Red Magic (2 page)

The worn top was covered with racks of vials filled with foul mixtures, a half-dozen ragged leather gloves, and several cages. The largest cage was brimming with rabbits of various sizes, colors, and breeds. Two had no fur. The pathetic, hairless pair stared at Maligor through frightened eyes. The Red Wizard had used them a few days ago to test a potion intended to remove wrinkles; it had proved a mild success. While the wrinkles vanished from the rabbits’ skin, the concoction also caused them to lose their fur. He smiled evilly at them, deciding to try further experiments on the two later.

Another cage was crammed with squirrels and rats that cowered beyond their dead brethren, hoping to escape the wizard’s notice. A third held moles and hedgehogs, most of these freshly caught by Maligor’s gnoll trappers. The other cages were smaller and were filled with snakes, lizards, and other reptiles the wizard could not name. A crate under the table contained live chickens and ducklings purchased at Amruthar’s open-air market.

Nearly a third of the mistreated animals were dead, and most of the others were dying, either from lack of food or from being forcefed the wizard’s putrid mixtures. Maligor favored using animals for his bizarre research; they weren’t as costly as humans, and their yowls and whimpers were easier on his ears than the screams of his slaves. Furthermore, he had learned years ago that animals took up less space in a laboratory and weren’t expensive to feed, especially since he neglected to feed them regularly.

Maligor savored the animals’ terror for long moments before pulling a scarred leather glove over his bony right hand. Opening a cage and thrusting his hand inside, he retrieved a startled hedgehog.

The wizard ignored the panicked clawing and biting of the squat creature and tightly squeezed it until he heard it squeal. Convinced it was lively enough, he carried it down the tower’s staircase to the ground floor, passing bowing slaves, straight-backed guards, and magical barriers that kept intruders from disturbing his treasured privacy. Maligor gestured at the massive iron-reinforced door that served as the main entrance to his tower, and it obediently swung open on well-oiled hinges. He squeezed the hedgehog again for good measure then stepped outside into the warm night air.

Overhead, the stars shone brightly in a clear night sky. Maligor knew there would be a myriad of clouds by dawn, as many of the Red Wizards were skilled with weather control magic, and the dry ground presented a tempting challenge.

Someone would make it rain soon.

Maligor chose not to concern himself with such meaningless things, choosing instead to spend his time on spells that would improve his personal position rather than increase the yield of the crops. Dropping the trembling hedgehog on the ground, he roughly pinned it beneath his foot. The starlight, coupled with the glow spilling out from the tower windows, provided just enough light to work under and set the tone for the wizard’s hellish project.

The door opened and closed behind Maligor. Turning and glaring into the darkness next to the tower’s stone wall, he saw Asp. Her offensive odor was vastly diminished in the outdoors.

She grinned slyly at the wizard. “This spell is my favorite,” she uttered thickly, staring hungrily at the trapped animal. “Perhaps one day you will teach it to me.”

“Perhaps,” he replied, turning his attention back to the hedgehog. The creature’s eyes were wide with horror, a fact that pleased the wizard.

“Did you find something belonging to the gnoll?” It was more a demand than a question and sent Asp rustling through a large sack at her side. Maligor wanted to get the spell over with quickly, since he had planned to devote the evening to putting the final touches on his latest scheme.

“Yes,” she answered dutifully. “Will this do?” Asp’s slender, hairless arm emerged from the darkness, holding out a tattered cloak she had retrieved from the missing gnoll’s barracks.

Maligor scowled at her, and she snatched the garment back into the shadows, where she savagely ripped it. A moment later, her soft hand passed the wizard a long, thin strip of dirty cloth. It fluttered in the breeze, flapping against the Red Wizard’s robes.

Maligor swiftly grabbed the cloth, making certain the expensive fabric of his robe wasn’t soiled by it. Satisfied, he drew the red hood back from his face so he could work more easily.

