Red Magic

Twelve

The sun was setting on Thay in front of the heroes and their undead charges. Wynter glanced over his shoulder so he could watch the skeletons and zombies.

“Why are they here?” the centaur asked Brenna. “They’re dead, aren’t they?”

“It’s a long story. I’ll tell you later,” she sighed. “I only wish you could remember.” Brenna stared at the undead army. They were frightening and macabre, shuffling stiffly, some hunched over. She wondered if there was any spark of life within them. Did they realize what they were doing and whom they served? Did they know they were being denied a true death because of sorcery? It was just another form of slavery. She had thought about that a great deal during the past few hours, just as she had been thinking about a lot of other things since leaving Szass Tam’s fortress.

This was wrong, she knew, Wynter’s condition and this entire procession against the Red Wizard Maligor. Choosing the lesser of two evils was still an evil. And any evil in Thay was an abomination as far as the enchantress was concerned.

“They smell funny,” Wynter complained, interrupting her thoughts. “They look bad, too.”

“I know,” she said softly, smiling at the simpleminded centaur. “Try not to think about it. Look at the sunset. Isn’t it beautiful?” The orange rays spread out over the groves of trees to their right and left and the verdant plain before them. The breeze that blew over the grass teased their faces.

“Pretty,” the centaur agreed. “Your name is Brenna, right?”

The enchantress nodded sadly and tilted her head so she could see Galvin. The druid was several yards behind them and was apparently studying the centaur.

“Where are we going?” the centaur persisted.

“A city called Amruthar,” Brenna replied.

“Tell me when we get there. I’m going to look at the dead men,” Wynter decided, falling back to march between the first two rows of the undead. Balancing his enchanted bardiche under one arm, the centaur waved happily at Galvin.

Feeling morose about his witless friend, the druid didn’t acknowledge the gesture. Galvin was angry at himself for not being with Wynter when the plant trapped him. Strangely, he was even angrier that the plant hadn’t killed his friend. The druid knew that, in the wilderness, only the strong survived, and Wynter could no longer survive on his own. He hated seeing his friend this way—an adult with a child’s mind.

The druid scowled, frustrated and disappointed that he should wish for his friend’s demise. Civilized people wouldn’t be so cruel, he decided. He rode up to Brenna, hoping she could take his mind off his morbid thoughts.

Brenna smiled weakly. “We can’t win, Galvin. It’s only you and me now. Wynter is …” She was at an uncharacteristic loss for words.

The councilwoman looked over her shoulder at the hulking centaur. Her emotions had been turned inside out the past several days, and the things she considered important—laws, government, control—seemed insignificant. She had grown to care for the centaur and the druid more deeply than she cared to admit. The pair of Harpers, who embraced the wilderness and the loose structure of their organization, were opposites of almost everything and everyone she knew. She found herself thinking more about their welfare than that of Aglarond, and she wondered how she could have changed so much since she entered Thay.

The druid cocked his head, noting her troubled expression. “We can’t quit,” the druid stated, glancing back at the army and seeing Wynter playfully pass his bardiche to a large skeleton. Galvin grimaced. “If we quit, Szass Tam will kill us, and we can’t help Wynter if we’re dead.”

“I just wish we had never come here. Wynter chose to leave Thay years ago. He never should have come back. We should have stayed out of this evil land, too.”

The druid realized that the enchantress blamed herself for their dilemma. If the Aglarond council, of which she was a member, hadn’t asked the Harpers to investigate activities in Thay, things would have turned out differently. But Galvin also recognized that sooner or later the Harpers would have poked their noses into the country anyway. The lich was right. The Harpers were meddlers.

“It’s not your fault,” Galvin said.

The enchantress didn’t reply. She stared ahead into the sunset.

The druid picked up the pace, and Brenna followed his lead. After they had covered several hundred yards, the druid glanced over his shoulder to make sure Wynter was all right. The centaur was tugging at the cloak of a skeleton. When it tugged back, Wynter giggled and left it alone.

The sun set as the army reached an area dotted with farms. The barns and houses looked like black splotches beneath the growing grayness of the sky. Here and there lights came on in buildings as lanterns were lit and families settled in for the evening.

The night heralded the arrival of more troops for Galvin’s and Brenna’s army—two dozen shadows, like the creatures that had attacked them when they camped outside of Amruthar, and twice that many of something the pair could not identify. The latter initially appeared no different than the shadows, until they took a position behind Brenna and Galvin and made the pair’s horses skittish and difficult to control. The air turned cold in the presence of the creatures, and the sorceress couldn’t help shivering.

These new undead first appeared as amorphous blobs, then as man-shaped clouds of darkness insubstantial enough that they could manipulate the shape of their arms, legs, and heads. Those closest to Brenna adopted her form to mock her.

“What in the name of the gods are those things?” Galvin asked the councilwoman. He appeared to keep his eyes focused on hers, but he was actually peering nervously behind her at the undead. The druid was finding it increasingly difficult to see in the growing darkness.

Then he spied something ahead, a small row of flickering lights. They had to be torches along Amruthar’s wall, so far away they looked like fireflies. He wished that Szass Tam had allowed them to bring lanterns so he could check on Wynter and the undead army behind him. He was uncomfortable not knowing his army’s precise numbers and location.

“I only wish I knew what they were,” Brenna replied nervously. “They’re not like anything I’ve ever heard about. They’re certainly not shadows.”

Before she could say another word, one of the creatures laughed hollowly, startling the sorceress and the druid. None of the other undead in the patrol had seemed capable of speech other than an occasional moan, which Galvin at first thought might have been the wind.

