Red Magic

Eleven

A legion of fifty skeletons marched behind Brenna, Galvin, and Wynter. The fleshless skeletons were armed with spears, broadswords, hand axes, and other weapons; some were mounted on skeletal horses, their bones clinking together and sounding like wind chimes. In a grotesque way, their appearance was almost humorous. Some were dressed as men would—in pants, tunics, and hats. Others wore robes and cloaks. But the majority sported bits of outfits or fragments of blankets. Szass Tam felt that dressing them in some sort of clothing would help hide their appearance, especially during the day, until they were close to the walls of Amruthar.

Following the skeletons shuffled a division of zombies, also about fifty in number, some of which were so recently dead that Brenna thought they could pass as human. At first she wondered why Szass Tam didn’t put these up front. However, on closer examination, she discovered that their stench gave them away and made them more repulsive than the animated bones. All of the zombies were clad, some in armor. They shuffled forward with their eyes cast on the ground in front of them, since they were unaccustomed to the sunlight. None of these carried weapons, intending to fight with their claws, which were filthy and carried diseases.

The remainder of the undead numbered about forty—jujus; zombie monsters, including a quartet of decomposing hill giants; yellow musk zombies, which were part man, part plant; and a few things with manlike shapes that the heroes couldn’t identify.

Even though they preferred the comforting darkness of night, all of these undead were able to move about freely in the light of day. The Harpers and Brenna worried what might join their legion after the sun set a dozen hours from now.

The centaur wore barding, horse armor that made him feel as if he were being treated like an animal rather than a man. But from a distance, he thought he would appear to be a knight on horseback, and he rather fancied that idea. His rump was covered with a crupper—segmented, padded metal plates riveted together that extended to just below the tops of his back legs. A hole allowed his tail to poke through.

On his back was a flanchard, another piece of smooth and polished plate. It looked as if it had been molded to his body but possessed none of the flexibility of his natural hide; it connected to the crupper and extended to the start of his human torso. The flanchard chaffed a little and felt heavy and uncomfortable; Wynter had never worn armor before. However, he knew it would protect his flanks, and that was where the bulk of his injuries had been sustained earlier. The peytral portion—the section that would normally protect a horse’s neck—had been discarded. Instead, Wynter wore part of a human’s plate—a cuirass, a backplate and breastplate over a heavy quilted shirt. Oddly, that part of the ensemble fit him almost perfectly and was surprisingly easy to move in. His head was protected by a close helmet, the visor of which was up so he could see more easily. Of Mulhorandish make, it didn’t match the cuirass, being newer, more ornate, and covered with stamped designs.

In metal gauntleted hands, Wynter carried an enchanted bardiche, a formidable pole-arm that consisted of a stout wooden staff with a long, slightly curved blade at one end. It had been ensorcelled to strike more easily and was weighted so that when it struck opponents, it could slice off limbs. It was sharpened until it glinted keenly in the sunlight.

Although Wynter hadn’t been specifically trained in the use of such a weapon, the centaur was confident his mastery of the quarterstaff and experience with a pike would suffice to allow him to use this weapon if he truly had to. He switched the bardiche back and forth between his left and right hands, getting accustomed to the feel of it. It seemed finely balanced and could no doubt cleave a skull in two with little effort. The centaur disliked killing, fighting, and even carrying such weapons, yet his appearance gave the impression he was spoiling for a fight.

Szass Tam had forced Wynter to dress like this, reasoning that his large size might cause opponents to select him as their first target, but the armor should give him enough protection. Conversely, the centaur knew his stern countenance would cause at least some opponents to reconsider facing him, perhaps giving the Harpers a psychological edge.

His companions were not armored as formidably as the centaur, but they were also protected, equipped, and looked impressive.

Galvin had declined Szass Tam’s offer to be outfitted in the finest full plate mail. The druid was adamant that all the metal would hamper his movements, and thus would be more of a hindrance than a benefit. He settled on wearing a mail shirt, the links of which were small, tight, and afforded adequate defense, while being flexible enough to satisfy him. Over it, and against his strong objections, he wore a sleeveless black tabard that bore the lich’s symbol, a skeletal hand crushing a fleshy one. Galvin took it to mean Szass Tam believed the undead would one day conquer the living.

The druid’s kite-shaped shield was painted black and had a large, open skeletal hand in the center of it. He rode a heavy war-horse, also black. It had chain barding and a flowing ebon cloth decorated with embroidered skulls that hung on both sides of the saddle. The druid was an accomplished equestrian, having often ridden the wild horses of Faerûn, but this mount unsettled him. It was trained for war, it walked with practiced, measured steps, and it lacked the spirit of the wild horses. When he was finished being Szass Tam’s pawn, he intended to leave it behind.

