Red Magic (35 page)

“I’ll summon you when we’re ready to leave,” Galvin called, his tone halting, as if he were out of breath.

“Heal thyself, human,” came the haunting reply. “We will leave at sunset.”

It took a long time for the hundreds of sluggish corpses to file into the chambers below. When the last was gone, Wynter pushed the hidden door closed behind them.

Brenna spread the crude map out on some nearby steps, then hunched over to scrutinize it again. Galvin sat beside her.

“The map might not mean anything,” he said, leaning back on his elbows and fighting to keep his eyes open.

“Maybe,” she replied quickly, “But then again, maybe it’s important.”

The clip-clopping of Wynter’s hooves caused the enchantress to glance up from the parchment. The centaur stood at the bottom of the short staircase and held out his hand. Brenna shrugged and passed him the map.

The centaur’s dark eyes puzzled over the rough lines, then grew wide. “There are some hills marked here,” Wynter said thoughtfully. “They’ve got to be Thay’s gold mines, its lifeblood. People here will tell you the citrus and other crops support the country. But it’s really the gold. If you have enough gold you don’t need crops. You can buy anything you want. I’m starting to remember things, Brenna.”

The enchantress grabbed the banister and pulled herself up. Galvin stayed rooted to the stairs.

“Show me,” Brenna encouraged, and she hurried to Wynter’s side.

The centaur pointed to various features on the map. Then he scratched his head. “I don’t know what Maligor wants with the gold mines. There’s a tharchion who supervises the mines. He’s appointed by all the zulkirs jointly. The tharchion isn’t going to throw in with Maligor, or with Szass Tam, for that matter,” Wynter added. “Besides, the mines are north of here. Galvin said Maligor’s army moved east.”

“Could a large bird fly to the mines in an evening?” Galvin asked. “Are the mines close enough?”

The centaur knit his brows, puzzled at the question. “I suppose it could,” he answered, “if the bird could fly fast. It really isn’t all that far, but it would take a man several days, perhaps, to walk there.”

Galvin sighed, then grinned at his Harper friend. Wynter certainly seemed to be recovering. The druid wanted the centaur fit and at his side when the confrontation with Maligor came.

“I don’t know for sure what Maligor is up to, but I’ll wager he’s going after the mines,” the druid suggested.

“Are we going to the mines?” Brenna asked. “After we rest?” she added hopefully.

“I need to rest.” Galvin stood shakily. “There are beds in the apprentices’ chambers, where we put the slaves. I’d like to sleep there. I’d feel more comfortable—for a change—with plenty of company around.”

“I’ll join you later,” the centaur said, eyeing the long, circular staircase. “I’ve got some thinking to do first.”

Brenna and Galvin slowly climbed the stairs. Above, in the chamber, they saw that many of the slaves were sleeping. A few groups remained awake, talking in low voices among themselves and examining some of the baubles they had collected.

The hare, mole, and hedgehog rested on a large silk pillow beneath the window.

The druid approached one of the older slaves. “We need to sleep awhile. Wake us in the early afternoon. I have to go into Amruthar to buy horses before the market closes.”

“Horses?” Brenna asked incredulously. “There’s nothing wrong with the ones we have. They’ll certainly be rested enough.”

“We can’t ride dead ones.” Galvin’s tone was terse. “It seems that some of the zombies got hungry last night while we explored the tower.”

The druid selected an unoccupied bed against the far wall, far from the windows, where it was darker. Removing his sword belt, tabard, and chain shirt, he pushed them under the bed, lay down, and made room for Brenna.

The enchantress paused, uncertain of what to do.

The druid stretched and raised his head off the satin-covered pillow. His green eyes gazed up at her. “Brenna … ?”

The young councilwoman eased off her boots and climbed in beside him. He curled about her protectively and held her close about her waist.

“I thought you preferred to sleep on the ground,” she said.

“Shhh,” he replied, nuzzling the back of her neck.

She enjoyed the sensation, but it stopped much too quickly. Already the druid was sound asleep.

Fourteen

The dense fog lay across the land like a heavy gray blanket, its wispy tendrils wrapping themselves tightly around the dead trees, concealing them. Galvin picked his way through the cloaked terrain, one hand extended in front of him. The fog was so thick he could barely see six inches in front of his face. His other hand was firmly wrapped around Brenna’s wrist.