“Death,” said a shape that had assumed Brenna’s form. The thing’s haunting tones seemed at once to come from behind and in front of her. “We are death shrouded in darkness. Sweet, sweet darkness.” The thing laughed again, the sound echoing in the night until it finally receded like a tide.

“Sweet death,” another of the strange creatures echoed. Then another and another took up the phrase until the words blended together and sounded like a swarm of insects.

The sorceress wondered how the things could speak. The creatures had no mouths, nor indeed any other visible facial features. Gathering her courage, she turned and was startled to find herself mere inches from one of the creatures.

“How—” Her voice cracked and she shivered. “How do you talk?”

More haunting laughter followed, then a raspy voice filtered through the terrifying cacophony. “The death master makes it so. The death master makes the grave only the beginning. The death master makes us strong.”

“What are you?” Brenna persisted, surprised she found the courage to speak with the undead.

“Wraiths,” the word sounded like a rush of wind and came from the figure closest to Brenna. “Mankind’s lover. We embrace men with the soothing kiss of death.”

“Soothing death,” the others echoed.

“We are the takers of souls, the shapers of destinies, the dark powers mortals fear. We are wraiths. And we hate humans because they are the possessors of life.”

“Human life,” the wraiths echoed eerily over and over.

“But we will help you humans,” intoned a deep-voiced speaker. “The master bade us leave the caressing recesses of our graves to help you.”

“Brenna! Galvin! I’m scared!” Wynter’s voice cut through the haunting banter.

Galvin whirled his horse about and dug his heels in its sides to urge it through the crowd of wraiths. The stallion protested, feeling the cold touch of the creatures, but obeyed nevertheless. Galvin felt an unearthly chill as his mount passed near the bodies of several wraiths and finally found Wynter surrounded by a ring of the dark undead.

“Galvin?” Wynter whimpered.

The wraiths mocked the centaur, hovering around and above him, taunting him.

Galvin nudged his mount closer until he reached Wynter’s side. His once-strong, confident friend was trembling and broken. Once again Galvin found himself wishing the plant had killed the centaur.

The druid growled defiantly at the disgusting undead creatures, thrusting out an arm in an attempt to push one aside. But Galvin’s hand passed straight through the inky body. It felt as if he had submerged his fingers in an icy spring.

He growled again, this time his voice sounding more like a wild animal than a human, and the undead finally backed away.

“Take my hand, Wyn,” the druid said gently, his emerald green eyes locked onto the closest undead. “Come with me.” The centaur whimpered in fright, then followed Galvin timidly toward the front of the procession.

“You said you were here to help us!” the druid cursed at the undead. “Then help us. Leave Wynter alone!” He noticed the centaur relax a little as the forms dropped back several yards.

“They did as you said,” Brenna whispered in surprise.

“For now, at least,” Galvin observed. “Stay close to Wynter and keep moving toward the city.” The druid slowed his stallion until the first few wraiths were even with him.

He glared at them and marshaled his fear of the strange creatures. “Maligor’s army will be strong,” the druid began. “How can you help us against the gnolls?”

“We drink life,” one moaned. “We drink the essence of man, leaving behind only decayed husks. Husks to wither and crumble and blow away on the hot breeze. Husks to fertilize our graves.” The creature held up its black hands, which appeared to have long talons. “We rake life, clawing, tearing, spilling life’s blood on the ground, on us.”

“Humans first,” another added in a raspy whisper. “Always humans first because their life is so short and sweet.”

“Sweet death,” the assembled wraiths murmured.

Shivering from the cold air that surrounded the wraiths, Galvin left the undead to rejoin Brenna and Wynter.

The enchantress and the druid kept an uneasy silence for the remainder of the journey to Amruthar. The wraiths continued their frightening banter, making the pair wish Szass Tam hadn’t sent these creatures along. However, some of their dialogue proved interesting and valuable. Galvin and Brenna learned that the wraiths, in life, were powerful, evil men and women who coveted wealth and authority and now were forever damned to be under the influence of Szass Tam. Most had died from the touch of other wraiths. Galvin was curious to find out if the lich had ordered these formerly living people to be killed because they had become an annoyance to the lich or because the lich desired more creatures. However, he decided against questioning the foul creatures. He didn’t trust them, and he hoped to be rid of them soon.

The druid glanced at Brenna and saw her shivering. Reaching into his mount’s saddlebag, he withdrew a blanket and passed it over to her. She wrapped it about herself gratefully.

Smiling her thanks, she dug her heels into her horse’s side. They were beyond most of the farm land now and almost to Amruthar’s walls.

The light from dozens of torches, spaced almost evenly in heavy iron sconces about the walls, played eerily over the stonework and softly illuminated the tent town full of peasants and merchants that stood beyond the city’s gates. The people had spotted the army coming and were huddled near the massive gate.

Above, on the barbicon, scores of guards readied longbows and kept careful watch on the parade of undead. Also on the barbicon were a trio of scarlet-robed men—Red Wizards, no doubt, waiting to see if their enchantments would be needed to keep the undead at bay.

Despite the number of merchants, peasants, and guards, Amruthar was quiet. Only the occasional bark of a sergeant’s orders cut the air.

Galvin and Brenna directed the army to march parallel to the city’s wall in full view of the guards, as Szass Tam had directed. It was a show of force designed to keep the city’s guards from interfering. The guards stood motionless as the dead soldiers passed by slowly, the clinking of skeletal bones against skeletal horses echoing hollowly off the wall.