Galvin had left his scimitar with the lich, but not by choice. The Zulkir of Necromancy insisted the druid carry an enchanted blade, a long sword that would make him a more stalwart opponent against Maligor’s minions. Further, he worried the druid by explaining that there may be some forces under Maligor’s control that could only be harmed by magical spells or weapons. Galvin preferred the feel of his own weapon, which seemed an extension of his own hand, but he wasn’t in a position to argue with Szass Tam.

Brenna was the least affected by the lich’s demands. Her attire was simpler. Being a wizard and unable to wear armor because it could interfere with her spell-casting, she had been provided with an arcane defense—silver etched golden bracers that fit high on her forearms and felt as light as parchment. The lich claimed they afforded almost as much protection as the plate Wynter wore. Brenna was skeptical, but she accepted them sullenly, finding some consolation in the fact she didn’t have to leave any of her possessions behind with Szass Tam.

She had a harder time stomaching the charcoal-black robe he gave her. It was too large, falling in folds about her feet, and the shoulder seams extended several inches down her upper arms. The neckline, cuffs, and hem were trimmed with bits of bone. From the cut and the lingering scent of perfume in the fabric, she knew it was a woman’s robe, and she wondered what the previous owner had been like. She must have been six feet tall and twice Brenna’s girth. The enchantress got goosebumps thinking about the garment and considered shedding it and putting on something different. However, she suspected Szass Tam was watching them somehow, and for some reason, he seemed insistent the trio dress in a grim fashion and display his markings.

Her mount was slight but muscular, a young gray riding horse with a long, jet-black mane and an ebon saddle. She hoped she would be able to release it outside of Thay once they had fulfilled their agreement with the lich. She didn’t want something so spirited to be trapped inside this country.

Brenna thought a moment, watching Wynter lead the cortège. She doubted her horse really would have a chance at freedom, uncertain as she was whether Wynter, Galvin, or she would either. She was convinced that her fate would be grim—death at the hands of Maligor’s forces or eternal servitude to the lich. If they survived their encounter with Maligor, she didn’t believe Szass Tam would let them go. Success would make them too valuable as puppets and too knowledgable as free men.

Wynter and Galvin had remained silent since they left Szass Tam’s keep a half-hour ago. To keep her mind from dwelling on the glum possibilities, Brenna studied the terrain. Even by daylight, the land near Szass Tam’s keep looked dead. The ground was flat, the trees that dotted it were twisted and black. Only weeds grew, and they were the thorny kind.

As the miles floated by and they moved farther from the lich’s property, the land changed dramatically. Tall grasses grew on the plain, and there was an abundance of trees and bushes. In the distance to the west, north, and south, the enchantress saw precise rows of citrus trees, looking like dark green stripes on the land. She tried to imagine what this land would look like without the Red Wizards’ influence. It would probably be barren, she decided, like the ground near Szass Tam’s keep.

Brenna wondered what Galvin was thinking about—the lich, perhaps, or Maligor. The Harpers were likely to be taking this worse than she was, she thought, knowing that Wynter and Galvin claimed allegiance only to themselves and to the Harpers, and they were not bound by civil responsibilities beyond what they decided to accept—such as this mission into Thay. Their forced loyalty to Szass Tam, even though supposedly temporary, must be causing them great inner turmoil. Brenna had found herself in situations before in which she had to follow the majority dictates of the Aglarond council, even though she didn’t agree with them. Although those dictates were never evil, she tried to tell herself this current dilemma was similar to those experiences. She tried to believe that.

Brenna wished the Harpers hadn’t agreed to investigate the evil country and cursed herself for not staying back in Aglarond. But if she hadn’t kept herself entrenched in political events at home, she wouldn’t have cared what the Red Wizards were up to, and she’d never have known the two Harpers. She wished she had shown Galvin more understanding earlier. Melancholy reflections continued to flood her mind until she noticed Galvin was talking.

“At least you could talk about it.” The druid was speaking to Wynter.

“Talk about what?” Wynter’s voice was hard to catch, as he spoke straight ahead and was a half-dozen yards in front of Brenna. “Talk about this country? The lich? I remember my father fearing Szass Tam, yet all the while hoping the slave plantation would come under his influence. My father wanted to work for Szass Tam. The Red Wizard who controlled my father’s plantation wasn’t as powerful as the lich. I’m not sure any Red Wizard in Thay, or any wizard anywhere else in Faerûn, for that matter, is that powerful. And now here we are working for Szass Tam. I can imagine quite a few people in this gods-forsaken country actually envy us.”

