Red Magic (5 page)

Maligor’s malignant creation hung undetected in the sky, concealed by the gloom and protected by the clouds from the sun’s first rays. It skimmed over the thinning trees and spotted its target lying prone below. The beast hovered for a moment in the shadow of a cloud, studying the scene. It hadn’t considered the possibility that the man would join others. It wanted to fight the man alone.

The darkenbeast began to circle the campsite, becoming increasingly irritated over both the situation and the rain—and oblivious to its own peril, the sun. It watched and waited and was finally rewarded when the rain became a downpour and chased the woman into the tent. The odds were improving. It would wait a few minutes longer.

Below, the creature regarded the centaur pacing in front of the prone man, the darkenbeast’s quarry. The darkenbeast’s unnaturally keen ears picked up their conversation.

“We’ll stay here a day or two—just until you’re feeling all right. Then we’ll move on to Thay. I think we should take the woman along if she can keep up,” Wynter said. “She seems to know her way around in cities better than you or I do.”

“She stays behind,” Galvin countered firmly. He would have expounded on the matter, but he felt another wash of dizziness and decided he’d been foolish not to ask for the centaur’s help.

“Wyn,” he said softly. “I need those herbs now, but I’m not up to getting them. The leaves are small, fernlike. You’ve seen me gather them. I’ll need an entire plant, maybe two. Please.”

Wynter’s eyes bore into Galvin’s. The centaur was angry that his friend had been more concerned with the Red Wizards than with his own health. Without replying, Wynter galloped from the clearing, his hooves sending mud and water flying.

The darkenbeast circled the campsite again, its dark spirits soaring now that its quarry was at last alone. It pulled its wings close to its body, plummeting like a rock and crying loudly as it separated from a low-hanging cloud. The sound was a peculiar, irritating shriek that sent shivers racing down Galvin’s back and brought him unsteadily to his feet. The druid was familiar with thousands of animals, but he had never seen the likes of this beast. It stank of sorcery.

Galvin grasped the hilt of his scimitar, but the darkenbeast was on him before he could draw the blade. With surprising strength, the creature’s claws slammed into the druid’s abdomen, knocking him to the ground. The darkenbeast dug its talons into the man’s stomach to gain a solid purchase, then it cried again and moved to drive its sharp beak into the man’s chest, straight through his heart.

Stunned, Galvin watched helplessly as the beast’s glowing red eyes bore into his own and its fetid, acidic saliva dripped on his tunic. The druid shivered in fear as the beast thrust its head forward. Galvin clamped his eyelids shut in terror, then suddenly felt the pressure ease.

Before the darkenbeast could strike, its head jerked back spasmodically, engulfed in a bright blue flash that lit up the campsite like fireworks and stung the creature’s eyes. The darkenbeast, still planted on the druid’s chest, furiously swiveled its grotesque head to face its attacker.

Brenna stood directly in front of the tent, her arms stretched out in front of her, thumbs touching and trembling fingers spread wide. Nervously she mouthed a series of singsong phrases as her hands glowed. Azure sparks shot from her fingertips and struck the darkenbeast’s hide in another brilliant blue flash. The creature cried out again in agony.

In response, the beast streaked toward Brenna, its wings beating furiously only inches above the ground.

Shocked at the creature’s speed, Brenna forgot about her spell and leapt to the side. The darkenbeast crashed into the tent, which collapsed instantly. The creature thrashed about in the canvas for several moments, finally loosening itself and rising from the ground. Flapping its wings to gain speed and altitude, the darkenbeast darted into the trees and hovered in the blackness to plan a new strategy. Hidden in the darkness, it called out to Maligor.

High in his tower in Amruthar, the Red Wizard had been sleeping peacefully. But Maligor’s eyes flew open, his grandiose dreams of power and wealth disturbed, when he felt the tug on his mind of the darkenbeast’s summons. The wizard had no way of knowing his creation was many miles from Thay’s border, but he could tell it was hurt. The wizard could feel the beast’s searing pain. Maligor cast off the stupor of his sleep and concentrated, trying to form a tighter mental link between himself and the darkenbeast in order to determine what was happening. Through the creature’s glowing scarlet eyes, the Red Wizard saw a campsite and a woman. There were no signs of the gnoll the darkenbeast had been sent to find. The woman was dressed in a simple cotton nightdress that was plastered against her in the rain. The darkenbeast and its creator watched as the woman rushed to the side of a man.

