The Search For Magic

Hunger
Richard A. Knaak

“Massster Brudasss! Massster Brudasss! May I beg of you leave to enter?”

Brudas looked up from his work, barely containing the rage that had swelled up the moment the irritating voice of the Baaz had grated on his sensitive ears. If he could have fulfilled this mission without the aid of the lowest of all draconian kind, he would have done so, but that would have meant muddying his hands himself-something the Bozak would only do for his mistress, the great black dragon Sable. Digging in swampy mud was definitely work for Baaz, and they were welcome to it.

“Enter, you fool!” Brudas snapped, eager to get on with his own responsibilities.

He and a trio of Baaz had come to the half-sunken ruins of the city of Krolus on a quest for their mistress. Sable had come across scraps of information that led her to believe that some powerful relics, including those created by a dark wizard of the Third Age known for his trafficking with the undead, still lay buried somewhere in the heart of the old kingdom. In the past, her minions had comhed the devastated area for such items without success. Brudas, however, hoped to change that. He had uncovered old scrolls that hinted of places missed hy his hapless predecessors and had convinced the black dragon to let him lead this latest hunt for the elusive artifacts.

Success would further the draconian’s own ambitions. Of course, at the time he volunteered, he had not considered that there was no more stench-infested, waterlogged region in all the overlord’s domain than this one.

Bowing as he entered, the Baaz hurried to the bench and table where his superior sat glaring at him. He quickly fell to one knee. Brudas eyed the newcomer with distaste. Baaz were the least of the draconian races, a far cry below the elegant Auraks Brudas so admired and emulated, and certainly not nearly advanced as the Bozaks, of which he himself was a sterling example. The stinking, mud-encrusted figure before him was typical of his kind.

They were a contrast, these two, whose only connection was the fact that they, like all draconians, had been created full-grown by dark magic from the stolen eggs of metallic dragons, the so-called dragons of light. Baaz sprang from the eggs of the brass leviathans and their scaled hides showed a tarnished hint of that coloring. Pathetic in so many ways, Baaz had wings that would not even let them fly. They could merely glide. Once they had been the most numerous of the draconians, but as even the Dragon Highlords had seen their uselessness, many had perished fighting in the front lines in the War of the Lance. True, Baaz were more muscular than the taller, slimmer Bozaks, but they lacked the quick wit of the latter. Little wonder, since Bozak sprang from the magnificent bronze dragons and had been granted a great gift-the ability to wield magic in a manner that all the other draconians, (save the imposing Auraks, of course) could only dream about.

The Auraks. As much pride as Brudas felt concerning his own heritage, he dreamed of being as skilled and advanced as the tall, wingless ones. The Auraks were the epitome of draconian superiority, the creations of corrupted golden dragon eggs. They could cast better spells in swifter fashion, were taller, sleeker, and spoke eloquently, boasting intelligence and wisdom.

Brudas tried his best to emulate Auraks, even to the point of dressing in sorcerer’s robes and practicing his speech so he didn’t sound like one of the lesser draconian races. The Bozak felt, with some justification, that he could now number himself among the most gifted of his kind, yet still he felt inadequate in comparison to the Auraks. To add to his frustration, his sorcery had begun to fail of late, a horrible thing to happen to one born with the gift. He hadn’t told anyone, hoping that he might manage to find and ferret out a magical artifact for himself in the ruins of the city of Krolus. The expedition had to succeed…

“Get up, you imbecile!” he snarled at the crouching Baaz. Other races occasionally confused the two draconian types because of the similar coloring of their scales, a fact that always irritated Brudas. Could not the color-blind fools tell the difference between tarnished bronze and knavish brass?

The Baaz rose. Brudas recognized him as Drek, the lowliest of his lowly kind, perhaps the stupidest of the three draconians who accompanied him on this quest.

Drek had the ambition and intelligence of a rock, perhaps even less. To Drek, the Bozak tended to delegate the most menial and disgusting labor.

“Forgive me, Massster Brudasss!” Drek hissed. “I did not mean to disssturb you.”

The sibilant hiss annoyed Brudas even more than the Baaz’s blunt snout. Even though sitting, he managed to stare down his own sleek, narrow snout-more akin to a true dragon’s than Drek’s swinish nose-and, with perfect enunciation, he retorted, “You disturb me simply by existing, Drek! If you have something to report, report it and get out of my sight! I still hope to find out if one of these artifacts-” he waved a slim, taloned hand at the table, upon which lay nearly a dozen supposedly magical items- “has any latent power, something that will please our mistress!”

At mention of Sable, the Baaz cringed. His kind feared Sable utterly. Brudas feared her, respected her, and hoped to betray her when the opportunity presented itself-which was why he had suggested this odorous and, so far, futile expedition.

Something had happened to the magic of Krynn, to all spellcasters, not simply Brudas. The sorcerers and other mortal spellcasters had noticed it first. Spells began to falter, then fail completely. Attempt after attempt left nothing but the taste of futility in the wield-er’s mouth. The sorcerers, of course, blamed it on the overlords.

Soon, though, the overlords too began to complain of the loss of their abilities. Brudas still recalled how Sable had for weeks blamed one rival or another for her faltering spells-until she had learned that her fellow dragons were having troubles, too. With that realization, she had turned to the same desperate remedy sought by the sorcerers-Sable sent her minions out to find whatever magical talismans and artifacts they could so she could drain the relics’ power and use their ancient magic for her her own magic.

Only a handful of her most trusted servants knew the complete truth and, of them, only Brudas knew the full extent of his mistress’s weakness.