“The lich isn’t all-powerful,” Galvin interjected. The druid rode up even with the centaur to make the conversation easier. “If he was, he would have taken over Thay years ago. Besides, he’s dead. I would think that limits him.”

“Don’t kid yourself, Galvin. Szass Tam is more powerful dead than he ever was alive. Humans—and centaurs—are mortal. And any mortal, unless he has enough magic behind him, isn’t a part of the world long enough to have any lasting power.” The centaur swiveled his human torso to face the druid. “Some of the Red Wizards are very old, my friend. Centuries old. Time has given them power, and Szass Tam has existed longer than any of them.”

“If he’s so powerful,” Galvin pressed, “why doesn’t he deal with Maligor himself, and why hasn’t he taken over this whole stinking country? If he’s so powerful, he doesn’t need us.”

Wynter paused a moment, as if trying to get the wording right. “Because he can keep his hands clean by using puppets like us to do his work.”

Brenna had ridden up near the Harpers and had been listening intently. “Maybe he’s just waiting a few centuries until the time is right to strike,” she offered.

The three became silent and continued to move across the Thayvian countryside toward Amruthar. They paused for an hour at the edge of a small citrus orchard after they had marched half the day. Galvin wanted to rest the horses. The undead needed no rest, food, or water, but the Harpers and Brenna needed all of those. They cooled themselves in the shade of the citrus trees and talked little during their rest, watching the undead, who stood unmoving like statues, waiting for the order to continue on.

Perhaps Szass Tam’s symbol of a skeletal hand crushing a living one bears truth, Galvin thought as he used his black tabard to wipe the sweat from his face. Maybe the tireless undead would someday rule Faerûn. An army of soldiers who had no human needs and could move as silently as a snake could easily defeat living soldiers.

The druid reached up to pluck a piece of fruit. The ripe fruit was sweet, and the juice ran down his chin when he bit into it. Gazing over their army, he compared it to the number of undead he had seen around and inside Szass Tam’s fortress. He assumed that if the Red Wizard Maligor was making a bid for something, he would have to throw all of his army at it, and it was evident Szass Tam was providing the heroes with only a fraction of his forces to deal with the threat from Maligor. Galvin considered discussing the situation with the centaur, then saw him eyeing the undead.

“We should reach Amruthar near midnight. We might as well take the undead against the gnolls right away,” the centaur observed. “I want to get this over with as soon as possible. I want…” Wynter stopped and stared into the orchard. His nose twitched. “I’ll be right back.”

The centaur trotted off and disappeared behind a row of large citrus trees. Galvin shrugged and turned to Brenna; she was grimacing at a nearby hill giant. The decomposing creature appeared to leer at her. However, the druid realized, the creature’s expression was caused by its missing upper lip. Galvin sat down beside her.

“We’ll make it through this,” he said reassuringly, placing a hand on her shoulder.

Before she could reply, a scream sliced through the air.

“Wynter!” Galvin shouted, jumping up and racing into the orchard where he had last seen the centaur. Brenna was on his heels, waving her arm frantically behind her, trying to keep the skeletons from following.

As Galvin cut through the trees, he saw Wynter standing motionless beneath a large citrus tree. Wrapped around the centaur’s legs and the base of the tree was a thick length of light green vine. Dark green buds and ivylike leaves covered much of the plant, and bright yellow flowers splashed with purple dotted the vines. The heavy scent of musk filled the air.

The druid drew his blade and dashed forward, slashing at the nearest vine. The weapon sunk halfway into the pulpy tendril, releasing a dark red sap, and he tugged to pull the blade loose. Before he could remove it, however, Brenna pushed him and fell to the ground on top of him. Over their heads, the druid saw one of the yellow flowers spray a purple mist of pollen at the spot where he had been standing. The fragrance was overpowering, an inviting musk that seemed to encourage him to come closer to the blooms.

The sorceress rolled off Galvin and tugged on his arm, breaking the enchantment. “Move away, Galvin!” she cried. She pulled again, and the druid crawled away from the plant, backing up so he could keep his eyes on the blossoms.

Wynter had remained still, a silly smile spread across his face and his eyes half-closed. Galvin and Brenna noticed that the vines had released the centaur’s legs and had inched forward, away from the trunk of the tree, pointing all its blossoms toward the druid and the sorceress.

“What is that thing?” Brenna gasped, rising to her feet. The druid stood beside her, scanning the grove for more of the plants.

“I—I don’t know,” he answered. “I’ve never seen anything like it before.” The druid kept his eyes on the blossoms. “Wynter! Wynter, come here.”

