Unholy

CHAPTER TEN

21–25 Mirtul, The Year of the Dark Circle (1478 DR)

"It isn't possible," said Samas Kul. Disappointment hadn't robbed him of his appetites, as the buttered roll in his meaty hand and the crumbs scattered down the front of his gorgeous robes attested. But it seemed to Aoth that though the archmage ate and drank as ceaselessly as ever, there was a sullen quality to it instead of the usual gusto. "Break a pattern and you rob it of its arcane virtues. Every apprentice knows that."

"What a pity," Lallara drawled, "that Szass Tam isn't an apprentice."

Samas glared at her. "Do you understand how he did it?"

"No," Lallara said, "but the other Dread Rings are still functional, and so is the device they comprise. We've all verified it. So it's time to stop whining that 'it isn't possible' and figure out what to do next."

Aoth agreed with her. He just hoped there was something to do and that someone would have the cleverness and the will to propose it. He wouldn't have wanted to bet on it.

The Dread Ring of Lapendrar possessed all the amenities of any great castle, including a hall equipped with a round oak table and chairs where lords and officers could palaver. It was here, beneath hanging black-and-scarlet banners adorned with skulls and other necromantic emblems, that the zulkirs, Bareris, and Aoth had assembled for a council of war. And when the sell-sword captain looked around at his companions, it appeared to him that weariness and discouragement had set their stamps on every face.

Or rather, every one but the bard's. Bareris's expression was just as it had been for a hundred years, joyless and haggard but keen as a blade. Aoth had the odd and vaguely resentful thought that for his friend, it was a good thing their plan had failed. Now he had a better excuse to go on hating and fighting.

Everyone sat silently for several heartbeats. Then Samas's throne floated back from the table. "That's it, then. I have treasure to move out of Escalant. I assume the rest of you have your own arrangements to make."

Aoth didn't realize he was going to jump up out of his chair. It just happened, and the seat overturned to bang on the floor behind him. He leveled his spear and said, "You're not running. Not unless we all decide it's the only thing to do."

Samas's face turned a deeper red, and inside its yards of jeweled vestments, his gross body seemed to swell like a frog's. "Are you truly mad enough to try to dictate to me?"

Aoth smiled. "Why not? We're co-commanders, remember? Besides, our cause is too important, and too many of my men gave their lives to get us this far."

"This is on your own head, then." Samas's quicksilver wand writhed out of his sleeve and into his hand like a snake. "Which would you prefer: to turn to smoke or to live on as mindless worm?"

"Surprise me." Aoth roused the power in his spear, and the point glimmered.

"Don't," Lauzoril said, sounding no more forceful than a priggish tutor reproving unruly children. But his voice carried a charge of coercion that balked Aoth-and Samas, too, evidently-like a dash of ice-cold water in the face.

And a good thing, too, for in the aftermath, Aoth realized he didn't truly want to fight Samas, and not because he feared him. The past century had taught him more combat magic than the zulkirs likely comprehended even now. But no matter who won, the duel would accomplish nothing. It was just that Aoth was frustrated, and, selfish and arrogant as they were, the archmages made tempting targets at which to vent his feelings.

He set his spear on the tabletop and inclined his head in the implication of a bow. "Master Kul, I apologize. Obviously, it isn't my place to give you orders. But I ask you to stay at least until we all finish our talk. Surely you can afford that much time."

"Yes," Nevron said, "stay. We insist."

Samas looked around the table, and then his throne floated back to its original position, settling to the floor so gently as to be silent despite its grandiose size and the bulk of the man inside it. Aoth sat back down in his own chair.

Samas took a long drink from his silver goblet. "All right, then. Someone convince me we have something sensible to talk about. Can we seize control of a second Dread Ring?" He glowered at Aoth, and the other zulkirs turned to him as well.

Aoth sighed. "It's unlikely. We lost too much of our strength taking this one. To be honest, we might find it difficult even to reach another Ring. The only way to do it is to march deeper into Thay, and we're almost certain to encounter resistance along the way."

