Red Magic

Thirteen

A heavy scent of death emanated from the tower room as the druid opened the door. The smell was almost overpowering, and although the shadows were too thick to make out all of the room’s features, the druid knew there were bodies inside.

Galvin clenched and relaxed his fists, drew in a deep breath, then strode into the heart of the room, despite Brenna’s protests that there may be more magical guards and wards about. He halted in front of a large, low table covered with cages—the obvious source of the odor—and lit the lantern that hung above it.

At first glance, Galvin thought each cage contained a balled-up pelt of some kind. Then, as the lantern glowed brighter, he noticed tiny, fixed black eyes, and curled paws. The ribs of most animals showed through their fur, indicating they had likely died from starvation.

Galvin’s hands worked furiously with the latch on the largest cage, tearing the mechanism off when it wouldn’t open fast enough. Inside were rabbits, several of them coated with dried blood. Because they had huddled together and looked like one mass of fur, it was difficult to tell how many there were. Their stiffened paws stuck outward from the pile at odd angles. The druid gently ran his hands over the soft fur, feeling the protruding ribs underneath, imagining how horribly they must have died. Quickly he searched through the cage, trying to find anything alive. His efforts yielded only one survivor.

He pulled a small, frightened brown hare from the middle of the dead mass and cradled it in his arms like a mother would a baby, then passed it gently to Brenna. The hare put up no resistance, seeming to lack the energy even to move.

With fevered urgency, Galvin wrenched the remaining cages open, prodding through the dead animals, searching to find any that gave off body heat. The lizards and snakes had been dead a long time. The birds were almost skeletal. In a small cage, where the wire mesh was bent from the occupants’ futile attempts to escape, three gray rats huddled. They appeared healthy, and the druid determined they must have survived by eating the dead caged with them. Galvin released the rats, and they scurried away to find a home elsewhere in the tower.

Only one other cage evidenced life, a mole and a hedgehog that quivered beneath a pile of their dead brothers. Galvin removed them from the cage and cradled both in the crook of his left arm.

“The monster!” Galvin vented, staring into the cages. “These animals were pawns for Maligor’s experiments. Up till now, I considered going after Maligor for Szass Tam as the lesser of two evils. But one less monster in Faerûn—no matter how he’s eliminated—is a goal worth accomplishing. I want Maligor to rot forever in the Nine Hells! He deserves nothing better.”

Brenna fought to keep from retching at the grisly tableau. She wanted to run, but she didn’t want to abandon Galvin.

“There’s no water or food in here.” The druid was talking to himself now, or maybe to the animals. “Nothing but vials of magic and poison to turn you into monsters. What makes someone think he has the right to defile nature? Why would a man play god with defenseless animals?”

Brenna glanced at Galvin, and saw tears spilling from his eyes. Here was a man who could fight his way into Thay, confront gnolls, battle the undead, and live through a meeting with Szass Tam, yet he was crushed by the sad fate of the helpless animals.

“I love you,” she said simply, knowing the words were out of place but wanting to say them anyway.

Galvin ignored her and continued to look over the table. “How can any man live with himself and do this?” The druid soothed the animals, rubbing them. “How?”

“Remember, Maligor is the Zulkir of Alteration,” Brenna said softly, turning her attention to the hare she held. “Maligor apparently specializes in transmuting one living thing into another. I’ve studied a little alteration magic myself, but nothing like this.”

Brenna continued her explanation, but Galvin appeared not to hear her. He was making odd chittering and clicking sounds that were being answered by the hedgehog.

The enchantress began to pace about the room, stroking the hare and absorbing the rest of her surroundings. Occasionally she glanced back at the druid to note he was still continuing his conversation with the hedgehog. The floor was coated with dust except for a path between the door and the table. Spiderwebs were as thick as cloth in the corners. She wondered why Maligor had this simple laboratory so far from the rest of his rooms and why he guarded it with magic strong enough to turn a man to ashes. Perhaps his own malign reasoning wanted this particular torture chamber kept separate, secret, his own private sickness, she decided.