“He’s not moving. It’s like he’s in a daze,” Brenna said nervously. “Galvin, look! There’s a skeleton near the tree.”

The druid took a step closer and peered over the thickest vine. He saw a human jawbone and a broken rib cage. “We’ve got to get Wynter out of there!” Galvin closed his eyes and spread his arms out to the sides, palms toward the plant. He began humming softly, then he swayed gently back and forth. After several moments, he opened his eyes and stretched his right hand out toward the plant while continuing to sway. A tendril slowly snaked toward him.

Brenna cringed and considered pulling him back. Then she noticed the vine begin to sway back and forth in time to the druid’s movement. She edged forward and motioned to Wynter, hoping fervently he would move while the druid had the plant distracted.

“Arrh!” Galvin bellowed, dropping to his knees and throwing his hands to his temples. He would have fallen forward to the ground, but the enchantress grabbed him about the waist and hauled him backward, out of the way of another blast of pollen. Brenna dragged him several feet back, until she was certain the plant couldn’t reach them.

The druid gasped, shook his head back and forth as if to clear it, then looked up at her. “It … it was human.” Galvin was almost breathless. “I spoke with it. I told it to release Wynter.”

“And … ?” Brenna coaxed, glancing back toward the still entranced centaur. The vines were slowly winding themselves around his legs; one was wrapping itself about Wynter’s waist, edging its way under his armor.

“The plant was a yellow musk zombie, like some of those creatures we have with us,” Galvin went on. “Somehow when the zombie died, it turned into this. Brenna, we’ve got to get Wynter out before the plant turns him into a zombie!”

“I’ll get help,” Brenna called as she rushed down an aisle between the citrus trees.

Weaponless, the druid advanced once more on the plant, this time intent on wrestling with it. A large vine slithered forward, and he pounced on it like a cat. Thrusting his booted heel against the vine, he pulled, breaking off a piece of the thing, only to find his chest coated with the reddish sap that spurted from the severed vine.

He glanced up just in time to see another vine—this one covered with the yellow flowers—arc toward him. The druid rolled to the side, avoiding multiple blasts of the pollen, and neared the vine where his sword was lodged. With one strong pull, his blade came free, and he leaped backward just in time to avoid a whiplike tentacle.

The air in the grove smelled strongly of musk, sweet and heavy. Galvin was finding it hard to concentrate and the blossoms were increasingly inviting. In a daze, he stepped forward.

When Brenna returned with a dozen skeletons in tow, she saw Galvin standing motionless a few feet from the trunk of the plant, one of the tendrils inching up his leg. Another vine was creeping up the centaur’s chest, over his armor. Still another had wrapped itself around Wynter’s head and was poking a tendril into the centaur’s helmet, where the visor stood open.

“Kill it!” the enchantress ordered, pointing at the plant. The skeletons plodded forward, unmindful of the pollen bursts that quickly spurted out toward them.

The bony fingers of the undead skeletons tore into the vines, tugging at the pulpy tissue and pulling the tendrils free from the centaur and the druid. Brenna watched as the plant fought the skeletons, extricating its own roots and using them as whips against the undead creatures.

The plant’s attacks were futile. While it could knock one or two of the skeletons down with a flailing vine, the undead creatures quickly rose again and began to beat upon the plant once more.

Galvin blinked his eyes, roused from the plant’s power by the sound of clinking bones. For a second, he stared at the scene, then dashed forward with his blade.

It took nearly half an hour for the skeletons and Galvin to kill the plant. Even after it was dead, the undead creatures persisted in pulling it apart and pummeling it until Brenna called them off. Wynter had remained like a statue throughout the battle, oblivious to the plant and his rescuers.

Galvin picked his way through the pulpy mass to the centaur’s side. The druid reached up and pushed the centaur’s helmet from his head, revealing a bloody circular patch on Wynter’s temple. Green ooze was mixed with the blood, indicating that the plant had made the wound.

“Wynter. Wynter!” Galvin urged. The druid ran his hand along his friend’s long back, then nudged the centaur’s arm.

The centaur slowly blinked and cast his face down sluggishly at the druid. “Who—who are you?” his deep voice queried.

“Wynter, don’t you recognize us?” Brenna hurried to the centaur’s side. “I’m Brenna, remember? This is your friend, Galvin. Are you all right?”

The centaur reached his hand up to his wounded head, his fingers feeling the blood. “Galvin? Brenna?” he repeated in a childish tone.

“Yes,” the druid coaxed. “Don’t you remember us?”

“Are we going to play? I’d like to play now.”

“Wynter!” Galvin barked. “Snap out of this!”

“Don’t yell. I’m sorry,” the centaur apologized sheepishly. “Can we play later?”

