The Crimson Gold

CHAPTER SEVEN

Later that night

Milos opened the door to Tazi's comfortable prison, and she recognized the heavy scent of copper in the air. Her stomach roiled, and she nearly lost the meal she had just consumed. Tazi was not queasy by nature. It was just that the last time she entered a room that smelled as this one did, she discovered the dismembered remains of an old lover. That discovery took her on a journey many miles from home and did not end happily. She swallowed hard against the rising nausea and looked about in the flickering candlelight. Sprawled face down on his cot, the dwarf lay there more dead than alive.

Tazi rushed over to his side and sat gingerly on the edge of the blood-soaked bed. His face was partially obscured by the pillow, but she could see the slow rise and fall of his back, so she knew he still breathed. He was filthy, and his clothes were torn. As far as she could tell, the most glaring injuries he suffered were the ones he sustained on his back. His tunic was shredded and stuck to his skin in a bloody puddle. Tazi carefully lifted it away from his ripped skin and, as she had no implements whatsoever, tore it open down the length of his back by hand. She hissed in distress at what she discovered.

Crisscrossing his sinewy back were ruby slashes that continued to seep blood. Grimacing in disgust at the extent of the injuries, Tazi glanced over at the older bodyguard who still stood calmly in the open doorway. Tazi knew he and Heraclos possessed scimitars, but these were not the wounds that a sharp blade would leave in a fair battle. Tazi studied the dwarfs torn flesh and realized these were the marks of some kind of savage beast.

"Mistress Naglatha's pet griffon," the guard offered in explanation as though he sensed Tazi's confusion.

Tazi had seen a griffon only once when she was growing up and knew them to be formidable beasts. Years ago, her father had been invited to enter the Hunting Gardens of the Hulorn. The Hulorn was Selgaunt's ruling merchant mayor, and he controlled an expansive set of grounds in the northeast section of the city. He kept it stocked with various exotic animals such as hippogriffs, pegasi, and sphinxes. When her father accepted the invitation, he had taken the opportunity to bring his little daughter with him. Tazi remembered the day as something special not because she saw so many amazing creatures, including a fledgling griffon going through its first molt, but because it was a day without rules and responsibilities. It had been a day where she had been just a little girl and the Old Owl had been just a daddy.

"I see.” Tazi replied, returning to the present. "Well, if he is going to survive his run-in with your mistress's pet, he's going to need a healer now." The guard remained impassive to Tazi's demand. Her bargain with Naglatha had really changed very little of their living arrangements, Tazi realized, not that she had really believed otherwise.

"All right then," she tried, "if that is too much to ask, could I at least have some basic supplies?"

"What do you have in mind?" the guard finally asked.

"Another tub of clean, warm water, towels, bandages, any salves that might be handy and anything for pain that you can get your hands on."

When the guard stood motionless, Tazi snapped, "Look, Naglatha spared his life at my request. Right now, she wants me, and I suspect she'd do a fair bit to see that I at least have the illusion of happiness. If you don't get me at least some of those items, the only thing that is going to please me at the moment will be to see you try to fiold your own with that griffon, and I won't hesitate to tell her that. Now go!"

Tazi could see that Milos contemplated her words very briefly before shutting the door. Maybe he even went to get me some supplies, she thought ruefully. She turned her attention back to the dwarf who needed help regardless. Careful not to move him unnecessarily, she rose slowly and went to the table where the tub of old water and linens were. The water was dirty but would do in a pinch if that was all she had to work with. She found a few linens that were still fresh, and she began to rip them into strips that she could use as makeshift bandages. While she was gathering up what supplies she could, Milos pushed open the door with his shoulder. His arms were full of gauze, salves, a fresh tunic and a few other items Tazi could not easily recognize. Heraclos marched in behind him with a small basin of steaming water. Tazi moved the small table against Justikar's cot and motioned to it.

"Just put all that here," she directed them. The bodyguards obliged silently and stacked the medical supplies carefully on the small stand. Without a word to her or a backward glance at the dwarf, the two filed out. Tazi shrugged, pleased that she at least had something for the dwarfs injuries. Then she set about cleaning him up.

