Red Magic

Fifteen

Szass Tam nudged Maligor’s mind. The lich had been unable to find his rival Red Wizard, and the legion of undead headed by his Harper pawns had uncovered nothing substantial, nothing other than hints of Maligor’s whereabouts.

Annoyed and intensely curious, the lich concentrated, probing outward with his thoughts. Szass Tam had spent the past several hours linked to his favorite crystal ball, uncharacteristically tired of waiting for word of Maligor. The ball had yielded nothing, so he had focused his efforts at communication only.

Finally the lich met with success.

“What do you want, Szass Tam?” Maligor’s thoughts haughtily projected. “I am very busy today.”

The lich strained to get inside Maligor’s mind, but the wards were too strong. “You are not with your gnolls,” Szass Tam began. “You are not in Amruthar.”

“So you seek to know where I am?” Maligor said, feigning mild surprise. “Beyond your grasp, lich.”

Angered, Szass Tam furrowed his brow and funneled his energies on Maligor, attempting to look through the rival wizard’s eyes into his mind. But the lich saw only blackness, and he heard only Maligor’s hollow, echoing laughter.

“I will live up to my part of our arrangement,” Maligor said with a chuckle. “You will get half the lands my gnolls take. But you will not be included in future endeavors if you press me.”

The lich ran his bony hand over the smooth surface of the crystal ball, the hot pinpoints of light staring out of his sockets reflected on the crystal’s surface.

“You will not best me, Maligor,” Szass Tam said simply.

“And you will not interfere with my dealings,” Maligor replied. “However, you may watch my gnolls if you desire. And we can speak again when I return to Amruthar in a few days.”

“As we agreed,” the lich added, “I will not lift a hand to stop you—or your gnolls.” But, he thought to himself, my Harper puppets are a different matter, and they will be your undoing.

The lich closed the link and settled back into the large chair in his study.

“Who was that snake-woman?” Brenna whispered as she and Galvin trod into the black maw of the mine. Although she could see the faint flicker of torches ahead, the darkness in the tunnel seemed to swallow them, and she had difficulty seeing. She grasped the druid’s arm. “She wasn’t human.”

“A creation of a Red Wizard, maybe. Perhaps some poor animal Maligor corrupted.” Galvin kept his voice low, not wanting to alert others in the mine to their presence. However, he realized such caution was probably useless. He heard the steady clip-clop of Wynter’s hooves behind him, and the clinking of the undeads’ bones echoed through the shaft. The druid scowled as he thought of the skeletons and zombies; the army had been halved by the rockslide, and he wondered if the remaining force was strong enough to take whatever lay ahead.

“I just hope she—or it—is dead,” Brenna added, still feeling sore from her ordeal with the naga. “I saw her go down the mountainside. I just hope there’s no more of them in here.”

The procession wound its way into the mountain, navigating the twisting main shaft. Wynter had difficulty moving through the tunnel. The top of his head brushed against the ceiling in places, and the rocky floor felt uncomfortable beneath his hooves. His human chest and his equine body ached from being pelted by the rocks in the slide, but he plodded forward, focusing on Galvin several feet ahead.

The shaft was nearly twenty feet wide, allowing the undead to spread out behind the centaur. Torches spaced at irregular intervals provided only scant light and made the complex seem like a mass of shifting gray shadows.

The druid, however, was becoming accustomed to the meager light, and he concentrated on his surroundings. From somewhere ahead, he heard the sounds of metal striking against rock—miners with picks, perhaps. Because the noise echoed through the shaft, it was impossible for Galvin to guess how far away the miners might be.

Wynter glanced about nervously, wondering why they hadn’t met with any resistance since entering the mines. “There should be guards in this shaft,” he whispered. “This is too easy, Galvin.”

“Perhaps,” the druid replied. He slowed and studied the tunnel. Galvin guessed they were about two hundred yards into the mountain. The shaft ahead straightened out and was angling downward. The tunnel was supported by massive oak beams, some reinforced where the wood had splintered. The druid eyed the construction, noting that the mine was of considerable age and this main shaft had been mined out decades ago. After traveling another hundred yards over rock worn smooth by human traffic, he raised his hand signaling the undead to stop. He wanted to listen to the sounds of the miners ahead and try to determine if anything else was in the tunnel. The druid was certain that Wynter was right—the mine had more defenses than what they had encountered on the plateau.

Scanning ahead, he spotted unnatural, thumb-sized crystals embedded in the shaft’s walls at roughly waist height. They started at about the point the torches stopped. Farther down the shaft, the torches started again. Perhaps its some sort of magic, he thought, staring at the closest crystal. He started to stoop beneath the crystal when Brenna’s arm shot out, grabbing him.