"Then there isn't anything to discuss, and this is just a waste of time."

"Not necessarily," Bareris said.

Aoth felt a flicker of hope. "Do you have an idea?"

"It's not a new one," Bareris said, "but it fits the situation. If we can't destroy the weapon, we have to destroy the creature who intends to wield it."

Nevron snorted. "Assassinate Szass Tam, you mean. You're certainly right that it's not an original notion. Over the decades, I've sent scores of demons and devils to do the job. The Church of Kossuth emptied out its monasteries dispatching Black Flame Zealots. And all to no avail."

"What," replied Bareris, "if all of you-or rather, all of us- were the assassins, and we took the lich by surprise? Wouldn't we have a reasonable chance of overwhelming him, and then finding the vessel where he stores his soul to keep him from rising again?"

"Yes," Lallara said, "and perhaps if we had a net with a long enough handle, and the strength to lift it, we'd have 'a reasonable chance' of scooping stars down from the sky too. But there's no way to take Szass Tam unawares, perhaps no way to get close to him at all. The Citadel is too well guarded, and you can't translate yourself into it."

"What," Bareris asked, "if you already had an ally inside, he had some ability to open portals in space, and he tried to help you come through? Do you think that the four of you, working in concert, could overcome the wards then?"

Lauzoril frowned and laced his fingers together. "Possibly."

"Do we have such an agent in place?" Samas asked.

"Not yet," Bareris said.

"Then what's the point of speculating?"

"Somehow, I'll get myself inside."

"Frankly," Lauzoril said, "that seems unlikely. I'm not sure you could penetrate the defenses even in times of peace, and surely, by now, Szass Tam and his lieutenants are aware of our presence in the realm. They're watching us in one fashion or another."

"I assume so," Bareris said. "That's why I want the army to head for another Dread Ring just as if we actually believed we could lay siege to it successfully. That should mask our true intentions and rivet the foe's attention on you. Meanwhile, Mirror and I will sneak into High Thay by ourselves."

"So," Samas said, "we zulkirs march deeper and deeper into enemy territory, fighting for every mile, lingering dangerously close to the site from which Szass Tam will ultimately send forth waves of death magic. All in the hope that you'll eventually contact us and tell us that somehow, against all rational expectation, you've figured out how to get us into striking distance of the lich."

Bareris smiled. "Pretty much."

"Preposterous."

"I don't particularly like it, either," said Aoth. Indeed, it pained him to imagine the punishment the Brotherhood of the Griffon would endure; only the vision of all-encompassing destruction he'd seen over Veltalar could have induced him to subject them to such an ordeal. "But so far, it's the only plan we've got."

"That isn't so," Samas said. "We zulkirs can be far from here in a heartbeat. You griffon riders also have a good chance of getting clear. If you're concerned about the rest of your troops, then find the coin to put them aboard fast ships, and even they may get away."

"But what if there isn't any such place as 'clear' or 'away'? What if Szass Tam truly can kill the whole world?"

Samas sneered. "If you understood magic as we do, you'd realize that's impossible."

"You all thought it was impossible for the lich to continue with one Ring destroyed too, and look how that worked out. Don't try to tell me you're certain of his limits."

The obese transmuter opened his mouth, then closed it again. In fact, it appeared that Aoth had succeeded in silencing all four zulkirs, for a moment anyway, and despite the circumstances, he found it rather satisfying.

Then Lauzoril said, "Still, if it's a choice between sitting peacefully in Waterdeep and gambling that the tide of death won't reach that far, or staying here fighting the worst the necromancers can throw at us, knowing that at any moment, the Unmaking could commence just a few hundred miles from our location… well, you see my point."

"I do," said Aoth. He reminded himself not to speak of all the innocent lives that would be lost if the zulkirs abandoned them to their fate, because he knew his former masters wouldn't care. Indeed, such an appeal was likely to stir their contempt. "But I thought you all decided that the Wizard's Reach is worth fighting for."