Galvin gasped, catching his breath after the ordeal and trying to rise. Bewildered by the creature’s attack, he was equally astonished at Brenna’s magical prowess. He had thought she was a helpless politician.

“Don’t try to get up yet,” she said, gently pushing his shoulders down to the earth and checking his wounds. Her wet hair cascaded forward, the ringlets falling against his face.

“Did you kill the creature?” Galvin asked, again trying to prop himself up despite her admonishments.

“No, but I think I injured it. It flew off beyond the trees.” She picked up Galvin’s scimitar, grasped his tunic at the neckline, and used the blade to cut a V in the material. She handled the weapon awkwardly, and for an instant, the druid imagined that he had survived the perils of the evening only to perish at the hands of a clumsy enchantress attempting to perform first aid. He was relieved when she finished and sheathed his weapon.

But the councilwoman wasn’t done yet. Placing her hands on either side of the V, Brenna yanked hard, and the tunic ripped in a straight line, exposing his chest and left shoulder.

“This isn’t a fresh wound,” she scolded. “Why didn’t you say something about this when you came into camp? You’ve lost a lot of blood. How did this happen?”

Galvin gritted his teeth. His shoulder stung as she blotted it clean with the hem of her nightdress. “Wynter is getting some herbs. When they’ve had a chance to do their work, we’ll be moving on.”

Brenna ignored him. “This is a deep wound. You’re not going anywhere for a while. Wynter and I will be making the journey to Thay. You won’t.” She looked thoughtful for a moment. “I’ll look through my things. Maybe I have something to put on that.”

Like the nine planes you’ll go, Galvin thought as he watched her return to the collapsed tent. No woman is going to take my place on any Harper mission. Still, he reasoned, she was more powerful than he would have imagined, and he owed his life to her for holding off the creature. He began to wonder about the creature’s whereabouts when the sky grew black above him. The beast was returning, heading straight toward the enchantress.

“Brenna!” Galvin yelled, pushing himself to a sitting position in time to see the creature swoop through the clearing toward the woman. Brenna caught sight of it at the last moment and dove into the canvas, narrowly avoiding its talons. The beast swept on to the edge of the clearing and then gracefully banked to return.

Brenna rose to her knees and pushed her rain-soaked, tangled locks away from her face in one motion. She glanced about the campsite as the creature swept back for another strike.

“Get down!” she screamed at Galvin, and then she began furiously digging through the canvas. The druid ignored her and staggered to his feet to draw the creature’s attention.

But the darkenbeast, determined to finish off the woman first, paid no attention to the Harper. It reveled as it closed for the kill, extending its talons toward her throat. A moment more and it would have her. A moment more and…

Brenna flattened herself over the collapsed tent, her arms and legs spread wide, her left hand grasping what she had desperately sought from her belongings. She smelled the creature’s rank odor and felt the air rush across her back as the thing passed inches above her. Gathering her courage, she rolled over and sat awkwardly, like a young child, amidst the jumble of rope and canvas. With the rain pelting her face, she opened her left hand, palm upward, holding her right hand above it to keep the sulfur dry. Once more she began a singsong chant, this time her voice sharp and loud.

Again the darkenbeast banked and sped toward her, anxious as it smelled her fear intermingled with the cloying scent of lilacs. Then it heard the sharp crack of a lightning bolt and smelled burning flesh—its own.

The bolt had arced from the woman’s hand to the darkenbeast, striking the creature squarely in the breast and nearly splitting it asunder. The magical lightning illuminated the clearing, revealing the astonished expression on the druid’s face. The darkenbeast felt its insides burn and boil, and it flapped maddeningly, not realizing it was dying.

It struck the ground and beat its wings feebly for a moment more while its body twitched.

Sheets of rain drenched the creature’s smoking form as Galvin and Brenna leaned against each other for support. Then they stepped forward cautiously to get a closer look at it.

The beast twitched once more, then began to shrivel.

Ensconced in his tower in Amruthar, Maligor screamed.

