Realms of Magic

RED AMBITION

Szass Tarn eased himself into a massive chair behind an ornate table covered with curled sheets of vellum and crystal vials filled with dark liquid. A thick candle stood in the middle of the clutter, its flame dancing in the musty air and casting a soft light across his grotesque features.

His pale, parchment-thin skin stretched taut across his high cheekbones, and his wispy hair, the color of cobwebs, spread unevenly atop his age-spotted scalp. His lower lip hung loose, as if there were no muscles to control it, and the fleshy part of his nose was gone, revealing twin cavities. The scarlet robes he wore fell in folds about his skeletal frame and spread like a pool of blood on the floor about his chair.

He absently swirled his index finger in a puddle of wax gathering on the table, letting the warm, oily liquid collect on his skin. He rolled the cooling blob between his thumb and middle finger until it hardened into a ball. Then he released the wax and watched it roll across the rosewood finish and come to rest near a decades-old scroll. The piercing points of white light that served as Szass Tarn's eyes stared at the parchment. It contained the last enchantment needed to turn his cherished apprentice into a creature like himself-an undead sorcerer… a lich. Of course, his apprentice would have to die before the spell could be invoked. Killing her would be no great matter, he decided. Bony fingers grasped the parchment and brought it close to his still heart.

Szass Tarn's mortal life had ended centuries ago on a Thayan battlefield a hundred miles north of his comfortable keep. But the magic coursing through him prevented him from passing beyond the land of the living. It bound him to the human realms in a rotting body that pulsed with an arcane power few would dare challenge. The lich considered himself the most formidable Red Wizard in Thay. A zulkir, he controlled the country's school of necromancy. His apprentice, Frodyne, was also a Red Wizard, one of an august council of sorcerers who ruled Thay through schemes, threats, and careful manipulation. Szass Tarn smiled thinly. None were more treacherous than he.

He listened intently. The soft footfalls in the hall were Frodyne's. He placed the scroll in a deep pocket and waited. One day soon he would bless her with immortality.

"Master?" Easing open the door, Frodyne stepped inside. She padded forward, the shiny fabric of her dark red robe dragging across the polished marble floor behind her. "Am I disturbing you?"

Szass Tarn gestured to a seat opposite him. Instead, the young woman's course took her to stand beside him. She quickly knelt, placed her delicate hands on his leg, and looked up into his pinpoint eyes. Her clean-shaven head was decorated with red and blue tattoos, fashionable for Thay, and her wide, midnight-black eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief. The corner of her thin lips tugged upward into a sly grin.

Szass Tarn had taken her as an apprentice several years ago. An amazingly quick study, Frodyne never hid her hunger for spells and knowledge, and she dutifully hung on his every word. The lich thought her loyal, or as loyal as anyone in Thay could be. As she grew in power through the years, he shared horrible designs with her- how to crush lesser wizards under the heels of his skeletal army, how to raise men from the grave, hdw to steal the souls of the living. He recently confided in her that he was undead, showed her his true, rotting visage, and when she did not shrink from it, he shared with her his plans for dominating Thay. Frodyne had made it clear she wanted to be at his side-forever.

The lich stared at her unblemished, rosy face. Indeed, he thought, she is worthy of passing the centuries at my side. He reached a bony hand to her face and caressed her smooth cheek.

"What brings you here so late?" His deep voice echoed hauntingly in the room.

"I was at the market today, the slave pens," she began. "I was looking over the stock when I discovered a man asking about you and the goings-on in the keep."

The lich nodded for her to continue. "He was an unusual little man who wore only one tattoo: an odd-looking triangle filled with gray swirls."

"A worshiper of Leira," the lich mused.

"A priest of the goddess of deception and illusions, in fact," Frodyne added. "In any event, I followed him. When he was alone I cast a simple spell that put him under my control. I had to know why he was asking so many questions."

The lich's pinpoint eyes softened, and with his skeletal finger, he traced one of the tattoos on Frodyne's head. "And what did you learn?"

