons to be trekked home because the merchants feared to leave them here, wisely trusting no one. The morning would bring a different view, a vibrant, welcoming, bustling scene to delight the senses. The market would be crowded with retailers hawking all manner of exotic fruits, fresh vegetables, homespun and imported cloth, and shiny trinkets to catch the eyes of women with gold jingling in their bulging purses.

Likely there would be a slave dealer or two, despite the merchant guild’s mandate that slaves must be sold in the stockyards so that the sellers would have to pay taxes on their illicit goods. Some of the best deals could be made purchasing flesh in the open-air market, though, because the sellers needed to move the stock quickly before the guild tried to close them down and claim its due. Maligor made a mental note to send one of his buyers there tomorrow. A Red Wizard’s prestige was often measured by the size of his slave stable. And in this country, where two-thirds of the population were slaves, Maligor always strove to maintain far more than his share.

Just beyond the emptying stalls sat the fashionable alcazar of a young Red Wizard, a man who flagrantly displayed his wealth, which he had incomparably more of than common sense or magical might. The opulent abode appeared out of place in the old section of the Free City of Amruthar. Maligor smiled. Neighboring countries claimed this was the only independent city in Thay. However, Maligor and the other Red Wizards—in fact all those who lived in Thay—knew better. While the city fell under no one Red Wizard’s jurisdiction and claimed decades ago to have seceded from Thay, many of the most powerful Red Wizards lived nearby and secretly directed the government by manipulating the strings of the puppet rulers. Some wizards, Maligor among them, were more obvious in their control, openly bribing and magically charming people in key positions and making Amruthar more closely influenced by the Red Wizards than perhaps any other city in Thay.

Maligor mused that the young Red Wizard ensconced in his perfect home never could be a power in the city. The newcomer likely lived here because of the closeness of the great teachers of the arcane, such as Maligor. But the young man would never climb above the rank of a simple fledgling. Maligor would see to that.

Maligor, on the other hand, had great bureaucratic and supernatural strength. He was a zulkir, the Zulkir of Alteration, one of a handful of Red Wizards who guided Thay’s destiny through an all-powerful political council that directed the rulers of each city, created laws, both useful and obscure; detailed their enforcement; and described in massive volumes the punishments for lawbreakers. The zulkirs, however, only called upon Thay’s courts to discipline people when it was convenient, and in fact often ordered those in their employ to commit every illegality that could be conceived. The zulkirs, who did not trust each other and did not cooperate beyond the council, could engage in whatever nefarious and heinous acts they desired. They were above the law. The council also dictated Thay’s foreign policy, which at this point consisted of keeping every neighboring country unnerved and guessing.

Each zulkir personally controlled a magical discipline and oversaw all those who studied it. Maligor’s specialty was transmuting objects, living and otherwise. If his current plan proved successful, he would control much more than that.

Maligor resumed watching the young sorcerer’s mansion, curious about the young wizard. He closed his eyes and concentrated, visualizing in his mind being inside the elegant building, peering through the windows, glancing down corridors, searching. In a hazy vision, he witnessed servants bearing the young man steaming platters of rare delicacies. Splendid, Maligor thought. The fool will be too full and lazy to pay me any heed this evening, and he is too weak to put up the proper wards to keep prying eyes away from his home.

It was the nature of Red Wizards to second-guess their peers and ceaselessly protect their backs. The wizards frequently plotted against each other for pleasure, for personal gain, for retribution, or simply to hone their skills. This puerile behavior prevented most wizards from gaining sufficient power to rise above their brethren, and it also forestalled them from working together to expand Thay’s boundaries.

Despite the magical inactivity at the young wizard’s alcazar, Maligor realized that other Red Wizards in the city would be busy this night, no doubt brewing their own wicked plans to inflict pain and suffering on others for their own financial or personal reward. He fancied that none of their plots would be as devious or promising as his present scheme, for he held little respect for his colleagues. A smile gently tugged at the corner of Maligor’s pale, cracked lips. None in Amruthar, none in Thay—indeed even no one else in his own tower—knew what he was up to.

