Red Magic (12 page)

The lead sentry struggled and barked a few orders in the orcish tongue, but his charges were slow to respond, looking astonished at the branches that were like ropes about their limbs.

Brenna took advantage of the situation to begin a spell. Her singsong chant was uneven because she was out of breath. Still she persevered, padding through the grass toward the entangled guards as she continued to murmur the arcane words. When she stood in front of the sentry, she finished the incantation. His struggles stopped, and he stared at her with wide, attentive eyes.

“I’ve bewitched him,” she announced over her shoulder to the Harpers. “He’ll be mine for several days, but now that I have him, I’m not so sure what to do with him.”

“He can be our guide,” Wynter answered. “Can you make him lead us?”

“Sure,” Brenna said. “I could even make him cook for us and polish your hooves if you want. What about the orcs?”

“The entanglement won’t last much longer,” Galvin said, a touch of concern in his voice. The orcs had begun to strain against the branches. “Do you have something else—some spell to keep them quiet about all of this?”

The enchantress smiled broadly, pleased to have Galvin ask her for help. She searched through a small pouch at her side, gathering more spell components.

“I can try to make them forget about us, but I’m not sure it will work. They seem rather dense. But I’ll do what I can.” She breathed deeply and began another enchantment. Between phrases, she thought she heard the druid say, “Thanks.”

When she finished, she returned to the Harpers and her charmed friend. “We’d better get out of here,” she suggested, “just in case it didn’t work.”

Wynter fell in behind Galvin, Brenna, and their newfound guide. The centaur’s legs felt weak; he suspected it was nerves. He continued to remind himself how much he hated this country as they proceeded to move deeper into Thay.

Five

Two levels above his sorcerous army, Maligor paced in front of a cell door. The Red Wizard was tired, having just completed a series of spells that added a hundred more darkenbeasts to his forces. His exhaustion left him with little stomach for this place. The corridor stank of urine and sweat. The eight cells in this area were rarely cleaned, and they were almost always occupied. The wizard was constantly displeased with enough slaves, soldiers, and townspeople to keep them full. The horrible conditions kept the prisoners dispirited and easy to handle, and diseases usually kept the place from becoming too overcrowded.

Sometimes Maligor elected not to feed the occupants for a week or longer, leaving the corpses of those who starved to rot in the cells with the survivors. And when prisoners were tortured, it was prolonged and in full presence of the others. Maligor enjoyed watching the contorted faces of the captives as one of their kind was whipped and gutted in their full view. But the prisoner beyond this cell door was different. He had been brought here only a few hours ago, not to be punished, but to reveal information Maligor considered crucial to his plans.

Maligor continued to pace in front of the cell until he heard through the door the clinking of chains and the scratching noise a key makes as it turns in a lock. Confident the two gnoll guards had secured the “guest,” he raised his robe to his ankles and extended one slippered foot to prod the cell door open. He entered cautiously to make sure his expensive clothes didn’t brush against the filth on the door, then stepped down carefully into the cell chamber. When his eyes adjusted to the gloom within—the room was lit with a small, oil-burning lantern—he saw his guest chained to the far wall.

The man was squat, but he had a broad, sturdy frame and a barrel-like chest. Maligor saw the cuts and bruises on the man’s body and imagined he must have put up a substantial struggle to avoid being captured. His head hung limply forward against his chest; the gnolls had probably pummeled him into unconsciousness, the wizard mused. At least the guest didn’t seem to be seriously injured.

The man was bald, and his head sported a design—a pale orange, four-taloned hand, indicating that he was a worshiper of Malar, the Beastlord, one of the commonly worshiped deities in Thay. Maligor himself favored Myrkul, whom the Red Wizard considered a far superior power and whom he honored with the permanent tattoo of Myrkul’s symbol on the center of his forehead.

Maligor doubted his visitor’s loyalty to Malar, since the man’s symbol was painted rather than permanent. It had begun to fade from the rivulets of sweat that ran down his brow. The other symbols on the man’s head were already obscured. The Red Wizard scowled in frustration; much could be learned about a Thayvian’s beliefs and pontics from studying the symbols on his head. The man’s clothes were well made and in good repair, but they were dirty, covered with dust and powdered rock. In the soft glow of the lantern light, the powder gleamed, making the Red Wizard’s eyes widen and twinkle in response.