“Yes, later,” Brenna cut in. “But you have to come with us first. We have work to do. We’ll play later.”

The centaur seemed satisfied and reached his hand down to take Brenna’s. The enchantress led him from the orchard, with Galvin and the skeletons falling in behind.

When they had rejoined the undead army, Brenna mounted her horse and looked back uncertainly at Galvin. The centaur stood behind the druid, a silly grin spreading across his face as he scrutinized one of his gauntlets.

“Let’s get moving,” the druid said in a businesslike manner, his concerned expression contrasting with his tone. “We’ll have to watch Wynter closely; he’s like a child. Gods, what made him wander off into that orchard?”

“The plant,” the sorceress said simply. “He must have caught a whiff of that pollen.”

“Then we need to be doubly careful. Maybe there are more of the things nearby.” The druid glanced forlornly at his Harper friend.

“I’ve seen spells do things like this,” Brenna offered as she scrutinized Wynter’s face. “They make people feebleminded, cause them to loose their sanity, become useless. The spells are usually only temporary.”

“And this … ?”

“I don’t know,” she said uncertainly. “If he doesn’t come to his senses, maybe we can find someone in Amruthar to help him.”

“And if not?”

Brenna frowned and shifted position in her saddle.

The procession resumed its march toward Maligor’s tower.

High in a tower room, Maligor was too preoccupied to magically cast his vision about looking for the reactions of others to his gnoll troops. Had he not been so preoccupied, he might have received a hint that Szass Tam was sending an undead army to Amruthar. He was taking for granted that the gnolls’ presence was causing the city’s wizards to add to their own defenses. He hoped all the nearby Red Wizards were paying attention to his gnolls.

Delirious with himself, excited about this night’s activities and his impending control of the Thayvian gold mines, Maligor was unable to stand still. He paced in his library, twirling a long strand of black hair around and around his right index finger until it hung alongside his face in a limp spiral. He wanted to relax… needed to relax. But he also needed his wits about him, so he kept away from the wine cabinet—a most difficult task.

He continued to pace, mentally rehearsing his impending sermon to the gnolls. He had decided last night that he would address them all prior to their upcoming battle. Asp was out of the picture as far as his gnolls were concerned. The spirit naga had served her function in the army, training the gnolls well. The army was to her credit, Maligor forced himself to admit. She was so power-hungry that she saw disciplined troops as a way to improve her own image and increase her standing. And the Red Wizard was certain she believed that taking another wizard’s land for Maligor meant she would be tossed some juicy scraps.

“Simpleton,” he said, thinking of the beautiful naga, who was oblivious to what was transpiring around her. He would enjoy putting Asp in her place while using her to complete the greatest scheme in Thay’s recent history. Nagas were usually creatures who dwelled in ruins, caverns, and other such desolate places. The mines would fit her well and remind her of her place in the workings of the country.

“What is going on?” Asp hissed, slithering through the doors she had forcefully thrown open, leaving two startled guards shaking behind her. “The gnolls aren’t following my orders! They refuse to march! The army was to move this morning!”

Maligor glared at the guards for allowing his meditations to be interrupted. Then he turned his anger on Asp.

“What is going on is none of your concern, naga!” the Red Wizard barked. “I don’t take into my confidence snake-women who have no respect for me, who burst into my room uninvited. I warned you before about your audacity. Now you will suffer for it. Because of your recent tantrums, I have decided to take the army away from you. You won’t be leading them anywhere.”

“Nooooo!” Asp’s scream cut through the air like the cries of one of the wizard’s tortured prisoners. “Maligor, no! You can’t mean this! Look at everything I’ve done for you!”

Her shrill voice drew the attention of the guards, who entered the room prepared to defend Maligor. A stern glance from the wizard kept them at the ready, yet they did not move. In the hall beyond, the Red Wizard heard the pounding of footsteps. More guards were coming to his aid.

“The gnolls! They’re battle-ready! I’m responsible for that! I’ve taught them how to fight, how to defend themselves, how to wage war with something besides their filthy claws! You have one of the best-trained armies in all of Thay! And it’s my doing. My doing, Maligor!”

Maligor smiled thinly at her tirade and let her rant on until she was nearly out of breath. Her once porcelain-pale face was red with rage.

“You know nothing about war!” she ranted, spitting out the words, her reeking saliva spattering on Maligor’s robes. “You can’t take away the glory that is rightfully mine!”

More guards streamed into the room, a dozen of them with their longswords drawn. They held their position and watched Maligor and Asp, waiting for the naga to attack him.