"We did fight for it," Samas said. "We did everything practical. Now it's time to regroup. Maybe the Reach will survive, for despite your pretensions to prophecy, Captain, we still don't actually know that Szass Tam's ritual will do anything at all. And if the Reach does perish, at least we'll still have our lives, much of our wealth, and our magic. In time, we'll acquire new dominions."

"Then run," said Aoth. "By all the Hells, you did it in Bezantur ninety years ago. I don't know why I expected any better of you this time around."

Nevron glared. "Be careful how you speak to us."

"To the Hells with that and with you," Aoth snapped. "Of course, we all see that this is a desperate situation, but you're supposed to be zulkirs of Thay. The greatest of wizards, and warlords on top of that. Bareris is offering you a chance, however dangerous, to take revenge on the creature who betrayed you and cast you down from your high estate, and to reclaim your mastery of the realm. But you're too cowardly to take it. You'd rather play it safe!"

Nevron scowled but found nothing to say in return. For a moment, neither did anyone else. Then Lallara looked to Bareris and asked, "Do you truly believe you can find a way inside the Citadel?"

"I've spent decades slipping in and out of places the necromancers believed impregnable," the bard replied. "So why not Szass Tam's own house?"

"Why not, indeed?" she answered. "All right, I'll go along with your scheme. It's idiotic, but I won't have it said of me that I ran like a rabbit whenever the lich waggled that stupid beard of his in my direction."

"I'll stay too," Nevron said, "because I am a warlord, Captain, with a destiny of conquest greater than you can comprehend. Maybe it's time I start acting the part."

"Then I too will stay for as long as I see a point to it." Lauzoril smiled tightly. "I know the rest of you see me as somewhat… bloodless. But I've hated Szass Tam for a long time. It's enticing to think I might finally get the chance to show him just how much."

Lallara gave Samas a nasty leer. "That leaves you, hog."

"Curse you all," the transmuter said, sweat beading his ruddy brow. "This is madness."

"Oh, probably. But what if you desert us, and then the mad plan works? I hope you don't think we'll tolerate you back in Thay or in the Wizard's Reach, either. By the Seven Shields, I'm not sure I could abide the thought of your continued existence anywhere."

"All right!" Samas snarled. "If you all insist, we can try it and see where we are in a few days."

Once they all had agreed, they had to elaborate on Bareris's basic idea, and that took most of the night. Selune and her trail of glittering Tears had forsaken the sky by the time the council broke up.

Though tired, Aoth felt an impulse to mount the battlements and check for signs of trouble before he sought his bed. Pulling his cloak tight against the cold breeze whistling from the east, he started up the stairs that climbed to the top of the wall, and Bareris followed a step behind him.

"That went all right," said Aoth, "but when we were arguing about what to do, I was surprised you left me to do so much of the talking. After all, you're the eloquent one."

"Since they all came around," Bareris replied, "plainly, you were eloquent enough. Besides, I couldn't talk and hum at the same time."

Aoth stopped and looked around. "I didn't hear any humming."

"Because I did it very softly." Bareris's black eyes suddenly opened wider. "But I swear, you weren't the target!"

"I believe you. I trust you, and even if I didn't, my feelings didn't change. I was resolved to continue the fight before the council ever began. I'm just appalled because those four are zulkirs. More than that, Lauzoril is the master of enchantment, and Lallara, of defensive magic."

"I knew it was risky. Still, I hoped I could give them a little nudge and get away with it."

Aoth took a deep breath. "Well, I won't argue with success. Or claim to be outraged at the thought of manipulating them as callously as they've always exploited anyone under their sway."

"Good. I wouldn't want to part company with bad feelings between us."

"When will you and Mirror split off from the army?"

"As soon as the march is under way."

"I believe the griffon you were riding survived the battle unharmed."

"Thanks, but I don't need him. At this point, any sentry who spots a griffon rider will immediately think of Aoth Fezim and his sellswords. I'll do better to choose another steed from among the ones the enemy kept here in the Ring." A smile came and went on his pallid face. "It was… pleasant to ride a griffon one last time."