“It’s a ward of some kind,” she said.

“So we go under it. The miners go through here somehow.”

“No,” she stated simply. “Passing beyond a ward, a magical guard, triggers it. If you speak the right words, the ward lets you by.”

“And if you don’t have the right words?”

Brenna frowned. “The ward could kill you.”

Galvin studied her features amid the shadows. “Is there any way we can learn the words?”

“Of course not,” the enchantress replied, pursing her lips. “At least, not in the time we have. But …” She stared at the crystals for several long moments, then reached toward the druid and pulled his longsword from its sheath.

“What is it?” the druid started. But a motion from Brenna kept him quiet.

She extended the tip of the sword toward the crystal, then past the crystal. Nothing happened. Handing the sword back to the druid, she stretched out her hand. As it neared the ward the crystal began to glow and she heard a soft hum. Snatching her hand back, she turned to Galvin and smiled.

“It senses heat. I can get around this, but it will be uncomfortable.”

The druid nodded and gestured with his hand, waiting to see what Brenna would do. The enchantress began mumbling something, the words coming so quickly the druid couldn’t make them out. As her voice rose, the air grew chill. And when she extended her hands, pointing away from her and down the shaft, frost leapt from her fingertips and headed down the tunnel with a whoosh, coating the walls, floor, and ceiling.

“Let’s hurry,” she urged, sliding forward toward the torches beyond the crystals.

Shivering, the druid quickly followed, but Wynter had a difficult time navigating the ice-coated floor. By the time the centaur managed to make it to the end of the frost, it had started to melt.

“The undead!” Brenna cried. “The crystals will—”

Galvin interrupted, gently grasping her shoulders. “The undead don’t give off heat, Brenna. The dead are cold.”

She slumped her shoulders, feeling foolish yet relieved, and continued at Galvin’s side down the shaft. They trodded downward for a hundred yards. As the torches became farther and farther apart, the shadows grew thicker, and the druid grabbed a torch from the wall so they could see better.

Ahead were a series of crosscuts, tunnels that had been dug off the main shaft. Some of those tunnels, or adits as the druid had heard miners call them, led to ventilation holes; Galvin felt a slight breeze coming from them. The moisture became more noticeable the deeper the army marched, and the clinking bones of the skeletons echoed hauntingly off the walls.

The druid noticed that the sounds of mining had stopped. Whatever or whoever was ahead had likely been alerted to their presence, probably hearing the centaur’s hooves and the skeletons’ bony feet. Galvin continued to inspect the mine as they moved along. The pressure of the mountain was strong, he noted. The support beams were closer together here, and some were bowed from the weight of the rock above. The mine was massive, the druid was certain, probably winding throughout the mountain like tunnels in an anthill.

He wondered if he should investigate the crosscuts, but he heard no sounds there, either. And he knew better than to speak with the stone here; it was so old and probably had so many stories to tell that he’d be totally exhausted after listening. Along the way, he spotted deposits of sand within layers of rock, a sign that precious metals were present.

Although the druid knew little about mining, he knew the earth, and his eyes told him where veins of gold had been stripped, the layers of stone robbed of their wealth. He was uncertain where all the rock and dirt that had been mined was taken. There was little evidence of discarded gravel and silt outside the shaft’s main mouth. Perhaps they had a way to dissolve it magically, he thought.

“Galvin,” Brenna whispered. “Listen.”

The druid cursed himself for becoming so lost in his thoughts that he had dropped his guard.

He heard a whisper, or something that sounded like one. It was a soft noise, a shushing sound that slowly increased in volume.

Bats? he thought. The noise could be the flutter of wings, but the way sound was distorted in the shaft, it was difficult to be certain. If it was bats, there must be many of them, and something had disturbed them to get them aloft.

Concerned, he urged the army forward, scanning the walls to make sure no more crystals were present and indicating Brenna should do the same. Then he reached out with his mind, trying to contact the bats deeper in the shaft. Brenna cursed softly and tried to keep pace, at the same time watching the tunnel’s walls for more of the dangerous crystals.

The centaur also struggled to stay ahead of the undead. As he picked up the pace, his head bumped against a support beam.