Just outside the city stood Maligor’s tower. Its top half was visible over the northwest barbicon of the wall. Galvin motioned the army quickly forward and urged his own horse into a gallop, knowing the tower’s occupants must have been able to see them coming for miles and would be ready. He worried that they might be riding into a trap. Brenna urged her mare ahead, following on the heels of Galvin’s mount and spraying dirt at the hurrying wraiths. The enchantress was trying to ride with minimal use of her hands, in order to keep them free to cast a spell if necessary.

The druid drew his longsword, which emanated a soft blue glow, revealing its magical nature, and he cried like a hawk as he charged across the main road that led to the western gate of Amruthar. The undead moved as quickly as they were able to behind him, but only the shadows and wraiths could keep pace. Brenna called for the skeletons to ready their weapons.

The tower stood back from the road. Only a few lights burned in the windows, and no more than a dozen gnolls stood at attention on the lawn. Behind him, Galvin heard the scornful laughter of the wraiths.

“Sweet death. We will give the gnolls sweet death!” one wraith cried. “We will open their throats and let the dog-men’s blood pour over us. We will turn them to dust.” The thunderous laughter of the undead rippled like a wave, unnerving the guards standing on Amruthar’s western wall and frightening the gnolls, who were trying hard to stand their ground.

“Such a big army,” mocked a wraith.

Galvin pulled back hard on the reins of the big black stallion in an effort to stop its charge. Dirt sprayed up all around him as the animal complied. Brenna tried to stop her horse as well, but she shot past the druid, finally halting only a few yards from the closest gnoll. It glared at her, waved its barbed spear, and shouted something in a language she couldn’t understand.

The druid dismounted and rushed to Brenna’s side, brandishing his longsword in front of him. The gnoll backed away reluctantly, baring its yellowed teeth like a cornered mongrel dog, and looked for support from its peers. Help wasn’t forthcoming. At sight of the undead army, they, too, were slowly backing toward the tower. Galvin could smell the stench of the gnolls’ fear, and he sensed their uncertainty. Gnolls were stupid creatures, but they possessed enough sense to know they couldn’t stand up to hundreds of undead.

“Where are all of your brothers?” Galvin shouted to the gnolls, hoping one could understand him. There was no answer as the gnolls continued to back toward the tower. The druid couldn’t tell if they comprehended his words, but he knew they understood the threat of Szass Tam’s army. Galvin heard his soldiers move forward, their bones tinkling.

“That’s enough!” he shouted, whirling to stand inches from a wraith. The patch of blackness wavered before his eyes, then formed legs and arms and took the shape of the druid. A chill filled the air, emanating outward from the undead creature’s body. Then eyes appeared, yellow-white pinpoints of light that looked like stars against the darkness of the wraith’s form. The wraith floated upward, hovering about two feet above the ground and forcing Galvin to look up to speak to it.

“I need some answers!” the druid yelled. “And if you frighten the gnolls or kill them, we won’t be able to learn anything. That’s not going to make Szass Tam happy.”

“We are to wrest life,” the floating wraith sighed. “We are to wrest life from Maligor’s forces. We will tug the breath away from their withering lungs.”

“Look around!” Galvin bellowed. “Maligor’s forces aren’t here. These are only a few gnolls he left behind to guard the castle. We need to find out where the rest of them went. And these gnolls can tell us.”

The wraith floated back to the ground and pulled its black arms back inside its body. “The master of death can learn all their feeble brains contain,” it uttered hollowly. “The master of death speaks to the dead. Let us devour their organs. Then the master will devour their minds. Then we’ll learn.”

“That’s not the way I want it,” the druid returned evenly. “You’re under my command for the moment. The master ordered you to obey me. What would Szass Tam do if you didn’t follow his orders? Now get back up to the road. Take the skeletons and zombies with you—all of them. Do it now!” Then he glanced over his shoulder at Brenna. “Please get Wynter. I want him safe here with us.”

Amid grotesque snickers, the wraith called for its brothers and slowly heeded the druid’s directions.

Satisfied, Galvin pivoted sharply to see the gnolls cowering. They continued to act nervous even when the undead had retreated back to the road. The druid noticed that the air around him was growing warmer in the absence of the wraiths. He stood still, staring at the gnolls, until Brenna and Wynter joined him.

“Where is Maligor’s army?” the druid demanded.

The gnolls glowered at him, but they remained silent.

“Maybe they can’t understand you,” Brenna interrupted. “Not all gnolls can speak human languages.”

The druid growled and remembered that the gnoll spy he met in Aglarond had had difficulty with human words.

Brenna touched his shoulder softly. “If you want to talk to them, I can cast a spell. They’ll be able to understand you, and you them.”

“Fine,” Galvin said. “Do it quickly. I don’t know how long I can keep the undead away.”

Brenna hurried back to her horse and tugged a small velvet sack loose from the saddlebags. She untied the drawstring and returned to the druid.

“Luckily Szass Tam left me all my spell components. This will only take a moment,” she said, reaching inside the sack with three slender fingers and pulling out several grains of coarse powder. “But do you think we should take the time to bother with this? Don’t you think Maligor will retaliate?”

“He’s not here,” the druid stated matter-of-factly. “If he was, his whole army of gnolls would be here, too. These dog-soldiers aren’t the main force. I want to find out where Maligor is and where the rest of the gnolls went. Can you make it so those damned wraiths can’t hear this?”

“Not exactly. The wraiths seem to understand you, and the spell won’t prevent that. However, unless they’re well versed in gnoll speech, they won’t be able to understand that part of the conversation.”