“Rouse him,” the Red Wizard ordered.

The gnolls were quick to comply, shaking the man and splashing water on his face from the leather flask that hung at the man’s side. The guards were among the largest gnolls Maligor had at his disposal, each a little more than eight feet tall. Looking like the offspring of a canine and a human, the gnolls’ dark fur blended in with the cell’s shadowy decor. Their small, shiny eyes glared out from above their hyena-shaped muzzles, and they lolled out their tongues, waiting for their master’s next command.

Gradually the man’s eyes came open, and he raised his head to stare at the gnolls’ evil visages. Tilting his head to avoid their foul breath, he glared straight into the wizard’s face.

“Zulkir Maligor!” the man gasped. “I am not under your personal command! I have done nothing to offend you. By what right did you bring me here? The Council of Zulkirs will be furious when they learn what you have done!”

Maligor’s lips produced a thin, evil grin that quickly silenced the frightened man.

“The council isn’t going to know,” the Red Wizard replied menacingly. “I’m no fool. This dungeon is fully protected from the prying eyes of other wizards.” He leveled his gaze on the man, who had begun to sweat even more profusely.

“Willeth Lionson,” Maligor stated, finally addressing the man by his name. “Tharchion Willeth Lionson.” The Red Wizard didn’t know the man personally, but he knew much about him. Being on the Council of Zulkirs, Maligor had helped select Willeth to oversee Thay’s gold mines. The Tharchion was accountable to the council and had allegiances to no individual Red Wizard.

“Tharchions do not just disappear!” Willeth sputtered. “The other wizards on the council will miss me. You can’t get away with this, Maligor! Release me at once!”

“No one is going to miss you,” Maligor countered. “You were expected to be away from the mines, remember, Willeth? You told the council you were leaving today for Tantras to look at some new mining equipment. Your dedication to improving the productivity of the mines has left me the opening I have been waiting for. And I have been waiting for a very long time.”

“No! I have friends, guards. They will wonder where I am.”

“It’s unfortunate—for you—that you were lax today, leaving the mine without being accompanied by extra guards. The few guards you took were easily overcome by my gnolls.”

Willeth strained against his chains, but they were anchored solidly to the wall. “I have other guards!” he screeched. “The guards who were to take me to Tantras.”

“The guards who were to accompany you to Tantras have been killed,” Maligor said calmly. “You have many guards, Willeth. The few I ordered dispatched will not be missed. Nor will you, Willeth.”

The tharchion pulled at the chains again to show his defiance, and the gnoll guards snarled. “You can’t win, Maligor! If you return me to the mines, you know I’ll tell the council about this. And if you keep me from returning, they’ll find out. I’m in charge of the mines! You may be one of the most powerful Red Wizards, but the rest of the council is strong enough to challenge you. Szass Tam—”

“The Zulkir Szass Tam will never know,” Maligor interrupted. “Willeth Lionson will return from Tantras in less than two weeks, reporting to the council that the equipment should not be purchased, since it is inferior. Then Willeth Lionson will go about his business directing operations at the mine. Unfortunately, that Willeth Lionson won’t be you. You’ll have to stay here.”

Maligor flicked his wrist and a gnoll guard slammed his fist into Willeth’s stomach. The tharchion let out a rush of air and doubled over as much as the chains allowed.

“I advise you to cooperate,” Maligor instructed. “Otherwise, your dying could take a seriously long while and be excruciatingly painful.”

The tharchion raised his head and glared at the zulkir. “The foul ones take you to the scum-filled belly of the underworld!” he cursed. “You’ll gain nothing from me. Nothing!”

“Dear Willeth, I do admire your resolve. The council chose well when they selected you. But I am low on patience today.” He nodded to the gnoll guards, and in unison their large, hairy fists smashed into Willeth’s chest. They repeated their blows until Maligor heard the soft crunch of ribs. Then the wizard motioned for the gnolls to stop.

“I want to know about the gold mines, Willeth. How many slaves work there? How strong is the guard force? How many foremen? Where and what are the magical defenses?”

The Red Wizard knew all the information he wanted was spread out among the members of the Council of Zulkirs. That was so no one wizard would know too much and become tempted to take over the mines. But Willeth was the one single person who harbored most of that information, and Maligor intended to extract it from him.

