Джейн Рэйб - Red Magic

“Of course,” she agreed. The spirit naga knew Maligor couldn’t afford to release someone who had been in his confidence for several years. “It seems I have no choice. I will help you. But I do not have to like it. Or you.”

The Red Wizard moved away from the windows, drew the curtains closed, and strode to a stiff-backed, carved wooden chair. He unceremoniously sat in it; his younger body didn’t require being pampered by soft cushions. Asp slinked to his side like a petulant child.

“It will be glorious, beautiful Asp. My plan is golden.” He straightened himself, placing his shoulders squarely against the chair back. “Do you know much about the tharchions in Thay? Their influence, positions, appearances?”

“I know about some of them, Maligor—from reputation and pictures only. I am more knowledgeable about the other Red Wizards and their forces.”

Maligor noticed that the naga had dropped the “my lord” when she addressed him. The lack of respect bothered him, and he would correct her attitude later. For the time being, he would let her be, knowing she had lost enough pride and dignity for one day.

“There is one tharchion in particular to concern ourselves with. He is nearly forty and squat, but he has a broad and sturdy frame. His body fits his place of work. The tharchion has a husky, barrel-like chest. Although he is clean-shaven on his head and face, wisps of black hair can be seen under his arms and just above his breastbone.” Maligor’s description was detailed and precise.

“Despite the tharchion’s high position in Thay, he chooses to paint his head, like many of the women in Amruthar and Eltabar, rather than suffer permanent tattoos. The principal design on his head is a pale orange, four-taloned hand.”

“The symbol of Malar, the Beastlord,” Asp interjected.

“He wears other symbols, too,” Maligor added, “but I’m afraid he was sweating rather profusely, afraid of my gnolls and of being in my dungeon. Unfortunately the paint ran and I couldn’t make them out.”

“You have a tharchion in your dungeon?” The naga was astonished. She was keen on Thayvian politics and goings-on, far more knowledgeable than she would admit to Maligor. But she hadn’t heard of any tharchion disappearing.

“Had. When I was finished with him, the gnolls ate him. His bones are scattered along the escarpment. So, no, I don’t have a tharchion in my dungeons. Now, to continue with my description.

“His clothes were well made and in good repair, but they were dirty, covered with dust and powdered rock from walking about in the mines.”

“The tharchion the Council of Zulkirs assigned to oversee Thay’s gold mines! You killed him?”

“I need you to look like him.” Maligor waited a moment to let Asp absorb everything. “In fact, I need you to look just like him—close enough that you could fool his wife, the slaves under his charge, and the mine workers. I know you have the ability to do that.”

Asp glared at him. “There’s been no news of the tharchion’s disappearance. Someone has to know.”

“I don’t think so,” Maligor continued, pleased with himself. “You see, the council thinks he’s outside of Thay. Well, his bones are, at least. Let’s see what you can do.”

The spirit naga backed away from his chair and concentrated. It was difficult for her because her mind was filled with questions. The transformation took longer than usual. All spirit nagas possessed the innate ability to change their appearance to human or demi-human bodies, although Asp only did so on Maligor’s orders. She found the forms distasteful and at a disadvantage because they had legs instead of a tail.

Her beautiful features dissipated, running from her body like melting wax. She stood before Maligor a faceless, limbless column of flesh that began to take on new features. A head emerged from the column, bald and with pudgy cheeks. Eyelashes sprouted from the flesh over emerging, round eyes. Bulges appeared on the face and molded themselves into ears, a nose, and pale, bulbous lips. An age spot materialized below her left cheek—Asp remembered seeing that on a painting of the tharchion.

The transformation continued down the length of her body. A chest formed and became broader. Flab appeared along her midsection, and patches of black hair sprouted just above the breastbone and beneath the figure’s flabby arms. The column of flesh separated below the man’s groin, becoming stocky legs ending in short, wide feet.

The physical changes made, the naga created clothes—plain but functional, trappings she imagined someone like the tharchion would wear in the mines. The clothes looked like cloth and would feel like material to the touch, but because they were part of her body, they could not be removed. If necessary, she could polymorph them to appear different—sweat-stained perhaps, or of fine quality if the tharchion had to meet important guests.

“Excellent!” Maligor crowed with delight. “That’s very close. You’ll have to make a few adjustments here and there. His earlobes hung lower, I recall, and his fingers were shorter and thicker. I’ll give you a mental image of the man in a little while, and you can make the necessary changes before we leave.”

The naga had recovered a fraction of her pride and enough courage to pursue answers to her questions. “Tell me what this is about, Maligor. I know now it has something to do with the mines, but if you take the gnolls up there, they won’t have a chance. Every wizard in the area will put his forces against you, especially the other zulkirs. The mines have been set up so no one wizard can control them. Your gnolls won’t have a chance.”

“You don’t listen well, do you, dearest Asp? I told you the gnolls are after a wizard’s land. There are enough gnolls to attract the attention of the nearby wizards. The gnolls will keep everyone occupied while we make our bid for the mine. No one will even notice.”

Then Maligor told her of the multitude of darkenbeasts that would leave at dark when all eyes were on the gnolls.

“We’ll leave with them, you and I. It will be truly glorious.”

“A wonderful plan,” Asp admitted with a hint of sarcasm. “But you will eventually be found out. If you take control of the mines—and even if you set me up as the tharchion—someone will notice when the gold goes into your pockets and the country gets nothing. Then you’ll be undone.”

Maligor beamed. He had been waiting to unravel the meat of his scheme.

“The country will be undone. But it will take time. Dear Asp, if everything goes well—and I am certain it will—no one in Thay will be the wiser that there has been any change in the operation of the mine. You see, with you in place, business will go on as usual, and the country will continue to have a steady stream of gold filling its coffers. However, during the next several years, we will skim the mined gold—in increasing amounts as the next decade draws to a close. You will claim that the veins are beginning to thin out, and all the slaves and workers who will be in my control will agree with you. And if any zulkirs care to investigate, we will use magic to hide certain rich tunnels. They will believe you, and we will become rich.

“Nor do I intend to stop there. You see, the wizard Maligor will not have made any bids for power during those years, possibly crushed from the defeat of his gnoll troops in their attempt to wrestle land from a young illusionist. Of course, I will have to fabricate another story if they really do take the land. Perhaps the wizard Maligor was satisfied with that expansion and has no plans for any other.”

Asp continued to listen, fascinated by the scheme that was sounding more and more plausible.