Red Magic (19 page)

Szass Tam mentally pressed the ghoul for more, and it complied, telling him in detail what the surviving humans, a blond-haired man and a fire-haired woman, looked like. To the ghoul, the centaur appeared much like those who worked on the slave plantations and elsewhere in Thay. The lich didn’t find the information especially interesting, assuming that the ghoul described a pair of slaves and their centaur keeper.

But then the ghoul mentioned a shiny chain it saw dangling from the blond man’s neck. It was adorned with a polished silver moon affixed to a harp. The jewelry had come loose from under the man’s clothing during the fight, and the ghoul noticed it because it disliked silver.

Szass Tam’s abandoned his fleshly form as the ghoul continued to describe the unsuccessful battle to the half-listening lich. The lich’s eyes, now pinpoints of hot light, stared into the dark corners of the library.

“Harpers,” he whispered.

Eight

“Don’t!” Galvin admonished, grabbing Brenna’s hand roughly before she could scratch her bald head. He held it for a moment, feeling how soft and smooth it was, how thin and small her fingers were, then released it when he caught her looking at him.

“But it itches!” she moaned. “It feels like ants are crawling on my scalp.”

Wynter, who led the procession down the road toward Amruthar, paused to watch the scene between the druid and Brenna Graycloak, who had stopped several yards behind him. He decided not to involve himself in the conversation and continued on down the road. They’d catch up when they were finished, he thought, and he’d trot slowly, just in case.

This was the trio’s second day on their journey to Amruthar. Today the sky was filled with cottony white clouds. The centaur was certain a wizard would manage to coax rain out of them sometime before dark, and he was tired of getting wet. He wanted to be in Amruthar by nightfall. In the city, he knew that with only one or two of his gold coins, he could get a steaming feast and a sturdy roof over his head. Wynter was hungry. He was tired of the fruit and nuts Galvin provided. The centaur’s cavernous stomach rumbled in response to his thoughts, and he cast his view about the countryside, searching for something else to occupy his mind.

The road narrowed as it wound between young birches, some of them recently planted. Wynter noted that many of the lower branches of the trees had been trimmed to shape them. Ahead, the land changed from flat meadows and landscaped orchards to low rolling hills. Cattle grazed on a rise to the left. Wynter stared at the slow-moving cows and imagined himself eating a thick steak.

His stomach rumbled again, and he turned and concentrated on Galvin and Brenna to keep his thoughts from food.

“It really itches!” Brenna complained.

“That’s from shaving your head with a sword,” Galvin explained.

“You shaved my head,” she said tersely. “I only cut my hair off.”

“Just don’t scratch it,” the druid scolded. “If you scratch it, it’s going to itch all the more, and you’ll leave welts.”

“You’re enjoying this,” she fumed.

“Yes,” Galvin answered simply, immediately regretting his response. He started shuffling down the road, hoping the argument had ended.

“Oaf!”

“At least I’m honest.” Galvin sighed, wishing fervently he hadn’t started the conversation. He picked up the pace, and Brenna kept at his shoulder.

“Try being a little more polite and a little less honest.”

“I don’t want you to stand out. We have to fit in, remember?”

“I know, I know. You needn’t talk to me as if I were stupid,” she huffed.

“Sorry.” Galvin was a little surprised to find himself apologizing for something so trivial. “Besides, if you scratch, you might ruin the barbed whip Wynter painted.”

Brenna smiled ruefully. “I want to find a mirror,” she remarked. “Then I’m going to buy a hat, a broad-brimmed one that will cover up my bald head.”

“We’ve more important things to do than go shopping,” the druid interjected, stopping again and staring into her eyes. He was dreading entering the city, especially a Thayvian one, but he didn’t want Brenna to know just how apprehensive he was. “We’ve got to find out where this Red Wizard Maligor is and what he’s up to.”

“And to do that,” Brenna interrupted, “we’ll have to poke around in Amruthar. You’re going to draw too much attention if you parade around like that. Hence, we shop.”

Galvin gave her a puzzled glance.