“Many, many apologiesss, Massster Brudasss,” Drek babbled again. “It’sss jussst I think I may have found sssomething!”

“You found something?” Quickly, Brudas’s ire faded. He rose from his chair, his nearly seven-foot frame towering over the more compact Baaz. “Where is it? What is it? Bring it in, you dolt!”

“We can’t! Not… not yet! It’s in a chamber. We’re still excavating the entrance, but-”

“Lead me to it immediately!”

“Yesss, Massster Brudasss!” Drek turned and darted out of the tent.

Seizing his staff, Brudas followed after him. The Bozak momentarily decided to forgive the lowly creature for not holding the tent flap open for him. If Drek and the others had found something of value, it would be the first silver lining to this black-cloud of an adventure since their arrival more than two weeks before.

Damp and gloom greeted the draconian as he stepped onto the soft, drenched soil. He had chosen the most stable patch of ground for his tent, but still the moisture tended to seep everywhere. Not for the first time Brudas wondered what fascination a dragon could have with such a muddy, bug-infested quagmire.

With great care, the two wended their way through the hazy marsh into the heart of what had once been a thriving city. Although Sable had transformed much of her domain into swampland, Krolus had been destroyed in the Great Cataclysm centuries before. As happened with so many other cities, the people who lived here had been caught entirely offguard. In the veritable blink of an eye, their proud city had been swallowed up by the cracked earth and shifting wetlands. In the years since, the swamp had only encroached further on the ruins. Sable herself could not have created a more nightmarish place.

The spiraled tip of a watchtower jutted out of the brackish water to their left. A pair of long, emerald serpents crawled over the tiled roof of a stone building- possibly an inn once. Brudas’s gaze fell upon a statue of some human warrior, its head gone, with great cracks along its body. An arachnid as large as the Bozak’s hand had spun a web between the body and an upraised arm.

Although it was midday, the sulfur-ridden haze made it seem more like twilight. A dim glow up ahead marked one of the oil lamps that Brudas had commanded the Baaz to spread over the vague path leading to their latest digging site. Searching for dry wood in this soggy domain would have been fruitless and so the Bozak had commandeered numerous oil lamps for their journey. However, their supply of oil had already dwindled drastically, and Brudas suspected they had three days’ of lamplight left-at best. Not good, considering how little the expedition had to show for its efforts so far. If Drek’s latest find did not pan out…

Rubble from a massive, broken arch forced them to take a more circuitous route to their destination, but Brudas held his impatience in check. Drek would not have disturbed him without a good reason. The Baaz knew the penalty for that.

Brudas’s clawed feet sank an inch or two into the ground with every step. Nothing remained dry long here. Those buildings and structures that had not sunk entirely into the swamp were covered with mold and moss. Even though many of the citizenry had failed to escape- as evidenced by die skulls lying amid the grass-those who had some link to magic evidently had been luckier than most. The treasure trove of relics that the Bozak had hoped to find had so far proved nonexistent.

Sable would not like that. More importantly, Brudas did not like that.

One of the most intact structures was, of all things, a temple of Mishakal, the goddess of healing. As they approached on what had once been the main thoroughfare of the city, Brudas noted that the temple now listed to one side even more than on the first day he had glimpsed it. Some of the columns had begun to crack. Too soon this monument to a departed goddess would join so much else under the water and mud of the black dragon’s domain.

Who was to say that, long ago, some relic had not made its way into the temple, perhaps brought there by a pious follower who feared the sinister ways of magic and sought to keep at least one artifact out of the ambitious hands of the old wizards? Some of those magical artifacts might still remain within…

Yet, Drek led him past the temple, where the three Baaz were supposed to be digging, heading instead to the far quarter of Krolus that had suffered the worst destruction.

“You were supposed to finish exploring the temple!” Brudas snapped.

Drek looked even more miserable than usual. “Found nothing there, Brudasss!” he replied, forgetting to call the Bozak by his title. “We gave up yesssterday.”

Yesterday? And no one had informed him? The slim draconian opened his mouth to berate his underling-only to pause as the pair came to where the palace of the local ruler had once stood.

Once, this had been a fairly elegant abode that had towered over most of Krolus. The Cataclysm, however, seemed to have taken special interest in wreaking havoc on the building, for not only had a good portion of it disappeared beneath the swamp, but over time, rising water and vegetation had conquered the rest of the structure. Fearsome trees with sickly-green vines covered the interior. On all sides, the walls had crumbled or caved in.

Suspicious, Brudas halted. He knew that the Baaz hated their leader nearly as much as they feared him. Had their days in this monstrous ruin caused them to revolt? Did they hope to do away with him?

“Where are we going? Where is this supposed artifact, Drek?”

The lowly Baaz paused, gasping for breath. “You know how we could not find any way into the palace? Any way to reach the lower depthsss? There isss one!”

“Impossible! I led the search myself. Who found it?”

Drek had the audacity to look proud. “I did, Massster Brudasss!”

“Did you now? And how did you manage that?” To think that a Baaz could do what a Bozak could not…

Now the other draconian looked rather embarrassed. “I fell into it, mossst high one.”

Brudas laughed, despite himself. Yes, trust Drek to fall into a secret entrance. How else could this particularly useless creature succeed where more intelligent life failed? The laughter died as the Bozak considered the potential of what Drek had discovered. Surely the palace, of all places, held something.

“Lead me there-quickly!”