The shaft continued to descend as Galvin trotted faster. The torches were spaced even farther apart now, leaving most of the tunnel blanketed in darkness except for the small area around the torch Galvin held. Then, somewhere below in the blackness, the druid’s mind reached out to another consciousness. But it was not a bat’s, as he had anticipated. This mind felt twisted, alien, corrupt. But the creature thought in human terms, and as Galvin became more intimate with it, the mind took on a human quality, a human intelligence. The druid tried to close the link, but the other intelligence held on to his mind.

Death to you, Harper, the consciousness spoke inside the druid’s head. Galvin grabbed at his temples, dropping the torch. Concentrating, he tried to force the presence out. Still the intelligence persisted, pulling from the druid’s thoughts his name, his history, and the reason for his intrusion into the mine.

Death to you who would spoil my finely wrought plans. Galvin buckled over in agony as the mind bored into his, seeking information about his forces, his strengths, why he had come here, what magic he possessed.

Szass Tam! the intelligence screamed, and the druid cupped his hands over his ears in a futile gesture to shut out the sound. The words were coming from inside his head. You are Szass Tam’s servant!

Galvin fought to keep the details from the intelligence, but the druid’s mind wasn’t strong enough. It seemed as if all of Galvin’s being was flowing from him, his experiences, knowledge, emotions—all were being assimilated by the probing mind. Then he felt the mind—no, minds—coming closer. And he heard the flutter of wings even more clearly.

Deep in the bowels of the mine, Maligor screamed. How had Szass Tam found out about the mine? How had the lich managed to bring an accursed Harper under his control?

Maligor’s mind whirled. He wouldn’t be able to covertly control the mines now; the lich would see to that. Nor could he confront the lich, as Szass Tam avoided direct involvement.

“I will not be undone by a dead man!” Maligor bellowed, his voice bouncing off the walls of the deep chamber. “If I cannot have the mines, no one will!” The Red Wizard’s staccato voice repeated a simple enchantment, and before the words could echo back from the chamber’s shadow-cloaked walls, the wizard was gone. His form, replaced by a small cloud of white, swirling vapors, floated up a narrow shaft.

I will turn your forces to ashes, the cloud thought as it moved along the shaft’s rocky ceiling. “I will destroy your army, Szass Tam. I will make you regret your treachery.”

Brenna reached the druid’s side and knelt beside him. His palms were pushed against the sides of his head, and his teeth were clenched in pain. She tugged his hands away from his face, and their eyes met.

“What—what happened?” she asked, glancing behind her at Wynter. The centaur waved the undead to a stop.

“I—I don’t know,” the druid gasped. “But there’s something ahead. Something …”

Then Brenna and Wynter heard the rush of wings, too, and smelled an overpowering stench. The tunnel ahead gave way to blackness as the flying creatures buffeted the torches out and filled the shaft with their misshapen bodies. The creatures’ horrid shrieks filled the shaft, echoing off the walls.

“Darkenbeasts!” Brenna cried, as she saw a myriad of burning red eyes rapidly closing on them. She jumped to her feet, pulling the druid along with her.

In one fluid motion, Galvin drew his longsword and strode forward. Swinging fiercely at the air in front of him, he connected with the lead darkenbeast, slicing halfway through its grotesque neck. Its dead body thudded at his feet, but another creature flew forward to take its place.

The beast’s talons stretched toward Galvin’s eyes, and the Harper bent his arm across his face to shield them. The gesture allowed a pair of darkenbeasts to fly past him toward the sorceress and Wynter.

The enchantress flattened herself against a tunnel wall, narrowly avoiding a sharp beak. Fumbling through the small bag at her side, she drew out a pinch of coarse powder. Hoping she had found the correct components in the darkness, she began mumbling a series of incoherent-sounding words.

At the same time, Wynter charged forward. Using his bardiche, he skewered one of the darkenbeasts against the ceiling. A second creature closed on him, its beak sinking into his left shoulder. Dropping his weapon, Wynter reached out with his bare hands to capture his arcane attacker, bashing the beast’s head against the mine wall. The centaur continued beating the creature until it ceased to move.

Finished with her incantation, Brenna stirred the powder in her hand, then held her palm toward the ceiling. A gout of flame whooshed from her hand and danced along a portion of the ceiling beyond Galvin, catching several darkenbeasts hovering there and lighting up the tunnel. The macabre creatures’ wings caught fire, and they cried out in agony.

The Harpers and Brenna ducked, and the burning darkenbeasts flew beyond them, into the waiting grasp of the skeletons and zombies. The rotting flesh and tattered clothes of the zombies burst into flame on contact with the darkenbeasts. Impervious to pain, the zombies struggled with the winged creatures, tearing them apart and dashing their misshapen heads against the tunnel walls.