Galvin seemed reassured, so the sorceress swiftly weaved her fingers about in the air as if she was knitting something. After several minutes, she nodded to Galvin to let him know he could begin.

“Where are your gnoll brothers?” he asked again. This time he could tell by the gnolls’ eyes that they understood him. “Where is the main army?”

“There is no army,” a muscular guard answered, looking sullen despite its quavering voice. It was evident that this gnoll was in charge and had no intention of giving up information easily. “There only us. We guard the Red Wizard Maligor’s tower.”

“You are not guards. You are fools.” Galvin spat for emphasis, remembering the gestures of the gnoll he had interrogated before. “You will die at the claws of the dead men behind me. Perhaps I’ll let you live if you tell me what I want to know.”

“I’ll tell you nothing, human,” the gnoll returned, making a gesture Galvin couldn’t comprehend. He assumed it was something offensive.

The druid gazed over his shoulder at the mass of undead and raised his arm. He intended it as only a threat. And it worked.

Instantly three of the gnoll guards hurried forward from where they had been cowering beneath the tower’s walls and extended their hands.

“Wait!” one cried. He ignored the threatening scowl from his commander. “They left at sunset. All of them. They’re marching east, I think. Against a young Red Wizard. We wanted to go, too, but Maligor said someone must guard the tower.”

“You’ll die, scum!” the head gnoll yelled at the traitor. The druid sprang forward and cuffed the muscular gnoll, then leveled his sword at its chest.

“Let your man speak,” the druid snarled, then nodded at the other guard. “Go on. Why are they marching after a wizard? How far away is it? Is Maligor with them?”

“Hurry, Galvin,” Brenna whispered. “The spell won’t last much longer.”

“Talk to me!” he shouted at the gnoll, then jabbed the sword point at its chest for emphasis, drawing a small trickle of blood.

“I don’t know the Red Wizard’s name,” the traitor snapped. “It won’t matter, because he will die. Nothing can stand up to our gnoll army. I only know the place is three or four days’ march from here, maybe more, depending on how fast the army travels. It must be important land.”

“What’s so important about it?” Galvin pressed.

“Maligor wants it. That makes it important.”

The druid scowled. “Is Maligor with the army?”

The gnoll looked at him stupidly, the spell exhausted.

“Damn!” the druid shouted. “Can you cast it again?”

Brenna shook her head and frowned. “Sorry. What do we do now? Do we go inside? Maligor’s pretty powerful. If he’s waiting for us in there, it could be tough.” She eyed the tower. “Do you think Szass Tam knew there wouldn’t be an army here?”

“No,” Galvin answered, sheathing his sword. “The army was here very recently. Look at the ground. You can tell by the tracks, the depressions in the earth, and the smell. The gnoll was telling the truth. There was an army here until just a few hours ago. That could also be why there are so many guards on the walls of the city—as a precaution against Maligor’s army.” Galvin glared at the undead behind him; the tinkle of bones indicated they were advancing again.

“I said stay back!” The druid was tired of trying to control the creatures. He turned to face Brenna, and his expression softened. “I think we should wait for Szass Tam to contact us. Our instructions were to deal with Maligor and his forces. Well, Maligor’s forces aren’t here anymore.”

“Then, lowly human, you will deal with his forces elsewhere,” the voice of a wraith interrupted. A shadow of blackness hovered above the druid and sorceress, having moved up silently, keeping its distance until now so the cold wouldn’t give it away. “Szass Tam talked to us, too. The death master wants Maligor stopped, and the master shall not be denied. You will lead us to Maligor’s army, humans.”

“Unlike you, we have to sleep sometime,” Galvin said.

“Sleep later, human,” another wraith called softly. “If Maligor is not stopped, you will not need to worry about sleep.”

Galvin sighed and cocked his head forward, rolling his helmet off. He ran his right hand over his head.

“I don’t want to die,” Wynter said softly.

“Don’t worry,” the druid replied. Galvin knew he could stay awake for another day if he had to, but he wanted an excuse to abandon the wraiths, even if only temporarily.

“Well, I guess we don’t have much choice, Brenna. The army that takes its orders from us is demanding action. There were so many gnolls here, it’ll be easy to track them.”

“Point us in the right direction,” Brenna chirped, trying hard to sound cheerful. “We’ll catch up to the gnolls, finish them off, then get out of this country and see about getting Wynter back to normal.”

Galvin knelt to examine the tracks more closely in the dim light from the torches along the city walls and the scant light spilling from the tower’s windows. He ran his fingertips along a particularly deep imprint of a boot, then glanced at the guards along the city wall. From their numbers, he guessed that many of them must have shifted position from the north and south walls to crowd the west wall nearest Maligor’s tower.

Maybe someone should tell them the undead aren’t going to attack the city, he thought. It would be nice if at least someone could get some rest.

He rose, brushed the dirt off his knees, and smiled at Brenna. “We’ll eventually catch up with the gnolls because they’re traveling with full arms and packs. Besides, they’ll have to stop to sleep.” He glanced down at the outline of a few of the footprints.

“When we do catch up with them, we’re in for a fight.” He knelt and drew Brenna down beside him. Taking her hand, he guided her fingers inside one of the footprints. “Feel how deep this track is? Feel here, the ridges in the track, and here and here. Feel the rounded heel and toe. This track was made by a plate boot. That means the gnolls are heavily armed and armored.”