"After we destroy Szass Tam, you can ride them whenever you like."

"I think I'll visit the stables now." Bareris turned and headed back down the stairs.

Malark felt a hostile presence lurking on his right. Employing the mental skills he'd learned as a Monk of the Long Death, he ignored it and kept his awareness focused on the silent stretch of tunnel ahead of him. That was where his quarry was likely to appear.

The Watcher, as generations of Red Wizards and their servants had called his invisible and unwanted companion, haunted a section of the catacombs decorated with dingy paintings of scenes from which all the people and animals seemed to have vanished-throne rooms without monarches or courtiers, wedding feasts devoid of bride, groom, guests, and musicians, and forests uninhabited by birds or squirrels. The spirit never actually did anything to mortals who trespassed in its domain. Still, most people found the pressure of its hateful regard so nerve-wracking that they gave this part of the dungeons a wide berth.

To Malark, though, it was no great matter. He actually found himself more distracted by thoughts of his magical twin.

He'd sensed it when his counterpart had died, and he felt a wry sort of envy. He'd wooed death for centuries, to no avail. His twin had needed to exist for only a few days before the greatest of all powers had seen fit to extinguish him. And since the two Malarks had been exactly alike, it was difficult to perceive any sort of justice in the event.

But in light of the destiny he was pursuing, he didn't really mind-unless his double's demise indicated that the unique instrument Szass Tam had created was in jeopardy. At the moment, it must still exist, for Malark was sure he would have sensed its destruction, also. But was it safe? Despite the regent's tutelage, he wasn't a master diviner, and his magical inquiries on the subject yielded ambiguous results. And unfortunately, hiding here in the depths, he had no other way of obtaining information.

He took a breath, let it go, and sought to dismiss the problem from his mind just as he expelled air from his lungs. A warrior could fight only one fight at a time. He'd address other concerns after he won the current battle.

Thanks to his headband, he glimpsed motion at the very limit of his vision. The murky shapes passed quickly from left to right, proceeding north along a passage that intersected the one he was peering down.

Malark waited for another moment after they disappeared, then, making sure to move silently, jumped up and sprinted through the maze of tunnels. The Watcher kept pace with him. No doubt Szass Tam and the vampire knights felt its oppressive stare as keenly as he did, for its nature was such that it was capable of despising multiple intruders at the same time.

Malark came to a branching passage, halted, and listened. He heard nothing and wasn't surprised. The undead moved quietly too, especially when they were hunting.

If he'd needed to recite an incantation and time the final word with the stalkers' appearance in the gloom, that might have posed a problem, but he'd had the foresight to store the spell he required in a ring. When his pursuers, following the trail he'd laid for them, came into view, he extended his arm and breathed the trigger word. A spark erupted from the cabochon ruby set in the gold band and streaked at Szass Tam and his bodyguards.

When it reached the hunters, the spark flared and boomed into an explosion of yellow flame. Malark knew better than to suppose it would do much harm to Szass Tam. The lich was too powerful and too wrapped in protective enchantments. But with any luck, it would incinerate the vampires.

It certainly appeared to. It took Malark an instant to realize he'd glimpsed only two armored bodies breaking apart in the flash.

Which suggested he wasn't the only one capable of trickery. Szass Tam and two of the knights had stayed together in an effort to snare his attention while a third vampire prowled alone in the hope of creeping up on him.

Malark pivoted, and the creature was right behind him. The warrior was just completing the process of changing from wisps of mist to human form, but he already had his sword in his hand. He made a horizontal cut at Malark's torso.

Malark hopped back just far enough to evade the attack, then instantly lunged, cudgel shimmering with destructive power and poised to strike. The guard took a retreat and parried the blow.

As Malark would have expected of a warrior Szass Tam evidently trusted, the vampire was an expert combatant. Not so expert that Malark couldn't defeat him, but the problem was that he couldn't bide his time and wait for an opening. With luck, the fire magic had staggered the archmage, but he'd recover quickly and advance. And if Malark was still stuck here dueling the vampire when his liege lord arrived, Szass Tam would surely strike him down.