The darkenbeasts’ beaks and claws were wasted on the skeletons, who latched onto the creatures and began pulling at their leathery limbs until no life remained in Maligor’s constructs.

At the forefront of the struggle, Galvin continued to slice through the darkenbeasts, suffering numerous minor injuries and scratches in the process. Behind him, he saw Wynter catch one of the loathsome creatures and hurl it to the shaft floor, trampling it beneath his hooves.

In the dark tunnel below, Galvin saw more darkenbeasts, hovering in the shaft, waiting for a chance to join in the fight. The druid realized the numbers eventually would overwhelm the three of them, although the undead could likely hold their own against the creatures.

Edging backward in the shaft, closer to the centaur, Galvin split the nearest darkenbeast nearly in two with his sword, then ducked and pulled his longsword free as another creature dove at him. The centaur reached above the druid’s head, smashing his large fist into the creature’s side and sending it careening wildly against the shaft wall. It crumpled and flapped feebly, trying to rise.

“Head for the crosscut!” Galvin shouted, barely able to be heard above the sounds of the darkenbeasts’ wings and the skeletons’ clanking bones. “Hurry!”

Brenna inched her way along the shaft wall and darted into the side tunnel. Wynter fought his way through a half-dozen of the darkenbeasts before he could join her. The centaur squinted to catch some sign of Galvin in the mass of flailing bones and leathery wings.

“How many are there?” the enchantress whispered, staring wide-eyed at the cloud of darkenbeasts.

“Hundreds,” the centaur guessed. “There are more down the shaft. Galvin’s somewhere out there in the middle of them.”

Then suddenly the druid hurled himself through an opening in the wall of skeletons and dove into the side tunnel. Wheezing, he sheathed his longsword and moved deeper into the tunnel.

“We’ll follow this passage,” he said in a hushed tone. “Maybe it will lead back to the main shaft and we can come at the darkenbeasts from behind.”

“And if it doesn’t?” The centaur seemed skeptical.

“Then we’ll try another tunnel.” The druid felt his way along the crosscut, then spied the light of a torch ahead. “We don’t have much chance back there,” he said, pointing toward the sounds of battle. “The undead are better able to deal with those creatures, anyway. We need to find Maligor.”

Ahead, the torch illuminated barrels and buckets lined against the shaft wall, filled with ore. Several picks lay on top of the largest barrel. Wynter examined them and selected the sharpest pick. The centaur, who could not move quickly in the confined tunnel, feared the darkenbeasts would find them, and he didn’t want to fight them barehanded again.

The druid discovered another opening just beyond the mined ore and started down it. This tunnel was better lit, and from the discarded picks and buckets along the wall, Galvin could tell it was in the process of being mined. Ahead, he heard the tramping of feet, and he rushed forward, leaving Brenna and Wynter to lag behind.

The tunnel opened into a small chamber. A dozen longhaired miners were loading ore into a stack of crates. They stopped and gaped at Galvin as he hurried inside the chamber. The miners’ clothes were worn and soiled, and their skin was pale from working underground.

“We won’t hurt you,” the druid stated calmly, putting his arms to his sides, away from his weapon. Galvin assumed they were slaves.

“Are there any other miners near?” The druid feared another confrontation.

One of the slaves nodded, then stared beyond Galvin at Brenna and Wynter, who were just emerging into the chamber. “The miners are all over,” he said flatly.

“And what about the creatures? The darkenbeasts?” the druid asked, lowering his hands and realizing the miners didn’t fear him. “Are those winged creatures all around here, too?”

The slave miner nodded yes.

“How about Maligor? Is the Red Wizard Maligor here?” Brenna questioned.

“Maligor controls the mines now,” came the slave’s emotionless reply. The gaunt man explained how Maligor and his minions descended on the mine, slaughtering the guards and taking over the complex. “He controls the creatures, the things you call darkenbeasts.”

“Does he control you?” she posed.

“We serve Maligor.”

The enchantress turned to Galvin. “They’re charmed, I think. Just like I charmed the guard in the orchard.”

The druid scowled and began to pace nervously. “Has Maligor been here long?”

The slave scratched his head. “A few days,” he said after a pause. “Two, three days. Maybe four, but not more than that.”

“Where is he?” Galvin demanded, his voice rising.

The slaves backed against the wall.

“Where?” he persisted.

“We—we shouldn’t tell you,” one answered. “The master would be angry.”

“I’m angry. And I’m here,” the druid snapped. “Where’s the Red Wizard?”

“Deep in the mines,” came a slave’s monotone reply.