“I’ve earned the right to lead them! You can’t take that away from me! Maligor, please!” Asp had difficulty forcing the last word out from her throat; it made her appear weak in front of the Red Wizard’s guards. “Don’t do this to me.”

“Don’t worry, Asp,” Maligor said in soothing tones that coaxed some of the pink away from her cheeks. “Don’t think that I would take all of that away from you.

“I’ve already done it.”

“Nooo!” she screamed again, rising on her snake’s tail to her full height.

In response, half the guards rushed forward, grabbing her hands and tail. She struggled, sending two of them flying across the polished marble floor, then stopped, knowing that even if she defeated the guards, Maligor could kill her.

“Leave us,” the Red Wizard ordered the guards. “But stay close at hand in the event the snake-woman presents a problem.”

Asp’s chest rose and fell quickly, and her eyes narrowed in hatred to paper-thin slits. She eased back on her tail so she would be shorter than the wizard. It was the only token of respect she was willing to afford him at the moment.

The wizard paced in front of her in slow, measured steps, then turned abruptly and his hands shot forth from his robe. A green bolt of light ran from the middle finger on his left hand to the chamber’s door. The door frame glowed softly.

“These words are not for the guards. The spell will keep them from hearing anything,” Maligor explained. “My plans are for your ears only. It is time to let you in on my true goal.”

Asp blanched, and her eyes widened with a dawning of comprehension. “But the gnolls … ?” she began.

“Are just a ruse,” he finished. “Although I actually am quite pleased you trained them so well. They definitely are a convincing deception.”

The spirit naga gritted her teeth. “You used me! How could you have let me put everything into training the army, to let me think I would lead them in battle? How could you do this to me? I’m loyal to you, and not without power. I thought you cared about me.”

“My dearest Asp, it’s true that I care about you—as much as I am capable of caring. And I certainly care about your abilities.”

He padded to the room’s largest window; it afforded an exquisite view of the land on which the gnolls were encamped.

“They do look magnificent.” He spoke to her as he continued to watch his soldiers mill about. “And … perhaps they will be successful fighting a lesser Red Wizard, and I will win all the way around. Although if they win, I have promised Szass Tam a share of the spoils.”

“Szass Tam is involved in this?”

“No, not really. He’s just interested. He’s been watching the gnolls, and I led him to believe the gnolls were going after someone’s land. I think I recall offering him half if he didn’t interfere.”

“Then if I am not to lead the gnolls, what do you intend for me?” she hissed softly.

“You will play a role,” he stated evenly, still watching his troops.

“And if I choose not to?” she posed nervously.

“You have no choice—at least not if you wish to live and have any power in Thay. I need you, Asp, and I don’t want to kill you, because in a way I am fond of you. But if you won’t help me willingly, I can find a magical way to force your cooperation. Then when my plan is finished, I will have to eliminate you.”

“Of course,” she agreed. The spirit naga knew Maligor couldn’t afford to release someone who had been in his confidence for several years. “It seems I have no choice. I will help you. But I do not have to like it. Or you.”

The Red Wizard moved away from the windows, drew the curtains closed, and strode to a stiff-backed, carved wooden chair. He unceremoniously sat in it; his younger body didn’t require being pampered by soft cushions. Asp slinked to his side like a petulant child.

“It will be glorious, beautiful Asp. My plan is golden.” He straightened himself, placing his shoulders squarely against the chair back. “Do you know much about the tharchions in Thay? Their influence, positions, appearances?”

“I know about some of them, Maligor—from reputation and pictures only. I am more knowledgeable about the other Red Wizards and their forces.”

Maligor noticed that the naga had dropped the “my lord” when she addressed him. The lack of respect bothered him, and he would correct her attitude later. For the time being, he would let her be, knowing she had lost enough pride and dignity for one day.

“There is one tharchion in particular to concern ourselves with. He is nearly forty and squat, but he has a broad and sturdy frame. His body fits his place of work. The tharchion has a husky, barrel-like chest. Although he is clean-shaven on his head and face, wisps of black hair can be seen under his arms and just above his breastbone.” Maligor’s description was detailed and precise.

“Despite the tharchion’s high position in Thay, he chooses to paint his head, like many of the women in Amruthar and Eltabar, rather than suffer permanent tattoos. The principal design on his head is a pale orange, four-taloned hand.”

“The symbol of Malar, the Beastlord,” Asp interjected.

“He wears other symbols, too,” Maligor added, “but I’m afraid he was sweating rather profusely, afraid of my gnolls and of being in my dungeon. Unfortunately the paint ran and I couldn’t make them out.”