He retreated from the window to the incense burner’s bitter embrace. The smoke caressed his face and made his throat feel dry and his mouth taste sour. Still, Maligor enjoyed the druglike sensation, savoring it for long moments while his eyes watered from the thick vapors. Then abruptly he stiffened, detecting another familiar scent, one less pleasing—one that smelled like rotting flesh.

Stepping away from the burner, the wizard’s gray, rheumy eyes peered into the shadows, probing intently until he discovered the source of the stench, then narrowing to thin slits to evidence his displeasure.

“What do you want, Asp?” Maligor’s voice had a noticeable edge to it. “What catastrophe is unfolding? Surely something has gone amiss. Otherwise, you would not dare interrupt my meditation.”

The wizard’s tones were soft and raspy, though not by choice. Appearing elderly by human standards, perhaps sixty or seventy, Maligor was in fact more than two hundred years old. The viscous magical elixirs he concocted in his secret chambers in this tower and in his other numerous residences throughout Thay helped his frail form to stave off many of the effects of age. His voice, however, hadn’t held up as well against the passage of time.

“My Lord Maligor, I’m sorry to intrude, but this truly is important.” The feminine voice was sultry, caressing the stale air in the chamber like a summer breeze.

“Yes?” Maligor entreated, still peering into the darkness.

Asp’s unblemished face rimmed with close-clipped sable hair edged out from the shadows. Her startling blue eyes, high cheekbones, and dainty lips the shade of ripe red yarberries, a poisonous fruit that grew abundantly in Thay, contrasted with the room’s dismal atmosphere. Her long, slender neck, decorated with a delicate strand of black pearls, and her bare, white shoulders emerged from the inky blackness near the wall, but she came no closer.

“There is a spy in our midst,” she whispered, studying Maligor’s face for a reaction. “He’s a slow-witted creature, but he could cause problems.”

Maligor moved toward the woman, regarding her critically. “Go on,” he rasped.

“He’s a gnoll, one of the guards,” she continued, her voice rising slightly in volume. “He hasn’t been seen for several days now. He was sometimes stationed outside this very room. That means he could have heard us plotting, my lord. He could have knowledge of our schemes. He could be selling the information to another Red Wizard.” She ran her finely manicured fingers through her short hair, pausing to compose herself before continuing.

“Perhaps he didn’t think he’d be missed, Maligor. After all, you’ve been enlisting more and more gnolls into your service. Perhaps he doesn’t really know much, but then again, maybe he does. We have to be sure. We have to do something. Our plans may not remain secret much longer if his tongue is wagging.”

Maligor scowled, disheartened that Asp would bother him with such a trivial matter. He didn’t care what a mere gnoll might reveal. What the venerable Red Wizard discussed with Asp, the schemes she feared could be unraveling, were only a mask for his overall goal. Still, he found solace in the fact that Asp apparently remained oblivious to his true plan.

“I have no fear of a missing gnoll,” Maligor answered after what seemed an interminable pause. “But to please you, beautiful Asp, I will find him and deal with him. I will even let you help. Find something of his and bring it to me. I’ll wait for you outside the tower. Quickly now.”

“Yes, your omnipotence.” Asp snatched her head back into the shadows and soundlessly retreated.

Maligor sniffed the air to make certain she was gone, then vacated the chamber and ascended an iron spiral staircase that took him two levels higher, nearly to the top of the ancient tower. Muffled cries and whimpers filtered out from behind a massive pine door near the top of the stairs. The Red Wizard waved his arm, and the door slowly unlocked itself and opened to reveal a room blanketed in darkness. Maligor padded forward, unmindful of the gloom. He frequented this room so often he knew all its features by memory. Strolling toward a corner where spiderwebs were as thick as curtains, he chanted a dozen words. Suddenly flame sprang to life in a crystal oil lamp that hung from the ceiling. Smoke rose from the bowl and singed the nearest webs to illuminate the surface of a large, low table that was nearly as old as the wizard.

