Unclean

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

17 Kythorn, the Year of Risen Elfkin

Aoth took a swallow of beer, belched, and said, "One nice thing about the undead: When they occupy a fortress, they don't drink up all the ale."

In truth, he had good reason to be glad of it. So many priests had died when Szass Tam's torches exploded that after the battle, healing magic had been in short supply. As a captain and war mage, he hadn't had any difficulty or qualms about commandeering the services of a cleric to knit his broken bones and Brightwing's too, but bruises, however painful, were a different matter. Nymia and many other officers he'd known wouldn't have hesitated to order up a second dose of healing to ease them, but he couldn't, not when there were legionnaires likely to die for want of a priest's attention. He simply bore the discomfort as best he could, and alcohol helped, as it helped so many things in life.

Seated on the other side of the shabby little parlor that comprised the greater portion of their billet, methodically honing a dagger, Bareris raised his head and asked, "How soon, do you think, will we head up into the mountains?"

Aoth sighed. His new friend's response had nothing to do with what he himself had said, but at least he'd answered. Half the time, when someone spoke to him, he didn't.

"It's hard to say. You know as well as I do, an army needs time to put itself back in order after a big, hard fight, and when the tharchions are ready to attack this underground fortress you tell of, it might be easier to reach it through the portal in Delhumide."

"No." The dagger whispered against the whetstone. "The necromancers know an intruder found and used it already. I doubt it's there anymore."

"Well, you could be right." In actuality, Aoth wasn't certain Nymia and Milsantos would decide to go hunting "Xingax" and his cohorts by any route. The zulkirs hadn't ordered them to, a march over the Sunrise Mountains would be difficult, and who knew if Bareris could even find the wizards' lair again? But he had a hunch the bard wasn't ready to hear that.

Bareris glowered. "You sound as if you don't even want to go."

"I won't want to go anywhere for the next couple of days. You wouldn't either, if you'd come out of the battle banged up like me. Anyway, I'm a legionnaire. I go where my tharchion sends me."

"What about Chathi?"

"I liked her. I miss her, but it won't keep me from living the rest of my life. She wouldn't want that. I doubt your Tammith would have wanted it for you, either."

"You don't understand. You can't. You were only with Chathi a short time. My whole life centered on Tammith."

"It's grand to love and be loved, but a man needs to stand at the center of his own life."

"I only wanted to make her happy, yet I failed her in everything." Bareris laughed. "By the Harp, that's a mild way of putting it, isn't it? Failed her. I destroyed her."

"A priest would say you set her soul free. Certainly, you did everything you could for her. It's a miracle you were even able to track her."

"If I'd never left Bezantur-"

"And if I'd figured out the torches were dangerous a few breaths sooner, Chathi might still be alive. Whenever things go wrong, you can always find an if, but what's the point of brooding over it? You're only torturing yourself."

Bareris stood up and reached for his sword belt, which hung on a peg on the wall with Aoth's lance leaning beside it. "I'm going for a walk."

"My friend, if I've said anything to offend you, I'm sorry."

Bareris shook his head. "It isn't that. It's just…" He slid the newly sharpened knife into its sheath then buckled on his weapons. "I just need to be alone."

Malark was as tired as he could recall ever being, even during the first months of his monastic training, and accordingly eager to reach his destination. Even so, he brought his flying horse down to the trail for the final leg of the journey up the valley. If the undead were still in possession of the Keep of Thazar, he'd be at least slightly less conspicuous approaching at ground level, and if the legionnaires had succeeded in retaking the place, he didn't want them mistaking him for a wraith. By now, they were likely wary of most anything that flew.

His steed snorted, expressing its displeasure at descending. When first created, it hadn't displayed emotion, nor had its black coat felt so much like actual horsehair. Malark wondered if, over time, simply by virtue of being perceived and employed, an illusory creature could become more real.

The question intrigued him, but now was not the time to ponder it. He'd do better to focus his attention on his surroundings, lest some skeleton or dread warrior notice him before he spotted it.

He crested a rise and the castle came into view, with a portion of the curtain wall demolished and an army, or the overflow of one, camped around it. He smiled, for the force was plainly composed of living men and orcs. Minute with distance though they were, he could see them moving freely about in the sunlight, and downwind, he could smell their cook fires and latrines. In addition to which, the banners of Thay, Pyarados, and Thazalhar flew from spires inside the fortress.