Drek did so, guiding Brudas along a path that circled widely until it brought them around to the back of the ruin, where a mountainous slab of wall rose at a precarious angle just above the water. Its dark but dry interior showed steps leading downward like a shaft. Small wonder that Brudas had not seen it earlier. Mud and swamp grass surrounded it on all sides.

“Hunnh,” the Bozak grunted. “Where are the others?”

“Below. Digging.”

“How deep does it descend?” Dare he hope?

Drek shrugged. “Four levelsss, four and a half if you count our digging.”

Better and better. “Lead on.” After a pause, “Good work, Drek.”

The Baaz beamed at this rare compliment. He leaped down the steps of the passage, but Brudas followed more carefully. The entrance just barely allowed him to use his staff, and the angle of the passage required the Bozak to grip one wall with his free hand.

The stench of rotting vegetation and other dead matter assailed his senses, but Brudas did not care. As his eyes became accustomed to the near dark, he noted the cracks in the walls, the moisture all around. Not the safest place.

After an eternity of a journey, Drek at last brought him to his prize. The other two Baaz, Molgar and Gruun, stood knee-deep in swampy water, trying their best to dig a stone doorway out from the mud and muck. They stepped aside when they saw their superior. Above them, a single oil lamp made visible not only their efforts, but the curious symbol on the door.

Although the swamp had tried its best, the colors of the three intertwined spheres carved into the door were still evident. White, red, and black-the signs of the old moons, the moons of magic. A nostalgic emotion rippled through the Bozak as he reached to touch the spheres, feeling their solidity. Even the fact that he was ankle deep in mud did nothing to dampen Brudas’s excitement. Yes, Drek had found a prize, indeed.

“Don’t just stand there, you dolts!” he snapped at the Baaz. “Finish digging the door free!”

Under his baleful gaze they performed the remainder of the task. The moment they finished, Brudas reached for the handle and tugged.

Nothing happened. He inspected the handle, saw that some lock mechanism kept him from whatever was inside. The Bozak, though, would not be defeated. Ordering the others back, the draconian raised his staff.

Not much magical power remained in the staff, but Brudas could not see why he shouldn’t expend some of its last precious energy on this doorway, clearly a sanctum of sorts for some great spellcaster, likely the court wizard.

Muttering the words, the draconian unleashed his spell on the lock.

The power. Give me the power.

Brudas stumbled back as the lock flashed and flamed. He spun around, glaring at the miserable trio of Baaz and looking for the one who had spoken the odd words. “Who dared interrupt me at such a crucial moment? My spell might have gone awry!”

The Baaz looked at one another confusedly, Drek finally daring to reply, “No one ssspoke, sssir! I sss-wear!”

The Bozak hissed, but did not pursue the matter. He could deal out punishments later. Greedily, Brudas returned his attention to the lock.

The spell had not worked as well as it should have. Frustrated, Brudas turned and studied the lock closer. Tiny plumes of smoke still rose from the blackened section. Not destroyed, as he had hoped, but certainly weakened. A shovel or pickax would finish the job nicely.

Backing away, Brudas commanded, “Drek! Your shovel! Strike the lock!”

Drek seized the tool and stepped to the door. Raising the shovel high, he let loose with his enviable strength, smashing the lock. The lock broke with a satisfying crack.

Breathing heavily, Drek stepped back. Anticipation rising, Brudas glanced at the other two apprehensive Baaz. “Open it!”

Molgar and Gruun swiftly obeyed. The muscles of the draconians strained, but the two soon had the great door ajar, enough to let a single figure squeeze through at a time. Seizing the oil lantern, Brudas thrust it in and swept it over the interior.

More water and mud greeted him. Nearly three-fourths of the chamber lay submerged. He couldn’t hope even to get inside more than a few yards.

A waste of time. If there were any artifacts within, the sloping floor would have sent them all deep down in the swamp, to a place not even Brudas could command the Baaz to go.

With hope fading, he swung the lamp around for one last inspection-and caught a glint of metal.

Brudas stared, at first certain he was mistaken, but, no, the tip of some metallic object was poking above the muck. The Bozak somehow sensed he had not simply found some bit of rusted tableware or old sword. No, Brudas could sense magic… the old magic.

“Drek! Over there! See that? Retrieve it! And be warned! If you lose it, you’d best just follow it to oblivion, understand?”

With a fearful nod, the Baaz strode into the ruined chamber. Brudas nearly held his breath, but Drek managed to pluck the relic free and return with it in only a couple of minutes.

“Give me that!” the Bozak demanded, fingers twitching in excitement.

The object that Drek anxiously passed on to him proved to be a bracelet of sorts, but of a design Brudas had never come across before. It seemed too large for either draconian or human wrists and far too bulky to be worn practically. Much of it had been fashioned out of silver that seemed to hint of moonlight, but what fascinated him most was the intricate centerpiece to the artifact, a crest with a horned, animal-skull design that hinted of the lost god Chemosh, lord of the dead.

Adding to its effect were two black stones flanking the skull design. Staring at them, the Bozak could have sworn that they flared briefly in response to his intense gaze. The stones appeared to be entities separate from the rest of the bracelet. Brudas sensed some spell attached to them, but the level of power paled in comparison to the rest of the relic.

One of the stones seemed slightly ajar, as if something had nearly knocked it free of its mounting. With great caution, Brudas brought one talon gingerly to the stone. He did not want to lose the stone by accident.

As his talon touched the ebony gem, a brief spark from the stone startled Brudas, nearly causing him to drop the entire bracelet.

The power. Give me the power!