Like the majority of Red Wizards and the bulk of Thay’s residents, Maligor’s head was completely bald and adorned with tattoos. Wizards and wealthy, important Thayvians— and those who pretended they were—decorated their pates with elaborate designs. Only slaves had long hair. Maligor’s tattoos included a bright red flame lapping on a purple field, a common symbol of the Red Wizards, and a flawless snow-white skull on an ebony triangle, a symbol of Myrkul, the god of death, decay, and corruption. Many in the civilized centers of Faerun considered Myrkul himself dead, slain in the godswar that had ripped across the world years ago. However, the Red Wizard and other loyal followers believed the dark god still lived. While Maligor cared little about deities, he supported what Myrkul stood for and believed he honored the god through various acts involving death and corruption, such as the magic he was about to cast.

The wizard tied the stained strip of cloth about the hedgehog’s thick neck and began the incantation. He muttered in a monotone in an ancient, arcane language. Maligor knew that throughout the city other Red Wizards were casting spells, too. Thay reeked of magic. Spells kept troublesome slaves loyal, treasures protected, homes guarded, and enemies at bay. And among a multitude of other things, they allowed wizards to peer through walls, around corners, across the city or even farther—sometimes into the depths of a man’s soul. In between phrases of his spell, Maligor wondered if other wizards were using magic to watch him.

It didn’t matter, he finally decided. He kept the hand gestures required for this rite obscured; those who didn’t know this particular spell weren’t likely to learn it by viewing him. He knelt shakily on the rough ground. Reaching inside the deep pockets of his robe, he withdrew a crystal vial filled with a red powder so dark it seemed black. He continued the chant while measuring out a minute amount of the horrid-smelling dried wyvern’s blood into his palm. Then the Red Wizard drew a circle in the powder with a jagged fingernail, and before the breeze could disturb the components, his voice rose and quickened, and he blew the dried blood into the hedgehog’s face.

Maligor stood quickly and backed away, never taking his eyes from the animal as it convulsed with pain and gasped for breath. Its bristling spines moved like grass in the wind, and its eyes glazed over, changing from black to a glowing scarlet that nearly matched the color of Maligor’s robes.

Asp poked her head from the shadows to get a better look, and her eyes widened in response to the macabre scene. A sly grin played across her face as she slowly ran her thin tongue over her bottom lip. The animal twitched and shuddered erratically, then began a grotesque transformation.

The hedgehog’s sides heaved, billowing outward like a puffer fish as the creature doubled its size, then doubled again. Its spines fused into its rapidly stretching skin, which flowed over its enlarging form and transformed into a mud-brown, leathery hide. Its short legs, scrambling in a vain attempt to gain purchase on the ground, elongated and spread away from its torso. At the same time, a thin membrane of flesh formed, attaching itself to the legs on each side of the shrieking beast’s body and becoming webbed wings that flapped uncontrollably against the earth. The bones in the creature’s head cracked and popped as they lengthened; the jaw became birdlike and filled with twin rows of sharp, jagged teeth. At the opposite end, a prehensile barbed tail sprouted and quivered.

No semblance of the hedgehog remained; there was only the darkenbeast, a sorcerous nightmare, a hideous cross between an eagle and a prehistoric lizard.

Maligor intended to create several score of these creatures to add to his monstrous army. The darkenbeasts, which could be made from most animals, even those the size of field mice, were fearsome creatures that obeyed his telepathic commands. However, they were not indestructible; they reverted to their true forms in daylight—or upon their death.

The darkenbeast wailed, and Maligor glanced at Asp. He whispered a dozen more arcane syllables, magically tugging the image of the missing gnoll from the woman’s mind and transferring the picture to his transformed creature.

“Kill the spy,” the wizard whispered to the darkenbeast. “Then bring me his traitorous body.”

The malign beast cried out again, a horrible, mournful shriek that pierced the night sky. Then it spread its wings and gracefully lifted from the ground. The creature glided over the earth, gaining height as it distanced itself from the tower and Amruthar. Its wings beat faster and lifted it higher still.

Maligor saw his creation head west before it melted into the black sky. As the Red Wizard turned to enter his tower, he paused, gazing through the shadows at Asp. His expression softened.

“The evening has just begun,” he said, deciding to postpone his schemes for a few hours.

She nodded and quietly drew him into the darkness.

The hawk scanned the ground, slowly circling a grove of tall trees west of the cliffs called the First Escarpment. The sheer, imposing cliffs marked Thay’s main border and served as the edge of the plateau of the Priador, a large expanse of relatively flat land on which most of Thay rested.