She continued to stroke the hare while she turned her attention to a rack of vials. As she bent to take a closer look, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Galvin wince as if in pain.

Galvin’s mind had merged with the malnourished hedgehog’s. For an instant, the druid saw through its tiny eyes, saw Brenna pacing about the room. Then Galvin was again assailed by the smell of the room, for the hedgehog’s senses were far more acute than his own; the pungent smell made the druid wince.

The druid concentrated through the hedgehog, going past the animal’s current surroundings to a time, a few days ago, when more of the animals had been alive—to a time when the Red Wizard was puttering about the table, pouring liquids and powders into a small ceramic bowl. Galvin stared at the wizard through the hedgehog’s eyes. He had expected to see an elderly man, but this man was clearly middle-aged. A wild tangle of black hair hung about his shoulders, and his penetrating black eyes held the touch of madness. On the top of his head, just above his brow, was the tattoo of a grinning white skull on a midnight field. Merged with the hedgehog’s senses, the druid trembled in fear.

Whatever the Red Wizard was mixing in the small bowl made Galvin’s eyes water as he peered out through the wire mesh cage. He watched Maligor finish stirring the noxious brew, then saw the wizard place it in the cage with the lizards and snakes. For a moment, Galvin felt relieved, for he and the animals watching from their crowded cage had worried that the concoction was meant for them.

Then their relief turned to terror, as the wizard turned his gaze toward the cage filled with hedgehogs and moles. The wizard drummed his slender fingers across the front of the cage, then reached up to lace his fingers about a wire handle on top. Galvin felt himself being lifted, and his small hedgehog feet scrabbled against the wire mesh bottom to stay upright.

Across the room the cage was toted, then down, down. They passed doors and long-haired humans bowing low to Maligor. Then the wizard stopped before a wall, which parted to reveal more stairs. A new stench wafted up from the bowels of the tower as Maligor and his furry charges descended still farther. The druid could smell the fear of the other animals in the cage. It mingled with the unknown scent of something living below.

Several moments later, Maligor emerged with the cage into the darkenbeast chamber, and the moles and hedgehogs chittered amongst themselves in dread. Galvin felt himself huddling at the back of the cage, trying to hide. He closed his tiny eyes, hearing the squeals of his brothers as they were pulled from the cage by the wizard’s bony hands. More and more animals were hauled out of the cage, and the druid wrapped his tiny, trembling claws about the back mesh.

Then he heard the cage door latch shut, and he relaxed enough to notice that he and four companions had been spared. Skittering to the front of the cage, he pushed his face against the mesh to see what was transpiring. The druid watched in horror as Maligor mumbled something incomprehensible, and the group of small animals on the stone at his feet began to bubble, stretch, and transform grotesquely into enormous bat creatures that screamed and flapped their leathery wings.

The druid watched as his one-time brothers took to flight in the chamber to join hundreds of other creatures just like them. The things skimmed below the ceiling, clung to the walls, and voiced their hideous screams.

Galvin felt himself being lifted again, beginning the long ascent to the laboratory.

Trembling, the druid severed his mental link with the hedgehog to see Brenna staring at him. Clutching the animal to his chest, he whirled from the table and started toward the door.

“Come on!” the druid urged. “I’ve got a few things to do before we start after Maligor. And we’ve left Wynter alone far too long.”

“Do you know where Maligor’s going?” Brenna asked, hurrying to catch up with him and stepping over the pile of ashes beyond the doorway, the remnants of the Red Wizard’s apprentice.

“Not yet. But I know what he’s up to.” The druid took the steps two at a time and quickly found himself back with the slaves he had left in the apprentices’ chambers.

Rushing inside, Galvin found the slaves going through the apprentices’ belongings, taking objects that might be valuable. He disregarded their looting and strode to the nearest man.