Clutching the relic awkwardly in one hand, he glared at the three Baaz, but none of them looked as if they had spoken the peculiar words. The Bozak shook off the whispering voice. Perhaps he had imagined it. Inspecting the bracelet, Brudas decided not to risk touching the loose stone again. Still, the mild jolt he had received had been enough to encourage him.

Brudas eyed the sunken chamber. The prospects of finding anything else in this danger-laden, unstable ruin were minimal at best. He had been fortunate to find even this one artifact. Still…

“Continue the search. Leave nothing untouched! I will return to my tent to study this item.” Ignoring the dismayed expressions of the others, the Bozak strode away, as best he could, climbing laboriously up to the surface and shaking mud off all the way back to his tent.

For the first time since coming to Krolus, Brudas had made a real find, one that might help him realize his dreams of success, of power.

Brudas had grown tired of serving Sable and receiving little in return. He had grown tired of his own failing magic, making him feel even more useless than a Baaz or a Kapak. Auraks had their fabled craftiness to serve them when magic failed, and the others were good for either battle or labor, but a Bozak without magic was worthless. He was not even of any use to himself.

However, with the forces Brudas sensed in this artifact, he might be able to depart the black dragon’s domain and make his way to better climes, to some place where he, not some overgrown, fat lizard, could rule. Then Brudas would be master, not servant…

Entering his tent, he stalked to the table and, with a contemptuous sweep of his arm, cleared it of the lesser relics. Hanging his oil lamp nearby, Brudas placed the bracelet on the table, then leaned toward it, reptilian orbs slitted. He cared not for what purpose its designer originally had created it. Sable would have found the artifact’s background of interest, but all Brudas cared about now was how he would be able to draw the magic and use it for his own spells.

A test. It required a simple test. The Bozak would cast the easiest of spells, utilizing only the least amount of energy.

With growing eagerness, Brudas clutched the sides of the bracelet, making certain to leave both index fingers atop the skull design. Feeling the nearness to strong magic sent a chill of excitement down his spine. He could barely contain himself as he began to recite the words of the spell. If all went as planned, the Bozak hoped to create a small sphere of light that would float just above the table. A simple spell. In the old days, even a novice wizard could have cast this with ease.

As he whispered, Brudas noticed a slight movement of the tent walls. The lamp dimmed a bit for no reason he could discern.

The final words slipped from his toothy maw.

And a pale, cadaverous hand suddenly slipped across his own, while a moaning, demanding voice like a winter wind cried out, “Give it to me! I must have it!”

Caught by surprise, Brudas stumbled backward, losing his grip on the relic. His gaze fell upon a ghostly form, an older, bearded man wearing tattered robes. The face had little flesh and the eyes were so hollow and hungry that for a moment Brudas, who had as a servant of the goddess Takhisis dealt before with the undead, could only stare back in astonishment.

In its skeletal hands the ghost held a glowing force, and, as both spectre and burden faded away, Brudas realized the ghoulish creature had just stolen the magic from his spell.

Hissing in both anger and consternation, Brudas rose to his feet and raced out of the tent. Outside he saw nothing but the swamp and the ruins. Both the ghost and glowing magic had vanished.

For a moment, he considered calling for the Baaz, but thought better of it. To ask them if they had heard or seen a ghost would only make him look ridiculous in their i|norant eyes.

However, one ghost would not stop him. The Bozak knew some dark spells, one that could repel the undead. Trudging back inside the tent, the draconian eyed the bracelet. Best to keep away from it for now. The creature clearly was attached to it, perhaps had even been its creator. Well, come the morrow, Brudas had an idea that would send the ghoul on its final journey.

As could be expected, the Baaz found nothing more worthwhile. Drek, while excavating, had almost been crushed by the weakening ceiling of the chamber. Brudas sent the miserable creatures to yet another site he believed worthwhile, then he began his research. That took not only the rest of what could laughingly be called the day, but also well into the night.

He had not touched the bracelet again, not wanting to accidentally summon the spirit. As Brudas lay down on his cot to sleep, he pondered his options. Should he capture the ghost, perhaps make the spirit tell him where other magical artifacts of significance might be found? A waste of power most likely. Better to be rid of the creature entirely.

Brudas drifted off to sleep, his thoughts still on spells. He dreamed of spellcastmg and saw himself upon a great mountain, using his magic to drive the overlords away and, in their place, he took over the rule of all Ansalon. The draconian took special pleasure in humbling his mistress, Sable. In his dreams, he forced the ebony leviathan to cower before him, her head buried so flat against the earth it made him laugh to see it. No more would the Bozak follow anyone else’s dictates. Even the Auraks would acknowledge his greatness.

In the dreams, hundreds of craven subjects crowded around him, begging his mercy, cheering his might Brudas granted them the wonder of witnessing his spellwork, casting wondrous display after wondrous display…

Then the draconian woke to find his fingers twitching. He felt magic briefly course through him… then out again.

He opened his eyes-

And let out a startled shout as more than a score of ghoulish, semi-transparent figures wafted close to him, surrounding him, their hollow eyes filled with an insatiable hunger.

“Get away from me!” Brudas cried, rolling off the bed. “Getaway!”

The ghosts did not touch him, but neither did they move away. Wherever the Bozak went, the spectres followed.

They talked, begged, pleaded, and demanded.

“Give it to me!”

“I must have it!”

“No! It’s mine!”

“Please! I need it…”

With a wordless cry, the draconian stumbled out of the tent. From the tent shared by the three Baaz, Drek emerged with a sleepy expression, sword in one hand.

