Red Magic (30 page)

“I know,” she said softly, smiling at the simpleminded centaur. “Try not to think about it. Look at the sunset. Isn’t it beautiful?” The orange rays spread out over the groves of trees to their right and left and the verdant plain before them. The breeze that blew over the grass teased their faces.

“Pretty,” the centaur agreed. “Your name is Brenna, right?”

The enchantress nodded sadly and tilted her head so she could see Galvin. The druid was several yards behind them and was apparently studying the centaur.

“Where are we going?” the centaur persisted.

“A city called Amruthar,” Brenna replied.

“Tell me when we get there. I’m going to look at the dead men,” Wynter decided, falling back to march between the first two rows of the undead. Balancing his enchanted bardiche under one arm, the centaur waved happily at Galvin.

Feeling morose about his witless friend, the druid didn’t acknowledge the gesture. Galvin was angry at himself for not being with Wynter when the plant trapped him. Strangely, he was even angrier that the plant hadn’t killed his friend. The druid knew that, in the wilderness, only the strong survived, and Wynter could no longer survive on his own. He hated seeing his friend this way—an adult with a child’s mind.

The druid scowled, frustrated and disappointed that he should wish for his friend’s demise. Civilized people wouldn’t be so cruel, he decided. He rode up to Brenna, hoping she could take his mind off his morbid thoughts.

Brenna smiled weakly. “We can’t win, Galvin. It’s only you and me now. Wynter is …” She was at an uncharacteristic loss for words.

The councilwoman looked over her shoulder at the hulking centaur. Her emotions had been turned inside out the past several days, and the things she considered important—laws, government, control—seemed insignificant. She had grown to care for the centaur and the druid more deeply than she cared to admit. The pair of Harpers, who embraced the wilderness and the loose structure of their organization, were opposites of almost everything and everyone she knew. She found herself thinking more about their welfare than that of Aglarond, and she wondered how she could have changed so much since she entered Thay.

The druid cocked his head, noting her troubled expression. “We can’t quit,” the druid stated, glancing back at the army and seeing Wynter playfully pass his bardiche to a large skeleton. Galvin grimaced. “If we quit, Szass Tam will kill us, and we can’t help Wynter if we’re dead.”

“I just wish we had never come here. Wynter chose to leave Thay years ago. He never should have come back. We should have stayed out of this evil land, too.”

The druid realized that the enchantress blamed herself for their dilemma. If the Aglarond council, of which she was a member, hadn’t asked the Harpers to investigate activities in Thay, things would have turned out differently. But Galvin also recognized that sooner or later the Harpers would have poked their noses into the country anyway. The lich was right. The Harpers were meddlers.

“It’s not your fault,” Galvin said.

The enchantress didn’t reply. She stared ahead into the sunset.

The druid picked up the pace, and Brenna followed his lead. After they had covered several hundred yards, the druid glanced over his shoulder to make sure Wynter was all right. The centaur was tugging at the cloak of a skeleton. When it tugged back, Wynter giggled and left it alone.

The sun set as the army reached an area dotted with farms. The barns and houses looked like black splotches beneath the growing grayness of the sky. Here and there lights came on in buildings as lanterns were lit and families settled in for the evening.

The night heralded the arrival of more troops for Galvin’s and Brenna’s army—two dozen shadows, like the creatures that had attacked them when they camped outside of Amruthar, and twice that many of something the pair could not identify. The latter initially appeared no different than the shadows, until they took a position behind Brenna and Galvin and made the pair’s horses skittish and difficult to control. The air turned cold in the presence of the creatures, and the sorceress couldn’t help shivering.

These new undead first appeared as amorphous blobs, then as man-shaped clouds of darkness insubstantial enough that they could manipulate the shape of their arms, legs, and heads. Those closest to Brenna adopted her form to mock her.

“What in the name of the gods are those things?” Galvin asked the councilwoman. He appeared to keep his eyes focused on hers, but he was actually peering nervously behind her at the undead. The druid was finding it increasingly difficult to see in the growing darkness.

Then he spied something ahead, a small row of flickering lights. They had to be torches along Amruthar’s wall, so far away they looked like fireflies. He wished that Szass Tam had allowed them to bring lanterns so he could check on Wynter and the undead army behind him. He was uncomfortable not knowing his army’s precise numbers and location.

