Anthology - The Search For Magic

However, one ghost would not stop him. The Bozak knew some dark spells, one that could repel the undead. Trudging back inside the tent, the draconian eyed the bracelet. Best to keep away from it for now. The creature clearly was attached to it, perhaps had even been its creator. Well, come the morrow, Brudas had an idea that would send the ghoul on its final journey.

As could be expected, the Baaz found nothing more worthwhile. Drek, while excavating, had almost been crushed by the weakening ceiling of the chamber. Brudas sent the miserable creatures to yet another site he believed worthwhile, then he began his research. That took not only the rest of what could laughingly be called the day, but also well into the night.

He had not touched the bracelet again, not wanting to accidentally summon the spirit. As Brudas lay down on his cot to sleep, he pondered his options. Should he capture the ghost, perhaps make the spirit tell him where other magical artifacts of significance might be found? A waste of power most likely. Better to be rid of the creature entirely.

Brudas drifted off to sleep, his thoughts still on spells. He dreamed of spellcastmg and saw himself upon a great mountain, using his magic to drive the overlords away and, in their place, he took over the rule of all Ansalon. The draconian took special pleasure in humbling his mistress, Sable. In his dreams, he forced the ebony leviathan to cower before him, her head buried so flat against the earth it made him laugh to see it. No more would the Bozak follow anyone else’s dictates. Even the Auraks would acknowledge his greatness.

In the dreams, hundreds of craven subjects crowded around him, begging his mercy, cheering his might Brudas granted them the wonder of witnessing his spellwork, casting wondrous display after wondrous display…

Then the draconian woke to find his fingers twitching. He felt magic briefly course through him… then out again.

He opened his eyes-

And let out a startled shout as more than a score of ghoulish, semi-transparent figures wafted close to him, surrounding him, their hollow eyes filled with an insatiable hunger.

“Get away from me!” Brudas cried, rolling off the bed. “Getaway!”

The ghosts did not touch him, but neither did they move away. Wherever the Bozak went, the spectres followed.

They talked, begged, pleaded, and demanded.

“Give it to me!”

“I must have it!”

“No! It’s mine!”

“Please! I need it…”

With a wordless cry, the draconian stumbled out of the tent. From the tent shared by the three Baaz, Drek emerged with a sleepy expression, sword in one hand.

“What isss it? Are we under attack, sssir?” v

Brudas seized him by the throat and spun the Baaz around so the fool faced his superior’s dwelling. “What do you think, you imbecile? Look at them and ask me that idiotic question again!”

Drek did look… and then gave Brudas a bewildered glance. “Who do you mean, Massster Brudasss? Where? I sssee no one!”

Turning, the taller draconian found that his underling had spoken the truth. There were no ghostly figures. They had vanished. The Bozak inhaled deeply, trying to regain his composure.

The other Baaz emerged from their tents, joining them. Gruun scanned the area nervously, while Molgar was so tired he seemed to be sleepwalking. They looked at their superior.

Suddenly feeling like a fool, Brudas grew irritated. Perhaps he had dreamed it all, although surely the first ghost had existed. But a host of them… his subconscious must have played tricks on him.

“Go back to your tent!” the Bozak snarled at the other draconians. “Now!”

Puzzled, the Baaz wandered off. Brudas heard them muttering under their breath, no doubt discussing their superior’s sanity.

The morning mist made it difficult to actually know exactly when dawn arrived, but Brudas found he could not stay in bed any longer. The draconian had not slept well, for each time his eyes closed he felt as if the shadows gathered around him again. That no spectres were there whenever he finally chose to open his eyes did not ease his troubled mind a bit.

Weary but determined, Brudas rose and sought out the Baaz. He needed privacy for his project. After kicking Drek and the others out of their slumber, he sent the trio off to a distant part of the sunken city, a place it would take them hours to reach. That would afford him the quiet he needed-not to mention preventing a repeat of the previous evening’s embarrassing episode.

Alone now, the Bozak gingerly took the bracelet from the table, brought it out into the open. He looked around, but saw no sign of any spectre. At last, taking a deep breath, the draconian mouthed the simple spell that had first brought him the ghastly visitor. In the back of his mind, though, he kept a second spell ready. The spectre would be in for a nasty surprise.

Come to me, the draconian thought. Come to me, you damned spirit! You’ll find me ready, this time.

As his spell grew to fruition, the ghost reappeared. The same bearded man with the hollow eyes beckoned to Brudas, and the Bozak could almost hear the same words, even though the specter had not yet spoken.

Give it to me.

Brudas would give it to him. Brudas would give the ghost a taste of magic, but not the way the phantom wanted. He stopped the first spell, intending to unleash the trap-

Only to see a second, a third, then more and more ghosts rising from the earth, materializing among the trees, drifting forward from the ruins…

There had to be at least three dozen of them-maybe more. Each of them had that hungry, hollow look, and their voices, although different in tone, sounded as if they blended into one.

“Give it to me!”

“It’s mine! It has to be mine!”

“I need it!”

Brudas whirled and saw that they approached him from all sides. He counted far more than before, possibly as many as a hundred!

“Away from me, spirits!” he snapped. “You’ll get nothing from me! Nothing!”

They ignored him, though, their arms outstretched, hands grasping, clutching…

A shriveled claw passed through the draconian, and although he felt nothing, Brudas nonetheless shook. Then, reminding himself that the ghosts seemed unable to hurt, much less touch him, he grew defiant.

“You were warned, spirits! No one assaults Brudas! Not even the dead!”

Holding up the bracelet, he began the banishing spell. Then, to his dismay… the ghosts stole the magic from him again. Their fingers caressed the relic as each spectre carried off some of the power.

Still, their numbers grew. It seemed as if every citizen of Krolus who had ever died rose to haunt him, yet some of the ghosts did not seem properly placed. A few wore armor more like that used in Solamnia. Others were dressed in recent fashions. A man in full sailing gear from the southlands walked beside a Knight of Takhisis. A cadaverous minotaur with a slit gullet kept pace with a kender.

The truth suddenly stared him in the face. These were not just the spectres of the sunken city. They were phantoms from all over Ansalon.

Over and over, they chanted the same dreadful litanies. They wanted, they needed, they demanded… It threatened to drive the Bozak mad just listening to them!

What they wanted, needed, demanded was the magic. Brudas stared at the relic, his prize. At the moment, the Bozak desired nothing more than to be free of this monstrous horde. He held the bracelet high, waving it so that the ghosts could see it.

“You want the power? You want the magic? Here it is!”

With a tremendous effort, Brudas sent the artifact sailing through the air.

Instantly, scores of the ghosts turned and followed, still mouthing their damnable words. Yet, to the Bozak’s consternation, many more stayed where they were, even drew closer to the draconian. These ghosts had no interest in the bracelet. They wanted his magic.