Malark murmured the opening words of an incantation and flicked the ebony wand through a star-shaped figure. Fangs bared, the vampire sprang in and made a head cut. The move was virtually a reflex for any seasoned warrior: If the wizard you're fighting starts reciting a spell, hit him before he can finish. Spoil the magic.

Malark shifted inside the arc of the cut, and the blade fell harmlessly behind him. Remembering that he mustn't shout-Szass Tam might well recognize his battle cry-he focused his strength, stiffened his fingers inside their clawed demon-hide glove, and drove them through the vampire's breastplate and ribs and into his chest. He gripped the creature's cold, motionless heart and ripped it out. The knight collapsed.

Malark dropped the heart, ran back the way he'd come, and held the hand with the ruby ring behind him. The gem dropped sparks as if they were caltrops, which then flowered into sheets of bright, crackling flame. The fires extended from wall to wall and might slow Szass Tam down a little. They might also keep him from getting a good look at his quarry and do so more reliably than any illusory disguise or charm of invisibility.

A wind howled down the passage, staggering Malark and blowing out his blazing barricades like candle flames. Recovering his balance, he dived into another branching passage a bare instant before a lightning bolt crackled down the one he'd just vacated.

When planning this chase, Malark had decided that if he were Szass Tam, this was the point at which he'd shift himself through space. Because if the lich had the layout of the catacombs memorized-and his protege was certain he did-then he knew that the twisting passage his quarry had just ducked down was supposed to be a cul-de-sac. So he'd want to advance far enough to bottle up the supposed demon before the marauder realized it had nowhere to go.

But Malark actually did. Yesterday, he'd employed a tunneling spell to connect the dead-end passage with another. He scurried on unimpeded, ultimately to what looked like just another section of painted wall, this mural a murky underwater view of a sea divested offish, shells, and coral.

He whispered words of release and touched the tip of his wand to the invisible sigils inscribed across the seascape, avoiding the one that only existed to spray a thief with freezing cold. The signs glowed like red-hot iron for a moment, each in its turn, and then the hidden door clicked as the latch released.

Malark swung it wide open and left it that way after he passed through. On the other side was a spacious, high-ceilinged chamber crammed with some of Szass Tam's greatest treasures. An axe with a diamond blade, still lodged in the skull of the colossal dragon it had slain at the conclusion of its final battle. Gold and silver vials, each containing the sole surviving dose of some exotic potion. Tapestries in which the figures moved if one watched long enough, and spoke if one listened hard enough, doorways to small artificial worlds created by a long-extinct order of mystic weavers. A plentitude of sarcophagi, canopic jars, and grave goods looted from the tombs of the Mulhorandi lords who had once ruled Thay.

Since he didn't want Szass Tam to hear breakage and come running prematurely, Malark had stamped flat a chalice crafted of some strange green metal and had snapped the head off an exquisite ivory carving of the goddess Nephthys on a previous visit. He grabbed the ruined items and set them outside in the passage as if they'd been tossed there, then crouched behind an enormous block of carnelian crawling with carved, spidery-looking symbols-some sort of drow altar, perhaps.

After that he had nothing to do but wait for Szass Tam to appear. Well, that and tolerate the spiteful scrutiny of the Watcher. He hoped the entity was enjoying the show.

He imagined Szass Tam creeping down the tunnel, proceeding warily since the constant bend kept him from seeing more than a pace or two ahead. He imagined the lich's annoyance when he discovered he didn't have his quarry cornered after all, and his further vexation when he beheld the secret door standing open and more of his treasures defiled.

What he would he do then? That was the question. Because, if one stopped to think about it, the view before him looked like it could be a baited trap, and he was more than wily enough to perceive it that way. He knew, moreover, that the contents of the vault were fated to perish in any case and had been training himself to regard them, like the rest of creation, with disdain.

So it was entirely possible that he'd seal the chamber up again, locking it so well that even his trusted apprentice couldn't breach the wards a second time, and fetch reinforcements.