Galvin considered approaching an Amruthar guard to get an estimate of the number of gnolls. However, he worried that he would be peppered with arrows as soon as he neared the wall. The information would do him little good anyway, he realized in the end. It really didn’t matter how many gnolls were involved. Galvin, Brenna, and the undead were supposed to defeat Maligor’s forces whatever the odds.

Resigned, the druid rose, turned his back on the tower, and strode toward his stallion. “Let’s move,” he told Brenna and hoisted himself into the saddle.

“Not just yet.” Brenna stood unmoving, her hands planted on her hips, and stared long and hard at the head gnoll. “Let’s see if we can find out why Maligor’s going after another Red Wizard.” She pointed at the tower. “Maybe we can learn something in there.”

Galvin weighed Brenna’s idea. The more he thought about it, the more he liked it. Any information was better than none. He leapt off the black stallion, grabbed the reins, and began to lead the animal toward the tower. Two gnolls moved to block the front door.

“Out of our way!” Galvin shouted, knowing the stupid creatures couldn’t understand the words but hoping they would comprehend his intent.

Brenna was at his side in a few steps. Drawing a long knife, she anticipated trouble when the gnolls refused to part and the others began to move closer.

Galvin unsheathed his longsword and advanced. The gnolls paused, eyeing the glowing blade, then screamed as a black cloud descended upon them. The wraiths, appearing as a fog with ghostly arms and legs, laughed eerily and slashed at the gnolls’ faces.

Deep, black gashes appeared, and blood flowed freely down the bodies of the terrified gnolls. The dog-men thrust at the blackness with their spears, but the crude weapons passed through the undead harmlessly.

“Stop!” Galvin demanded, running up toward the gnolls and disappearing in the cloud of undead.

Brenna screamed, fearing the druid was doomed. Tears welled in her eyes and her hands shook. Although she could hear Galvin’s commanding voice through the undead, she feared for his safety.

“Back away!” the druid yelled as he slashed upward with his enchanted blade, slicing a black limb from a hovering wraith. The undead being emitted a piercing shriek and fell backward behind its undead brethren.

“I said stop!” Galvin shouted once more. “Back off, or you’ll have to fight me, too!”

“We could steal your lowly life, human,” growled a wraith that moved to hover inches from Galvin’s face. Its hot white eyes bore into the druid. “We could bring you death with one touch.”

“Then try it!” Galvin shouted, thrusting upward and driving his blade between the wraith’s glowing eyes. The creature screamed and dissipated like thinning fog, but several others quickly moved to take its place, chilling the air about the druid. “Szass Tam gave me this sword. You know it can kill you.”

“Mortal fool!” another wraith howled, its haunting tone drifted toward Brenna and Wynter. “You could never kill all of us. We would suck the marrow from your brittle bones. Then you would be one of us.”

“Never!” The druid refused to cower before Szass Tam’s minions. He realized that backing down meant giving in to the undead, inviting them to overwhelm him, Brenna, and Wynter. “Now get back to the road, all of you. This is my fight.”

The wraiths laughed mockingly, their hollow voices reverberating off the tower wall, but they retreated nevertheless.

Brenna rushed to Galvin’s side, threw her arms around him in relief, then quickly composed herself and stood facing the gnolls.

Galvin pointed the tip of his longsword at the dog-men, then swept it to the side, pointing west, toward the escarpment. “Move!” he barked. “Move or I’ll kill you!”

The gnolls didn’t comprehend the words, but they understood the druid’s meaning. They fled the tower, running hard without glancing back.

The druid took a deep breath, sheathed his sword, and watched their retreating forms to make sure the wraiths didn’t give chase. Galvin hadn’t wanted to kill the gnolls, and he wanted to keep the undead from doing so even more. No being deserved to be turned into a wraith.

With half a dozen long steps, he reached the large tower doors and yanked on the handles. The iron-bound wood remained unyielding, even after he rammed his shoulder against it several times. Frustrated, Galvin shoved the enchanted blade between the two doors and pushed.

“That won’t work either,” Brenna observed, laying a soft hand on his mailed shoulder. “I’m pretty sure it’s magically held. If Maligor’s as powerful as we’re led to believe, he’d certainly have magic in the walls and doors to keep intruders out.”

“Wonderful.” The druid slumped against the door.

Brenna smiled, and her eyes twinkled in the moonlight. “I think I can get in,” she said. “I told you a sorceress would come in handy. Now aren’t you glad you brought me along?” She gestured, and Galvin moved away from the door, watching intently as she cast a simple spell that ended in a thumping sound, like a small door knocker being rapped against wood.

“Success!” she said, beaming. The doors swung slowly inward, moving silently on ancient hinges. In front of them lay a hallway bathed in the light of dozens of thick candles. Suddenly guards, both humans and gnolls, began to pour from rooms off the hall and moved to attack. All were armored, and their plates of metal clanged noisily as they swarmed forward in a wave.

Galvin leapt in front of the sorceress and deftly parried the swing of one burly guard. The massive man wielded a claymoor, a great sword that took two hands to heft. When the guard lifted the sword above his head for another attack, the druid quickly thrust his own enchanted sword forward. The blade sliced through the man’s abdomen, sinking in up to the hilt.

Galvin brought his right leg up and lodged it against the dying man’s waist, then pushed, sliding the man off his sword and into the advancing second rank of guards, knocking several down. The druid pressed his attack, cleaving his blade into the neck of a fallen gnoll who was starting to rise.

Shards of electric blue shot past Galvin and imbedded themselves in the chest of another guard. Brenna shouted a half-dozen arcane syllables, and more of the magical shards flew from her fingertips and into the face of a gnoll.

