Richard Byers - Undead

"But now there's no need. We pledge our loyalty to Szass Tam and have already begun to serve him. Come visit the Black Hand's altar. See the heads heaped before it. Each belonged to a southern legionnaire. The autharch gave them refuge inside the city walls, and after we killed him, my followers and I disposed of them as well."

"I'm sure it's an impressive display," he said, not caring whether or not she detected his sarcasm. "But I doubt you managed to kill every southern soldier who fled in this direction."

Unara blinked. "That's true. We needed to fly the skull banners so you wouldn't attack us by mistake. But once we started, the southerners stopped coming near the walls."

"Then my company and I need to press on without delay. With luck, we might overtake more southerners before the end of the night. But first we want to feed. I need forty people, one for each of my followers."

The priestess hesitated. "I… learned about spectres and similar entities during my training. Do they require nourishment?"

"No. But they have a constant, insatiable drive to hurt and kill, and it's easier to control them if I allow them to gratify it periodically."

"Oh. I see. But as I explained, we've pledged ourselves to Szass Tam, and I promised everyone that it would make us safe."

"Most of you will be, unless you keep trying my patience. Have your guards fetch the forty folk you consider most expendable. Otherwise, I'll simply turn these hounds of mine loose to feed on whatever rabbits they can catch."

As he'd expected, Unara brought slaves and emptied out the town jail to fulfill his requirements. Still, as ghosts plunged their shadowy hands into the flesh of the living, withering their victims, and the occasional vampire, lost to blood lust, chewed a throat to shreds, she periodically winced. Perhaps it had occurred to her that Szass Tam's troops would pass this way again, and eventually all the thralls and captured felons would be gone.

Tsagoth rather enjoyed her discomfiture. Prompted by her god, or so she claimed, she chose to embrace the rule of a lich and the necromancers and undead who carried out his will. Well, here was a first taste of what that would entail.

It wasn't the first time Aoth had regretted attaining high rank. With the exception of Mirror, every other member of the ragtag band he'd shepherded south was almost certainly sleeping the sleep of utter exhaustion. He, on the other hand, was standing at attention and saluting.

"By the Great Flame," said Nymia Focar, seated behind a silvery soth-wood desk so highly polished that it gleamed even in the wan daylight shining through the window, "was the journey as hard as your appearance suggests?"

"I'm just tired and dirty. We didn't have to fight south of Mophur. But we had to keep running. I kept hoping we'd reach a place where we could rest for a while and be safe, but we never found it. Some towns and fortresses have gone over to Szass Tam. Some no longer exist, or are in such bad shape that the northerners could overrun them in a heartbeat. Earthquakes knocked the walls down, or they endured some other calamity. Even Tyraturos was no good for us. Dimon naturally favored the church of Bane while he was alive, and the clerics are taking full advantage of the authority he gave them." He gave his head a shake. "Am I rambling? If I am, I'm sorry."

"Don't be. You're making sense." She gestured to a table laden with bottles of wine and a platter of dark brown bread, apples, pears, and white and yellow cheeses. "Take whatever you want, sit down before you fall down, and then give me a full report while you eat."

He generally didn't try to eat and converse with a superior at the same time. He feared it would make him look more graceless and uncouth-more Rashemi-than he did already. But for once he was too starved to worry about it. He poured a goblet of pale amber wine, loaded a plate, and dropped down in a chair.

He fancied that, exhausted and famished though he was, he at least managed to talk between mouthfuls rather than through them. When he finished, Nymia said, "Your report agrees with everyone else's. This situation is bad."

"You didn't see firsthand?"

"I happened to be near a circle of conjurors when they made the decision to abandon the battlefield, and they translated me back to Bezantur along with them. I didn't have to journey overland."

How nice for you, he thought. "I saw a fair number of griffons in the aerie, so a reasonable number of my men must have made it to safety. That's something, anyway."

"It would be more if we were actually safe."

Aoth took another sip of wine. "Don't you think we are? Bezantur's the biggest city in Thay. The walls are high and thick, and whatever strength remains to the south stands ready to man them. Give or take a few companies still wandering around the countryside, maybe unaware that we even lost a major battle in Eltabbar."

Nymia sighed. "I don't know. A year ago, I would have said that even Szass Tam couldn't take Bezantur. But now the south is weaker than ever before, and I'm not just talking about our legions. We lost two more zulkirs. Dmitra Flass didn't return from the battlefield. She died, was taken prisoner, or defected. Then Zola Sethrakt dropped dead. Of wounds sustained in the battle, or so I'm told."

"I admit, that's unfortunate."

"So is the state of the city's food stores. We can't endure a protracted siege. Szass Tam can starve us into submission."

"What are you telling me-that the council wants to surrender?"

"No, but they might flee into exile and abandon mainland Thay to fend for itself. The fleet is in port waiting to carry people of importance away. We legionnaires are likewise prepared to commandeer every other vessel we can lay our hands on."

Aoth felt sick to his stomach. "So that's it? After fighting for ten years, we're just going to run away?"

"Not necessarily. The zulkirs haven't made a final decision." Her lips quirked into a crooked smile. "Nor have I."

"What do you mean?"

"Perhaps it's not too late to slip out of Bezantur, offer my services to Szass Tam, and secure a position of wealth and influence in the Thay to come."

Aoth marveled that she trusted him enough to confide such thoughts to him. Didn't she realize that he knew she'd acquiesced to the zulkirs' plan to vivisect him?

Maybe, he thought with a flicker of wry amusement, she understood him better than he'd ever imagined, well enough to realize her callousness hadn't ignited a thirst for revenge in him. He still wasn't sure why not. Perhaps, with the world falling and burning around him, he simply didn't have the outrage to spare for every disappointment and betrayal.

At any rate, he told her, "Go if you want to. I won't tell. But I won't go with you, either."

"Why not?"

"If I weren't so tired, maybe I could explain it to you. Or to myself. As it is, I just know after coming this far, I don't feel like turning my cloak at the end. Maybe I don't want to be like that whoreson Malark."

"I think you owe it to yourself to think more deeply than that. Even if we assume that the zulkirs can somehow hold this part of the coast, or that Szass Tam won't come after them if they flee into exile, we surely can live grander, richer lives in his new kingdom than in the council's shrunken dominions."

"I wouldn't be certain of that. You see what he's made of Thay already."

"As a tactic. He'll bring back sunshine and green grass after he wins the war."

"You're probably right. But, maybe because I'm so tired, I swear I can hear Malark asking the question he pondered over and over again-why did Szass Tam murder Druxus Rhym?"

Nymia shook her head, and the stud in her nostril caught a ray of light. "Now you're no longer making sense, or at least you're fretting over trivia. He killed Rhym before the war even started. Ten years later, what does it matter why?"