“You have a tharchion in your dungeon?” The naga was astonished. She was keen on Thayvian politics and goings-on, far more knowledgeable than she would admit to Maligor. But she hadn’t heard of any tharchion disappearing.

“Had. When I was finished with him, the gnolls ate him. His bones are scattered along the escarpment. So, no, I don’t have a tharchion in my dungeons. Now, to continue with my description.

“His clothes were well made and in good repair, but they were dirty, covered with dust and powdered rock from walking about in the mines.”

“The tharchion the Council of Zulkirs assigned to oversee Thay’s gold mines! You killed him?”

“I need you to look like him.” Maligor waited a moment to let Asp absorb everything. “In fact, I need you to look just like him—close enough that you could fool his wife, the slaves under his charge, and the mine workers. I know you have the ability to do that.”

Asp glared at him. “There’s been no news of the tharchion’s disappearance. Someone has to know.”

“I don’t think so,” Maligor continued, pleased with himself. “You see, the council thinks he’s outside of Thay. Well, his bones are, at least. Let’s see what you can do.”

The spirit naga backed away from his chair and concentrated. It was difficult for her because her mind was filled with questions. The transformation took longer than usual. All spirit nagas possessed the innate ability to change their appearance to human or demi-human bodies, although Asp only did so on Maligor’s orders. She found the forms distasteful and at a disadvantage because they had legs instead of a tail.

Her beautiful features dissipated, running from her body like melting wax. She stood before Maligor a faceless, limbless column of flesh that began to take on new features. A head emerged from the column, bald and with pudgy cheeks. Eyelashes sprouted from the flesh over emerging, round eyes. Bulges appeared on the face and molded themselves into ears, a nose, and pale, bulbous lips. An age spot materialized below her left cheek—Asp remembered seeing that on a painting of the tharchion.

The transformation continued down the length of her body. A chest formed and became broader. Flab appeared along her midsection, and patches of black hair sprouted just above the breastbone and beneath the figure’s flabby arms. The column of flesh separated below the man’s groin, becoming stocky legs ending in short, wide feet.

The physical changes made, the naga created clothes—plain but functional, trappings she imagined someone like the tharchion would wear in the mines. The clothes looked like cloth and would feel like material to the touch, but because they were part of her body, they could not be removed. If necessary, she could polymorph them to appear different—sweat-stained perhaps, or of fine quality if the tharchion had to meet important guests.

“Excellent!” Maligor crowed with delight. “That’s very close. You’ll have to make a few adjustments here and there. His earlobes hung lower, I recall, and his fingers were shorter and thicker. I’ll give you a mental image of the man in a little while, and you can make the necessary changes before we leave.”

The naga had recovered a fraction of her pride and enough courage to pursue answers to her questions. “Tell me what this is about, Maligor. I know now it has something to do with the mines, but if you take the gnolls up there, they won’t have a chance. Every wizard in the area will put his forces against you, especially the other zulkirs. The mines have been set up so no one wizard can control them. Your gnolls won’t have a chance.”

“You don’t listen well, do you, dearest Asp? I told you the gnolls are after a wizard’s land. There are enough gnolls to attract the attention of the nearby wizards. The gnolls will keep everyone occupied while we make our bid for the mine. No one will even notice.”

Then Maligor told her of the multitude of darkenbeasts that would leave at dark when all eyes were on the gnolls.

“We’ll leave with them, you and I. It will be truly glorious.”

“A wonderful plan,” Asp admitted with a hint of sarcasm. “But you will eventually be found out. If you take control of the mines—and even if you set me up as the tharchion—someone will notice when the gold goes into your pockets and the country gets nothing. Then you’ll be undone.”

Maligor beamed. He had been waiting to unravel the meat of his scheme.

“The country will be undone. But it will take time. Dear Asp, if everything goes well—and I am certain it will—no one in Thay will be the wiser that there has been any change in the operation of the mine. You see, with you in place, business will go on as usual, and the country will continue to have a steady stream of gold filling its coffers. However, during the next several years, we will skim the mined gold—in increasing amounts as the next decade draws to a close. You will claim that the veins are beginning to thin out, and all the slaves and workers who will be in my control will agree with you. And if any zulkirs care to investigate, we will use magic to hide certain rich tunnels. They will believe you, and we will become rich.

“Nor do I intend to stop there. You see, the wizard Maligor will not have made any bids for power during those years, possibly crushed from the defeat of his gnoll troops in their attempt to wrestle land from a young illusionist. Of course, I will have to fabricate another story if they really do take the land. Perhaps the wizard Maligor was satisfied with that expansion and has no plans for any other.”

Asp continued to listen, fascinated by the scheme that was sounding more and more plausible.