“Surrender!” she heard Galvin call, but the guards ignored the command. Then the enchantress felt instantly cold as a wave of wraiths passed over her, casting a dark shadow in the entranceway.

The undead enveloped the guards farthest from Galvin and Brenna, their black bodies smothering their victims’ screams. Galvin futilely ordered the wraiths to retreat as he battled a pair of gnolls. Four more swings, and the druid had killed the dog-men.

Brenna and Galvin were the only living people in the hallway. The druid stared at his bloody longsword for several moments, then glanced at the polished marble floor, now coated with blood and entrails. Farther down the hallway, where the wraiths had attacked, the dead bodies appeared twisted, their skin dried, almost mummified. The shadowy wraiths hovered over the husks.

“Leave us!” the druid ordered, glaring at the wraiths that had positioned themselves along the walls equidistant from the candles, where the light was the softest. The torches showed the wraiths to be vaguely human shapes, filled with shifting patterns of gray, black, and brown.

“No!” they hissed as one.

“Outside!” Galvin continued his commanding tone.

“When will you leave the castle?” one posed as the cloud of wraiths floated over the heads of Brenna and Galvin and out the door.

“After we have the information we need,” the druid replied. “It could take a few hours.”

A throaty laughed drifted through the tower’s entranceway. “If you do not return, humans, we will come get you.”

Galvin turned to Brenna, relieved that the wraiths were gone, if only for a short while. She offered a weak smile, and he drew her into his arms. The action pleasantly startled the sorceress, and she ignored the uncomfortable links of his shirt that rubbed against her. She laid her head against his chest. The metal felt cool on her cheek.

Galvin kissed the top of her bald head. “We’ll get out of this somehow, Brenna.”

“What makes you so sure?” she asked, raising her head to meet his gaze.

“We have to,” he stated. He bent to kiss her lips but stopped when he heard the clip-clop of hooves over the marble.

“I guess this isn’t the right time or place,” Brenna sighed, turning to look at Wynter.

The centaur stood amid the dead bodies, tears streaming down his angular face. “I want to go home, Galvin,” he sobbed. “But I don’t know where home is.”

“We’ll take you home soon,” Galvin said softly, releasing Brenna and beckoning to Wynter. The centaur carefully picked his way around the bodies.

“Let’s see what we can find—a diary or a map, anything to indicate where the gnolls are going and who they’re attacking,” the druid said, his voice businesslike. “If we’re lucky, maybe we can find a servant willing to talk. There has to be someone alive here.”

For the next hour, Brenna and Galvin moved from one room to the next searching the first three floors of the wizard’s tower, coaxing the centaur up each flight of stairs. Galvin didn’t want to leave Wynter close to the undead.

The trio searched through empty slave quarters, where crude furnishings dominated the rooms. The bunk beds were stacked four high and indicated the wizard kept nearly two hundred slaves in his tower. A barracks for the gnolls, furnished only marginally better, was filled with withered corpses, victims of the wraiths.

Galvin carefully inspected each body, looking for written orders or some other indication of Maligor’s plans. All he was able to find were a few handfuls of silver and gold coins, the guards’ meager pay. He scattered the coins over the bodies and continued on.

The kitchen offered some hint there might be living occupants still about. Embers glowed in the hearth, and dirty plates were stacked near a tub of water that contained traces of soapsuds. Brenna noted that the pantry was well stocked. Shelves of dried fruits, vegetables, and grains covered one entire wall. Recently skinned and gutted chickens hung from metal hooks.

They searched through storage rooms filled with discarded furniture, and they rummaged through richly appointed sitting rooms. During their foraging, Galvin lit candles, torches, and lanterns, hoping the light would keep the wraiths from coming near them.

Eventually the trio came to a series of connected sleeping rooms where scantily-clad pleasure slaves cowered behind the curtains. Their bodies were pale from lack of exposure to the sun, and their long hair hung loose about their shoulders. They trembled, and Brenna stepped closer, motioning for Galvin and Wynter to stay back.

“Don’t be afraid. We won’t hurt you,” she said softly. She noticed that one of the slaves was an elf, and behind her cowered a human girl of about nine or ten. “We’ll help you.”

“But you’re Thayvians,” the elf said.

“No. No, we’re not. I’m from Aglarond.”

“Aglarond?” the girl behind the elf spoke up. “I used to live there.”

After several minutes, it was obvious that Brenna was accepted by the slaves. Although they still regarded Galvin and Wynter with suspicion, they answered the druid’s questions about Maligor. The slaves proved to have little useful information, other than providing a detailed description of the Red Wizard—that of an elderly, stooped bald man who wore the symbol of Myrkul on his head. The druid guessed Maligor was careful not to talk about anything significant in front of them. Galvin wondered out loud how he might go about freeing the slaves.

Surprisingly, Brenna discouraged him.

“If we don’t defeat Maligor and he comes back here to find his slaves missing, he could well go looking for them—and punish them or kill them. But if we defeat him, he won’t be coming back to the tower, and they’ll be free anyway.”

“Good point,” Galvin replied. “But I think we should lock them in their chambers. If they’re loyal to Maligor, I don’t want any of them sneaking up behind us while we’re searching this place. Bring the girl along as a guide.” Galvin glanced at Wynter, standing in the doorway. “We’ll need you to guard them, Wynter. Yell out if anything tries to get into this room. Okay?”

The centaur smiled, pleased to be given the task. “Okay, Galvin.”

Brenna led the girl into the hallway, questioning her about her parents. The girl explained that her parents were farmers. She and a number of other children from farm families had been abducted and taken over the escarpment by their captors.