“I only wish I knew what they were,” Brenna replied nervously. “They’re not like anything I’ve ever heard about. They’re certainly not shadows.”

Before she could say another word, one of the creatures laughed hollowly, startling the sorceress and the druid. None of the other undead in the patrol had seemed capable of speech other than an occasional moan, which Galvin at first thought might have been the wind.

“Death,” said a shape that had assumed Brenna’s form. The thing’s haunting tones seemed at once to come from behind and in front of her. “We are death shrouded in darkness. Sweet, sweet darkness.” The thing laughed again, the sound echoing in the night until it finally receded like a tide.

“Sweet death,” another of the strange creatures echoed. Then another and another took up the phrase until the words blended together and sounded like a swarm of insects.

The sorceress wondered how the things could speak. The creatures had no mouths, nor indeed any other visible facial features. Gathering her courage, she turned and was startled to find herself mere inches from one of the creatures.

“How—” Her voice cracked and she shivered. “How do you talk?”

More haunting laughter followed, then a raspy voice filtered through the terrifying cacophony. “The death master makes it so. The death master makes the grave only the beginning. The death master makes us strong.”

“What are you?” Brenna persisted, surprised she found the courage to speak with the undead.

“Wraiths,” the word sounded like a rush of wind and came from the figure closest to Brenna. “Mankind’s lover. We embrace men with the soothing kiss of death.”

“Soothing death,” the others echoed.

“We are the takers of souls, the shapers of destinies, the dark powers mortals fear. We are wraiths. And we hate humans because they are the possessors of life.”

“Human life,” the wraiths echoed eerily over and over.

“But we will help you humans,” intoned a deep-voiced speaker. “The master bade us leave the caressing recesses of our graves to help you.”

“Brenna! Galvin! I’m scared!” Wynter’s voice cut through the haunting banter.

Galvin whirled his horse about and dug his heels in its sides to urge it through the crowd of wraiths. The stallion protested, feeling the cold touch of the creatures, but obeyed nevertheless. Galvin felt an unearthly chill as his mount passed near the bodies of several wraiths and finally found Wynter surrounded by a ring of the dark undead.

“Galvin?” Wynter whimpered.

The wraiths mocked the centaur, hovering around and above him, taunting him.

Galvin nudged his mount closer until he reached Wynter’s side. His once-strong, confident friend was trembling and broken. Once again Galvin found himself wishing the plant had killed the centaur.

The druid growled defiantly at the disgusting undead creatures, thrusting out an arm in an attempt to push one aside. But Galvin’s hand passed straight through the inky body. It felt as if he had submerged his fingers in an icy spring.

He growled again, this time his voice sounding more like a wild animal than a human, and the undead finally backed away.

“Take my hand, Wyn,” the druid said gently, his emerald green eyes locked onto the closest undead. “Come with me.” The centaur whimpered in fright, then followed Galvin timidly toward the front of the procession.

“You said you were here to help us!” the druid cursed at the undead. “Then help us. Leave Wynter alone!” He noticed the centaur relax a little as the forms dropped back several yards.

“They did as you said,” Brenna whispered in surprise.

“For now, at least,” Galvin observed. “Stay close to Wynter and keep moving toward the city.” The druid slowed his stallion until the first few wraiths were even with him.

He glared at them and marshaled his fear of the strange creatures. “Maligor’s army will be strong,” the druid began. “How can you help us against the gnolls?”

“We drink life,” one moaned. “We drink the essence of man, leaving behind only decayed husks. Husks to wither and crumble and blow away on the hot breeze. Husks to fertilize our graves.” The creature held up its black hands, which appeared to have long talons. “We rake life, clawing, tearing, spilling life’s blood on the ground, on us.”

“Humans first,” another added in a raspy whisper. “Always humans first because their life is so short and sweet.”

“Sweet death,” the assembled wraiths murmured.

Shivering from the cold air that surrounded the wraiths, Galvin left the undead to rejoin Brenna and Wynter.