"Much, Master. Eventually. The priest had a strong will. But before he died he revealed he was worried about one of your armies, the one patrolling Delhumide. There is a ruin in that dead city that a few worshipers of Leira a~e particularly interested in. The priest believed that deep inside a crumbling temple rests a powerful relic. When your army passed nearby, he feared you had learned of the thing and had sent your army to retrieve it. But when your skeletons did not enter the temple, he was uncertain how much you knew. He came to the city asking about your plans and forces."

The lich gazed into Frodyne's eyes. "My skeletons were patrolling. Nothing more. But, tell me, Frodyne… why didn't the priest simply enter the temple and take the relic for himself?"

"I wondered that, too, Master." The young apprentice beamed. "I pressed him on the matter. He admitted that while he coveted the relic, he coveted his life more. It seems the Goddess of Liars has guardians and great magic protecting her prize."

The lich stood and drew Frodyne up with him. "And just what is this relic of Leira?"

"A crown. The priest said a great energy is harnessed in the crown's gems." Frodyne smiled thinly and stroked Szass Tarn's decaying chin. "And we shall share that crown and energy, just as I shared the priest's tale with you."

The lich stepped back and shook his head slowly. "I shall send my skeletal army into the heart of the temple and claim the relic as my own."

"Yours, Master?"

"Aye, Frodyne."

"But you would not know of its existence without me." She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. "This is treachery, Szass Tarn. I could have claimed the bauble for myself, with you none the wiser. But I chose to share the news with you."

"And in so doing, you chose to abandon your claim to it," the lich replied icily. "The relic will be mine alone. You have done well, my apprentice. I shall have another bauble to add to my hoard."

The comely apprentice strode indignantly to the door, then glanced over her shoulder at the lich. "But what of Leira, Szass Tarn? What if you anger the Patroness of Illusionists and Liars by breaching her temple and stealing something of hers?"

Szass Tarn laughed. "I have little regard for the goddess of treachery, dear Frodyne. Get some rest. I shall tell you in the morning what my skeletons find in Delhumide."

The lich listened to her footfalls retreat down the hall. Soon she would not need sleep. Or food. Soon she would need none of the things that made man weak, allowing her to one day sit at his side as he ruled all of Thay.

The lich sat straight in his chair and pushed Frodyne from his thoughts. He concentrated on his army of skele tons in Delhumide, stretching his mind across the miles until he made contact with his undead general and directed him to march to Leira's temple. The miles melted away beneath the soldiers' bony feet as they neared the ruined temple of Leira. In an untiring cadence, they approached the temple steps. Then Szass Tarn lost contact with them.

The lich cursed and cast himself upon the Thayan winds to fly to Delhumide. As he soared, his form changed. His skin took on a ruddy tint. His cheeks became puffy, and his body thickened to fill out the red silk robes that only moments before had hung on his frame in voluminous folds. His eyes became black, almost human, and his white hair grew thicker and longer, then darkened to match the color of the night sky. The lich added a thin mustache for effect. Few in Thay knew Szass Tarn was one of the dead. Outside the confines of his keep he assumed the image of a living man.

The ground passed below him in a blur, the darkness obscuring most of the terrain. But the lich didn't falter in his course. He knew the way to the dead city. He'd been born there.

It was near dawn when he reached the ruined temple. He descended to the rough ground and glared at the crumbling stonework. His eyes smoldered in the gloom and surveyed the carnage. He knew now why he'd lost contact with his army. Strewn about the shattered pillars were more than a hundred skeletal warriors. Their broken bones and crushed skulls gleamed faintly. Near them lay more dead-figures with tattered gray flesh and rotting clothes, things that stank of the grave. The lich knelt near a one-armed zombie and slowly turned the body over. It had little flesh left on its frame. Most of it had been burned away by fire. Szass Tarn ran his fingers through the grass around the corpse Not a blade was singed. Magical fire had killed the army, the lich realized, fire meant for undead.

The hunt for Leira's relic was now very costly. It would take many, many months and considerable effort to raise enough dead to replace these fallen soldiers. Szass Tarn stood, silently vowed retribution for the slaughter of his minions, and carefully picked his way toward the crumbling temple stairway. At the base of the steps, the lich spied a twitching form, an undead creature with pasty white flesh, hollow eyes, and protruding broken ribs. The ghoul, lone survivor of the lich's force, tried futilely to rise at the approach of its master.