“Take care of these animals. Get them food, water,” Galvin ordered. “Keep them under close watch for a while. They’re not healthy enough to be turned loose.” Gently he handed the mole and hedgehog to the man. Brenna gave the hare to the slave girl from Aglarond.

“Somehow we have to get below the tower,” Galvin said. “Maligor’s got creatures there like the one that attacked us at our camp.”

“What are you talking about?” Brenna was perplexed and a little worried about the druid’s agitated state.

“I don’t have time to explain now. We’ve got to hurry.”

“But we’ve been all over the ground floor,” she sputtered. “There was nothing below that tower.”

“He’s got some kind of a secret door,” Galvin said quickly. Then he pounded down the stairs, pulling Brenna along with him, until he stopped on the third floor. He released her hand and strode to the chamber where they had left the pleasure slaves. The chest was still secure against the doors, but Wynter was nowhere to be seen.

“Damn!” he exclaimed. “I should never have asked him to stay here. He’s like a child.” The druid pushed the chest aside and threw open the doors. The scantily clad pleasure slaves stared at him nervously.

“Get out of here!” Galvin shouted. “Maligor won’t be back. Run! Get as far away from this evil place as you can. You’re free.” He spun back toward the hall, not waiting to watch their response. He charged off to find the centaur.

“Why are you so certain the Red Wizard won’t be back?” Brenna asked as she hurried to keep up with him.

“Because I’m going to find him, Brenna, and when I do, I’m going to kill him.”

They ran down one corridor after another, throwing open doors to rooms and calling for Wynter.

The color drained from Galvin’s face as he searched, fearing for the safety of his confused friend. Galvin cursed himself for not keeping Wynter with him, but the druid had feared the centaur would slow them down. His equine legs weren’t meant for the spiral staircases.

With Brenna close behind him, the druid bolted into the kitchen to find Wynter staring at his reflection in the glass of the china cabinet. The centaur slowly turned, a puzzled expression etched on his tanned face.

“We’re in Thay, aren’t we?” Wynter stated simply. “I remember now.” He scratched at a circular scab on his temple. “I remember that I used to live in Thay, but I can’t remember why I’m here now.”

Brenna rushed to him and threw her arms about his waist. “We’ll help you remember, Wynter,” she said quickly.

“My head hurts, Brenna,” the centaur said, scratching at the scab again.

“Come on, both of you,” Galvin coaxed. The druid was relieved to find his friend, and he was encouraged that the centaur seemed to have recovered at least a little. But the druid was in a hurry to get below the castle. He was too close to discovering Maligor’s secret to slow down now.

In the hallway beyond the kitchen, Galvin began to pull tapestries and paintings from the wall, searching for some sign of a door that would lead to the chamber he had seen while he was linked to the hedgehog.

“He’s probably using magic to hide the door you’re looking for, altering its appearance to blend in with the walls. There are certain spells designed to mask such things.” Brenna’s voice was tinged with concern. “We don’t have much more time, Galvin. We’ve been here several hours already. The undead outside …”

“Are no doubt getting anxious—at least the ones that can think. I know, we’ve got to hurry and find some answers or they’ll turn on us or force us to march after the gnolls right away. I’m not even sure we should be going after the gnoll army—not if we want to catch Maligor.” He stroked his chin, then began to examine the walls carefully. “I think I know how to get us underground, although not without a lot of effort. I should have done this to begin with.”

The druid dropped to his knees before the smooth stone wall. Spreading his fingers wide along the base of the stone, he placed his forehead against the wall, almost as if he were pushing against it. Then he began to hum a low, simple tune Brenna had never heard. As a child, the sorceress had been told stories that powerful druids were able to talk to the very earth, get stones to speak, dirt to sing, and the ground to reveal its secrets. She hadn’t dreamed that Galvin possessed such abilities.

The young councilwoman always assumed that the arcane energies of magic were the most powerful forces in the realm. Yet without any of that, using merely simple gesture and tune, the druid was performing a type of magic she thought was only legend.