The worn top was covered with racks of vials filled with foul mixtures, a half-dozen ragged leather gloves, and several cages. The largest cage was brimming with rabbits of various sizes, colors, and breeds. Two had no fur. The pathetic, hairless pair stared at Maligor through frightened eyes. The Red Wizard had used them a few days ago to test a potion intended to remove wrinkles; it had proved a mild success. While the wrinkles vanished from the rabbits’ skin, the concoction also caused them to lose their fur. He smiled evilly at them, deciding to try further experiments on the two later.

Another cage was crammed with squirrels and rats that cowered beyond their dead brethren, hoping to escape the wizard’s notice. A third held moles and hedgehogs, most of these freshly caught by Maligor’s gnoll trappers. The other cages were smaller and were filled with snakes, lizards, and other reptiles the wizard could not name. A crate under the table contained live chickens and ducklings purchased at Amruthar’s open-air market.

Nearly a third of the mistreated animals were dead, and most of the others were dying, either from lack of food or from being force-fed the wizard’s putrid mixtures. Maligor favored using animals for his bizarre research; they weren’t as costly as humans, and their yowls and whimpers were easier on his ears than the screams of his slaves. Furthermore, he had learned years ago that animals took up less space in a laboratory and weren’t expensive to feed, especially since he neglected to feed them regularly.

Maligor savored the animals’ terror for long moments before pulling a scarred leather glove over his bony right hand. Opening a cage and thrusting his hand inside, he retrieved a startled hedgehog.

The wizard ignored the panicked clawing and biting of the squat creature and tightly squeezed it until he heard it squeal. Convinced it was lively enough, he carried it down the tower’s staircase to the ground floor, passing bowing slaves, straight-backed guards, and magical barriers that kept intruders from disturbing his treasured privacy. Maligor gestured at the massive iron-reinforced door that served as the main entrance to his tower, and it obediently swung open on well-oiled hinges. He squeezed the hedgehog again for good measure then stepped outside into the warm night air.

Overhead, the stars shone brightly in a clear night sky. Maligor knew there would be a myriad of clouds by dawn, as many of the Red Wizards were skilled with weather control magic, and the dry ground presented a tempting challenge.

Someone would make it rain soon.

Maligor chose not to concern himself with such meaningless things, choosing instead to spend his time on spells that would improve his personal position rather than increase the yield of the crops. Dropping the trembling hedgehog on the ground, he roughly pinned it beneath his foot. The starlight, coupled with the glow spilling out from the tower windows, provided just enough light to work under and set the tone for the wizard’s hellish project.

The door opened and closed behind Maligor. Turning and glaring into the darkness next to the tower’s stone wall, he saw Asp. Her offensive odor was vastly diminished in the outdoors.

She grinned slyly at the wizard. “This spell is my favorite,” she uttered thickly, staring hungrily at the trapped animal. “Perhaps one day you will teach it to me.”

“Perhaps,” he replied, turning his attention back to the hedgehog. The creature’s eyes were wide with horror, a fact that pleased the wizard.

“Did you find something belonging to the gnoll?” It was more a demand than a question and sent Asp rustling through a large sack at her side. Maligor wanted to get the spell over with quickly, since he had planned to devote the evening to putting the final touches on his latest scheme.

“Yes,” she answered dutifully. “Will this do?” Asp’s slender, hairless arm emerged from the darkness, holding out a tattered cloak she had retrieved from the missing gnoll’s barracks.

Maligor scowled at her, and she snatched the garment back into the shadows, where she savagely ripped it. A moment later, her soft hand passed the wizard a long, thin strip of dirty cloth. It fluttered in the breeze, flapping against the Red Wizard’s robes.

Maligor swiftly grabbed the cloth, making certain the expensive fabric of his robe wasn’t soiled by it. Satisfied, he drew the red hood back from his face so he could work more easily.