"Speak to me," the lich commanded in a sonorous voice. "Tell me what happened here."

"Followed your orders," the ghoul rasped. "Tried to breach the temple. Tried to get what you wanted. But they stopped us."

"How many?"

"Three," the ghoul replied. "They wore the robes of Red Wizards."

Szass Tam growled deep in his throat and looked up the stairs. If only three had been able to conquer this force, they must be powerful. He took a last look at his beaten army and padded by the gasping ghoul to carefully select a path up the crumbling steps. Leira's temple lay in ruins like the rest of Delhumide. A once-great city, it was now populated by monsters and was laden with incredible traps-the remaining wards of the nobles and wizards who had once lived here. Creatures roamed freely across the countryside-goblins, darkenbeasts, trolls, and dragons, and they presented enough of a threat to keep the living away.

Szass Tarn searched for the magical energies that protected the fallen temple, and then he made his way around them to reach the comfort of the shadows inside. The damp coolness of the ruins reminded the lich of a tomb. This was his element. Focusing his eyes, he separated stonework from the darkness. He saw before him a crumbling old hallway that extended deep into the temple and sensed other presences within. He glided toward them.

Eventually the hallway ended, and the lich studied the walls, searching. Nothing. No moving stonework. He scrutinized the bricks by running his ringers over the cool surface to his left and right until he felt no resistance. The bricks before him were not real. Then he heard footfalls, soft and distant. The sound was regular, as of someone walking, and it was coming from far beneath him. He took a step forward and passed through the illusionary wall.

Beyond lay a damp stairway that led down into darkness. The lich cupped his hand and spoke a single word. A globe of light appeared in his palm and illuminated the stairwell. Along the walls and on each step were weathered sigils of various-sized triangles filled with swirling gray patterns-all symbols of Leira. The lich paused to appreciate them. He had little regard for the goddess, but thought the sigils had been rendered by someone with considerable skill.

Most Red Wizards in Thay worshiped one or more malign deities. At one time Szass Tarn had, too-but the need to worship some power that might grant eternal life had faded away with the years and with the onset of lich-dom. Szass Tarn still considered himself respectful of some of the powers, such as Cyric. But not Leira.

Szass Tarn was halfway down the steps when he felt a presence approaching. The minutes passed, and the undead zulkir's patience was finally rewarded when a pearl-white phantasm with the face of a beautiful woman formed in front of him. The lich pondered its appearance and decided the thing was nothing more than a hapless spirit tied to the temple.

"Trespasser," the spectre whispered in a soft, feminine voice. "Begone from the sacred place of Leira, she who is most powerful. Begone from the Lady of the Mists' temple, the place we are sworn to protect."

The lich stood his ground, eyeing the thing, and for an instant, it appeared the spirit was astonished he did not run. "I will leave when I am ready," the lich said flatly. He kept his voice low so his quarry deeper in the complex would not hear.

"You must go," the spirit repeated, its voice changing, becoming deeper and sultry. The visage was that of another woman. "This is not a place for those who do not believe. You do not believe in our goddess. You wear no symbol of hers."

"I believe in myself," the lich replied evenly. "I believe in power."

"But not in Leira."

"No. I have no respect for the Lady of the Mists," the lich growled softly.

"Then your bones shall rot here," the spectre cursed in a new voice.

The lich stared at the creature. The undead now bore the image of a young man with a long nose, and the voice was strong and masculine. Large ghostly hands reached out and thrust into Szass Tarn's chest. The lich stood unmoving, unaffected by the spirit's attack.

"This cannot be! You should be dead!" the spirit shouted with the voice of an old woman. Indeed, the pearl-white form was now covered with wrinkles, and the transparent flesh sagged on her cheeks and jaw.

"I am already dead," the lich whispered in reply. "And you will bend to my will-whatever manner of undead you are." Szass Tarn's eyes once more became pinpoints of hot white light. They bore into the old woman's eyes and fixed the diaphanous being in place.

"Who are you?" Szass Tarn demanded. "What are you?"

