Джейн Рэйб - Red Magic

The lich sat hunched over a centuries-old rosewood desk cluttered with bones of fingers, vials half-filled with assorted dark-colored powders, and yellowed scrolls curling at the corners and covered with runes and scratchings. He peered at the markings with his deep-socketed, ancient eyes and slowly scanned them.

The lich was very old. His pale, paper-thin skin was stretched across his face and limbs, making him appear gaunt, almost skeletal. Fine wisps of white hair were scattered atop his age-spotted head, and his lower lip hung loose, as if it had no muscles to control it. Despite his appearance, the lich was not infirm.

The lich was Szass Tam, the most formidable Red Wizard in Thay.

Across the far edge of the desk, almost beyond the reach of his bony hands, stood five thin candles that had burned down to various heights, none taller than three inches. The wax had dripped into knobby white piles that nearly obscured the candles’ small pewter holders, indicating that the lich had been at his desk for some time. The flickering candles were the only source of light in the immense room, which was a combination library-laboratory, and they illuminated little more than the desktop. The walls were lined with shadow-draped bookcases that stretched to the ceiling, interrupted only by two windows that were shuttered and curtained with heavy black velvet. The thousands of books gave the room its overwhelming smell of old, musty paper; if Szass Tam were alive, the odor might have bothered him.

Although it was midmorning, the lich kept the room bathed in dimness. He preferred the candles to sunlight. Even though the undead Zulkir of Necromancy could walk about in daylight, unlike many other types of undead, he preferred the sepulcher-like comfort of the gloom.

On the center of the desk, where a spot had been cleared atop the gleaming wood, a crystal ball, little bigger than a man’s fist, rested on the wings of a platinum-edged bronze dragon figurine. Szass Tam had many crystal balls, and he used them frequently to spy on various wizards, tharchions, and other forces in Thay. However, this particular ball was his favorite, and perhaps his most powerful. The polished, enchanted crystal was several hundred years old and had originally belonged to the lich’s mentor. Szass Tam had acquired it a long time ago when his magical power increased after he killed his teacher, wresting from the dead man all sorts of arcane devices, elixirs, and books. Dozens of the latter rested on the shelves behind him, their pages now so brittle that the lich avoided handling them unless absolutely necessary. Szass Tam still kept his mentor with him as one of the undead skeletons that patrolled the zulkir’s property. It was not out of a perverse sense of superiority, Szass Tam knew. The lich just hated to let dead bodies rot when they could be animated and made to serve him.

Szass Tam drew his arms about the crystal in a protective and covetous gesture and ran his fingers over the cool, perfect surface. With the lich’s mental coaxing, the sphere began to pulse with light, appearing a thing alive, and colors—azure, rose, gold, and pale green—danced inside it. The ball glowed more brightly, and the lich moved his face closer. His eyes, appearing as hot, intense pinpoints of red light, peered through the crystal and beyond the confines of his keep, past two villages and to harvested farmland. He concentrated, and the colors parted, revealing a puzzling scene being acted out many, many miles away amid dried, broken cornstalks—a spirit naga castigating a unit of gnolls.

The naga, whom Szass Tam had been observing in Zulkir Maligor’s company for the past few years, slithered back and forth in front of a dozen nervous gnolls, gesturing grandly with her arms as her tail swished wildly, obviously berating them for something. Beads of sweat stood out on the creatures’ shaggy brows, causing the lich to wonder what they had done wrong.

“Again!” Szass Tam heard the naga yell, her voice as clear through the crystal ball as if she were standing in the same room with him. “You will try it again!”

The twelve gnolls paired off so that each had an opponent. Half assumed a classic defensive stance that the lich remembered seeing several years ago in one of the military books in his library. The others were clearly on the offensive and moved forward, howling and swinging with the flat of their blades. Szass Tam smiled. The naga was not using the gnoll force well.

Overall, gnolls, which were reasonably numerous in Thay, were savage, and their shaggy, wild-dog visages made them fearsome foes. But they were inclined to fight awkwardly with swords, finding it difficult to wrap their pawlike hands about the hilts of the weapons. Their swings rarely varied, making them too predictable. Szass Tam decided the spirit naga would have been better off leaving them to fight with their claws and long, sharp teeth. It would be more natural for them and probably would have better results. “Civilized” fighting was not always the best approach.

Szass Tam believed his own army to be the strongest in Thay. Skeletons, zombies, ghouls, ghasts, wights, and worse made up the bulk of his forces. The undead required no food, except for the ghouls, which usually ate their opponents. The undead did not sleep, and they were fierce because they were bound to the lich and did not fear death. Like any army, the undead had generals; these were the vampires, who possessed a horrible cunning and cruelty, and they did a superb job of ordering about the undead troops. The lich’s generals didn’t waste time instructing skeletons in the art of swordplay or teaching zombies how to defend themselves. They simply pointed their charges at a target and demanded they move in. The only drawback was that not all in his army were able to move about during the day. Because of this, Szass Tam also relied upon living soldiers.

Szass Tam continued to observe the naga, whose face took on a rosy tint, the blush of anger. He concentrated again, listening through the crystal to capture her words.

“Clowns!” Asp screamed. “I lead an army of clowns and fools! You are sluggish, clumsy oafs! You’re far too predictable. You’ll never stand long against a well-organized foe. Listen to me! I can turn you into warriors the likes of which Thay has never seen. And if you pay attention to me now, you just might live through the upcoming battle.” Her eyes narrowed and her tongue snaked out over her red lips as she reviewed the assembly. In the background, more than three hundred gnolls stood at attention, intently watching their dozen brothers who were the current object of the naga’s wrath.

Asp slithered among the twelve, who awkwardly jumped to attention. With amazing speed, her arm shot forward and grabbed a broadsword from a startled gnoll.

“Watch me!” she hissed, motioning for one of the soldiers to step forward. The disconcerted target complied quickly, and she began to circle him, rising and falling on her snake body, making him feel ill at ease.

“Defend yourself, clown!”

The naga waited for the gnoll to draw his weapon, then smiled when she noted that it wavered in his trembling hand. She circled him as more sweat gathered on his face, then moved closer and nodded for him to assume the defensive stance he had been practicing. His brothers backed away to give the pair room, and she lunged out at him, striking like a cobra and swinging her sword so it clanged loudly against his. The gnoll fought to retain hold of the weapon and bent his knees for a better defensive position. He seemed afraid to return her swing, a fatal mistake in Asp’s eyes.

“Good,” she said as she ran her finger along the edge of her blade. “You’ve mastered the right defensive stance. Now, everyone observe this, and we’ll see just how well your fellow can preserve his mottled hide.”