Suddenly the stone began to hum back, a low, deep, vibrating sound.

She watched Galvin tremble and begin to perspire, as if the effort of talking to the stone was taking everything out of him. The druid continued the process for nearly half an hour, then collapsed, gasping, against the wall. Much to her amazement, Brenna noticed that the wall was also sweating. Brenna rushed to him and used her robe to dab his face.

“Galvin, are you all right? Please tell me you’re all right. Did you actually speak to the wall? Did you?”

“I’ll… be okay,” he said weakly. “It’s magic I don’t call upon often because it takes so much out of me—and out of the rock. Stone always seems to think it has all the time in the world to say what it has to say.” He steadied himself against the wall with both hands, drawing in as much air as his lungs could hold.

“We’re going to have to convince the undead to wait awhile longer. I’m not going to be able to go anywhere for several hours now. You’d better let the wraiths inside the tower and I’ll tell them.”

“What did you find out?” Brenna’s curiosity couldn’t be contained.

“Let the wraiths in first. I only want to go through this once.”

Brenna shivered. The last thing she wanted was to deal with the undead again, but she accepted the fact that Galvin was right—the dead would have to be told what was going on, or they weren’t likely to continue to cooperate.

Within moments, the dark shapes were swirling about the druid, begging him to extinguish some of the candles so they could move about more comfortably.

“Weak you are,” the closest one whispered to the druid in haunting tones. The wraith tried to hover where the light was softest. “Perhaps you will be with us soon, wrapped in the sweet embrace of death.”

“Noooo,” another groaned, its raspy voice unnerving Wynter and Brenna. Galvin was too exhausted to be bothered by its unnatural speech. “The human cannot yet kiss the rich, dark earth of the grave, the welcoming taste of unlife. Szass Tam, the death master, thinks we need a living man to lead us.” The wraith floated to the floor, bringing its amorphous black face mere inches from the druid’s chin. “We can suck the last breath from your weak, mortal lungs later, bestowing upon you a precious demise. You can live forever in death. But you must be well now.”

“I’m not dying. I’m just tired.” Galvin grimaced. “Remember when you were alive? You used to get tired, too. Or is that too far beyond your memories?”

The wraiths ignored Galvin’s jibe and continued to pester him.

“We must go,” the wraiths began to chant, repeating the phrase until their voices sounded like a swarm of insects.

The one nearest Galvin rose several feet into the air. “The sun will rise soon, and then we must flee to the embrace of darkness. We must pursue the gnolls—now.”

“We wouldn’t get far before the sun rises,” Galvin said evenly. “Listen to me. I’ve found out something, something most perplexing. I’m not certain that Maligor is with the gnoll army. I think he is with another army, one with numbers and power to truly concern Szass Tam.

“This is an army of malevolent, flying beasts, all under Maligor’s control. There are hundreds, perhaps thousands of the things. Maligor calls them darkenbeasts. This army flew out of the tower shortly after the gnolls left, when this place was surrounded by a thick, quick-settling fog.” The druid paused to take a deep breath. “It’s doubtful anyone in Amruthar saw the army of darkenbeasts. The gnolls could be just a ruse, a trick.”

Outwardly, the wraiths appeared no different, though their hollow voices carried a hint of surprise. “All those gnolls—a mere distraction?”

“A diversion,” Galvin agreed. He eased himself to his feet, leaning against the wall for support. He was still weak, and he hoped the wraiths would cooperate, because he didn’t have the strength to oppose them now. “Everyone is paying attention to Maligor’s gnolls—even the mighty Szass Tam. With everyone preoccupied, Maligor’s darkenbeasts are free to strike elsewhere.”

“What are his real plans?” the largest wraith howled, as he hovered just beyond the druid. “Where did Maligor go? Szass Tam must know. Tell us.”