Slowly he inched forward with one foot, discovering a fallen limb and gingerly stepping over it. He knew he couldn’t afford stepping on a branch that would crack and give them away.

The druid was uncertain how long they had been moving away from Maligor’s tower, but he knew they hadn’t covered enough ground to satisfy him. He tried to increase the pace.

His hand met a branch, spooking a horned owl that had been perching on it. The bird hooted loudly as it flew high into the fog, and Galvin’s heart raced.

Behind him, quite nearby, he heard the rustle of bushes and the snap of twigs. It was the sound of their pursuers. The druid considered standing still like a statue and pulling Brenna close to him; those following might pass by harmlessly in the fog. But then he heard their voices. Panicking, he ran, pulling Brenna along behind him.

“Death we will bring you,” hissed a hollow voice. “We will tear the muscles from your bones and wash our bodies in your blood. You will taste sweet death.”

Faster and faster Galvin and Brenna ran, scraping their skin against the coarse bark of fog-concealed trees, nearly stumbling over unseen rocks and fallen branches. The air felt chill, signaling the nearness of the advancing wraiths, but still the druid and enchantress ran on.

“Hurry, Brenna,” Galvin whispered. “We’ve got to make it. We’re almost to the escarpment.”

The fog seemed thinner here as their feet continued to pound over the Thayvian soil. The druid could begin to make out the shapes of trees and bushes and a horse and rider—no, it was Wynter—ahead. He pulled Brenna toward the centaur.

“Galvin!” Wynter shouted at the sight of his friend. “I’ve been looking for you. I’ve been wanting to tear out your weak, mortal heart.”

The druid halted, openmouthed, in front of his Harper ally. From a distance, the fog had masked the centaur’s undead state. Wynter’s angular face was now skeletal and covered with bits of rotting flesh. Ribs protruded from his equine rear portion, and he reeked of the grave.

Galvin screamed, then immediately awoke to find himself curled about Brenna in a soft bed in Maligor’s tower. The enchantress slept soundly, oblivious to the druid’s nightmare.

The druid withdrew his arm from about Brenna’s waist and rubbed his eyes. He guessed he must have slept eight or more hours, and he was surprised one of the slaves hadn’t awakened him earlier. Reluctantly he left the soft bed, gently moving away from Brenna. He wanted to let her sleep a little while longer.

The slaves—and most of the furnishings—were gone. Galvin surmised that the slaves had looted Maligor’s tower and fled while he slumbered. He pulled his chain armor from under the bed, dressed, and strapped on his sword. Then, carrying his boots in the crook of his right arm, he shoved Szass Tam’s black tabard back under the bed with his bare feet.

Galvin strode to the far side of the room, where he had spied a basin full of water. The bowl was porcelain, and the slaves likely would have taken it, he thought, had it not been so large. The druid bent forward and splashed water on his face and arms, then padded out into the hallway and put on his boots.

Galvin knew he needed to get to the Amruthar market quickly, to purchase the horses for himself and Brenna. Running down the circular stairs, he found Wynter at the bottom.

“I was just coming in to wake you,” the centaur said, grinning broadly. “I’m glad I didn’t have to. I didn’t want to climb all those stairs.”

The druid scrutinized his friend. “How are you feeling?”

Wynter frowned. “I feel terrible. I’m in Thay.” The centaur paused and reached up to scratch the spot on his head where the plant had attacked him. “But at least I’m remembering things. We came to this country on purpose.”

The druid exhaled slowly, relieved that his friend seemed to be returning to normal. “I’m in a hurry, Wyn. I’ve got to get some horses and some food. We’ve got to get going. We can talk later.”

“I’ve already bought horses,” the centaur replied smugly. “I went to the market an hour ago.” The centaur pointed at the large double doors. “They’re outside. And you’d better get out there, too, so the undead don’t eat this pair as they did the others. Oh,” he said, nodding toward the concealed door that lead to the bowels of Maligor’s tower, “I let the skeletons and zombies out. They’re waiting outside. The wraiths might still be down there, though.”

“They’ll find a way to join us after it’s dark.” Galvin turned and sprinted up the stairs to get Brenna.