The druid scrutinized the miners. The slaves appeared tired, and they were thin from lack of food. He realized telling them to leave the mines would be pointless. Maligor’s servants wouldn’t leave, unless, perhaps, Maligor was dead, the druid thought.

The slaves continued to stare at the Harpers and Brenna, then after several minutes, they resumed loading ore into the barrels.

“Damn!” the centaur cursed. “They’re not like real people. They’ve no free will. We’ve got to get them out of here, Galvin.”

The druid looked up into his friend’s pained face. “After we deal with Maligor,” he said simply, then turned to a slave. “We need to find our way back to the main shaft. Tell us how.”

The slave gestured back the way they had come.

“Not that way. Is there another tunnel that links up?”

The slaves looked at each other and shrugged. “Hundreds of tunnels,” one croaked. “The widest ones lead to chambers below. Others lead to the main shaft.”

Galvin whirled and trotted back down the tunnel. Brenna stayed even with him, but the centaur was having an increasingly difficult time maneuvering in the sloping shafts. The next two crosscuts led to dead ends and more slave miners, who also seemed to lack any will of their own. But the third tunnel twisted down into the depths of the mountain and angled back toward the main shaft. The tunnel ceiling was lower here, forcing the centaur to stoop.

Ahead and off to the right, they heard a series of clinking and thudding sounds, mixed with the cries of the darkenbeasts. The druid began to run through the shaft, intent on discovering the nature of the confrontation ahead.

He rounded a sharp corner and gasped as he spotted a wispy cloud bearing down on him. The cloud hovered, its tendrils becoming arms and legs, and a mass of white forming a fleshy face with a wild tangle of black hair. Maligor willed himself to solidify into his human form as the druid stood, unmoving. The wizard’s red robes looked like dying embers in the light of a distant torch.

The Red Wizard’s dark eyes held the druid, and with a gesture, Maligor drew the air away from Galvin’s face, leaving the druid breathless.

“You’ll die, meddlesome Harper!” Maligor spat, weaving his hand in the air, then pointing his fingers at the druid’s chest. Red shards of energy shot from the wizard’s hand and sunk themselves in Galvin’s abdomen.

The druid doubled over in shock, just as Brenna reached his side. She stood transfixed, staring at the symbol of Myrkul on the wizard’s forehead and realizing it was Maligor they faced. As the wizard glanced past the druid, straight at her, she quickly composed herself and began a spell.

“You!” Maligor roared, remembering the face of the woman in the clearing, the woman who had killed his darkenbeast many days ago with a bolt of lightning. Furious, the Red Wizard directed his next spell at Brenna, hurtling her small frame backward against the tunnel wall with an unseen force that left her crumpled like a rag doll.

Galvin struggled to his feet and drew his sword, slashing at the wizard just as Wynter came upon the scene. But the wizard was too fast. With a quick gesture, his fleshly form became intangible, ghostlike, and the blade passed harmlessly through him. Maligor lolled his head back and laughed, a deep, throaty laugh that sent chills racing down the druid’s spine.

The centaur charged forward, cleaving his pick through the wizard’s intangible chest.

“Harper fools!” Maligor bellowed, becoming solid again and casting a magic daggerlike shard into the druid’s chest. “I’ll not waste my time on you! The mine and my creatures will kill you!”

Galvin fell to his knees and watched with disbelief as the Red Wizard gestured grandly with his hands, transformed again into a wispy white cloud, and floated down the corridor.

The druid forced himself to his feet and started after the wispy trail, but the centaur’s hand held his shoulder. “Don’t go after him, Galvin. That’s what he wants. He’ll lead you to the darkenbeasts—or worse.”

Brenna steadied herself against the wall and felt the back of her head; she was bleeding from being slammed against the rock. The enchantress was dizzy, but she fought the sensation and made her way toward Galvin.

“We have to stay together,” she stated flatly. “Otherwise he can pick us off one by one.”

The druid nodded his agreement, then glared down the corridor. Dimly, the clang of metal and the cries of the darkenbeasts could still be heard. Galvin strode purposefully toward the sounds of battle.

As the distance melted away beneath their footsteps, the sounds of fighting lessened, then ceased altogether, plunging the mine into an eerie quiet. Unnerved, the trio plodded forward for an interminable time until the shaft opened into an immense, well-lit chamber. The shaft continued beyond the natural room, but the passage was of no concern to the Harpers. Hugging the shaft of the tunnel, they stared at the floor of the chamber.