But Malark hoped the archmage would make a different choice. Szass Tam likely had some lingering attachment to the precious things he'd collected, and even if he didn't, the "demon's" desecration of them was an affront to his dignity, just like the rest of Malark's escalating series of provocations.

And perhaps the chase, with its violence and frustrations, had roused Szass Tam's passions and left him eager to make the kill. If so, it seemed likely that he'd enter even if he did suspect a trap. For he was, after all, the greatest wizard in the East, capable of defeating virtually any foe under almost any circumstances.

Szass Tam wasn't in sight yet, but his dry, pleasant voice recited a spell outside the door. A wave of chill swept over Malark, and for a heartbeat, his body felt heavy as lead. He recognized the enchantment. The lich had just made it impossible for anything lurking in the vault to escape by shifting itself through space.

Then Szass Tam stepped into the doorway. A red halo of protective power outlined his thin frame, and a blade blacker than night hovered before him. Malark recognized that magic as well. The flying sword was a sort of mobile wound in space, and its slightest touch would rip him-or a big piece of him-out of the mortal world.

Szass Tam's gaze raked the room and failed to catch on Malark's hiding place. That was something, anyway.

"I take it," said the lich, "that I'm supposed to grope my way through the clutter and give you a chance to pounce out at me. Please forgive me if I take another approach." He leveled his staff, slowly swept it from left to right, and spoke the first line of a spell of reanimation.

Reciting as quickly as he could, Malark whispered his own spell. Darts of green light leaped from his outstretched fingertips.

Their trajectory would give away his location, so, staying low, he immediately scurried from behind the carnelian block for another piece of cover. He'd rely on his ears to tell him whether the attack had disrupted Szass Tam's incantation.

It didn't. The archmage continued to speak with flawless cadence and inflection. It was likely the darts hadn't even stung him through his armor of light.

He snapped out a final word like the crack of a whip, and for an instant, the darkness boiled. Stone scraped on stone, and then the lids of the sarcophagi crashed to the floor. Smelling of embalmer's spice and dry rot, wrapped in linen, the Mulhorandi dead stood.

The nearest mummy was within easy reach of Malark. It gave a croaking call and, without even bothering to step out of its coffin, made a sort of toppling lunge at him, its withered, bandaged hands outstretched to grab.

Its touch would rot living flesh, but Malark's gauntlets would protect him, or at least he hoped so. He sidestepped the mummy's attack, sank the talons of one gloved hand into its temple, and yanked its head off.

It had only taken an instant, but that was an instant too long. The undead creature's groan and the ensuing scuffle had surely revealed Malark's location. He ran, and a blaze of shadow seethed through the air. He dived, but the fringe of the attack grazed him anyway.

That was enough to make his back arch in agony and flood his mind with terror. He fought against both. Held in a scream and brought his spasmodic muscles back under control. Scuttled onward.

Another mummy groaned and lurched at him. He parried its flailing fist with his cudgel, then bashed its chest in, at that same instant sensing danger. He sprang to the side, and the black sword slashed through the space he'd just vacated. He scrambled behind a gigantic dragonfly preserved in an even bigger lump of amber, the whole mounted on a bronze pedestal.

Perhaps he was safe for a breath or two. No mummies were close enough to strike at him, and the shadow blade couldn't target what Szass Tam couldn't see. Maybe he had time for another spell. He flourished his baton and whispered the rhyming words.

Power prickled across his body, which was no guarantee that the charm would actually protect him, considering that Szass Tam himself had animated the mummies. Malark supposed he'd know in a moment.

He slowed his breathing and sought to suppress what remained of his pain. Then he scrambled out from behind the dragonfly, again staying low in the hope that it would keep Szass Tam from spotting him. It might. The lich had taken only a few steps into the vault, and a number of sizable artifacts lay between the two of them.

The same precaution wouldn't throw off the mummies converging on his last position. Yet they took no notice as he darted between a pair of them. Thanks to his magic, they now mistook him for one of their own kind. And while they were seeking him in the back of the chamber, and Szass Tam waited for them to reveal his position, Malark had a few precious moments to try to steer this confrontation to the desired conclusion.