Galvin fumbled with the locks of the room for a few moments. Finally he moved a heavy wooden cabinet against the door to make certain the slaves couldn’t escape. He reminded the centaur to watch them carefully.

“We’ll open it again when we’re ready to leave the castle,” he said to Brenna, noticing the worried look on her face. Then the druid turned to the young slave. “Don’t worry. We won’t let them starve in there. We don’t want to hurt anyone. Now, are there others in the tower? More slaves? Guards?”

The girl shrugged and quickly explained that the tower had bustled with activity early in the day. She had heard their movements from the slave chamber. But since then, the corridors had remained quiet until Galvin, Brenna, and their undead army arrived.

“Can you lead us to Maligor’s private rooms … the places where he might keep papers or other important things?”

The girl trembled and stared wide-eyed at him, thinking of the things rumored to transpire in some of her master’s chambers. Galvin had to promise that she would be safe before she agreed to guide them up a circular marble staircase.

On the fourth floor, about halfway up the tower, Galvin stopped and pushed the girl behind him. Squatting on the landing was a misshapen blob of warty flesh about twice the size of the druid’s stallion. The creature had a caldron-shaped stomach, with webbed, taloned toes barely showing beneath it. Its head seemed to sit directly on its stomach, hiding any neck there may have been. Saucer-shaped, round eyes that appeared to have no pupils stared out from each side of its head over a thin mouth that stretched from one side of its face to the other. The creature had no ears, or rather none that could be discerned on its smooth, green-and-brown-mottled skin.

The froglike monstrosity spied the druid, and it snaked out a long, forked tongue that stretched nearly to Galvin’s face.

“Look out, Galvin!” Brenna cried. The slave girl screamed in terror and backed halfway down the staircase behind the sorceress.

The druid vaulted forward and to his right. Drawing his longsword, he sliced at the tongue, cleaving it in two. Black ichor spilled out from the flailing appendage and hissed over the stones. Brenna and the slave girl backed farther down the stairs.

“It looks like acid,” Brenna called. “Shall I get the wraiths?”

“No,” he barked, taking aim at the froglike creature. “They’re worse than this thing.”

Again the creature attacked, this time stretching out its half-tongue, spattering the druid’s chain and tabard with the acidic slime.

Galvin heard the cloth sizzle and felt the heat against his chest. Using all his strength, he jabbed the sword at the frog’s leathery side, pushing it in up to the hilt. The creature responded with a pitiful cry that sounded like a baby and thrashed about, trying to dislodge the weapon. Dark, thick blood began to well from the wound. The frog’s bulk worked against it, however. The druid had managed to maneuver himself around to its side, where what remained of the creature’s tongue couldn’t reach him.

“Can I do anything?” he heard Brenna cry.

“No. Stay back!” he shouted, as he pulled the sword out and thrust it in again. “Protect the girl and save your magic! We may encounter worse creatures than this before we’re through!”

More of the black blood oozed out the frog’s side as Galvin leapt to the creature’s back, but his foot slipped in the acidic mixture and he went sprawling between the giant frog and the wall. Although apparently dying from its wounds, the creature struggled to the end, attempting to pin the druid between itself and the wall.

Galvin pushed with his feet and hands against the frog’s body, trying to regain his weapon. Finally he grasped its hilt with both hands, tugged it loose from the creature’s side, then struggled to his feet. The black blood had etched holes in his tabard and burned patches of skin on his hands and face, but it hadn’t burned all the way through the chain links of his shirt.

The frog moved slowly, attempting to turn itself around on the landing so it could face Galvin. It opened its maw and tried to snap at its attacker, but the druid was too quick for it. He jumped behind the creature and plunged his sword into the center of its back. The frog made a sickly gurgling noise, and the black substance poured from its mouth and began to flow down the stairs. Brenna and the slave girl pressed themselves up against the wall to avoid the trail of acidic slime. Finally the creature grew still.

On the landing, Galvin drew in several deep breaths, then motioned for Brenna and the girl to join him. As the sorceress reached for his hand, she stopped, staring wide-eyed at the creature. Its skin began to bubble like a pool of lava, and spurts of black blood shot out from its body. The frog’s skin gradually changed from green to brown to orange, then flaming red, as it melted from the thing’s bones and flowed down the stairway.

Galvin, Brenna, and the slave girl stared at the monstrous skeleton, which appeared as white as if it had been picked clean.

Galvin was angry. “Animals shouldn’t be turned into something vile and corrupt. I want the man who did this.”

“He’s not here, but I’m sure you already know that. We’ll just have to do.” The voice came from the darkness at the end of the hallway beyond the landing. Three men emerged from the shadows wearing the red robes of the wizards of Thay.

The man in the center was the tallest and had large hands and long, slender fingers. The nails glowed orange as he extended his hands out toward the druid.

Galvin went for his sword, but the wizard was faster. Beams of orange light shot from his fingers into Galvin’s breast, slamming him against the wall. He grabbed for his chest, trying to make the pain stop. His sword clanked against the marble floor.

The hands of the other two wizards began to glow as they stared at Galvin, but Brenna was quicker. The sorceress mumbled five arcane words, and instantly the hallway was filled with thick, black webs. They clung to the walls, the floor, and the men in the red robes.

Recovering from the orange bolts, Galvin gasped for air and peered into the webs, searching for the wizards.

“If they’re lucky they might be able to break free, but by then, we’ll be a long way from here,” Brenna said calmly.