Like the majority of Red Wizards and the bulk of Thay’s residents, Maligor’s head was completely bald and adorned with tattoos. Wizards and wealthy, important Thayvians— and those who pretended they were—decorated their pates with elaborate designs. Only slaves had long hair. Maligor’s tattoos included a bright red flame lapping on a purple field, a common symbol of the Red Wizards, and a flawless snow-white skull on an ebony triangle, a symbol of Myrkul, the god of death, decay, and corruption. Many in the civilized centers of Faerûn considered Myrkul himself dead, slain in the godswar that had ripped across the world years ago. However, the Red Wizard and other loyal followers believed the dark god still lived. While Maligor cared little about deities, he supported what Myrkul stood for and believed he honored the god through various acts involving death and corruption, such as the magic he was about to cast.

The wizard tied the stained strip of cloth about the hedgehog’s thick neck and began the incantation. He muttered in a monotone in an ancient, arcane language. Maligor knew that throughout the city other Red Wizards were casting spells, too. Thay reeked of magic. Spells kept troublesome slaves loyal, treasures protected, homes guarded, and enemies at bay. And among a multitude of other things, they allowed wizards to peer through walls, around corners, across the city or even farther—sometimes into the depths of a man’s soul. In between phrases of his spell, Maligor wondered if other wizards were using magic to watch him.

It didn’t matter, he finally decided. He kept the hand gestures required for this rite obscured; those who didn’t know this particular spell weren’t likely to learn it by viewing him. He knelt shakily on the rough ground. Reaching inside the deep pockets of his robe, he withdrew a crystal vial filled with a red powder so dark it seemed black. He continued the chant while measuring out a minute amount of the horrid-smelling dried wyvern’s blood into his palm. Then the Red Wizard drew a circle in the powder with a jagged fingernail, and before the breeze could disturb the components, his voice rose and quickened, and he blew the dried blood into the hedgehog’s face.

Maligor stood quickly and backed away, never taking his eyes from the animal as it convulsed with pain and gasped for breath. Its bristling spines moved like grass in the wind, and its eyes glazed over, changing from black to a glowing scarlet that nearly matched the color of Maligor’s robes.

Asp poked her head from the shadows to get a better look, and her eyes widened in response to the macabre scene. A sly grin played across her face as she slowly ran her thin tongue over her bottom lip. The animal twitched and shuddered erratically, then began a grotesque transformation.

The hedgehog’s sides heaved, billowing outward like a puffer fish as the creature doubled its size, then doubled again. Its spines fused into its rapidly stretching skin, which flowed over its enlarging form and transformed into a mud-brown, leathery hide. Its short legs, scrambling in a vain attempt to gain purchase on the ground, elongated and spread away from its torso. At the same time, a thin membrane of flesh formed, attaching itself to the legs on each side of the shrieking beast’s body and becoming webbed wings that flapped uncontrollably against the earth. The bones in the creature’s head cracked and popped as they lengthened; the jaw became birdlike and filled with twin rows of sharp, jagged teeth. At the opposite end, a prehensile barbed tail sprouted and quivered.

No semblance of the hedgehog remained; there was only the darkenbeast, a sorcerous nightmare, a hideous cross between an eagle and a prehistoric lizard.

Maligor intended to create several score of these creatures to add to his monstrous army. The darkenbeasts, which could be made from most animals, even those the size of field mice, were fearsome creatures that obeyed his telepathic commands. However, they were not indestructible; they reverted to their true forms in daylight—or upon their death.

The darkenbeast wailed, and Maligor glanced at Asp. He whispered a dozen more arcane syllables, magically tugging the image of the missing gnoll from the woman’s mind and transferring the picture to his transformed creature.

“Kill the spy,” the wizard whispered to the darkenbeast. “Then bring me his traitorous body.”

The malign beast cried out again, a horrible, mournful shriek that pierced the night sky. Then it spread its wings and gracefully lifted from the ground. The creature glided over the earth, gaining height as it distanced itself from the tower and Amruthar. Its wings beat faster and lifted it higher still.

Maligor saw his creation head west before it melted into the black sky. As the Red Wizard turned to enter his tower, he paused, gazing through the shadows at Asp. His expression softened.