The broken bodies of skeletons and zombies lay strewn about. Their slayers—a mass of darkenbeasts—floated like a thick, black cloud above the hellish battlefield.

Judging from the numbers on the cavern floor, the druid assumed Szass Tam’s army had been eliminated at the claws of Maligor’s creatures, and the darkenbeasts were stationed here to prevent Brenna, Wynter, and him from going farther. He was certain other darkenbeasts were searching the tunnels for them.

Galvin clenched his fists, and for the first time in many long years—since he was a child of seven watching his parents hang—he truly feared death. Alone, Wynter, Brenna, and he couldn’t take on Maligor and his darkenbeasts. Nor could they run; Szass Tam would find them.

The druid feared he would die deep in the bowels of the gold mines. If only he could save Wynter and Brenna, he thought, if somehow he could buy time for them to leave…

Beyond the sea of darkenbeasts, which stretched from one end of the chamber to the other, the walls glistened. Thick streaks of gold flashed in the pale light of crystals whose blue gleam illuminated the room.

Brenna cringed behind the druid, horrified by the gruesome scene. Galvin turned to her, placing his hands on her shoulders.

“You and Wynter need to get out of the mines. I’m going to find Maligor and end this,” the druid stated softly.

“No!” Brenna gasped. Quickly Galvin moved a finger to her lips to quiet her.

“I can get past the darkenbeasts. You and Wynter can’t. If you stay here, sooner or later the darkenbeasts will see you. You have to find a way out.”

“We won’t leave you,” she said in hushed tones.

“You have to.” The druid glanced up at the centaur. “Wynter, get out of Thay. Take Brenna with you. Let the Harpers know what happened.”

The centaur nodded reluctantly.

The druid moved a few steps forward, clinging to the shadows of the tunnel for a moment more, not wanting to be discovered by Maligor’s creatures in the cavern beyond. Galvin closed his eyes and focused his mind on the mass of darkenbeasts.

The druid fell to all fours, his head twitching and his hands and feet quivering.

The enchantress glanced at Galvin, then at Wynter, uncertain of what to do. The centaur held her arm to keep her back, and in an instant, she saw Galvin’s face contort.

The bones in Galvin’s face cracked and popped as they pushed outward into a funnel-shaped beak filled with sharp, jagged teeth. His eyes shrunk into his sockets and became red pinpoints beneath a bony brow.

The druid groaned again; this transformation was particularly painful and unnatural. His sides heaved as thin membranes found their way through the chain shirt on each side of his chest and attached themselves to arms that were becoming covered with a yellowish-brown hide. Galvin’s legs shriveled and jerked while his body took on a vaguely reptilian appearance and his clothes and skin vanished beneath the leathery exterior. A barbed tail sprouted from his rump and quivered. His batlike wings flapped against the shaft floor, and the darkenbeast-druid lifted its head on a thin, bony neck bearing a white crescent moon. The wings flapped again, and the creature propelled itself out of the tunnel and into the chamber beyond.

The stench of the cloud of darkenbeasts assailed the druid as he glided over the bodies of skeletons and zombies and joined with the malign creatures hovering overhead. The darkenbeasts were so numerous that the druid couldn’t count them. Hundreds of animals perverted by the Red Wizard, he thought. Galvin fought back a wave of nausea and kept his mind occupied by thinking of Brenna and Wynter.

Several minutes passed … then a half-hour. The druid hoped Wynter was leading the sorceress out of the mine. An hour drifted by, the druid estimated. Then finally part of the cloud separated, and a few dozen of the beasts peeled off and headed down a tunnel. Galvin followed them.

Through a darkened maze of twisting tunnels, the darkenbeasts and the druid flew. In places, they virtually hovered as they navigated sharp turns. The tunnels angled sharply downward, and at one point, it appeared the tunnel ahead had collapsed. The darkenbeasts veered off into a natural chamber to the north, from which the sounds of picks hitting rocks drifted. The druid hovered behind his sorcerous brethren to scrutinize the battered support beams. It appeared they had been hacked through with some kind of weapon. Perhaps that part of the mine was no longer valuable, the druid surmised.

Flying into the natural chamber to catch up with the darkenbeasts, the druid’s beak flew open in surprise. The walls of this cavern looked as if they had been painted with gold. The veins were so thick and so close together that little of the rock showed between them. A crew of slave miners was hard at work mining the area.

Beating his wings faster, Galvin caught up with the grotesque flock. The darkenbeasts wound through a series of small chambers, all circled by thick veins of ore. The last chamber they entered was huge—larger even than the one in which the skeletons and zombies had died. Magical orbs of light spaced about the room caused the thick veins to shine and made them look like gold ribbons circling and dancing about the cavern.

