Red Magic (28 page)

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.