“The evening has just begun,” he said, deciding to postpone his schemes for a few hours.

She nodded and quietly drew him into the darkness.

The hawk scanned the ground, slowly circling a grove of tall trees west of the cliffs called the First Escarpment. The sheer, imposing cliffs marked Thay’s main border and served as the edge of the plateau of the Priador, a large expanse of relatively flat land on which most of Thay rested.

For the past several days, the hawk had been unsuccessfully searching this territory, south of the crystal waters of Lake Umber. It would spend one more day here before giving up and returning home.

With the coming of evening the hawk selected a large oak tree, damaged by lightning, and glided toward a high, gnarled limb. The perch gave the hawk an excellent view of the waxing moon, which had just begun its journey across the surface of the pond below.

The hawk was not native to the lands around Thay. Its back was blue-gray, its belly ivory streaked with dark gray, black, and pale orange, and it had a long, square-tipped tail that was characteristic of a species normally found in Amn. Just below its throat was an unusual marking, a patch of glistening, silvery feathers in the shape of a crescent moon.

The moon had worked its way to the middle of the pond before the hawk noticed an erratic rustling in the brush. The source of the noise clumsily burst into the clearing, panting and furiously pulling burrs and leaves from its fur with big, pawlike hands. The creature was large, standing nearly eight feet tall on muscular legs and possessing a barrel chest and a form that seemed a cross between canine and man. Its dun-colored skin was covered with tufts of coarse, red-tinged gray hair. The muzzle of its hyena-shaped head was blanketed with a darker fur that matched the spine ruff that ran from the bridge of its nose, over the top of its head, and down the back of its bull-like neck.

The creature was a gnoll, attired in crude leather armor studded with bits of metal. The leather, which was too large at the shoulders and too tight around the hips, would have made the ensemble seem comical were it not for the red flame on a purple field emblazoned on the front of the hardened breastplate. The gnoll carried a circular wooden shield bearing a similar symbol that had been defaced during battle. In his left hand, he toted a spear, which was festooned with a dirty red ribbon that fluttered in the breeze.

The gnoll lumbered to the edge of the pond, where the mud oozed about his sandaled feet. He squinted with glossy black eyes to take in the surroundings and wrinkled the end of his snout, sniffing the air. Convinced he was alone, the gnoll awkwardly tossed his shield and spear to the ground and dropped to all fours to dip his muzzle for a drink. He made vulgar lapping sounds that continued for several minutes.

His thirst sated at last, the gnoll stood, brushed the mud from his hairy knees, and retrieved his spear. He glanced around the clearing again and spotted the lightning-damaged tree. His shaggy brow furrowed and he delved into a pouch at his side. The gnoll withdrew a crude, curled map and held it so the moonlight illuminated the ink markings. The tree and the pond were indicated by rough, hurried sketches.

“Right place,” he stated, seeming to struggle with the human speech. He rolled the map, replaced it in the pouch, and stamped his foot impatiently. “Mudwort late, but Mudwort here.” He waited a moment more, as if expecting an answer, then made a circuit of the clearing.

“Harper!” the gnoll barked anxiously. “Harper show up. Harper, not much time I be here. Mudwort be long, Mudwort be missed, Mudwort be killed. Harper? Harper!”

Unnoticed, the hawk gracefully spread its wings and glided from the branch behind the gnoll. Its form metamorphosized as it descended, its talons curling, then flexing, becoming longer and growing together to form human feet covered with soft leather boots. The beak receded, dissolving into a smooth, male face with striking features—high cheekbones, a strong chin, and an even, tanned complexion. The proud crest of blue-gray feathers lengthened, fluttered in the breeze, and transformed into long blond hair. The rest of the hawk’s feathers recast themselves into clothes, the wings into a cloak that flapped gently in the slight wind.

The man landed, and Mudwort whirled, finally catching the scent. The gnoll stared at the man and creased his shaggy brow, furious at himself for not noticing the human’s approach.