"We are Leira's," the old woman replied. "We are the last of the priests who lived in this temple. When the city fell to the army of Mulhorand, we died. But so strong was our faith in the Lady of the Mists that our wills banded together in one form so we could serve Leira forever."

The lich's lips curled upward slowly. "It is your misfortune you stayed." His pinpoint eyes glowed brighter, and he concentrated on the ghostly form before him. The spirit "moaned in pain, the voice of a young man joining the old woman's.

"No!" the spirit cried in a chorus of voices. "Do not hurt us! Do not send us from the temple!"

"To the Nine Hells I will send you-to join the other priests of the Patroness of Liars," Szass Tarn threatened, "unless you serve me and cease your cacophonous whining."

"We serve only Leira," the spirit wailed even more loudly.

"Now serve a better master." The lich raised a fleshy finger and pointed it at the spectre's face. The visage of the young man had returned. A silver beam shot from the tip of Szass Tarn's finger and struck the spirit's head, sending the apparition flying backward several feet. The beam pulsed wildly while the spirit convulsed in agony.

"Who do you serve?" the lich persisted.

"Leira," the creature groaned in chorus.

Again the lich struck the creature with a silver beam. The ghostly image wavered and began to spread, as if it were being stretched on a torturer's rack. The spirit's arms and legs lengthened to the corners of the stairwell, and it became as insubstantial as mist.

"Who do you serve?"

"We serve you," the spirit finally gasped in its myriad voices.

Szass Tarn's eyes softened to a pale glow. He studied the spirit to make sure it was indeed under his control. The many minds he touched berated him, but they swore their loyalty. Smugly satisfied, Szass Tarn willed his human eyes to return.

"Tell me, priests," the lich began. "Were you this ineffectual in stopping the Red Wizards who came before me?"

"The ones below?" the spirit quipped. The creature's face was now that of a beautiful woman, the one the thing had displayed when Szass Tarn first encountered it.

"Yes. The ones below."

"They believe," the ghostly image stated. "They wear the holy symbol of Leira upon their shiny heads. All believers are welcome in this temple. All believers-and you."

"You let them pass freely because they tattooed symbols of Leira on their heads?" the lich queried. "You believed they worshiped your goddess because of a little paint?"

"Yes," the ghostly image answered. "Leira's temple is for Leira's own."

The lich looked past the creature and peered down the stairs. "You will come with me. You will show me the traps that litter the path before us. And you will show me the relic I seek."

Szass Tarn resumed his course down the stairway, the spectre at his side pointing out weathered mosaics of its goddess, expounding on the greatness of Leira, and gesturing toward magical wards on every step. The lich passed by the broken bodies of long-dead trespassers as he moved from one chamber to the next. He was so intent on finding the relic that he nearly passed over the only freshly killed corpse. The spectre pointed it out to him. The body of a red-robed man, no older than twenty, lay crumpled amid chunks of stone. The man, who wore the painted symbol of Leira on his head, sprawled with his limbs at odd angles. His eyes were wide with terror, and a thin line of blood still trickled from his mouth.

"He was with the other wizards," the spectre said in an old man's voice. "Pity he died so young. Though he wore the symbol of the Lady of the Mists and I let him pass, the guardian looked into his heart. His heart betrayed him as an unbeliever. The guardian struck him down."

"Guardian?"

"The Lady of the Mists' eternal servant," the spectre replied. "The guardian waits in the chamber beyond."

The lich peered into the black distance and started forward. The spirit of Leira's priests dutifully followed on his heels.

"Kill the thing!" Szass Tarn heard a deep male voice cry. The lich quickened his pace and entered a massive cavern lighted by luminous moss. He stopped and stared at the cavern's three occupants-Frodyne, a Red Wizard he didn't recognize, and a monstrous construct.

"What treachery is this?" the lich's voice boomed.

"Master!" Frodyne squealed. She was dressed in a soiled and torn red robe, and the triangle she had painted on her scalp was smeared with sweat. Her normally soft features were set in grim determination as she called for her companion to join the fight. The man stayed behind her, ignoring her coarse words, and stared at the great thing before them. Frodyne spread her fingers wide and unleashed a magical bolt of fire at the monstrosity.