Tazi took one of the clumps of gauze and dipped it into the warm water. She wrung out the excess moisture and began to very delicately clean out some of the dirt and debris from Justikar's wounds. As soon as the warm, moist cloth touched the dwarf, he moaned and stirred.

"Leave off," he murmured angrily. "Don't touch me."

He feebly tried to swat at her with one hand.

"Just hold still," Tazi tried to soothe him. "I want to clean these up a little," she explained, referring to his messy wounds. "I'll be quick about it."

"I don't need you touching me," he growled, his voice growing stronger as the water roused him some. He squirmed a little, and that caused one of his many wounds to flow more freely.

Tazi threw the bloody cloth on the floor and grabbed the dwarf by his shoulders. As she tried to pin him down, she shouted, "Keep fighting me, and you're going to bleed to death! Judging by these wounds, dying is something you seem to fight tooth and nail. You've made it this far, so don't ruin it now." The dwarf lessened his struggles, but Tazi wasn't sure it was because she demanded it, or he was just growing weaker.

"Look," she explained, "twice now you owe me your life."

"What?" he rasped.

"Naglatha would have let her manservants feed what's left of you to that griffon if I hadn't asked for your life." The duergar managed a snort, and Tazi smiled slightly. "That's right; thanks to me you get to continue to breathe, at least a little while longer. The deal she and I struck was that Naglatha's to give you your freedom in exchange for your assistance. Just like me."

"I see," Justikar whispered painfully.

"I agree," Tazi said. "I don't believe her either, but it buys us more time. As for me, I'll consider us even if you help me in this mission she's scheming. Do that," Tazi added, "and we're quit of any debt between us. Agreed?"

The duergar mumbled something unintelligible to Tazi. She knew he was angry but counted on the fact that he hated to be obliged more. She picked up a fresh bit of gauze and started on his wounds again. When he didn't squirm, Tazi smiled and suspected they had a deal.

She continued the long process of cleaning his injuries of debris. She had learned the hard way that if they weren't cleaned well, infection and scarring could set in. Her right wrist still bore the scars of a dog attack she had suffered as a child. She had been afraid to tell her father about it and had hidden the injury. It was only after it started to fester that she told anyone at all. Tazi's mother had her healed, but asked that a scar remain to remind her daughter of foolish choices.

As she dabbed at the wounds, she saw the dwarfs shoulders tense in pain, though he remained stoically silent throughout her ministrations. Tazi attempted a trick, of sorts, to take his mind off of his cuts.

"So," she asked him casually, to distract him from what she had to do, "just how did you manage to slip out of here last night?" She was about to ask the question again, uncertain if Justikar had heard her or if he was simply trying to ignore her again, when he turned his head the other way on the pillow to face her. She could see his left eye had swollen almost shut. He peered at her through a narrow slit.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" he replied, and Tazi was certain there was almost a moment of bantering between them.

"Actually, I would like to know," she answered with a touch of admiration in her voice. "After all, not only did you get past me, but past those two," she paused to hook a thumb toward the door, "as well."

"Simple enough," he hissed as Tazi worked on a particularly deep gash.

"Really?" Tazi prodded, continuing her work.

"Yes," he answered. "Those two guards aren't that sharp, and it didn't take me long to get past them. I have a 'skill' when it comes to types like them."

"You'll have to share it with me," Tazi told him. "All right, so you got past those two. Then what happened? " As she questioned him, Tazi examined him to see if any ribs had been damaged in the attack.

"I was going to make my way to the Sunrise Mountains, because they were the closest," he explained. Tazi realized he must have been in serious pain to have been so forthcoming. She rummaged around on the table to see if any of the bottles or sundries that Milos brought might be something to relieve pain. She wasn't sure of most of their contents.

"Don't bother with that garbage," Justikar said through gritted teeth. "I wouldn't trust that tainted stuff. I'll be fine without it."

"I'm sure you will, but why turn away something you might need?'\Tazi countered. "Your bleeding-"

"It will stop in snort order," he informed her. "My family wasn't just given the surname 'Stoneblood.' We have it. It'll start to thicken up soon enough. Though," he grudgingly admitted, "I suppose it was smart to clean those scrapes out."