All the men working here had long, tangled hair, pale white skin, and bony frames, evidence they had been slaving here for years. They struck at the veins with their picks almost in unison, as if their movements were orchestrated. All but one man, that is. At the far edge of the cavern, standing on a rise of rocks several feet above the chamber floor, was a red-robed man with a mass of black hair and a well-nourished frame. A white skull on a black field gleamed in the magical light. Maligor.

The druid’s heart raced.

Galvin hid amidst the group of darkenbeasts, which had begun to circle the chamber. Concentrating, he focused on a knob of rock against the wall behind the Red Wizard. It quivered as the druid mentally shaped it, willing it to come forward. For an instant, the rock trembled, then it shot forward like a fist, striking Maligor solidly in the back.

The Red Wizard fell face forward from his stone pedestal to the floor of the cavern below. The slaves dropped their picks and looked blankly about the chamber. With Maligor unconscious, or perhaps dead, the wizard’s control on the slaves was over. Still flying with the darkenbeasts, Galvin watched as the slave miners glanced at the chamber walls, then at Maligor, who appeared to be still breathing. A handful of the slaves grabbed their picks, and for a moment, the druid thought they would begin working on the mines again. But instead the men began to advance toward Maligor, the picks raised above their heads.

Galvin decided he would do nothing to prevent the miners from finishing off the wizard. The druid had intended to kill him anyway.

The nearest slave raised his pick higher, and in a quick, fluid motion brought it down upon the prone body of the Red Wizard. But the pick stopped with a loud thunk inches from the wizard’s back, as if it had hit something hard yet unseen.

Galvin watched the miner’s mouth drop open in shock as Maligor quickly rolled away from him. In one movement, the Red Wizard leapt to his feet and cast out his hand, sending a bolt of energy into the slave’s chest. The slave was hurled backward, a gaping hole burned in the center of his body.

Then the wizard turned his attention to the other slaves.

“Fools!” he shouted. “You all will die for this!” Maligor began twirling his fingers about in the air, and the slaves dropped their picks and whirled to run from the room.

Galvin’s path with the darkenbeasts had taken him behind the Red Wizard, who was oblivious to any threat from that direction. Separating from the mass of darkenbeasts, he dove toward the wizard. He slammed his extended claws into Maligor’s back, and the Red Wizard fell forward again. The druid continued his flight, rejoining the rest of the darkenbeasts.

The maneuver had bought the slaves time to flee from the chamber, which further infuriated the wizard.

This time when Maligor rose, his black eyes seemed to burn, and a trickle of blood flowed from a broken nose. Galvin decided to press his attack.

Through his pain, Maligor spotted a single darkenbeast heading his way, claws outstretched. The Red Wizard sensed the creature was not one of his own, and he marshaled his powers and pointed a finger at the beast that dared to assault him.

“Die!” the Red Wizard shouted.

Simultaneously Galvin felt a tearing in his gut, an intense torment that rivaled anything he had previously suffered. His darkenbeast form shrieked in response, and he fought to stay conscious and on course. Part of him rebelled and begged him to flee, but the human in him forced himself to concentrate on the Red Wizard and on all the pain the madman had inflicted upon the animals in the tower back in Amruthar.

Maligor’s eyes bore into the darkenbeast’s, and he raised his hands again, chanting words the druid could not discern. Red darts flashed from his fingers and found their mark in the darkenbeast’s breast.

The darkenbeast floundered, struggling to stay aloft under the new wave of misery that shot through his body. Then he dove away from the wizard, losing himself in the cloud of darkenbeasts and hoping the wizard’s magic could not reach him there.

Galvin realized he couldn’t physically best Maligor; the Red Wizard was far too powerful. A bolt of lightning from the wizard’s hand punctuated that sentiment and nearly bisected the druid, missing him by inches and sending a shower of rocks onto the floor below. However, it gave Galvin an idea.

The druid concentrated, focusing on the rocks about the Red Wizard and draining himself to the point of exhaustion. The elder druids who had schooled him a decade ago had taught Galvin how to manipulate the earth in various ways, ways Galvin was loath to use. This was a necessary act, however, and might be the only way to defeat Maligor, he thought.

Galvin’s mind sang to the rocks, to the mine, in the words of the first druids. The music poured from him, echoing off the veins and filling the chamber, rising above the beating of the darkenbeasts’ wings into a whining, deafening pitch. The dazzling, shrill strain swelled until it became overpowering.