He cantered on into the encampment, where, it seemed to him, a general air of lethargic exhaustion prevailed. Still, it wasn't long before someone realized he was a stranger and came to ask his business.

"I'm an emissary from Tharchion Flass," he answered, "and I need to see Nymia Focar and Milsantos Daramos immediately."

Nymia had heard reports of Dmitra Flass's outlander lieutenant but had never met him before, so she studied him curiously. Despite what had evidently been a wearisome journey, he kneeled without any show of stiffness or soreness, and the regard of his striking green eyes bespoke intellect and self-possession. Her initial impression was that he appeared as competent as his reputation indicated.

"Rise," said Milsantos, "and tell us your business." He and Nymia had taken a room near the top of the central keep to serve as their command center, and weather permitting, threw open the casements to admit fresh air and illumination. This afternoon the old man sat in a chair near one of the west windows, and the golden sigils on his breastplate-Nymia wondered fleetingly if, when on campaign, he ever dispensed entirely with the weight, heat, and general discomfort of plate armor-gleamed in a shaft of sunlight.

"Thank you," said Malark. "I understand you've been busy retaking the valley and castle. May I ask how much you know about what's been happening elsewhere in Thay?"

"Szass Tam," said Milsantos, "asked his fellow zulkirs to make him regent, but they declined."

Malark smiled. "I'm glad to find you so well informed. It will save us at least a little time, and we don't have much to spare, but I imagine there are facts you haven't had the opportunity to learn. Szass Tam manipulated recent events to increase the likelihood of the other zulkirs acceding to his request. Among other machinations, he murdered Druxus Rhym and Aznar Thrul, tampered with the transmuters' election, betrayed a Thayan army to the Rashemi, and fomented riots in the major cities. All deeds that furthered his plan in one way or another."

No, Nymia thought, I don't want to hear this. She and Milsantos had defeated the undead marauders Szass Tam's followers had created as the lich himself had charged her to do, even though it meant taking necromancers captive and destroying their dread-warrior servants. But in the aftermath, everything had seemed to be all right. Though Szass Tam almost certainly knew what the armies of Pyarados and Thazalhar had accomplished, he hadn't come rushing to exact retribution. She'd dared to hope she might actually emerge from this mad, paradoxical situation unscathed.

Yet here was the small man with the spot on his chin telling her secrets she was better off not knowing and almost certainly with the intent of enmeshing her in new dangers and ambiguities. She could have joyfully bashed in his skull with her mace and chucked the corpse out one of the casements.

Frowning, Milsantos fingered a rune on his armor. "We didn't know all that, but it doesn't surprise me, because we have discovered that Red Wizards of Necromancy created and directed the raiders we've been fighting."

Nymia wanted to bash him too. Why did you tell him that? she thought. It's bad enough that we know, worse to prattle about it to one of Dmitra's agents.

"That makes sense," said Malark. "Initially, it gave him another opportunity to play the savior, and after his fellow zulkirs rejected his proposal, it likewise served the next phase of his scheme."

"You speak," said Milsantos, "as if you know what that is."

"I do," said Malark. "After the vote, when it became clear Szass Tam was still playing his games, Tharchion Flass gave me the task of figuring out what his new purpose is. In time, it occurred to me that in the wake of their botched invasion of Rashemen, he likely commands the complete loyalty of Tharchions Kren and Odesseiron, and that reflection led to a rather alarming supposition. Employing an unnaturally swift steed, I rode far to learn if it could possibly be true. It is. I discovered the legions of Gauros and Surthay, newly augmented by a massive infusion of undead warriors, marching south."

"You're telling us," Milsantos said, "that since his fellow zulkirs refused to vote Szass Tam a throne, he means to seize it by force of arms."

"Yes, and now your army, which includes the Burning Braziers, is on the wrong side of the realm to oppose him."

Milsantos rose and gestured to a map of Thay spread on one of the trestles tables. "Show me the northerners' route."

Malark advanced to the table, and nerves taut as bowstrings, Nymia reluctantly stood and approached for a better look as well.

Using his fingertip, the outlander traced a path along the vellum chart. "As best I can reconstruct it, they swung west through the sparsely inhabited part of Eltabbar and have now headed south into Lapendrar."