“What isss it? Are we under attack, sssir?” v

Brudas seized him by the throat and spun the Baaz around so the fool faced his superior’s dwelling. “What do you think, you imbecile? Look at them and ask me that idiotic question again!”

Drek did look… and then gave Brudas a bewildered glance. “Who do you mean, Massster Brudasss? Where? I sssee no one!”

Turning, the taller draconian found that his underling had spoken the truth. There were no ghostly figures. They had vanished. The Bozak inhaled deeply, trying to regain his composure.

The other Baaz emerged from their tents, joining them. Gruun scanned the area nervously, while Molgar was so tired he seemed to be sleepwalking. They looked at their superior.

Suddenly feeling like a fool, Brudas grew irritated. Perhaps he had dreamed it all, although surely the first ghost had existed. But a host of them… his subconscious must have played tricks on him.

“Go back to your tent!” the Bozak snarled at the other draconians. “Now!”

Puzzled, the Baaz wandered off. Brudas heard them muttering under their breath, no doubt discussing their superior’s sanity.

The morning mist made it difficult to actually know exactly when dawn arrived, but Brudas found he could not stay in bed any longer. The draconian had not slept well, for each time his eyes closed he felt as if the shadows gathered around him again. That no spectres were there whenever he finally chose to open his eyes did not ease his troubled mind a bit.

Weary but determined, Brudas rose and sought out the Baaz. He needed privacy for his project. After kicking Drek and the others out of their slumber, he sent the trio off to a distant part of the sunken city, a place it would take them hours to reach. That would afford him the quiet he needed-not to mention preventing a repeat of the previous evening’s embarrassing episode.

Alone now, the Bozak gingerly took the bracelet from the table, brought it out into the open. He looked around, but saw no sign of any spectre. At last, taking a deep breath, the draconian mouthed the simple spell that had first brought him the ghastly visitor. In the back of his mind, though, he kept a second spell ready. The spectre would be in for a nasty surprise.

Come to me, the draconian thought. Come to me, you damned spirit! You’ll find me ready, this time.

As his spell grew to fruition, the ghost reappeared. The same bearded man with the hollow eyes beckoned to Brudas, and the Bozak could almost hear the same words, even though the specter had not yet spoken.

Give it to me.

Brudas would give it to him. Brudas would give the ghost a taste of magic, but not the way the phantom wanted. He stopped the first spell, intending to unleash the trap-

Only to see a second, a third, then more and more ghosts rising from the earth, materializing among the trees, drifting forward from the ruins…

There had to be at least three dozen of them-maybe more. Each of them had that hungry, hollow look, and their voices, although different in tone, sounded as if they blended into one.

“Give it to me!”

“It’s mine! It has to be mine!”

“I need it!”

Brudas whirled and saw that they approached him from all sides. He counted far more than before, possibly as many as a hundred!

“Away from me, spirits!” he snapped. “You’ll get nothing from me! Nothing!”

They ignored him, though, their arms outstretched, hands grasping, clutching…

A shriveled claw passed through the draconian, and although he felt nothing, Brudas nonetheless shook. Then, reminding himself that the ghosts seemed unable to hurt, much less touch him, he grew defiant.

“You were warned, spirits! No one assaults Brudas! Not even the dead!”

Holding up the bracelet, he began the banishing spell. Then, to his dismay… the ghosts stole the magic from him again. Their fingers caressed the relic as each spectre carried off some of the power.

Still, their numbers grew. It seemed as if every citizen of Krolus who had ever died rose to haunt him, yet some of the ghosts did not seem properly placed. A few wore armor more like that used in Solamnia. Others were dressed in recent fashions. A man in full sailing gear from the southlands walked beside a Knight of Takhisis. A cadaverous minotaur with a slit gullet kept pace with a kender.

The truth suddenly stared him in the face. These were not just the spectres of the sunken city. They were phantoms from all over Ansalon.

Over and over, they chanted the same dreadful litanies. They wanted, they needed, they demanded… It threatened to drive the Bozak mad just listening to them!

What they wanted, needed, demanded was the magic. Brudas stared at the relic, his prize. At the moment, the Bozak desired nothing more than to be free of this monstrous horde. He held the bracelet high, waving it so that the ghosts could see it.

“You want the power? You want the magic? Here it is!”

With a tremendous effort, Brudas sent the artifact sailing through the air.

Instantly, scores of the ghosts turned and followed, still mouthing their damnable words. Yet, to the Bozak’s consternation, many more stayed where they were, even drew closer to the draconian. These ghosts had no interest in the bracelet. They wanted his magic.

His nerve broke. Brudas turned and fled. He did not have to glance back to know that he was pursued. Worse, even as he ran, the draconian saw still others rising from the stones, floating through the walls, even descending from the sky.

Magic. They all sought magic. He stumbled through the ruins, trying to find a place to hide, but everywhere he looked, the ghosts crowded toward him. They were legion, an endless flow of hungry souls seeking to devour his essence.

A small human, a ghost-child who should have been nothing to the once-arrogant Bozak, emerged from the wall of an inn half buried in the muck of the swamp. This ghastly urchin stared with the same hungry orbs, the same hideous look of the other ghosts, but on a child, it appeared even more strange, more monstrous.

“Get back! Get back!”

They would not listen to Brudas, though. Strong arms seized hold of him as he rounded a crumbling house. Brudas let out a gasp of surprise, wondering if the spectres, no longer satisfied with asking or demanding with words, had now found a way to take what he would not willingly give.

“Sssir! Massster Brudasss! Are you all right?”