The man stood nearly six feet tall and was thin but muscular. He was dressed in greens of various shades—leggings, tunic, and a rich-looking, thigh-length cloak decorated at the edges with embroidered feathers. Even the man’s eyes were green, the color of ferns after a soft, steady rain. His wheat-colored hair hung loose below his shoulders.

Mudwort noted that the man was barely armed; he wore only a scimitar at his side and had no armor. The gnoll had heard little about Harpers, but based on his limited knowledge, he assumed they were impressive and battle-hardened. This human seemed to be neither, although he was obviously fit.

“Harper?” the gnoll growled.

“I am a Harper,” the man replied. “The one you seek.”

“Harper alone?” the gnoll spat. “Harper have gold? Harper important? Harper have friends near?” He waved his spear for emphasis.

“I’m alone, as agreed. I’m called Galvin. You don’t need to know anything else about me.”

Galvin pulled the collar of his tunic down to let Mudwort see the silver neck chain from which dangled a miniature crescent moon affixed to a silver harp. The charm flashed in the moonlight and made the gnoll wonder how much it was worth.

“Harper symbol,” Mudwort verified.

Galvin covered the neck chain and tossed the gnoll a black velvet bag. Mudwort’s thick, hairy fingers grabbed for it but missed, and it dropped to the ground with a soft thud. Mudwort fell to examine the contents like a wolf devouring a fresh kill. Running his fingers over each gold coin he pulled from the bag, he attempted to count it. The gnoll enjoyed spying; he collected regular pay from Maligor and from other Red Wizards who paid for information about his master. This was the first time he had spied for someone other than a wizard—and had gone beyond Thay’s boundaries to do so.

Giving up on getting an exact tally of the coins, the gnoll scooped the gold back into the bag and cradled it in his hand, trying to weigh it to gauge its value. After a moment, Mudwort rose, brusquely wiped a long strand of saliva away from his jaws, and growled at the Harper.

“Not enough. My talk costs more, Galvin!”

“That’s just to get your tongue moving,” the Harper answered. “There’ll be more if your ‘talk’ is useful.” The gold belonged to the Aglarond council, which had asked Galvin to contact the spy. There were rumors of Thayvian forces growing, and the council wondered if Aglarond, Thay’s neighbor to the west, could be a target. The council members needed to know if they should prepare for war.

The Harper disliked wars. No matter who won, they caused a senseless loss of life. And the land, which would be soaked with blood by the end of the battle, was usually the greatest casualty.

The gnoll interrupted the Harper’s thoughts. “Mudwort knows valuable things. Mudwort knows that Red Wizard Maligor wants land. Maligor is greedy and thinks he needs more land than other wizards have.”

The gnoll pawed at a small cloud of gnats forming around his face. He glowered at Galvin and plopped down on a log, easing the burden from his callused feet. Balancing the spear across his lap for security, he pushed Galvin’s money pouch into the dirty canvas sack that hung from his side.

“More gold now,” Mudwort demanded.

“You’ll have to do better than that,” the Harper said evenly, planting himself in front of the gnoll and fixing his eyes on Mudwort’s. “Who is Maligor?”

“A Red Wizard. I told you.”

“Beyond that,” the Harper persisted.

“Important,” Mudwort spat. “Powerful. Maligor rich, too.”

The druid sighed, quickly growing frustrated. “What does he look like?”

“Like other wizards. Maligor bald. Maligor old, wrinkled. Maligor wear red.”

“Where is Maligor?” The druid moved closer.

“In Thay.”

“I know that,” Galvin spat. “Where in Thay?”

“In Am-roo-thar,” Mudwort replied. “Am-roo-thar is a city in Thay.”

Galvin began pacing in front of Mudwort, angry that the answers had to be pulled from the gnoll’s feeble brain.

“What land does Maligor want?”

The gnoll pawed again at the growing cloud of gnats attracted by his saliva. “Don’t know. Didn’t ask.”

“How is he going to get the land?”

Mudwort brightened and thumped his breast with his left fist. His smile revealed a row of yellowed, pointed teeth. “Gnolls get it for him,” he answered proudly. “Maligor has many, many gnolls. Gnolls fierce warriors.”