“I don’t know any more. But we’re going to find out. I’m going to need your help, though, and at the same time, I’m going to help you. There are several levels below this tower. They should be a good place for you to stay when the daylight comes.”

The wraiths protested waiting any longer, but Brenna convinced them that Galvin wasn’t able to travel now. In the end, they followed the druid to a section of wall the stones had told the druid about. He pushed against it, and it slid wide, revealing a curving staircase that descended into darkness.

Galvin told the wraiths to seek out the bottommost levels, where the staircase seemed to disappear and an overpowering stench pervaded the air. The creatures could move quickly, could see without light, and didn’t seem likely to mind the rotting smell. They seemed to take a perverse glee in the task.

“The first underground level is ours,” Galvin told Brenna, steadying himself against the wall. “The stone spoke of great horrors there. Wynter, come with us.”

Brenna helped support the weakened druid as they made their way down the series of smooth stone steps. The centaur followed awkwardly. Wynter had difficulty negotiating the stairwell and had to bend his human torso forward to avoid scraping his head on the ceiling. He was comforted when Brenna and Galvin finally left the staircase and entered a wide, high corridor. Here the odor of death and decay wasn’t too overpowering. The trio discovered lanterns placed along the walls and lit them to reveal a series of barred cells. The iron bars were thickly encrusted with filth and rust, and the straw that poked between the bars was moldy and crawling with insects.

A ring of keys hung in the center of the corridor, obviously beyond the reach of the cells’ inhabitants, but within sight of most of them.

Brenna left Galvin’s side and rose to her tiptoes to pull the ring loose. She hurried to the closest cell, then fumbled with the keys until she found the correct one. Throwing the door open, she stepped inside and glanced about. Twisted, tortured bodies hung from manacles. The wounds in their flesh looked deep, but the pain wasn’t what had killed them. Their swollen, cracked lips and protruding ribs attested to the fact that they had starved to death. Brenna gasped and proceeded to investigate the cells.

Wynter tried to help her, but he found the cell doors were too small to accommodate his equine frame. Instead, he stood out in the hall and strained to listen.

“All the cells are like this,” Brenna announced when she was through, her disgust apparent in her voice. “All the occupants are dead. It’s as if Maligor forgot about them and simply let them starve.”

“Maybe,” Galvin said. The druid was leaning against the door to the farthest cell and peering inside. “Bring the keys over here Brenna.”

The enchantress hurried over and quickly unlatched the door. Galvin entered first, then turned and held out his hand to her. Taking it, Brenna climbed down the few steps to the cell floor. This cell was cleaner than the others, but splotches of dried blood covered most of the surface and partially obliterated a map that lay spread out on the floor.

Brenna bent to tug the parchment loose from the floor and study it. It was crude map, drawn with a shaky hand. The map depicted tunnels and traps and bore a few markings she couldn’t decipher. She showed it to the druid, then blanched as he leaned against the wall to brace himself.

“You’re weak. You need to rest,” she admonished.

The druid nodded, too exhausted to argue.

They carried their find upstairs, noticing that the candles they had lit had all burned out. The trio had been below ground more than an hour, and the first rays of the dawning sun were spilling in through the windows and reflecting off the marble floor.

Galvin padded through the main hallway until he reached the doors through which they had entered the tower. He still moved unsteadily in his weakened state, and he tottered when he threw open the doors. Wynter trotted after him, the clip-clop of the centaur’s hooves reverberating off the polished marble floor.

Brenna remained inside, studying the map and wondering what Galvin was doing. The clink of bones and swish of old, tattered cloth told her. He was ushering all of the undead inside to keep them from worrying Amruthar’s citizens and from wandering away. The sorceress went several feet up the staircase and sat down to avoid rubbing up against the ambling corpses that flooded the hallway. The druid directed the skeletons and zombies down to the chambers below and called out to the wraiths to take charge of the other undead.

“I’ll summon you when we’re ready to leave,” Galvin called, his tone halting, as if he were out of breath.