Frodyne's foe stood at least thirty feet tall, its head nearly reaching the chamber's roof. The guardian was not undead, but it was certainly not living. The lich eyed the thing from top to bottom. It had the torso of a man and the head of a goat. Its chest bore the symbol of a triangle filled with swirling mists. The thing possessed four eyes that were evenly spaced above the thick bridge of its metallic nose, and its mouth gaped open, exposing pointed teeth made of steel. Four arms as thick as tree trunks waved menacingly at the sides of its body and ended in six-fingered iron claws. Every inch of the creature was gray. The thing's massive legs ended in cloven hooves that created sparks when they stomped on the ground and rocked the cavern. The shockwaves made Frodyne and her companion scramble to stay on their feet.

"It seems you've made it angry, dear Frodyne," Szass Tarn said. "Just as you've angered me. You destroyed my army."

"I wanted the crown!" she said as she unleashed another bolt of lightning. "I learned about this temple and the relic, but you said the bauble would be yours. It should be mine!"

The lich watched her nimbly avoid a fist that slammed into the cavern floor where she had been standing.

"I'm sorry!" she yelled. "Help us, please. The crown will be yours. I swear!"

The lich folded his arms and surveyed the battle, not bothering to reply to her plea.

She scowled and brought up her fingers, touching the thumbs together and holding her open palms toward the guardian. She mumbled words Szass Tarn recognized as one of the first spells he'd taught her, and icy shards sprang from her hands. The shards flew true and imbedded themselves deep into the breast of the thing. But the attack proved ineffectual, the guardian oblivious. It pulled an arm back to swat her. Frodyne leapt to the side, and the guardian's hand found her companion instead. The sharp metal nails pulled the man's chest open. The wizard was dead before he hit the ground.

"Please, Master," Frodyne begged. "Help me. I'll do anything you ask."

"You destroyed my army," Szass Tarn spat. "Your soul can rot here for all I care."

Frodyne raised her hands again and mumbled. A sparkling blue globe appeared in front of her. She blew at it, propelling it magically toward her ebon attacker. The globe impacted just above the thing's waist, popped, and squirted acid on the black metal. Crackling and sizzling filled the chamber, and the guardian bent its head to look at its melting stomach.

"You wield magic well, my sweet," the lich said icily.

"But I need your help to beat this thing!" she cried as she fumbled in the folds of her robe and withdrew a handful of green powder.

Szass Tarn slowly shook his head. "You stopped my skeletons all by yourself. You stopped my plans for having you rule Thay at my side. Surely you can stop this creature." His voice was gravelly and showed no hint of emotion.

Frodyne started tracing a symbol in the powder in the palm of her hand. The lich turned to watch the construct, which was somehow repairing its stomach. Before Szass Tarn's eyes, metal flowed like water to cover the melted section. In an instant, there was no evidence it had been damaged. It took a step toward Frodyne, its massive footfall rocking the cavern and causing her to spill the powder she had intended to use in another spell.

"It could kill her," the spectre at Szass Tarn's side said simply. This time it wore the face of the young man. "But she cannot kill it. You cannot kill it. It is Leira's guardian, and it will continue to repair itself until the end of time. It has looked into her heart and discovered she does not honor the black goddess. It cannot rest until she is dead."

"And can it see into my own heart?" the lich posed. "Or perhaps it cannot even see me because the shriveled organ in my chest does not beat."

Frodyne's scream cut off the spirit's reply. The guardian swatted her like an insect, and she flew across the cavern to land on her back. Her red robe was shredded, and blood oozed freely from gouges in her flesh. Her face was frozen in terror, but still she did not give up. The lich had taught her well. Frodyne withdrew a bit of pitch from the pocket of her ruined garment. Placing it in her bloody palm, she raised her hand until it was in line with the guardian's four eyes. A black bolt of lightning shot forth from her fingers and struck the creature in the bridge of its nose. The guardian stumbled backward from the impact, but was not damaged.

Szass Tarn coaxed her. "Think, my lovely apprentice. Cast a spell that will keep it from reaching you. Buy yourself time."