When he closed his eyes for a moment, Tazi smiled. She didn't want him to catch her laughing at his admission. "So," she prompted, "you were going to make your way to the mountains. What happened next?"

"I was close," he whispered, and Tazi could hear the disappointment in his voice. He kept his eyes closed and continued, "I had cleared the forest, and I could just see the cool darkness of an inviting tunnel in the foothills ahead of me."

"And?" Tazi asked.

"And Naglatha's pet bird showed up. You can probably figure out the rest for yourself since you're cleaning up most of it."

"Tell me anyway," she said, "it takes my mind off of the mess back here."

"If I would have had any real weapon on me," Justi-kar defended his loss, "I could have fought that thing off. But, unarmed as I was, I suppose it could have been worse."

"Not by much, I'll wager," Tazi quipped. She finished up with his wounds and tried to make him a little more comfortable without being obvious about it

"I hurt it, but not enough. The thing caught me with its wings and tossed me around like I was a child's doll. Eventually, I simply played dead. That's when it dragged me back here," he ended. "Must've had orders to bring me back regardless of my condition as proof that it succeeded." Tazi moved the small table aside and brought a chair over near his cot. She sat down and began to idly sort through the bottles and potions the guards brought.

"It seems, given how things turned out, you were the one who made the right choice here," he told her reluctantly.

"I tried to tell you," she replied calmly, "there was no choice for me. I stay for my family's safety."

"Mmm…" was all the dwarf said.

"Look," she told him more softly, "I don't trust Na-glatha for one moment. She desperately wants a part of some book that's located deep within a place called the Citadel." Tazi saw him open his swollen eye as far as he could and regard her with a gleam. "You know the place?" she asked.

"No," he rasped and shut his eye again abruptly.

"Hmm…why do I not believe you? No matter. She'll turn on me the minute she has what she wants in her icy grip. I'm no fool," she told him. He opened his eye again and looked at her with a sharp awareness.

"But," she said and leaned even closer in a conspiratorial whisper, "if I get her what she wants, then I'll be in the better position to barter with her. You see?"

The dwarf moved his head in agreement, and Tazi could almost swear that he smiled. "You know," he said slowly and Tazi was once again reminded that his voice sounded like rocks rubbing together, "you might not be as naive asjrou look."

Tazi grinned back. "You haven't seen anything yet."

Tharchion Pyras Autorian had to walk quickly in order to keep up with Zulkir Szass Tam. The young Tharchion of Thaymount was amazed at the speed the lich managed when he moved. He had to remind himself once again that his mentor, as he generously liked to think of Szass Tarn, was already over two centuries old. He himself was only past thirty years, the youngest tharchion in Thay. "The beginning and the end," he told his autharchs when he referred to his relationship with the Zulkir of Necromancy.

But there were times, mostly in the dead of night, when Pyras wondered why Szass Tarn had chosen him over so many of the other autharchs. Over the few years Pyras had embraced the life of politics, mostly to please his father, who rode him constantly over his minimal arcane abilities, he had seen that only the most ruthless and powerful ever moved up in rank in Thayan politics. With his unusual head of red hair that resisted both mundane and magical attempts to remove, he stood out amongst his clean-shaven companions. But that was the only reason why. Pyras again preferred to think of himself as fair-minded, though he heard more than one competitor refer to him as weak willed. And yet, he had caught the attention of the powerful lich, Szass Tam, a few years ago. Under his tutelage, Pyras had been appointed tharchion of the Thaymount over many others who had fought for the position.

I must have some abilities that have yet to show themselves to anyone but Szass Tam, he thought to himself. That must be it.

"Try and keep up," Szass Tam ordered him.

Pyras trotted alongside the lich, glad at least to be free of the horde of bodyguards that normally accompanied him. Only in the Citadel and only when he was alone with the lich was he allowed to travel without his armed shadows. By order of the Zulkir of Necromancy, Pyras had to be surrounded by a small garrison at all times, except in situations such as this one. The young tharchion took it as another sign of his importance to his mentor, that the lich kept him so well protected.

"Now," Szass Tam said, "I expect most of our guests to arrive within the next two days. Did you remember the seating arrangements that I asked you to make?" He smiled gently at Pyras. But Pyras knew that smile could hide much.