“Your clothes,” she explained. “They’re filthy and nearly worn out. I’ll pass for a wealthy Thayvian easily enough, but no slave of mine is going to look like a herd of pigs trampled him. We’ll get you into some better clothes, but nothing too fancy. And I could use another dress or two. If we have to spend more than one day in Amruthar, we’re going to need more than one thing to wear.”

Galvin frowned, then brightened. “It’s a nice thought, but we haven’t enough gold to buy clothes.”

“Of course we do. You’ve got the gold you were going to pay the gnoll spy, and I have more than enough with me.” Brenna jingled the coin purse at her side to emphasize her point. “And if we’re really pressed, I can always sell my necklace. I have lots of others at home.”

Defeated, Galvin nodded. She was enjoying this too much, he realized. Once again he envied the centaur; Wynter never had to bother about clothes.

“We have to get to Amruthar before we can do anything,” he said, a bit sulkily. “We can’t be too far now, can we, Wynter? Wynter?” Galvin glanced up the road, surprised to see the centaur several dozen yards ahead. The druid was amazed that he could become so engrossed in a discussion with the sorceress that he would lose track of what was going on around him.

Turning to face Brenna, Galvin saw her grinning broadly.

She started off at a brisk pace to catch up with Wynter, and the druid fell in behind her. Her stamina had increased noticeably during the past few days. Galvin knew her muscles must ache, being unaccustomed to so much traveling, but she wasn’t complaining, and she was keeping up. Grudgingly he had to admire her for that.

As the trio crested the first low rise, they saw the walls of Amruthar in the distance. The city sat at the base of three squat hills. Their slopes were covered with small farms and were a brilliant green from the riot of well-watered crops growing there.

Ahead of them on the road, perhaps a mile distant, Galvin noticed a small wagon pulled by a pair of workhorses. The wagon, which must have been from a local farm, was filled with some type of crop.

“We’re too far away to see them clearly,” Galvin began, “but the walls look massive.”

“And it’s patrolled by lots of guards,” the centaur surmised, continuing to lead the procession closer to the city. He explained that the larger cities in Thay, such as Amruthar, had high, thick stone walls held together with mortar. Smaller cities usually had wooden walls, although some had stone walls if the residents were wealthy and influential. Even the smallest of Thayvian communities had at least a spike-filled ditch surrounding it, and all of them had a guard force. The resident wizards wanted their homes well protected.

“A few walls have spells on them. Eltabar’s did when I visited it,” the centaur continued. He reminisced about that dark city’s invisible, domelike shield. “I was with my father. He said he wanted me to see the city. He had other reasons for going, of course, most notably slave-trading. I had heard about the dome, and I just had to test it out. I picked up a rock and tried to throw it over the brick wall. It bounced right back at me, and I knew the stories were true. My father was angry and never took me there again.”

“Fortunate for you,” Galvin observed as he sidestepped a deep rut in the road.

“Why are all the cities walled?” Brenna asked, looking ahead at Amruthar. “They can’t possibly be afraid of Aglarond or Mulhorand this far into Thay, and Rashemen, the land of the witches, won’t bother them.”

“The wizards are afraid of each other, so they build walls,” Wynter said. “Funny. I doubt any wall could stand up to a Red Wizard. But at least they keep out the undead.” His pace was faster now.

The trio grew silent as they neared an august tower on the western side of Amruthar. It sat a few hundred yards south of the road they traveled on, and they gave it a wide berth because of the numerous guards milling around outside it. Several slaves tended herb gardens outside the tower’s front doors. One looked up and stared at the Harpers and Brenna as they passed by and entered Amruthar through the main gates.

The gates were guarded by a quintet of heavily armed and armored men on top of the barbicon. Wynter surmised there were additional unseen guards and other defenses. The men watched the centaur and humans enter but said nothing. The Harpers tried not to look back and were pleased that their appearances had gotten them through without question.

It was late afternoon, and the city teemed with activity. The road led to a merchants’ district, where the sites and sounds overwhelmed the druid. Stalls—some looking like permanent parts of the city and others appearing to have been carried in today—lined the street.

The nearest stall had rows of dried peppers hanging from strings, so many that little of the stall’s wood showed through. On the ledge, peppers were piled high—long, thin green ones, pear-shaped yellow varieties, red peppers of many shapes and sizes, and purple ones that were large and bulbous and inviting. The vendor was a bald, hawk-nosed man with a ruddy complexion. He noticed the Harpers watching him and beckoned them closer.