First, he needed to maneuver Szass Tam to the proper spot. Kneeling behind what appeared to be a common alchemist's oven but was no doubt something infinitely more valuable, he murmured sibilant words of command.

Szass Tam peered this way and that, then stiffened when he felt the magic bite. He appeared to sneer the unpleasant sensation away.

Malark had been certain the elder wizard would shrug off the effects of the spell, but that wasn't the point. If he'd succeeded in annoying the lich before, then surely it was more irksome still for someone to try to use necromancy against him, the greatest practitioner of that dark science, as if he were no more than a common zombie or ghoul.

Malark rapped his cudgel against the side of the kiln, then ran. An instant later, jagged shadows spun around the device in a maelstrom of conjured fangs and claws.

Then Szass Tam drew the flying blade back to float in front of him. As he advanced on the kiln, the weapon leaped this way and that in an unpredictable pattern of defense. Meanwhile, Malark circled.

Szass Tam stepped around the oven and scowled to discover that it didn't have a mangled corpse sprawled behind it. He raised his staff and began another incantation.

This one would conjure a flying eye that he would no doubt send to the ceiling. There, it would survey the entire vault from above, allowing its maker to see it too. Then he wouldn't need the mummies or any other spotters to pinpoint the whereabouts of his quarry.

He'd likely cripple or kill Malark the instant after. In light of Malark's previous failure to hinder Szass Tam's spellcasting, the spymaster decided he needed to close now, even though the lich hadn't positioned himself precisely as he'd hoped.

He charged.

He had some semblance of cover part of the way, but none for the last few feet. As he burst out into the open, he hoped that astonishment might paralyze his opponent for a critical instant. After all, Malark Springhill had supposedly died in Lapendrar and was supposedly Szass Tam's faithful disciple as well.

He should have known better. The lich hadn't existed as long as he had and hadn't achieved supremacy in Thay by freezing in the midst of combat. The black blade leaped at Malark.

He hurled himself underneath the stroke, slid forward on the dusty floor, and sprang upright again. Now the flying sword was behind him, the worst place for it, but he ignored the peril to concentrate on pivoting and driving a thrust kick into Szass Tam's midsection.

As intended, the attack knocked the lich stumbling backward, but it also jolted Malark as if he'd kicked a granite column. For an instant, he feared he'd broken his leg.

When he set it down, it was plain he hadn't, but there was worse to come. His stomach turned over, and the room tilted and spun. Another effect of Szass Tam's armoring enchantments, perhaps, or simply the result of touching the undead creature's poisonous flesh.

Whatever it was, he couldn't let it slow him down. He was certain the shadow blade was making another attack. Instinct prompted him to fake left, then shift right, and the stroke missed.

But at the same time, Szass Tam snarled a rhyme and thrust out a shriveled hand. A splash of liquid appeared in midair, and, nauseated and dizzy as he was, Malark couldn't dodge it and the sword too. He flung up his arm and shielded his eyes, but the acid spattered the rest of him, burned him, and kept on burning.

He knew a spell to wash the vitriol away, and another to purge himself of sickness, but had no time for either. Now that he'd knocked Szass Tam backward to the proper spot, he had something else to do, something that neither the lich nor the philosopher-assassins of the Long Death had taught him.

Rather, he'd learned it as a boy growing up in a long-vanished city beside the Moonsea, before he'd betrayed his best friend for the elixir of perpetual youth, suffered the despair of endless life, or discovered the consolations of devoting himself to death. In that bygone age, he and the other children had played kickball in a field near the purplish waters, with a tree at each end to serve as a goal. He'd gotten pretty good at scoring points once he learned to take an instant to line up his shot.

And, ignoring his vertigo, churning guts, and the searing pain of the sizzling, smoking acid, twisting out of the path of a sword stroke that slashed close enough to catch his sleeve and make it disappear, that was what he did now. Then he launched himself into a flying kick.