The young man hurriedly consulted a small journal he carried in his hands. As they continued to walk, he flipped through the pages until he came across a rough seating diagram. Before he had a chance to go any farther, Szass Tam plucked the book from his unresisting soft, white hands and studied it. Pyras watched his mentor as the lich thumbed through the rest of the tharchions notes for the occasion. He saw that the lich nodded at some notations, while he frowned at others.

Pyras used the opportunity to study his mentor unobserved for a moment. He was amazed at the lich's advanced years. He knew well enough that it was the work of a spell that gave Szass Tam the appearance of a man in his forties, with long black hair graying along the temples, ruddy cheeks, droopy mustache and close-cropped beard. But Pyras seriously doubted that it was a spell that gave the lich his fire. The zulkir practically glowed whenever he was around others, he was so driven. Pyras found himself shaking his head in wonder.

"You disagree?" Szass Tarn asked, breaking the young man's reverie.

"N-no," he stammered and tried to recover himself. He hoped the lich hadn't been aware of his lack of attention. If he had, the young man knew there would be a fierce penalty to pay. But, it appeared Szass Tarn was so caught up in his own plans that Pyras's gaffe escaped notice.

"Good. It's a little late in the day not to see eye-to-eye on that, don't you agree?"

"Absolutely," Pyras agreed to whatever it was the lich had mentioned, glad that Szass Tarn hadn't caught his mistake, and he returned the lich's broad smile.

As he and the lich passed down a hallway that was comprised of decorative stones resembling frozen sea-water, there was a faint rumbling. Both Red Wizards stopped in their tracks. The rumbling grew louder until the floor shook faintly beneath their feet, and a few fine lines appeared and grew in the stonework of the surrounding walls like spider webs. Pyras squeezed his eyes shut as the rumbling continued, clutching his temples. He swayed as black spots danced in front of his hazel eyes, and he feared that he was about to faint. He reached out blindly, trying to find the wall for support. Inadvertently, he caught the lich by his forearm instead. But he was too unsteady to let go. He hung onto the zulkir until the shaking faded away.

"Are you quite through?" the lich demanded, and there was no way for Pyras to miss the contempt in Szass Tarn's voice.

As soon as the spots cleared from his vision, he sheepishly released his hold on the lich and tried desperately to compose himself.

"I'm so sorry," he offered lamely to the necromancer, "I don't know what happened."

"Perhaps you are coming down with something," Szass Tarn offered as he smoothed out the wrinkles on his red robe where Pyras had clutched his arm, "or perhaps these occasional rumblings are frightening you more than you care to let on, hmm?"

"I am not sure what is wrong," he replied softly. "These headaches have been growing increasingly painful."

"Well," the lich said after some consideration, "I suppose it would be a shame if you became so incapacitated that I would be forced to look for a replacement for you amongst the other autharchs." He stroked his beard thoughtfully. "However, it wouldn't be the first time that happened. You do recall your predecessor, don't you?"

Pyras blanched as he remembered the man who had held the position of tharchion before him. He could still hear the man's screams in his dreams some nights. And, judging by the look on Szass Tarn's face, Pyras suspected he wouldn't have any compunction removing him either. Fearfully, Pyras scurried along to keep up with the lich. He didn't want to give him another reason to be displeased. He tried to redirect the necromancer's attentions.

"Uh, there was something else I wanted to tell you, Zulkir," Pyras began, trying to somehow win himself back into his mentor's favor. Szass Tam returned to his brisk pace again, and Pyras had no choice but to speak to him on the run, as it were. "My network of spies," he started, trying hard to ignore what sounded like a soft chuckle from the lich, "has come to me with some disturbing news."

"And what might that be, dear Pyras?" the necromancer asked, and Pyras could see amusement dance in his black eyes.

"They have reported that more than a few of the standing armies of the other zulkirs have been getting restless lately," he explained.

"Really?" Szass Tam questioned.

"Yes," the young tharchion continued, "more so than usual, and even the regular entertainments have not been effectual in relieving their tension. Certainly, the gladiatorial games are as popular as ever with the local populace, but the members of the armies themselves are not as distracted as they once were by them."

"So what do you suggest?" Szass Tam asked his young protege.