“Hot chili peppers! Sweet bells! Mild wax peppers!” he barked. “The best in Amruthar!” His voice was scratchy and deep and had an irritating quality that cut through the noise of the crowd. Galvin and Wynter ignored him and moved deeper into the marketplace.

Brenna had become distracted by a booth off to the right. An elderly, heavyset woman with a sprinkling of age spots on her bald head was selling bolts of colorful cloth. In another time and place, the sorceress would have been tempted to buy some cloth from her and have the fabric made into dresses. The cloth looked rich—most of it, anyway. One bolt had metallic threads running through it and was no doubt expensive. Spotting Galvin and Wynter moving away from her, she hurried to catch up, elbowing her way through a group of gossiping women.

Brenna noted the market was just as busy, perhaps even busier, than the ones she frequented in Mesring, Dlusk, and Furthinghome back in Aglarond. The goods were similar—at least those she had been eyeing appeared to be. And the people wore the same expressions: the merchants seemed friendly, the shoppers looked stern-faced and ready to bargain, and the children eyed everything in wonder. The only difference was that nearly everyone she saw was bald. Those who had hair were few, and their hair was cut so short that parts of their scalps peeked through. She noticed only humans in this crowd. In Aglarond, the marketplaces in the largest cities would also attract dwarves, halflings, gnomes, and elves.

The sorceress was familiar enough with the social structures of cities to notice that most of those shopping were from the middle class. Their clothes were neat and reasonable, but they were made of simple material and lacked the embroidery and trim preferred by the wealthy. There were also some peasants, who seemed most interested in the stalls that sold second-hand wares. She spied a few people who were obviously affluent, judging by their clothes and bearing. One stood apart from the stalls and watched someone purchase oils. Brenna smiled. The person doing the buying was probably her servant, maybe a slave, as his hair fell to the lobes of his ears. Just as in any other city, she thought, the rich couldn’t be bothered to soil their hands by purchasing something from a commoner on the street.

“Pretty lady? Pretty, pretty lady? Want to buy my fruit?” A peddler was calling to her. “Special price for you, pretty lady.” He held up a bright pink, banana-shaped fruit.

Galvin took her by the arm and steered her to the center of the street, where there was less traffic and they were farther from the merchants. His hand felt clammy.

“Stop it,” she whispered. “Let go of me. You’re my slave, remember? Act the part.”

The druid dropped her arm and glared at her. Falling in step behind her, he cast his head toward the ground, as he had observed other slaves doing. Peering out the corners of his eyes, he scanned the marketplace. It had been several years since he was in a district like this, and he found it threatening and close. It reminded him too much of his early life, when his parents would take him to a marketplace where the shoppers were ripe for pickpocketing. The victims would be distracted watching the cute young Galvin, so it was easy for his parents to cut their purses. The druid put his hand on his money pouch and continued through the market.

To his right, peddlers were selling candles, oil lamps, knitted blankets, brass trinkets, and citrus fruit. To his left, they bartered for chickens, tack, costume jewelry, pots, pans, and other household items. He noted a few were selling clothes, and he nudged Wynter.

“Not here,” the centaur whispered. “The wealthy—and most of the middle class—don’t buy their clothes and fineries in an open-air market. They go to shops where the prices are higher, but the goods are usually better.”

The centaur reached forward and tapped Brenna on the shoulder. “We want to move through the market and into an established business district. One can’t be far away. I’m going ahead. Follow me at a short distance and pretend you know where you’re going.”

“You’re in charge here,” Galvin said. “I’m out of my element.” He studied the buildings as he walked behind Brenna. They were nearly through the open-air market. He felt relieved; ahead, the crowds thinned considerably.

Unlike other cities Galvin had visited, Amruthar had few wooden buildings. The stalls were wood, and the overhangs and posts supporting some of the balconies were wood. The wood looked old and weathered, showing that the city was far from new. But the majority of the buildings were made of clay bricks and mortar. A few had been added on to recently; the clay bricks on the second story were of a darker color, indicating they were newer than the ones on the ground floor.