The gnoll eyed the Harper, trying to gauge the wealth the human carried while waiting for the next question. But the Harper remained quiet, rubbing his hairless chin in thought. The silence bothered the gnoll.

“Done now?” Mudwort’s impatience surfaced. “Mudwort get more gold and Mudwort leave.” The gnoll was worried; he had been away from Maligor’s keep for several days and didn’t want the wizard to discover him missing.

“No, you’re not done.” Galvin had a considerable amount of patience, but Mudwort was wearing it thin. Something was indeed up in Thay, at least with a particular wizard, the Harper decided. Perhaps the Aglarond council had reason to worry. He hoped there was enough gold in his belt pouch to satisfy the gnoll spy. Drawing out a large handful of coins, the Harper held them just beyond Mudwort’s reach.

“Why does Maligor want more land?” The Harper’s voice was even and commanding.

“Not sure,” Mudwort retorted, staring at the mound of coins. “Maybe wizard needs more land for the gnolls. Many, many gnolls work for wizard. Barracks crowded.” The gnoll spoke slowly, pausing between his words, trying to decide what to do about the Harper. “Maybe Maligor wants this land,” he added, “This good land. Mudwort could like staying here.

“Maybe wizard Maligor need different land, tired of old land. Maybe he just wants to make Thay bigger.” Mudwort growled for emphasis and swallowed a gob of spittle that had been trying to escape his mouth. “Give Mudwort more gold. Mudwort talk enough.”

Frowning, Galvin brought his face mere inches from the gnoll’s, ignoring its rancid breath. The Harper believed he was close to gaining some vital information.

“You want more gold?” the Harper began. “Then tell me where in Amruthar I can find Maligor.”

The gnoll snorted. The information he had been passing on to the Harper was common knowledge in Amruthar. Still, it was another matter to reveal the Red Wizard’s present location to an outsider. Perhaps it was a test, Mudwort considered. Maybe the Harper was Maligor’s puppet, and the Red Wizard was testing the gnoll’s loyalty.

“Mudwort done,” the gnoll announced, deciding it was past time to return to the safety of his brother gnolls’ company. “Mudwort leaving. Mudwort been gone too long anyway.” He clumsily rose from the log, using the spear for support. Glancing toward the pond, he spotted his shield lying at its edge and started for it.

“No!” Galvin bellowed, his patience unraveled. “We are not done. You have a lot more information floating around inside your flea-sized brain.” The Harper’s arm shot out to grab the gnoll by the shoulder. His intention was to spin Mudwort around, but the gnoll was too massive, and too late the Harper realized his abrupt action might be read as an attack.

The gnoll furiously whirled, his left claw striking out at Galvin’s stomach, ripping the olive-green tunic and knocking the human down. Mudwort quickly pressed his attack, making a short thrust at Galvin’s chest with the spear.

Cursing himself for being careless with the slow-witted, evil creature, the Harper rolled to the side, attempting to avoid the weapon, but the shaft sank deep into his left shoulder, pinning him to the damp ground. Blood spurted from the wound and onto the grass, making the gnoll’s eyes widen in morbid anticipation. Mudwort forced his advantage, threatening with his sharp claws.

Galvin cast his right arm across his chest and tried to pull the spear free, but the weapon held him painfully fast. He kicked at the gnoll to slow the creature’s deadly advance, buying the Harper a few precious seconds.

In that time, Galvin’s eyes sparkled in the moonlight, and his smooth, exposed skin began to sprout thick, black fur. The hair quickly raced across his prone body to obscure his clothes, while at the same time, the Harper’s form expanded, becoming wider, more muscular. The tanned skin on Galvin’s face also covered itself with fur, and his mouth pushed upward into a muzzle more massive than the gnoll’s and filled with larger, sharper, considerably whiter teeth.

The Harper’s transformation continued, his hands becoming wide, thick paws and his fingers long claws made for rending. Galvin’s chest swelled as his ribs expanded outward, and his lungs voiced a deep, angry growl that reverberated throughout the clearing.

