Джейн Рэйб - Red Magic

Below, Brenna watched in amazement as Galvin seemed to work the rock like clay, shaping it into natural, low steps. It was druidic magic Galvin channeled to shape the stone, sculpting it to fit his mental picture. Finished, he scrambled up the remainder of the cliff, his long blond hair flying behind him, turning gold in the rays of the setting sun. Finally he crouched at the top like a mountain lion, surveying his companions below and then glancing around behind him to make sure he was alone. Satisfied, he motioned Wynter up.

The centaur pushed upward with his muscular rear legs and angled the human half of his body forward as he propelled himself up the cliff. Bits of rock flew away from his hooves and rolled down the cliff face in his wake. Brenna had to step back to avoid being pelted. Near the top, the centaur’s momentum slowed, but his four legs continued to pump to keep him from rolling down to the ground below. Brenna feared he would slip and come hurtling to his death in front of her, but at last he made it, breathless, sweating, and showering dirt over the edge of the cliff as he cleared the top.

A minute later the druid threw a long rope over the side. The sorceress assumed he had been carrying it in his satchel. It wasn’t long enough to reach the bottom of the cliff, however. Its end flapped about twenty feet from the ground. But the climbing was easier toward the base of the cliff, and Brenna had little difficulty scaling the rocks on the lower part of the slope. When she reached the rope, Galvin indicated with his hands how she should tie it about her, then motioned for her to use her feet against the rock, as if she was climbing it.

The sorceress followed his instructions, although she considered using her own kind of magic, such as casting a spell to levitate to reach the top of the cliff. It would have been easier, and it likely would have kept her dress in better shape.

At the top of the First Escarpment, the trio turned to gaze into Thay’s interior. They stood near a wooded area, but the trees were cultivated, planted in evenly spaced rows, and each one was shaped by careful pruning. The trees were laden with citrus, yellow and orange fruits that looked ripe and inviting in the sun’s dying rays. Thay was known for its fabulous fruits, born of the wizards’ weather control spells and tended laboriously by slaves.

“I don’t remember the orchards being heavily guarded at night,” Wynter said. “Of course, as a child I never paid a lot of attention to the guards. Beyond the orchard, we’ll likely find a road. We’ll have to get our bearings to determine our route to Amruthar.”

The centaur took a last glance at Aglarond below. Then he said softly, “Let’s get away from the cliff edge. Patrols march along the escarpment all through the night.”

“Agreed,” the druid said, staring into the setting sun. He thought that perhaps Wynter was right—the wizards liked their foul country because it rose above the surrounding land, placing them on a sort of earthen pedestal. Galvin knew they considered themselves superior to all other occupants of Faerûn.

Galvin shook his head to whip his long hair away from his face and began to trot toward the trees. Wynter and Brenna followed close behind. The sorceress shivered. It was one thing to talk about coming into Thay on some grand spying mission for the good of her country, but it was quite another thing to actually be here.

What little she had seen of the land so far didn’t look particularly hostile. Indeed, the grove before her was more beautiful than any orchard in Aglarond or Mulhorand, which she had occasion to visit on council business. But she knew this country had no natural right to be so verdant. From its location and prevailing weather patterns, it should be dry and plagued by frequent droughts. She also knew it was perhaps the most evil place in all this part of Faerûn, and it was drenched in magic. Suddenly her own magic seemed insignificant.

It felt cool in the orchard. The shadows from the trees were lengthening as the sun continued to slip below the horizon. Galvin estimated they would have another half-hour of twilight, and they would have to make their way through the orchard in that time. Wynter explained that the bulk of the slave crews started work at dawn, sometimes earlier, and it wouldn’t be wise to be caught here then. Most slaves had no compunction about turning in trespassers or Thayvians discovered in the wrong territory. Such discoveries often resulted in the slaves being rewarded.

They were nearly through the orchard when the sun disappeared on the horizon and the sky turned a darker blue. In another half-hour, perhaps not even that long, the sky would be totally black. Brenna began to worry that they might become lost in the hostile country.

Just then a sharp cry cut through her thoughts and rooted the Harpers in place.

“You! Intruders! Stop and surrender!” a disheveled figure stepped out from the shadow of a large citrus tree, surprising the trio.

Brenna and Wynter had difficulty noticing any details, but Galvin’s acute eyes picked out a half-dozen more shapes behind the first figure. Their discoverer was human and was evidently in charge of the group; those in the shadows were orcs, pig-faced sentries who were more monster than man.

Galvin smelled their offensive odors and noted that they wore crude uniforms similar to the one worn by the gnoll he had killed, yet different enough to indicate they served another master.

“There are seven of them,” Galvin whispered.

“What did you say? Speak up, trespasser!” the human called.

Quick to realize that they faced an orchard patrol, Wynter trotted forward, roughly pushing Galvin out of the way and knocking the druid to the ground. Galvin’s rump stung, and he started to get up.

“We’re no intruders,” the centaur said sternly, planting the tip of his thick staff on Galvin’s chest to keep the druid from moving. “I work at the slave plantation near Thaymount, and I’m returning these runaways.” He curled his lip when he glanced at Brenna and waved his arm indicating she should move near Galvin. She complied, cowering visibly.

The man came closer, motioning his orc charges to join him. “You’re a long way from Thaymount, centaur. Your plantation workers were lax to let a pair of slaves get this far.”

“They’re a tricky pair, these two,” Wynter said. Then he thumped Galvin with the end of his staff and ordered him to get up. The druid stood next to Brenna and cast his eyes at the ground sullenly. Brenna copied him.

“These two escaped many days ago,” Wynter continued. “I was sent to retrieve them, and if I didn’t find them, I was told not to come back. It wasn’t hard to follow them. The clumsy fools don’t know how to cover their tracks.” He smiled at the sentry.

Wynter reached out with his free hand and yanked Brenna’s hair to pull her closer to him. She yelped in surprise and pain. “I would’ve killed them, but the boss wouldn’t have stood for it. No. Not at all.” He yanked on Brenna’s hair again until she cried out. “She’s been around awhile. Him, too. Look at the hair. It would have been my mane if they’d gotten killed.”

The patrol leader grinned, showing a row of dirty broken teeth; the front two were missing. Despite his poor appearance, Wynter guessed he was probably an able fighter. He was muscular, the sleeves of his uniform fitting snugly over the large biceps beneath. A longsword hung in a tooled leather scabbard on his right side, while a broadsword hung on his left. Half a dozen daggers were strapped to his chest. The orcs behind him each carried two weapons.

“So… they’re special slaves,” the sentry observed, his attention obviously directed at Brenna. “Why don’t you let me see just how special the female is. Then I’ll let you pass through the orchard. No problems.”