Several minutes later, the entourage, with Galvin, Wynter, and Brenna at its lead, was gathered outside Maligor’s tower. The horses Wynter purchased were a pair of sorrel mares, healthy, but not of the quality that Szass Tam had provided. The enchantress chose the smaller of the two horses and mounted while Galvin kept an eye on the guards who remained in force along the walls of Amruthar. The druid estimated he saw two hundred perched on the western wall alone, and all seemed armed with longbows.

The druid leapt into the saddle and urged his mount forward. The clinking of bones behind him signaled that the undead were following. He cast a last glance at the city, then faced north toward the verdant Thayvian landscape and the distant hills where the mines were nestled.

When they had put a few miles between themselves and Amruthar, Galvin pulled out the crude map of the mines they had found in Maligor’s tower and rested it against his horse’s neck. Studying it, he guessed it would take at least three days for the slow-moving undead to reach the mines. Replacing the map, he wondered what Maligor would do in those three days.

The army wound its way along the dirt roads that cut through the citrus groves. North of Amruthar, the groves were vast, well established, and had many crews of slaves. As the undead marched by, guards and slaves hid behind the largest trees and watched nervously.

The sun had begun to set as Galvin, Wynter, and Brenna passed a row of tall birches, which marked the end of one grove and the beginning of another. The precise rows of citrus trees, all carefully pruned, had begun to look monotonous.

When the sun edged below the distant tree line, the shadows and wraiths joined the assembly, the latter beginning their incessant, haunting banter. As the miles went by, Galvin studied Brenna. The enchantress had pulled about her a woolen cloak that Wynter had purchased in the market. The druid was uncertain what to do about her. If they lived through whatever awaited them and were able to leave Thay, she would likely return to Aglarond. He knew he would miss her, but he realized she wouldn’t want to stay in the wilderness with him and Wynter. He also knew he could never stay in a city. Although he had proved to himself he could function within their confining walls, he had no desire to live in one. Her nearness was making all of it considerably more difficult to figure out.

“I’m going to scout ahead for a while,” he told her. “It looks like there are a few lights up there.”

“No, human,” a wraith protested, floating to Galvin’s side. “You will stay with us. The master wishes it.”

“I’ll be back soon,” the druid said firmly.

“If you leave, we will go with you. Death will travel at your side.”

“Only if ‘death’ can keep up,” the druid said, scowling. He glanced at the distant lights on the horizon. The druid knew it would take the undead quite a while to reach them. Dropping the big mare’s reins, he handed Brenna his close helm and pulled off his chain shirt. Laying it across the front of his saddle, he held his arms out to his sides and closed his eyes.

“Human! What are you doing?” the wraith demanded.

Galvin ignored the undead creature and willed himself to transform. Feathers quickly sprouted on his chest and spread like fire to cover his body. His mare became skittish as wings formed underneath the druid’s arms, but Galvin, still retaining his human visage, made neighing and whinnying sounds until the horse answered and calmed down. Then the druid’s body shriveled, his legs becoming muscular hawk legs, and his feet yellow claws with curved talons. His head shortened, and his nose grew into a curved beak. The green-eyed hawk cried and leapt from the mare’s back, flying toward the lights.

The druid relished the sensation of flight, the wind ruffling the feathers about his face and the cool air flowing beneath his wings. His hawk form was sleek and made for speed, and the miles sped away beneath his wings. In this form, the druid knew he could have reached the mines in a day, but he also knew that going there alone might not accomplish anything. Nor would he find any comfort in leaving Wynter and Brenna behind with the undead.

The lights grew larger as he neared them. Ahead was a hamlet, a collection of wood and stone buildings, likely the homes of some of the citrus workers or nearby farmhands. Lanterns were set on tables in kitchens or hanging from front porches. Swooping low, the hawk skimmed through the town and saw a few families gathered inside the buildings. The hamlet’s residents were apparently oblivious to the presence of Szass Tam’s undead army. No one seemed armed or nervous.

The hawk made another pass through the area, then soared back to rejoin the undead. Hovering above the saddle of the big mare, Galvin transformed once again. His claws lengthened, the yellowed skin turning to boots that fit neatly into the stirrups, the feathers melting away to reveal skin and his chain shirt. The horse began to bolt, but the hawk-man’s wings receded, and human hands shot forward to grasp the reins and calm the skittish beast.