The enchantress and the druid kept an uneasy silence for the remainder of the journey to Amruthar. The wraiths continued their frightening banter, making the pair wish Szass Tam hadn’t sent these creatures along. However, some of their dialogue proved interesting and valuable. Galvin and Brenna learned that the wraiths, in life, were powerful, evil men and women who coveted wealth and authority and now were forever damned to be under the influence of Szass Tam. Most had died from the touch of other wraiths. Galvin was curious to find out if the lich had ordered these formerly living people to be killed because they had become an annoyance to the lich or because the lich desired more creatures. However, he decided against questioning the foul creatures. He didn’t trust them, and he hoped to be rid of them soon.

The druid glanced at Brenna and saw her shivering. Reaching into his mount’s saddlebag, he withdrew a blanket and passed it over to her. She wrapped it about herself gratefully.

Smiling her thanks, she dug her heels into her horse’s side. They were beyond most of the farm land now and almost to Amruthar’s walls.

The light from dozens of torches, spaced almost evenly in heavy iron sconces about the walls, played eerily over the stonework and softly illuminated the tent town full of peasants and merchants that stood beyond the city’s gates. The people had spotted the army coming and were huddled near the massive gate.

Above, on the barbicon, scores of guards readied longbows and kept careful watch on the parade of undead. Also on the barbicon were a trio of scarlet-robed men—Red Wizards, no doubt, waiting to see if their enchantments would be needed to keep the undead at bay.

Despite the number of merchants, peasants, and guards, Amruthar was quiet. Only the occasional bark of a sergeant’s orders cut the air.

Galvin and Brenna directed the army to march parallel to the city’s wall in full view of the guards, as Szass Tam had directed. It was a show of force designed to keep the city’s guards from interfering. The guards stood motionless as the dead soldiers passed by slowly, the clinking of skeletal bones against skeletal horses echoing hollowly off the wall.

Just outside the city stood Maligor’s tower. Its top half was visible over the northwest barbicon of the wall. Galvin motioned the army quickly forward and urged his own horse into a gallop, knowing the tower’s occupants must have been able to see them coming for miles and would be ready. He worried that they might be riding into a trap. Brenna urged her mare ahead, following on the heels of Galvin’s mount and spraying dirt at the hurrying wraiths. The enchantress was trying to ride with minimal use of her hands, in order to keep them free to cast a spell if necessary.

The druid drew his longsword, which emanated a soft blue glow, revealing its magical nature, and he cried like a hawk as he charged across the main road that led to the western gate of Amruthar. The undead moved as quickly as they were able to behind him, but only the shadows and wraiths could keep pace. Brenna called for the skeletons to ready their weapons.

The tower stood back from the road. Only a few lights burned in the windows, and no more than a dozen gnolls stood at attention on the lawn. Behind him, Galvin heard the scornful laughter of the wraiths.

“Sweet death. We will give the gnolls sweet death!” one wraith cried. “We will open their throats and let the dog-men’s blood pour over us. We will turn them to dust.” The thunderous laughter of the undead rippled like a wave, unnerving the guards standing on Amruthar’s western wall and frightening the gnolls, who were trying hard to stand their ground.

“Such a big army,” mocked a wraith.

Galvin pulled back hard on the reins of the big black stallion in an effort to stop its charge. Dirt sprayed up all around him as the animal complied. Brenna tried to stop her horse as well, but she shot past the druid, finally halting only a few yards from the closest gnoll. It glared at her, waved its barbed spear, and shouted something in a language she couldn’t understand.

The druid dismounted and rushed to Brenna’s side, brandishing his longsword in front of him. The gnoll backed away reluctantly, baring its yellowed teeth like a cornered mongrel dog, and looked for support from its peers. Help wasn’t forthcoming. At sight of the undead army, they, too, were slowly backing toward the tower. Galvin could smell the stench of the gnolls’ fear, and he sensed their uncertainty. Gnolls were stupid creatures, but they possessed enough sense to know they couldn’t stand up to hundreds of undead.

“Where are all of your brothers?” Galvin shouted to the gnolls, hoping one could understand him. There was no answer as the gnolls continued to back toward the tower. The druid couldn’t tell if they comprehended his words, but he knew they understood the threat of Szass Tam’s army. Galvin heard his soldiers move forward, their bones tinkling.