"I don't have anything to add to what you've already come up with," Pyras told him, trying hard not to sound breathless as he struggled to keep up with the lich. He didn't want Szass Tam to see that he had become a touch weaker lately.

"I'm so glad you approve, tharchion," said the lich.

"I only meant to say that once again your timing is perfect," Pyras replied and secretly hated himself for the groveling tone that he had adopted. "To have all of the other zulkirs and tharchions here in the Citadel will be a perfect opportunity for you to quell their unease and refocus their energies."

The necromancer stopped short, and Pyras nearly stumbled in to him. He knew that would have been the biggest mistake of all to make. Pyras was fearful that he had, again, said the wrong thing. But he was not the object of the necromancer's scrutiny. He followed the lich's gaze and realized it was fixed on one of the many support columns in the hallway. Pyras could see that there were new cracks along the top. As he moved closer, the floor made a horrible screech. Lifting up his sandaled foot, Pyras discovered several small marble chips scattered along the floor. Probably from the column, he thought morosely. I'm sure I'll be blamed for this somehow.

But the necromancer remained silent and contemplative. He ran his strong hands along the length of the column and rapped his fist against it as though testing its integrity. Pyras almost thought the lich looked worried, but then dismissed the notion. Pyras had never seen Szass Tam anxious about anything, so he didn't even have an idea what that emotion might like look on the lich's dead features. He was certain the zulkir was just looking for where he might have slipped up again.

Pyras wasn't sure if the lich was more displeased with him lately or not. And he didn't want to admit it, but the recent volcanic activity had made him some- what anxious. Granted, living in a series of volcanic ridges, a certain amount of tectonic activity was unavoidable. The peaks did erupt now and again-they always had. In fact, the quantity of ash falling in the northerly and eastern areas of High Thay, downwind of the Thaymount, was so copious that it rendered the area nearly uninhabitable. Nevertheless, a few determined Red Wizards struggled to raise their own towers in the desolate spots regardless. So, quakes and tremors were not unusual. But something was different this time, Pyras felt it. Added to that was his distress and puzzlement over his recent headaches. They might have been the result of the endless nights of planning the lich had put him through for this upcoming counsel. That was a possibility. He was definitely under more stress because of it, but maybe he was just a touch frightened by the quakes as well. He knew most of the other Red Wizards that inhabited High Thay and the Thaymount had expressed their concerns to one degree or another over the last few tendays. So he wasn't the only one who felt something was amiss.

And there was Szass Tam. Pyras felt he was under constant pressure to please the lich. And he wasn't mistaken there. Over the last few tendays, as Pyras sat bent over his desk making plans and taking notes, Szass Tam had been always over his shoulder. That had to have been when the headaches started. Who wouldn't suffer from them under those conditions? On the surface, though, Tam had been supportive and instructional the whole time. He even brought me carafes of wine when he thought I needed them, Pyras remembered fondly. He had never done that before. Pyras dismissed his concerns with the thought that he couldn't fail the lich.

Pyras realized that the necromancer was studying his face closely. There would be no disguising the fact this time that the young, clean-shaven tharchion had not been paying attention with the proper amount of rapt fascination to the zulkir. However, the lich's next statement caught Pyras off-guard.

"Your eyes look more yellow to me than usual. Are you feeling well?" he asked, but Pyras wasn't sure if there was concern or calculation in his black eyes.

"I am fine," Pyras replied. "I just want to make sure that everything goes the way you've planned. You've worked so diligently toward this." Once again, the wheedling, needy tone had crept back into his voice.

"I am so pleased my efforts have not gone unnoticed. You do have such a sharp eye," he snapped, and Pyras knew he had angered the lich.

"See to it everything else is as I asked," he ordered and turned to leave the damaged hall. "No need to follow. I am done with you today." And in a swirl of maroon and black, the lich was gone, more than likely to his inner chambeVs in the lower level.

No sooner had the necromancer departed than another quake rumbled through the edifice. Pyras lay a hand across his forehead and felt his knees turn to water. As he crumpled backward in a dead faint, his last conscious thought was one of relief that Szass Tam had not witnessed this latest embarrassment.

172 Voronica Whitney-Robinson