Milsantos nodded. "In their place, I'd do the same. Pyras Autorian is loyal to Szass Tam, but it would still be arduous to drag an army up the Second Escarpment, across the peaks of the Thaymount, then down the cliffs once more. You'd be seen, too, by someone hostile to your intentions. Too many Red Wizards have estates in the highlands, and on the south half of the plateau, the fiefs and towns are packed in too close for a host to sneak through."

"That's true," Nymia said, "but surely someone noticed them marching through Lapendrar. Hezass Nymar may not have a strong enough army to oppose them, but why didn't he warn the council of their coming? Why did one of Dmitra's agents have to venture forth and discover this for himself?"

"I can hazard a guess," said Malark. "Hezass Nymar dances to Szass Tam's piping as well, though maybe not to the point of lending his own relatively meager forces to the lich's scheme. That I simply couldn't tell, and Szass Tam may not want them anyway. Someone has to hold the Aglarondan border. But at least to the extent of granting free passage to Tharchions Odesseiron and Kren and keeping their progress a secret." He smiled. "The priest's probably glad he chose to govern from Escalant instead of residing in Lapendrar proper. If the necromancers fail, he can claim afterward that he didn't know what was going on."

Milsantos grunted. "If we're going to speculate, let's do it about something important. Where are Kren and Odesseiron headed? It can't be the capital, or they would have circled east instead of west. It has to be Bezantur. Take it and you pretty much control the whole south of the realm and all access to the sea. You've taken a giant step toward winning your war almost before it's begun."

"Tharchion Flass agrees with you," said Malark, "particularly since the city and all Priador are in a vulnerable condition. Their tharchion is dead and I'm informed that now the commander of his legion and city guard is too. Apparently the Shadowmasters assassinated him. Szass Tam must have hired them."

"What I want to know," Nymia said, "is why you, a servant of Dmitra Flass, have ridden all the way to the eastern edge of Thay to tell us these things. The last I heard, she too was Szass Tam's faithful follower."

"Until recently, yes. She's since decided the prudent course is to cast her lot with six zulkirs rather than one."

"Still," said Milsantos, "that doesn't quite explain what you're doing here."

"If Priador can't defend itself, someone else has to."

"Meaning us?" Nymia asked. "You said it yourself: We're on the wrong side of the country."

"But you're prepared to march and fight, seeing as how you've been doing it for tendays already. Your men know how to combat the undead. Your have the most formidable war priests in Thay at your disposal.

"In contrast, many another legion is still nestled in the garrison it's occupied more or less peacefully ever since the new trade policy began. After all Szass Tam has done to win their regard, many a soldier reveres or fears him and is reluctant to take up arms against him. Indeed, at this point, it's an open question just how many tharchions will stand with the council."

Milsantos snorted. "Your argument isn't as strong as you imagine. We fought hard to retake this fortress. We'd benefit greatly from a few more days of rest. On top of which, the fire priests are dead. The arms Szass Tam furnished turned against them."

Malark smiled in apparent admiration. "Thus depriving us of perhaps our most potent weapon against specters and the like."

"Still," the old man said, "it may be that you've come to the right people. Let's assume that in time the council can field a sufficient force to oppose the northerners. The immediate task, then, is to slow down the enemy advance and keep them from reaching Bezantur before that happens. Nymia, your griffon riders have the mobility and skills required."

"Damn it!" Nymia exploded, then caught herself. It was neither dignified nor prudent for two tharchions to argue in front of an inferior, particularly one who'd no doubt report the discussion word for word to one of their compatriots. "Messenger, wait outside."

"Of course." Malark bowed, withdrew, and closed the door behind him.

"I take it," Milsantos said, "that you don't care for my suggestion."

"How dare you assume," she gritted, "without a word of discussion between us, that I have any intention of fighting Szass Tam?"

"Ah," he said. "Perhaps that was presumptuous of me, and I apologize, but I think Dmitra Flass's notion is sound: Six zulkirs are stronger than one."

"Even when the one is Szass Tam?"

"Well, we can hope so."

"Even when we know for certain he already controls Gauros, Surthay, High Thay, and Lapendrar, and we don't know if any other tharchions except Dmitra-assuming we can even trust that duplicitous slut-mean to oppose him? What if we march against him, and it turns out we're the only ones?"

Milsantos smiled. "It will be inconvenient to say the least. Still, we'll have the other six zulkirs and the orders of wizardry they command."

"Until some of them deem it advantageous to switch sides. You know what they're like."