The sibilant voice dragged him back to reality. Brudas managed to focus on the one who held him- Drek, of all creatures.

“Drek!” Never before had he been so filled with pleasure at the sight of a Baaz. Brudas clutched the other draconian tight before realizing how silly he must look. Summoning up a modicum of dignity, he glared at his subordinate. “Drek! What are you doing in this part of the city? You should be farther to the west!”

The Baaz gave him a sheepish expression, then held up a broken staff. “Cracked my shovel, sssir! Forgot to bring a ssspare.”

“You-” Brudas nearly broke out in laughter. So mundane an accident, so typical of Drek. He dared not tell the Baaz how pleased he was, but surely the fool saw what was happening.

“Are you all right, sssir?” Drek repeated, eyeing his commander as one might eye a three-legged chicken. “You don’t look well, if you’ll pardon me for sssaying ssso, sssir!”

“Well? Well? How can I be well? They’re surrounding us, and you dare to ask such a question?”

“Who? Who’sss around usss?” the Baaz hissed, reaching for his sword. “Ogresss? Are they hiding in the ruinsss?”

Brudas looked at the Baaz in consternation, then glanced around quickly just to be certain. Sure enough, even though the ghosts had backed away slightly at Drek’s appearance, they still milled nearby, eyes hollow, hands grasping, voices calling. But Drek neither heard nor saw any of it. The situation struck Brudas as absurd as some of the comical plays watched by humans. Drek stood close to him, hissing and snarling at imagined foes. He even had his sword out and was waving it wildly. The ghosts, undaunted by his fearsome performance, passed effortlessly through his blade, then even through the Baaz himself. Still, Drek saw nothing.

Gritting his teeth, the Bozak muttered, “Never mind, Drek. There’s no one. There’s no one for you to fight.”

His companion blinked, then once more gave Brudas the three-legged chicken stare. The Bozak did not care. All that concerned him were the spectres and their ungodly hunger. No longer did Brudas dream of carving out his own realm somewhere, some day. Now all he wanted was to be left alone by the legion of undead.

Drek sheathed his weapon. “Sssir, if I may. You’ve been working hard, sssir. Maybe you should get a little more ressst. Yesss, maybe a little ressst would do you sssome — ”

“Do not treat me like a hatchling!” Brudas pulled his arm away from Drek’s reaching hand. “All I need — He hesitated, eyeing the monstrous faces all around. He was awash in a sea of dead. “All I want,” Brudas muttered, “is to be left alone.”

The ghosts paid his plea no mind, but Drek, who did not realize to whom his superior actually spoke, took the words as a command. With just a slight hint of annoyance in his sharp salute, he responded, “Yesss, sssir! Asss you wish!”

The taller draconian almost called him back, but to do so would have further shamed him in the Baaz’s eyes. Besides, of what use was Drek to his troubles? Drek neither heard nor saw the phantom horde and simply thought his commander had gone mad.

No! Brudas would not be so readily defeated. He had survived the loss of the gods, the coming of the overlords, and years under the tasking of his mistress. He would not let a bunch of moaning ghosts bring him to madness and ruin!

With the ghosts stalking his every footstep, Brudas forced himself back to his tent. He would be rid of these damnable spirits somehow! He must think like an Aurak! Think like the highest of all draconians! That was the way to solve it!

Yet as the day progressed, no clue dawned on him. He sat at his desk, surrounded hy the death-faces, trying his best to think and be inspired and always getting distracted by the burgeoning numbers, the constant, whispering demands of the ghosts.

“Give me the magic!”

“I need it!”

“I must have it!”

And on and on and on…

The trio of Baaz returned to camp without Brudas even noticing. Only when Drek came up to report did the Bozak realize that the entire day had faded into darkness.

The lowly Baaz walked ignorantly through the army of ghosts, unaware of the horrors eyeing him. He saluted Brudas as always.

Brudas forced his eyes up. “Yes, Drek? What is it?”

“Giving my report, sssir.”

Not really caring, the weary Bozak waved for his subordinate to continue. At least Drek’s deep, sibilant voice would drown out a bit of the constant pleading and wailing.

Drek, however, did not immediately begin. Instead, he first eyed Brudas with something approaching concern. “Massster Brudasss, you don’t look well. Per-hapsss you should lie down.”

Lie down? How could he lie down? If he slept, the ghosts wormed their way into his dreams, urging him to cast spells from which they could purloin the magic! Brudas had not forgotten the previous night, how he had woken to feel the power seeping from his twitching fingers. Lie down? Didn’t the fool Baaz know anything?

“Just give your damned report!”

Cringing, Drek did so. Brudas paid him little attention, however, using the droning of the Baaz as an opportunity to focus his thoughts on his predicament. He could not sleep; he could not cast magic. The ghosts remained with him at every moment and their numbers seemed to be growing. What could he do?

“… and that’sss all, sssir.”

Defeated for the moment, Brudas waved a taloned hand in Drek’s direction, dismissing him. However, as the Baaz turned to go, something Drek had said finally registered with the desperate Bozak.

“What’s that you said about a magic staff?”

With another sheepish expression, Drek replied, “We found what ssseemed a wizard’sss staff, Massster Brudasss, but I tripped and fell on it. Broke it. I’m sssorry, sssir!”

Under normal circumstances, Brudas would have punished the careless Baaz for such heinous stupidity, but a thought was stirring within his head, a possible salvation from the ghouls.

“The bracelet! Find me the bracelet!”

