Jean Rabe - Red Magic

The Red Wizard had mixed the concoction late last night, feeling especially tired, morose, and old. He had waited until this morning to drink it, however, not wanting to fritter away any regained youth in sleep.

Maligor detested age. He considered it his only weakness and the one thing that could possibly stand in his way of eventually becoming ruler of all of Thay. So he fought it the only way he knew how-with his elixirs, powders, and arcane scrolls that hinted his soul was no longer his own. But Maligor never feared the repercussions of his magic or the well-being of his immortal spirit. He fully intended to live forever, and let the dark forces that hungered for him be damned.

To a renewed decade, he thought as he uncorked the vial, threw his head back, and downed the contents in a single, long draft. The mixture slowly oozed down his throat, burning as it went, bringing tears to the wizard's eyes.

For a moment, Maligor stood motionless. Then he jerked to his feet like a marionette being pulled by a vicious puppeteer, and the vial dropped from his hand, shattering into fine fragments on the marble floor. Gasping in pain, he doubled over, trying to clutch at his stomach through the thick red robes. His insides seethed and churned, seeming as if they were trying to fight their way out. He crumpled to his knees and clawed furiously at the marble, struggling to keep quiet so the guards outside wouldn't run in to defend him from an unseen menace and ruin his experience. He imagined piles of gold, trying to focus on something pleasant to lessen the pain. Still the pain in his gut persisted, but through it all, Maligor smiled, satisfied that the elixir was working properly.

For several minutes, he rode out the agony, then gathered himself up from the floor and wiped the sweat from his face with the sleeve of his robe.

Breathing deeply and inhaling more air into his lungs than he had been able to for the past several years, he collected his thoughts, then anxiously and purposefully strode from the room. The guards at the library door fell in behind him in military precision. Maligor didn't speak to them or to the other guards and servants moving about the hallways who stopped and stared hard at him, some with open mouths. He dismissed them with an indignant scowl and moved hurriedly to his bedchambers, leaving his escort outside and rushing to a long mirror on his closet door.

The imported beveled glass proved to Maligor that the pain was worth it. The wrinkles around his eyes were few and shallow; his skin felt softer, tighter, and the ache of age in his fingers and hands was lessened considerably. He flexed his fingers again and again and grinned sheepishly. Then he dwelled on his hair and beard and the face of a man in his early forties.

The same potion that rejuvenated his body, causing him to shed decades, also caused his hair to grow. It was long now, hanging several inches below his shoulders, and as black as a cave. It ringed his head, leaving him a small bald spot on top where the symbol of Myrkul stood out. In places, the black hair was streaked with a few strands of gray. He felt it with both hands, running his fingers through it. It felt silky, and he shook his head to watch it whip about his face, then fall in wild disarray around his neck and shoulders. Finally his right hand moved to his beard. It was full, coarse, and not as dark as the hair on his head, peppered with iron gray and white. It hung nearly to his waist and felt odd and heavy, making the skin on his chin and around his mouth itch terribly.

The Red Wizard marveled at his appearance; never before had drinking one of his life-extending potions restored this many years. Maligor mused that perhaps his body was becoming used to the potions, and in accepting them, the mixtures were having better effects. Conversely, he considered with a scowl, it could mean that the next potion would present an even more drastic change on his body. He didn't like unpredictable magic, but he certainly liked this.

"Another lifetime," he said to himself, insufferably pleased, running his hand over his bald spot, tracing the outline of the white skull there and posing before the glass. Basking in his own company, the wizard stared at his image for nearly half an hour.

Changing into a new scarlet robe, he waltzed to his wine cabinet, his gait lively. He selected a bottle, the label of which was yellowed with age and unreadable, snatched two glasses, and padded to his couch. Maligor considered wine the only thing that improved with age.

"Asp!" he shouted to the guards beyond his chamber. "Bring Asp here at once!" He wanted to share the excitement of his new form with her.

Maligor had finished his fourth glass of wine by the time the spirit naga arrived. She slithered into the room and moved in front of him, coiling her snake half into a tight spiral and resting backward on it, not visibly reacting to his new appearance. She was not her usual prim self this morning. Her hair was disheveled and her face and arms were smudged with dirt. She had the faint odor of sweat about her, which Maligor considered at once repulsive and alluring.

"You're drinking rather early," she stated, dispensing with the formalities he demanded and snapping him out of his good mood. The naga was furious he had risked his life by drinking the longevity potion; she wanted him alive until he gained enough power so she would have a sizable share of wealth and influence for herself. If he died before their plans were realized, she would have to leave Thay. None of the other Red Wizards would stand for the presence of a power-hungry spirit naga who served a wizard that had schemed against them.

Asp let her anger surface. "So you're younger," she hissed. "And you're celebrating by drowning yourself in wine."

"Beautiful Asp, won't you join me in a drink?" The wizard's manner was drunkenly gracious as he extended a half-filled glass of dark red liquid.

"No," she spat.

Maligor raised a shaggy eyebrow, never before had the naga refused him.

Asp rose on her snake's lower body to tower above the Red Wizard. "Those elixirs could kill you," she fumed, "yet you risk it to regain your youth."

"Enough!" Maligor snarled. His pleasant disposition had turned increasingly sour. "I won't tolerate your insolence. Watch yourself, my pretty Asp. I could kill you with a word and replace you before your body grew cold!"

Maligor's anger had sobered him. He slammed down the empty glass, breaking it. Reaching forward, he grabbed the naga's shoulders, digging his nails deep into her tender skin with a new strength that made her wince.

"You will treat me with respect," he ordered, his face inches from hers. "You will obey me. You will lick the soles of my slippers if I desire. And you will never talk to me in such a manner ever again."

The naga trembled but sat pale and silent until he released her. She rubbed her shoulders where the white marks from his nails stood out. She fumed with contempt and hatred, but she held her thin tongue, believing the wizard really would kill her if she angered him further.

"I beg your forgiveness, my lord. I'm tired, and I've been drilling the gnolls steadily for the past three days. The task has made me thoughtless and foolish."

"Eloquent to the last, Asp," Maligor said, stepping away from her and to his mirror, where he could look at himself again. He fancied that he looked more handsome with hair.

The Red Wizard caught the naga's image in the reflection of the mirror and stood there, enjoying watching her squirm. He imagined that soon other wizards would find themselves in her position, under his thumb and bowing to his mandates.

After a while, Asp broke the uneasy silence.

"Why did you summon me, Lord Maligor?" She remained face forward, not looking at him, and continued her courteous but strained dialogue. "I thought you wanted me to stay with the gnolls."