For the past several days, the hawk had been unsuccessfully searching this territory, south of the crystal waters of Lake Umber. It would spend one more day here before giving up and returning home.

With the coming of evening the hawk selected a large oak tree, damaged by lightning, and glided toward a high, gnarled limb. The perch gave the hawk an excellent view of the waxing moon, which had just begun its journey across the surface of the pond below.

The hawk was not native to the lands around Thay. Its back was blue-gray, its belly ivory streaked with dark gray, black, and pale orange, and it had a long, square-tipped tail that was characteristic of a species normally found in Amn. Just below its throat was an unusual marking, a patch of glistening, silvery feathers in the shape of a crescent moon.

The moon had worked its way to the middle of the pond before the hawk noticed an erratic rustling in the brush. The source of the noise clumsily burst into the clearing, panting and furiously pulling burrs and leaves from its fur with big, pawlike hands. The creature was large, standing nearly eight feet tall on muscular legs and possessing a barrel chest and a form that seemed a cross between canine and man. Its dun-colored skin was covered with tufts of coarse, red-tinged gray hair. The muzzle of its hyena-shaped head was blanketed with a darker fur that matched the spine ruff that ran from the bridge of its nose, over the top of its head, and down the back of its bull-like neck.

The creature was a gnoll, attired in crude leather armor studded with bits of metal. The leather, which was too large at the shoulders and too tight around the hips, would have made the ensemble seem comical were it not for the red flame on a purple field emblazoned on the front of the hardened breastplate. The gnoll carried a circular wooden shield bearing a similar symbol that had been defaced during battle. In his left hand, he toted a spear, which was festooned with a dirty red ribbon that fluttered in the breeze.

The gnoll lumbered to the edge of the pond, where the mud oozed about his sandaled feet. He squinted with glossy black eyes to take in the surroundings and wrinkled the end of his snout, sniffing the air. Convinced he was alone, the gnoll awkwardly tossed his shield and spear to the ground and dropped to all fours to dip his muzzle for a drink. He made vulgar lapping sounds that continued for several minutes.

His thirst sated at last, the gnoll stood, brushed the mud from his hairy knees, and retrieved his spear. He glanced around the clearing again and spotted the lightning-damaged tree. His shaggy brow furrowed and he delved into a pouch at his side. The gnoll withdrew a crude, curled map and held it so the moonlight illuminated the ink markings. The tree and the pond were indicated by rough, hurried sketches.

“Right place,” he stated, seeming to struggle with the human speech. He rolled the map, replaced it in the pouch, and stamped his foot impatiently. “Mudwort late, but Mudwort here.” He waited a moment more, as if expecting an answer, then made a circuit of the clearing.

“Harper!” the gnoll barked anxiously. “Harper show up. Harper, not much time I be here. Mudwort be long, Mudwort be missed, Mudwort be killed. Harper? Harper!”

Unnoticed, the hawk gracefully spread its wings and glided from the branch behind the gnoll. Its form metamorphosized as it descended, its talons curling, then flexing, becoming longer and growing together to form human feet covered with soft leather boots. The beak receded, dissolving into a smooth, male face with striking features-high cheekbones, a strong chin, and an even, tanned complexion. The proud crest of blue-gray feathers lengthened, fluttered in the breeze, and transformed into long blond hair. The rest of the hawk’s feathers recast themselves into clothes, the wings into a cloak that flapped gently in the slight wind.

The man landed, and Mudwort whirled, finally catching the scent. The gnoll stared at the man and creased his shaggy brow, furious at himself for not noticing the human’s approach.

The man stood nearly six feet tall and was thin but muscular. He was dressed in greens of various shades-leggings, tunic, and a rich-looking, thigh-length cloak decorated at the edges with embroidered feathers. Even the man’s eyes were green, the color of ferns after a soft, steady rain. His wheat-colored hair hung loose below his shoulders.

Mudwort noted that the man was barely armed; he wore only a scimitar at his side and had no armor. The gnoll had heard little about Harpers, but based on his limited knowledge, he assumed they were impressive and battle-hardened. This human seemed to be neither, although he was obviously fit.