“Sssir?” Drek glanced at Brudas’s tent. “Isssn’t it inssside there?”

“No, you imbecile! It’s out there!” He pointed, not bothering to explain how the artifact had come to end up out in the swamp, and Drek had the good sense not to ask further questions. Instead, the Baaz called to his two comrades and, under Brudas’s manic guidance, they searched for the bracelet.

Drek finally found it, half-sunken in the mud. Had the Bozak tossed it just a little farther, it would have ended up in the depths of the swamp, no doubt forever lost. Relic in one hand, Drek trotted back to Brudas, who seized the bracelet immediately and, without another word, turned away from the three Baaz.

As he headed back into his tent, Brudas inspected the bracelet. The relic remained intact, even down to the loose stone. It was the black stones that interested him now, for Brudas realized he had not seen the first ghost until he touched one of them. For some reason, the spell surrounding the stones must enable the bracelet’s wearer to see the dead.

“You did this to me,” Brudas muttered at the black gems. “Let us see what happens if I remove you entirely, eh?”

The Bozak drew a dagger and pried at the loosest of the pair. To his surprise, it took him far more effort than he expected to break the stone free. It seemed almost as if the stone did not want to be cut from its mounting, but at last it popped out, falling to the ground at the draconian’s feet.

Glancing around, Brudas thought that the ghosts already looked less distinct. Better yet, their voices had faded to whispers. Eagerly, he went to work on the second stone.

Freeing this one proved more troublesome, but Brudas put such manic effort into it that eventually the second gem flew high into the air, landing some distance from the first. As the final stone dropped, the ghosts vanished.

Brudas listened closely, but the only sounds he heard now were those of the swamp creatures and the wind.

He slumped for a moment, exhausted. “Free…”

Then, pulling himself together, the Bozak tossed the bracelet on the table, roaring, “Drek! Get in here!”

A moment later, the rather disgruntled Baaz entered. Drek immediately saluted, but otherwise said nothing. Brudas realized that he had summoned the fool from his evening meal, but there were more important matters than filling a Baaz’s cavernous stomach.

The tall, slim draconian pointed at the stones. “Take those and throw them into the swamp as far as you can, Drek! And be certain to follow through with my command, because if I find you’ve disobeyed and kept them for yourself, you know what I’ll do to you.”

Shuddering, the Baaz scooped up the gems and rushed from the tent. As a safety precaution, Brudas stepped out of the entrance to watch. Drek stood at the edge of the water, his feet half-sunken into the soft mud. With a throw that put Brudas’s own to shame, the Baaz hurled both tiny stones far into the swamp.

The Bozak exhaled in relief. He had escaped the ghosts. An Aurak could not have been more clever, Brudas thought with some pride.

A sudden exhaustion overtook Brudas and he recalled that he had not rested much the prior night. Now, with no more dead, hungry eyes or mournful, demanding voices to haunt him, the draconian could at last get some peaceful slumber.

“Drek!”

The Baaz, only steps away from his supper, turned back to his superior. “Yesss, Massster Brudasss?”

“I’m going to sleep. See to it that I’m not disturbed by anything, understood?”

“Yesss, sssir.”

Brudas reentered the tent. How appealing his cot looked! How wonderful the thought of deep, undisturbed sleep sounded!

He dozed off almost the very moment he settled into the cot.

At first, the draconian slept well and deeply, but then something disturbed his rest. Nothing he could at first identify, but it was a gnawing, creeping feeling. Brudas tossed about, clawing his way closer and closer to consciousness, until-

With a scream, he tumbled from the cot. A shiver came over the Bozak as he glanced down at his hands, which still twitched.

“No-o-o,” he whispered, reptilian eyes glancing about. “No!”

With much trepidation, he concentrated on a simple spell of levitation. For his target, he chose the bracelet, which still lay atop the table. Brudas had cast this spell a thousand times. Casting it successfully should have been child’s play.

Yet, when the draconian tried to complete his spell, nothing happened.

He had been a fool! By damaging the bracelet, he had destroyed its ability to show him the dead, yet that did not mean that they had left. They still surrounded him… and likely in greater numbers than before. He imagined hundreds, perhaps even thousands at this point, numbers that chilled even the hardened Bozak to the core.

Thousands of ghosts swarming about him, hungering for his magic, silently urging him to activate it for them…

The tent rippled in the night wind, causing Brudas to start. From somewhere far off, or maybe right next to him whispering in his ears, came a moaning sound. Even though he could not see them, the draconian knew that the pleading, demanding dead encircled him… and that they waited for their opportunity.

“I’ve got nothing for you!” he snapped at the wind. “Nothing for you at all!” The anxious Bozak whirled about. “Find yourself another mage from which to leech! I’ll not cassst any more ssspells! You’ll sssuck no more magic through me!”

But the wind seemed to mock him. The ever-growing legion of wraiths swirled invisibly around him, silently watching him.

All around him. Unseen, but everywhere.

Brudas hissed. He imagined the clawing hands, the hollow eyes. The Bozak began pawing at his elegant robe, the one he wore in order to better emulate the Auraks. He tried to peel away the grasping fingers. Sharp talons ripped fabric, and yet still Brudas felt the ghostly presence. He looked around, saw the bracelet. Grasping it, Brudas rubbed his hand across the skull design, trying to find some way to unlock the power.

Nothing. Brudas’s gaze fixed on the two empty spaces where the stones had been mounted. Had he, by ripping them free, ruined any hope of using the artifact?