“Talk to me!” Maligor persisted.

Willeth coughed, and saliva and blood trickled from his mouth. “I don’t know all of the magical defenses. I intentionally kept myself ignorant of such things to prevent something like this from happening. And even if I told you what I know, the Council of Zulkirs would stop you. They’d see you gathering your gnolls to march on the mine. They’d join forces if they had to—just to stop you!” He coughed again and Maligor beamed.

“You are indeed a simpleton, Willeth. Yes, I am gathering my gnolls. I have been for weeks—three garrisons, one in the city and two nearby. But they won’t be attacking the mines.” Maligor paced in front of the man.

“My sweet associate Asp—you wouldn’t know her, but she will soon know your mines intimately—is in charge of drilling my gnolls. That is no doubt drawing the attention of nearby wizards, including the council. The gnolls are practicing long and hard, thinking they will be marching against another Red Wizard. Asp thinks so, too.” Maligor laughed, a throaty chuckle that echoed off the cell walls.

“Maybe I actually will have to select a Red Wizard somewhere to attack, or perhaps some stuffy baron who offended me years ago. After all, I shouldn’t waste my gnolls’ training. Nor should I disappoint the Red Wizards who will be looking for me to do something. Do you have any suggestions? Anyone in Thay you particularly dislike?”

“You—you wretched, evil dog!” Willeth was trying to goad Maligor. The tharchion, who was in agony, considered himself a dead man now, and he hoped the wizard would get angry enough to kill him before gaining any information about the mines. “You are … not fit to… walk on Thayvian soil! You are—”

“Tsk, tsk, Willeth,” Maligor said. His tone was condescending, like a teacher lecturing a misbehaving child. “I’m no more evil than the rest of the wizards … just a little smarter, perhaps. And insulting me won’t help your condition.”

Willeth’s chest heaved. It was getting difficult for the tharchion to breathe. He wondered if his shattered ribs were poking into his insides. He decided to get the wizard to keep talking, hoping he would be dead by the time Maligor finished his crazed discourse. “If you … take your gnolls … to attack someone else … how will you … get the mines?”

“I have power and forces you could only dream of,” the Red Wizard said evenly. “My gnolls are numerous, one of the grandest armies in Thay. It is probably only because of their great numbers that Szass Tam or another Red Wizard hasn’t already attacked me. But my gnolls are nothing. My true army is much stronger, and it is that army that will seize the mines for me.”

“And if you … do take the mines?” Willeth posed, his breathing becoming shallower still.

“When I take them,” Maligor corrected.

“When you … take the mines … the other Red Wizards will band together…and seize them back from you. No one Red Wizard … has the power to hold the mines.”

“Willeth, you do count me for a fool. My plan is so intricate and sublime that no one will even know I control the mines.” Maligor looked at the puzzled expression on the tharchion’s face. “The precious flow of gold to the country won’t stop, at least not for a few years. You still don’t understand, do you? And I can see that I don’t have the time to explain it to you. My gnolls struck you too severely. I fear you haven’t long to live.”

The Red Wizard stopped his pacing and moved closer to his captive, just far enough away so the man’s chained arms couldn’t reach him. “So you’ll have to talk now—quickly. Tell me about the mine’s defenses.”

“Go to … the underworld!” Willeth spat.

The gnolls moved to strike the tharchion, but Maligor held them back with a glance. The Red Wizard mumbled something Willeth could not understand. It was magic, the tharchion knew, as Maligor’s hands began to glow, radiating a soft, pink haze that stretched in rays from his fingers to Willeth’s eyes.

“You will beat me to the underworld, tharchion,” Maligor said, his voice a singsong chant that mesmerized Willeth. “But before you go, you will be my friend. My closest, dearest friend. Friends share secrets, Willeth. I am your very best friend, and you will share all of your secrets with me. Tell me about the mine, friend Willeth. I want to visit the mine. And since I’m your friend, you wouldn’t want me to get hurt there, would you? Tell me about the defenses—where the magical traps and spells are placed. I mustn’t get hurt, friend Willeth.”

The tharchion’s eyes glazed over, and the pupils became small and fixed. “My friend,” he croaked. “Can’t let… my friend be hurt… when he comes to visit me in the mines. Be careful, friend, the mines … are very dangerous if you do not know where to walk.”