She drew what was left of her robe about her and struggled to her feet. Words gushed rapidly from her mouth, and she pointed her index finger at the cavern floor. The stone beneath the guardian's cloven hooves wavered for a moment, shimmered in the meager light of the chamber, then turned to mud. But the guardian did not fall into the muck. Rather, the gray construct hovered above the great muddy patch, its hooves dangling inches above it in the musty air. Beneath the guardian, the mud hardened and cracked like a dry river bed.

"This cannot be!" Frodyne screamed. Then she turned to glance at her mentor.

Szass Tarn's hands glowed a faint blue, his long fingers pointed at the ebon guardian. An evil grin played slowly across his face as he returned Frodyne's disbelieving stare. He flicked his wrist, and the guardian floated forward and came to rest on a patch of rock near Frodyne.

"You! You kept it from becoming trapped!" she cried, as she twisted to the side to avoid another blow.

The lich nodded and thrust his hand into the air, mentally summoning an ancient parchment that lay in his tower. His fingers closed about the curled scroll as the guardian reached for Frodyne. Staring at his terrified apprentice, Szass Tarn carefully unrolled the parchment. "I promised you immortality, my dear, a reward for your loyalty. You shall have it."

The lich began to read the magical words, and the construct grabbed Frodyne about the waist. Szass Tarn read faster, while the construct lifted her until she was level with its four eyes. The lich finished the enchantment as the guardian squeezed the breath from her lungs and dropped Frodyne's lifeless body like a child would discard a ruined doll.

The parchment crumbled in Szass Tarn's fingers, and his apprentice's dead body shimmered with a pale white glow. A moment passed, then Frodyne's ches* rose and fell. She took great gulps of air into her lungs and struggled to her feet. She glanced at her mentor, then at the construct, which again reached out to grab her. The thing's fingers closed about her once more and squeezed harder, and Frodyne realized what Szass Tarn had done. He had given her eternal life-of a sort.

"No!" she shouted as her ribs cracked and she fell lifeless a second time.

The construct stepped back and waited. Again, the young Red Wizard was resurrected from the dead. Again she struggled to her feet.

"Enjoy your immortality, Frodyne," the lich hissed, as he watched the guardian deliver another fatal blow and witnessed her rise again. He was pleased Leira's construct would busy itself with Frodyne and leave him alone.

"The relic," the lich pressed the spectre. "Show me where the crown is."

The spectre gestured to a stony recess. Szass Tarn strode to it and took in the mounds of coins and gems. Perfectly faceted emeralds, sapphires, and diamonds glimmered from every cranny. A crown dotted with rubies sat atop the mass. The lich quickly snatched it up and felt the energy pulsing in the metal band.

"Leira's gift," the spirit declared. "The prize of our temple."

Stepping from the alcove, Szass Tarn placed the crown upon "his head then doubled forward as pain shot through his chest. The lich was caught off guard by the icy hot sensation. He pitched over and writhed on the rocky chamber floor until his frantic movements knocked the crown free.

The painful spasms ended, and the lich slowly stood. "What manner of power was that, priests?" the lich gasped.

The spirit wore the face of the old woman. 'The power of eternal life. The heart of he who wears the crown will beat forever."

Szass Tarn's human form melted away, revealing his skeletal frame and pinpoint eyes. "My heart does not beat," he said flatly.

"So instead, you felt pain," the woman answered. "The Lady of the Mists is indeed more treacherous than you. Leira lured you here. The priest who tempted your favored apprentice with the relic was merely a pawn."

The lich kicked the crown across the floor and glared at the spectre.

"Again the Patroness of Illusionists and Liars struck when your apprentice betrayed you and sought the crown herself. Then my goddess triumphed once more when you lost that which you held dear, a beautiful sorceress who would have spent eternity at your side." The ghostly image pointed at the struggling Frodyne. "You've lost your army, your woman, your ability to trust others. And the prize at the end of your quest was something you can never possess. Who is the more treacherous, Szass Tarn?"

The lich threw back his head and laughed, a deep, throaty sound that reverberated off the walls of the cavern. The lich roared loud and long as he padded from the chamber and climbed the stairs.