“Heal thyself, human,” came the haunting reply. “We will leave at sunset.”

It took a long time for the hundreds of sluggish corpses to file into the chambers below. When the last was gone, Wynter pushed the hidden door closed behind them.

Brenna spread the crude map out on some nearby steps, then hunched over to scrutinize it again. Galvin sat beside her.

“The map might not mean anything,” he said, leaning back on his elbows and fighting to keep his eyes open.

“Maybe,” she replied quickly, “But then again, maybe it’s important.”

The clip-clopping of Wynter’s hooves caused the enchantress to glance up from the parchment. The centaur stood at the bottom of the short staircase and held out his hand. Brenna shrugged and passed him the map.

The centaur’s dark eyes puzzled over the rough lines, then grew wide. “There are some hills marked here,” Wynter said thoughtfully. “They’ve got to be Thay’s gold mines, its lifeblood. People here will tell you the citrus and other crops support the country. But it’s really the gold. If you have enough gold you don’t need crops. You can buy anything you want. I’m starting to remember things, Brenna.”

The enchantress grabbed the banister and pulled herself up. Galvin stayed rooted to the stairs.

“Show me,” Brenna encouraged, and she hurried to Wynter’s side.

The centaur pointed to various features on the map. Then he scratched his head. “I don’t know what Maligor wants with the gold mines. There’s a tharchion who supervises the mines. He’s appointed by all the zulkirs jointly. The tharchion isn’t going to throw in with Maligor, or with Szass Tam, for that matter,” Wynter added. “Besides, the mines are north of here. Galvin said Maligor’s army moved east.”

“Could a large bird fly to the mines in an evening?” Galvin asked. “Are the mines close enough?”

The centaur knit his brows, puzzled at the question. “I suppose it could,” he answered, “if the bird could fly fast. It really isn’t all that far, but it would take a man several days, perhaps, to walk there.”

Galvin sighed, then grinned at his Harper friend. Wynter certainly seemed to be recovering. The druid wanted the centaur fit and at his side when the confrontation with Maligor came.

“I don’t know for sure what Maligor is up to, but I’ll wager he’s going after the mines,” the druid suggested.

“Are we going to the mines?” Brenna asked. “After we rest?” she added hopefully.

“I need to rest.” Galvin stood shakily. “There are beds in the apprentices’ chambers, where we put the slaves. I’d like to sleep there. I’d feel more comfortable—for a change—with plenty of company around.”

“I’ll join you later,” the centaur said, eyeing the long, circular staircase. “I’ve got some thinking to do first.”

Brenna and Galvin slowly climbed the stairs. Above, in the chamber, they saw that many of the slaves were sleeping. A few groups remained awake, talking in low voices among themselves and examining some of the baubles they had collected.

The hare, mole, and hedgehog rested on a large silk pillow beneath the window.

The druid approached one of the older slaves. “We need to sleep awhile. Wake us in the early afternoon. I have to go into Amruthar to buy horses before the market closes.”

“Horses?” Brenna asked incredulously. “There’s nothing wrong with the ones we have. They’ll certainly be rested enough.”

“We can’t ride dead ones.” Galvin’s tone was terse. “It seems that some of the zombies got hungry last night while we explored the tower.”

The druid selected an unoccupied bed against the far wall, far from the windows, where it was darker. Removing his sword belt, tabard, and chain shirt, he pushed them under the bed, lay down, and made room for Brenna.

The enchantress paused, uncertain of what to do.

The druid stretched and raised his head off the satin-covered pillow. His green eyes gazed up at her. “Brenna … ?”

The young councilwoman eased off her boots and climbed in beside him. He curled about her protectively and held her close about her waist.

“I thought you preferred to sleep on the ground,” she said.

“Shhh,” he replied, nuzzling the back of her neck.

She enjoyed the sensation, but it stopped much too quickly. Already the druid was sound asleep.