The music continued to pour from the druid, the stone, the very earth. Maligor thrust his hands over his ears, trying to shut out the sound so he could concentrate. But the music was too strong.

As the druid’s song became louder still, the cavern wavered and began to groan. The ground quaked under the pressure of the mountain above, which had begun to tremble menacingly.

Maligor screamed as rocks began to fall from the ceiling, smashing into his darkenbeasts and narrowly missing him. The Red Wizard concentrated on his creatures, determined that they should slay the imposter darkenbeast. He touched their sorcerous minds, then recoiled as the song increased in volume again.

What began as a soft humming sound that Brenna and Wynter had difficulty discerning had risen to a deafening cacophony as it was joined by the rumbling of the mountain itself. They stood where Galvin had left them, fighting to stand as the very floor shook beneath their feet and small pieces of the ceiling began to break away.

Wynter placed a hand on Brenna’s shoulder and nodded down the tunnel, in the direction from which they had come.

“But what about Galvin?” she shouted, trying to be heard above the tumult in the cavern.

“He told us to get out. We should have listened!” Wynter shouted. “Besides, he can fly out of here! I can’t!”

The centaur turned and trotted as fast as he could down the narrow shaft. Brenna cast a worried glance behind her, then bolted after Wynter.

Inside the deep chamber, the darkenbeasts screamed as chunks of the ceiling continued to pelt them, killing many and injuring others so they could no longer fly.

The druid had so far managed somehow to avoid the stones. Now he sang once more through his darkenbeast mouth, and the rumbling grew in intensity.

Maligor fell to his knees, unable to stand in the wildly trembling cavern. The Red Wizard screamed as the rocks continued to pummel him, crushing his bones, burying him and making his body a permanent inhabitant of the mine he so wanted to control.

Yet Galvin’s magic had been more effective than he had planned. Although he had ceased his song, the rumbling continued. The weight of the mountain had pushed down on the weakening chambers and was causing them to collapse.

Still in pain from the red shards Maligor had hurled at his chest, Galvin began flapping his wings madly, flying from the chamber and swerving crazily to avoid the falling chunks of ceiling.

Faster and faster the druid flew, through one shaking, twisting shaft after another, until he feared he was hopelessly lost. Soaring into a small chamber filled with buckets of ore, the druid spotted picks lying at odd angles and hoped the miners who had been here had fled when the quake began. Three tunnels led from this chamber. The druid chose the center one, praying it led toward the outside.

The mountain groaned again, and the tunnels began to collapse. Behind the druid, massive chunks of rock crashed from the ceiling as the timbers buckled. His darkenbeast chest felt tight and his breathing quickened, fear overwhelming him. Still his wings beat furiously, carrying him just ahead of the destruction.

At last Galvin shot into a large chamber filled with blue light. The floor was littered with the bodies of Szass Tam’s undead. Continuing his panicked flight, he entered the tunnel where he had left Wynter and Brenna, but he saw no trace of them.

A deafening crash sounded behind him, and he didn’t have to look back to know it signaled the collapse of the large chamber. He continued his course for what seemed an eternity. He spotted miners and guards running ahead of him.

Galvin’s wings beat faster, spurred on by the crashing sounds of rock behind and below him. He watched the shaft shudder and saw torches fall from their sconces along the rock wall. Support beams buckled, and he felt himself being pelted by chunks of rock that dropped from the ceiling.

Faster he flew, staying just behind the slave miners as he heard the beams and rock groan behind him under the weight of the mountain. A rush of stale air passed him, evidence that the tunnel was collapsing behind him, and he heard the thunderous roar of crashing rocks as he spied light ahead—the entrance to the mine!

Flapping his wings still harder, the druid propelled himself from the main shaft and out onto the plateau beyond. Galvin collapsed on the rumbling plateau, gasping for air and willing his darkenbeast form to vanish. The leathery skin burned horribly under the sun’s light as the hide receded, revealing scratched and bruised human skin. Brenna scrambled over to him, fighting her way through the mass of slaves and tearing her knees on the rock. Throwing her arms around his neck, she called to Wynter.

“It’s Galvin! He made it!” She began to sob uncontrollably with the release of pent-up emotions.

The centaur moved through the crowd and bent forward, extending his hand. Galvin took it and let himself be helped to his feet.

“Let’s get out of here,” the druid said, putting his arm about Brenna’s shoulders. Starting down the still-trembling mountain, they threaded their way through the confused miners. “Let’s get out of here before Szass Tam notices that we finished his army, too, and decides to use us to start a new one.”