“However, the wizard Maligor will have been researching magic—alchemical spells that will turn lead into gold. The research will be successful, using our pocketed gold as proof. And my alchemical achievement will be a boon to Thay’s economy. The country will have gold once more. Of course, to get the gold, other Red Wizards will have to come under my influence. In the end, I will be the most powerful Red Wizard in Thay. Nothing will stand in my way.”

“And what of me? What will happen to me?”

The Red Wizard’s face softened slightly and he leaned close to Asp.

“Your domain will be the mines, dark and dismal as they may seem to you. But it will not be forever. You will have a share in all of this, I promise. Every great man needs his queen.”

Maligor was relieved that Asp appeared to be accepting that story. He would keep her with him as long as she proved useful. If she became too hotheaded and belligerent, however, he would have to find another naga.

“The plan is wonderful,” she hissed. “I had wanted glory at the head of an army, but the subtlety of this intrigues and excites me. When do we move?”

Maligor grasped her pudgy male hands as he rose from the chair. He couldn’t bring himself to embrace her while she was in the guise of the tharchion.

“The gnolls will move out tonight, about an hour after the sun sets. Since it will be dark, it will take a substantial amount of effort on the parts of the wizards to follow them and guess their intended target. Then, with all eyes on them, I will loose the darkenbeasts, creating a low-lying fog to cover their exodus and casting spells of silence to hide their cries. I have more darkenbeasts, too, not far from here. There are more than enough to capture the mines.”

Asp appeared puzzled. “And how will we reach the mines?”

“Magic,” Maligor replied. “We will fly, too. Then we will sit back and watch my creatures do their work.”

“You are brilliant, Maligor,” Asp said, her tharchion eyes shining.

The Red Wizard left her several hours later to meet with the gnoll army. As the sun set, he stood before the dog-men, resplendent in his youthful appearance and scarlet robe. Maligor paced grandly in front of them until he was satisfied all eyes were on him.

“We will move soon!” the Red Wizard began. “The night is our ally. You can see in the blackness, but your adversary cannot.”

Asp, in her tharchion guise, watched Maligor from the shadowed recesses beyond the tower window. She couldn’t help envying the admiration he was receiving from her gnolls.

“We are unstoppable!” she heard Maligor cry. She stared at the growing enthusiasm in the gnoll army. “With your strength, your sword arms, and your courage, you shall tread over the opponent’s forces, grinding them beneath your hairy heels.”

The wizard’s voice quickened and rose. The words carried to even the gnoll soldiers gathered at the back of the throng. “The ground will turn red from your victims’ blood. The sky will turn black from the flock of ravens drawn to feast upon the corpses of our enemies. Victory is ours!” he screamed.

“For Maligor!” the gnolls replied as one.

The Red Wizard cast his arm to the northeast. “There, near Eltabar. Take the lands of the young Red Wizard. Crush him utterly!”

The gnolls beat their weapons upon their shields, creating a din of clanging metal that drowned out the rest of the Red Wizard’s victory speech.

The dog soldiers marched, and all eyes from Amruthar were on them.

Maligor ran into his tower as he mumbled the words of an incantation. He continued mouthing the spell as he raced down the stone steps to join his darkenbeasts below. By the time the spell was completed, a thick fog had blanketed the land around his tower and the western edge of Amruthar.

The darkenbeasts felt the wizard’s excitement and began to soar about their subterranean chamber, faster and faster, on their leathery wings. Maligor’s mind reached out, contacting one, then another, then a dozen, then still more until his thoughts were intertwined with all of his macabre creatures.

The darkenbeasts’ cries spiraled upward from the chamber, unnerving everyone in the Red Wizard’s tower. Louder and louder the noise grew, until Maligor masked the cacophony with an enchantment of silence.

Then he rushed up the steps, the darkenbeasts first following, then overtaking him. Higher and higher the hellish creatures flew, until they reached the ground floor.

“Throw open the doors!” Maligor commanded as he reached the entry hall. But the guards couldn’t hear him because of the forced silence. The wizard waved his arms to indicate what he wanted.

The guards, quaking in terror, fumbled with the latches in their attempt to comply. Maligor ran ahead of his cloud of hovering darkenbeasts to wrench the doors open himself. So elated was the Red Wizard that he neglected to punish the fearful guards.

While the wizards and the city of Amruthar watched the gnoll soldiers, the darkenbeasts flew unnoticed. No one heard or saw them, and Maligor’s spirits soared on their wings.

Asp, growing accustomed to her new form, waddled to Maligor’s side and gazed up into his face.

The Red Wizard grasped her pudgy hand and muttered a few words. Then the pair vanished in a wisp of smoke.