"Yes. I do. So what's your thought?"

"It's not as if the outlander brought us actual orders from the council. Despite the airs she puts on, Dmitra is our peer, not our superior."

"True. Apparently she begrudged the time it would have taken to palaver with the zulkirs."

"That means we aren't obligated to do anything. We can stay put here in the east and let everybody else slaughter one another in Priador."

Milsantos pulled a wry face. "It's tempting. You and I have survived a long while by keeping our noses out of the zulkirs' squabbles, but I fear it's not possible anymore. The old rivalries have flared into actual war, and if you don't choose a side, both will regard you as an enemy."

"Let's say you're right. In that case, I want to back the winning side. Just how certain are you it will be the council?"

"To be honest, not certain at all, but I'm willing to play my hunch. In addition to which, I've seen quite a bit of the undead of late, enough to sicken me. I don't want a lich as sole ruler of my homeland."

Nymia sighed. "Nor do I. He unleashed his pet horrors on my tharch, ordered me to dispose of them, then betrayed and crippled our army at the worst possible moment. At this point, I hate and mistrust him too much to support him."

"We're agreed, then."

"Yes, curse you. I can have the Griffon Legion in the air before dusk, but it's going to be a nightmare getting the rest of the army ready for a forced march. We'll be lucky if the wretches don't mutiny." A thought struck her. "We're still holding all those necromancers prisoner. If we try to take them with us, they'll slow us down, and if we leave them behind, lightly guarded, they're apt to escape despite their bonds and gags."

"Then we'll have to kill them."

She ran her hand over her scalp. "Just kill a band of Red Wizards."

Milsantos grinned. "Don't tell me you've never felt the urge."

Squinting, Aoth scrutinized the mountainsides, but it was Brightwing who spotted the would-be travelers and pointed them out to him. Sword swinging at his side, bow slung across his back, Bareris was climbing a narrow, rocky trail. Diminished by sunlight and the absence of combat to the merest suggestion of murk, Mirror flowed along behind him.

Brightwing furled her wings, swooped, and landed in front of them, effectively blocking the path, though that wasn't Aoth's precise intention. At Bareris's back on the valley floor, small as a dollhouse with distance, the Keep of Thazar and the surrounding encampment bustled with activity occasioned by the impending departure. The sight reminded Aoth of an anthill.

"I have men to oversee," he said, "and my own packing to attend to. I don't have time to chase you."

Bareris shrugged. "Then you shouldn't have."

"Should I let you throw your life away? As soon as I realized your belongings were gone, I guessed what you intended, and it's crazy. Even if you can find it again, you can't attack a necromancers' stronghold by yourself."

"I'm not by myself. Mirror decided to stick with me."

"It's still crazy."

"My quarrel is with Xingax and his confederates. If you legionnaires no longer mean to go after them, that's my bad luck, but it doesn't change what I need to do."

"I understand why you want to destroy Xingax, but you should save your fiercest hatred for Szass Tam. He's the one who bears ultimate responsibility for Tammith's transformation. Xingax was simply carrying out his orders."

Bareris's mouth tightened. "I suppose that's true."

"Then come west with the army, idiot! If you want to punish Szass Tam in the only way that folk like us have any hope of hurting him, the time to do it is now. If we don't keep him from taking Bezantur, there'll be no stopping him later. You can hunt down Xingax another day."

Bareris stood pondering for a heartbeat or two then said, "All right. Under one condition."

Aoth snorted. "I go out of my way to keep a lunatic from committing suicide, and he wants to bargain with me. What is it you want?"

"A griffon. Surely there's at least one that lost its master in the battle. Let me fly west with you."

"Have you ever ridden a griffon?"

"No, but you can teach me, and I can use song to establish a bond with my steed. You've seen me do it before."

Now it was Aoth's turn to consider. Bareris-and Mirror-could prove invaluable in the actions to come, but those same skirmishes would be perilous for a novice rider.

"Please," Bareris said. "A moment ago, you called me a madman. I know you were joking, but sometimes I truly do feel as if my mind is going to break. It's not quite as bad when I'm striking blows against those who corrupted Tammith, and I'll fare better fighting alongside you than trudging for days merely hoping for a battle at the end of the trek."

"Very well," said Aoth. "We'll find a masterless griffon and see if you can charm it."

"Which is more," Brightwing said, "than you ever did for me."