The Red Wizard felt the lightning surging through the darkenbeast’s body, experienced its death throes. When it was over, he threw back the red silk covers from his bed, breathed deeply to clear his mind, and rose to pace about his bedchamber. Maligor was puzzled. He had sent the creature after a gnoll, but he in his mind, he had seen it fight a woman. He had seen the woman conjure a magical blast of lightning. The woman could be a Red Wizard, Maligor thought, despite her long hair. Had she already killed the gnoll? Was she protecting it? Or had the darkenbeast crossed paths with her merely by accident?

Maligor was so caught up in the mystery, working the puzzle through his mind again and again, that he unknowingly relaxed his personal wards, the magical guards that kept prying eyes from him.

A pair of eyes watched him now, deep-socketed, ancient orbs that stared at a crystal ball and through it watched Maligor pace. The observer, a lich and rival Red Wizard, sensed that Maligor was up to something. A creature of the living dead, the lich had all the time in Faerun to discover his adversary’s plan. He had no need for sleep or food, but he did have a need to keep the other Red Wizards in check. He was perhaps the most powerful Red Wizard in all of Thay, and he had no intention of allowing another wizard to challenge his standing.

The lich smiled evilly and continued to spy on Maligor.

I will find what you are plotting, and I will crush you utterly, the lich thought as he leaned back in his fine, leather-padded chair and listened to the rain outside his window. It was a large storm, the lich knew, covering an immense area, from Amruthar well into Aglarond. It had been one of his better weather enchantments, and the downpour matched his mood.

The rain continued to beat down in the clearing.

“What’s this?” Wynter’s deep voice boomed. The centaur galloped into the campsite, his hand pushing the wet curls out of his face. “I’m gone a few minutes and disaster strikes.” He looked sharply at Brenna and arched an eyebrow, then glanced down at the transforming darkenbeast.

Before the trio’s eyes, the shrinking darkenbeast’s skin began to bubble like boiling oil, producing a noxious stench that made Brenna back up several paces. Then the thing began to melt, leaving behind only the tiny, withered, winged husk of something that looked long dead.

Wynter prodded the thing with an extended hoof and gasped as the creature continued to transform. Its dried-out neck and legs shook visibly, then slowly began to retract into its decomposing torso. The lifeless wings beat the ground, as if the dead creature was trying to fly again, then were washed away by the pounding rain. What was left of the darkenbeast was a lump of dried flesh with bristling spines, the smoldering corpse of a hedgehog.

Galvin knelt and gently turned over the hedgehog’s body. Tied about its neck was a dirt-stained piece of tattered cloth.

“Sorcery,” Brenna muttered, shivering. “I don’t know of any wizards in Aglarond who would have the power to do something like this. It could be the work of a Red Wizard. I wonder why the thing attacked us.”

“It probably followed me,” Galvin volunteered, looking up at the enchantress. Brenna’s nightdress was soaked and soiled with dirt and blood, and her hair lay slick and straight from the rain.

Wynter moved between the pair and dropped a small sack in front of Galvin. “Your herbs, my friend. I suggest you use them quickly in case that creature has a friend or two.” The centaur’s right front hoof pawed at the ground nervously as he looked at the hedgehog. “You know how I feel about magic, Galvin.”

Brenna glanced at Wynter. “There’s no shortage of magic within the borders of Thay.”

“That doesn’t mean I have to like it.” The centaur’s tone was solemn.

“Second thoughts?” she queried, a concerned expression on her face.

“No.” The centaur turned suddenly and trotted toward her tent. “I’ll help you repair this. Maybe you can still get a few hours rest. Then I’ll take you back to Glarondar.”

“I’m going to Thay with you!” she declared as she sloshed after Wynter.

“No, you’re not,” Galvin said as he watched the pair begin to struggle with the canvas. The tent seemed to put up a fight of its own against the centaur and the enchantress, then finally yielded as the centaur anchored the center pole. The drenched councilwoman quickly slipped inside. Cursing the foul weather, Wynter trotted back to Galvin.

The druid was preparing a poultice from the herbs, but he was having difficulty keeping it dry. Galvin was usually unmindful of the rain, seeking cover from it only in the fiercest storms. Usually he reveled in it, enjoying the sensation as the water splashed over his skin. Now, however, he simply tolerated it.

Wynter began to dig a hole to bury the hedgehog. “We’re not taking one step toward Thay until you’re well,” he stated firmly.