Mudwort stood transfixed as a silvery white patch of hair in the shape of a crescent moon appeared on the cave bear’s throat.

“Red Wizard tricks!” the gnoll screamed as he backed away, uncertain of what to do. “Leave Mudwort be!”

Galvin’s new form was stronger, although blinded by pain. This time when his right paw moved to bat at the spear, the wood splintered easily, freeing him. Blood still poured from the wound, matting the black fur and making it glisten, but the bear disregarded the injury and the part of the spear that still remained in its shoulder. It focused on the gnoll, the source of its pain, and lumbered forward.

Mudwort screamed again and ran blindly from the clearing. The gnoll’s legs pounded over the earth frantically as he brushed past branches and leaped over rocks and logs in his terror-filled flight.

The cave bear pursued, effortlessly catching up to its quarry, which stank strongly of fear. Rising on its great hind legs, the bear towered above the fleeing gnoll. Slashing with its claws, it raked Mudwort’s back, cutting through the leather armor and drawing blood. The gnoll shrieked in surprise and agony and swiveled to face his attacker, futilely throwing his shaggy arms across his face to fend off another blow. The bear struck again, this time shredding the front of the gnoll’s uniform.

Mudwort’s cries were cut off in a gurgling spasm as a third swipe bludgeoned him to the ground. Blood oozed from the gnoll’s gaping mouth. The bear nudged the dying body, sniffed it, then padded to the pond’s edge and sat back on its haunches to lick its left shoulder. Gradually the bear’s fur vanished, and Galvin, bathed in sweat and covered with both the gnoll’s blood and his own, became human again.

The Harper heard the gnoll gasp, and he rushed to the creature’s side, unmindful of his own pain.

“Harper wizard,” the gnoll whispered as his eyes locked onto Galvin’s. Mudwort shuddered once, then died.

“I’m no wizard. I’m a druid. And I’m very sorry.” Galvin stared at the dead gnoll for several long minutes. The creature’s death could have been avoided, the Harper knew.

He was disgusted with himself for losing control when he transformed into the cave bear. Although his druidic skills allowed him to take the shape of various creatures while retaining his human intelligence, the pain in his shoulder had made it too difficult for him to concentrate. Galvin’s animal instincts had taken over. The druid gritted his teeth and pushed the broken spear shaft through his shoulder, forcing himself not to scream. Then he ripped the hem of his cloak to make a bandage for his shoulder. The wound demanded more attention, but he wanted to put some distance between himself and this area before he stopped to tend to it.

The Harper worked hurriedly to bury Mudwort’s body, spear, and shield. He didn’t want to take any chances that the gnoll might be found and suspicions aroused. Galvin knew it was essential that the Red Wizards remain oblivious to a Harper presence so close to Thay.

Finished with the grim task, Galvin turned west and sprinted from the clearing; he had someone else to meet before the night ended and before the pain in his shoulder overtook him. His hair streamed behind him as he passed through the brambles and vines. The Harper threw his head back to let the breeze wash over his face and cool him. Overhead, the sky was filled with a multitude of stars and one winged creature that looked gray in the light of the moon.

The darkenbeast flew over the escarpment, and like a knife, it cut through the sky and sped over the trees that dotted the land beyond Thay. Its keen, unnatural eyes pierced the darkness, spying sources of heat, small animals that skittered about the ground—and something more.

The darkenbeast located Mudwort moments after the cave bear had delivered its final blow. The arcane creature circled, watching the bear transform into a human who proceeded to bury the darkenbeast’s target. When the human ran from the pond’s edge, the darkenbeast paused, worrying. It feared retribution for returning to Maligor without having killed the gnoll.

It must bring the Red Wizard something, the darkenbeast decided.

The beast circled the clearing again and formulated a plan; perhaps if it killed the human and brought that body to the Red Wizard, it would be rewarded rather than punished. The darkenbeast set off after its new quarry, straining its small eyes to find evidence of the human’s passage through the brush.