Galvin looked about the dark hallway until he spotted several torches along the wall. He lit them with a torch from the landing and coaxed the slave girl to climb the stairs. She was reluctant, but she had few other options.

Taking her hand, Galvin joined Brenna. Holding the torch up and peering carefully into the magical web, they spotted the three wizards, struggling futilely to break free of its grasp.

“These wizards probably aren’t very powerful,” she observed. “Otherwise Maligor would have taken them with him. They’re probably apprentices, left behind to defend the castle.”

Galvin glowered at the men in the webbing, then held the torch even closer to its fringe. “Cooperate with us,” he warned, “and we’ll let you live. If you don’t, you’ll fry in there.” He had no intention of setting the webs on fire, but he hoped they believed his threat.

“We’ll cooperate,” a muffled voice replied.

Brenna released her web spell, then chanted the phrase Galvin remembered hearing in the orchard when she mesmerized the leader of the ore patrol. It had a similar effect on the wizards, who meekly allowed themselves to be tied up with cords from the hallway tapestries.

A group of long-haired slaves appeared in the hallway as the last of the wizards was being trussed up. “Stay back!” Brenna yelled. The slaves did as they were told. The girl at the sorceress’s side rushed past the wizards and threw herself at a lanky young man in the middle of the group; Brenna guessed that he was her brother from his close resemblance to her. He held her tightly.

Galvin pulled one of the apprentice wizards to his feet. He looked at the group of slaves and the young girl. “Did Maligor have any drawings or maps? Did he keep them on this floor?”

She shook her head no.

“What’s on this level?” the druid snapped at his hostage.

“The chambers for Maligor’s apprentice wizards,” he said reluctantly.

The druid dragged the wizard down the hallway and pushed him hard against the first door they came to, using the wizard’s weight to force the door open. Inside, he saw that the wizard had apparently told the truth. It was a large, ornate room with expensive beds, plush furniture, and mahogany wardrobes. Galvin stuck his head back out into the hall.

“Bring the slaves in here!”

Brenna herded the slaves past the apprentices and down the hallway to the large room. She went back to check the room the slaves had come from to make sure it was empty, then returned and looked for the druid. He was directing the slaves into a corner of the large room. Apparently believing Maligor had been overthrown, the slaves asked Galvin which Red Wizard was in charge of the tower.

“No one at the moment,” the druid replied. “We’re not Thayvians. I’m a Harper. And you’ll have to stay here. It isn’t safe outside.” He paused, glancing at their worried faces. “You’ll be safe together. Just be sure to keep several candles and lanterns lit in this room and keep them going all night. We’ll be back after we deal with Maligor.”

“He’s not here,” one of the older slaves said stepping forward. The man had a yellow tinge to his skin and long, thin black hair, indicating he was from Kara-Tur, but his accent was Thayvian. “He left after the army departed, and we don’t expect him back for days. You’ve captured the only apprentices he left behind. He took the rest with him—wherever he was going.”

“We’re looking for his personal effects … anything that might provide a clue about his destination,” Galvin continued. “We need to find out what he’s up to. If any of you can help, speak up.”

The slaves murmured amongst themselves, but no one had any suggestions.

“The dealings of a Red Wizard aren’t shared with the likes of us,” the older slave said finally. “But if you’re looking for information, try the top floor. Several slaves that Maligor took there were never seen again.”

Galvin thanked the slave and left hurriedly, pulling the apprentice wizard out the door with him. Brenna closed the door and edged in front of the druid.

“This time I’m leading the way. I’ve got a few spells left in case we need them.”

When they reached the top floor, they were confronted by an ornate door. Brenna told Galvin to stay behind on the landing with the apprentice, then she moved slowly toward the door. She took several minutes to study the chipped marble floor, then the inlaid bronze and silver symbols on the door itself.

“Maligor has some kind of a ward here, a type of spell that takes effect when the door is opened. I’m not sure if I can do much about it.” Brenna continued to study the designs until she heard Galvin’s footsteps approaching.

The door glowed a soft blue and the air began to turn intensely hot about her, blistering her lips.

“Stay back!” she yelled. “Step only on the green and black ties. The others are enchanted.”

About to step on a gray tile, Galvin whirled.

“Brenna, get to the stairwell! We’ll let our wizard friend open the door. If he likes magic so much, we’ll let him find out what happens.”

“No, please!” the man gasped as Galvin began to push him forward. “If I touch the door, I’ll burn to a crisp.”

“Then tell us what’s behind the door. Maybe I’ll change my mind,” Galvin growled.

“I—I don’t know,” the wizard answered, “but I’m telling you the truth. No one but Maligor and maybe Asp, has been in there.”

“Asp? Who is Asp?” Galvin persisted.

“The wizard’s woman,” the apprentice replied, realizing that Maligor would kill him for revealing such information. He paled. Thinking his only chance for survival lay in killing the Harper, he reached into the folds of his robe and produced a curved-edged dagger. The apprentice Red Wizard thrust it at the druid, but Galvin dodged to the side, pushed the apprentice toward the door, and quickly retreated to the landing.

There was a blinding flash of white light, and the stench of charred flesh filled the air. When the smoke cleared, Brenna and Galvin saw nothing but a pile of ashes in front of the door.

Brenna pushed past the druid and stepped from green tile to black tile until she reached the door. Extending her palm and running it over the surface of the inlaid symbols, she satisfied herself that the magic was gone—at least for a while.

Cautiously Brenna opened the door. It was dark inside, but enough light filtered in from the landing to reveal part of the contents.

Galvin moved up behind her and peered inside.

“Gods, no!” he cried.