“Fool! I’ve been a fool!” Brudas swung the bracelet about in wild anger and frustration. His hand smashed against the oil lamp, sending it flying against the tent wall. The oil and fire spread across the fabric, quickly turning into an inferno. Brudas backed away, only to discover that the hem and sleeve of his robe were afire.

He turned, trying to douse the spreading flames. In desperation, the draconian began to cast a spell, one that should have been able to quell any ordinary fire. However, as the last words left his mouth, Brudas again experienced the unsettling sensation of feeling the magic drained away from his very lips.

In that terrible moment, dark, maddening thoughts flew into his mind. Had the ghosts planned this, too? Had they led him into this desperate situation so he would be forced to try magic-which they would then swoop upon, unseen vultures hungry for even the tiniest morsel of his power?

“No!” the Bozak shouted at the air, heedless of the fire consuming his garments. “I know what you intend! I’ll not be your puppet! I’ll be free of you somehow-free of all of you!”

The flames now covered his robe and burned his scaly hide. Brudas tried rolling on the ground, then, in desperation, he dashed out of the burning tent, startling Drek and the others, who had come to stop the fire.

Brudas ran past them toward the swamp. In his agonized mind, he saw only the water, and as the three Baaz watched, their superior ran headlong into the swamp, ignorant of its many perils. Brudas waded farther and farther out into the muck.

With each step he made less progress, sinking deeper. Still he pushed on. His shoulders and arms were ablaze. He took a breath and plunged underwater to kill the fire.

As his head went under, the Bozak caught sight of something in the mud-two tiny objects gleaming. Two tiny black stones.

Struggling to hold his breath, Brudas reached for the precious stones, but they were too far away. He managed another step and, his lungs straining, tried once more to grab them.

Brudas’s hand plunged into the mud and seized the stones. A slight shock ran through him and suddenly, all around the Bozak, floated the legions of dead.

Terrified, Brudas opened his mouth to shout, forgetting for the moment that he, unlike the hungering spectres, needed air to breathe.

Drek, leaning over as far as he could, ceased calling his superior’s name and watched with horror as the last bubbles rose to the surface… and the angry swamp finally calmed again.

The silence shattered as an explosion, the final mark of death for all Bozaks, sent a shower of water high into the air. Drek stepped back just enough to avoid being drenched, then eyed the swamp, still confused by what had happened.

Molgar and Gruun reluctantly joined Drek and the three Baaz stared for a time, almost as if they still expected their superior to rise out of the water and castigate them for standing around doing nothing. At last, Gruun broke the silence, turning to Drek.

“What do we do now?”

Drek shrugged. He had lived his life obeying orders, not giving them, but the other Baaz seemed even more uncertain about what to do. At last, he gave them the only answer that made any sense at all under the circumstances.

“We pack up and go back to our missstressss.”

“So this is all?” the black leviathan rumbled dangerously. “This is the result of your grand expedition?”

Drek could not help but shiver before Sable. The great creature towered over the tiny draconian, her form so massive she had to bend over and contort herself to fit into this cavern, one of her many sanctums scattered around her domain.

“Yesss, missstressss! It isss all!”

Spread before the overlord were the handful of items that the three Baaz had been able to salvage from Brudas’s destroyed tent. Not much to show for their work, and Drek knew it. Yet, as a lowly servant of the great dragon, he had no recourse but to bring it all to her, no matter her certain disappointment and anger.

The ebony leviathan’s head swung back and forth as she surveyed their meagre findings. Drek already knew that she would find them of little interest. Brudas had mentioned time and time again how pathetic these magical relics were.

“It is fortunate for your superior,” Sable announced, her malevolent gaze fixing on the Baaz again, “that he chose to die in Krolus. He wasted my time and hopes on this mission, it seems. I should have sent an Aurak to lead the expedition just as I had originally planned.” Her eyes narrowed. “And as for you-”

Drek blinked, suddenly realizing that he had forgotten one item. Fool! He had wanted so much to protect it that he had forgotten to remove it from his pouch and add it the pile. “There isss one more, missstressss! One more!”

She pulled her head back, waiting.

The draconian plucked the object from the pouch, then set it down before her. Drek backed up as Sable’s head dived down to scrutinize the relic.

Her eyes lit up. “Yes! I can sense the magic within! Strong magic! This has to be the work of the dark mage the scrolls spoke of.” She reached down and delicately took the bracelet in her tremendous talons. “This has been damaged, though.”

Under her baleful gaze, the draconian stammered, “It wasss Brudasss, missstressss! Brudasss in his madnessss! I am only a lowly Baaz and understand nothing of magic!”

“But you understand wealth and treasure, do you not?” Sable said. “Even you wouldn’t be so foolish as to steal a couple of paltry gems and risk my wrath… would you?”

An intense blast of dragonfear overwhelmed Drek. He fell to his knees. “No, missstressss! No!”

She seemed satisfied, both with his reply and the relic. “So perhaps the mission was not a total failure.” Sable held up the bracelet, admiring it. “I shall make use of this, yes! The damage means little overall. All I need is the raw magic within!”

The gargantuan dragon turned away, eyes fixed upon her prize. Even though only a lowly Baaz, Drek knew well enough to rise to his feet and hurry from her sight.

Drek did not look back as he rushed from the cavern and, even if he had, all he would have seen was the dragon studying the artifact. He would not have seen the trailing legions of ghosts who followed him, the legions that Sable herself could not see without the black gems. There were hundreds, perhaps even thousands of them, already floating around the black leviathan, eagerly awaiting her spells.

Ghosts with hungry, hungry eyes.