Джейн Рэйб - Red Magic

Within a few hours more, shortly before dawn, the druid found a wide, winding road capped by torches that led to a large black opening in the rocks. It was obviously the entrance to the Thayvian mines.

“Should I go ahead and see what’s going on?” the centaur suggested.

The druid shook his head. “They must know we’re coming. Their sentries have probably spotted us in the distance. The night hides our numbers, but it doesn’t hide the fact that there’s an army on the mountain.”

Galvin took several deep breaths and mentally ran through the possibilities. If Maligor had control of the mines, he would have been there for three or four days. The druid’s force would be fighting the wizard’s darkenbeasts and any other defenses he might have added. If Maligor’s forces were defeated, but the Red Wizard still lived, their task might take them elsewhere in the pursuit of him.

He glanced at Brenna. She appeared worried, her lips pursed in concern.

“Let’s see the mine up close,” the enchantress said, placing a hand around the pouch that held her spell components and returning Galvin’s stare evenly.

The macabre army wound its way up the mountain to the edge of a plateau ringed with torches. A quintet of miners, armed with picks, stood at the entrance to the shaft, a massive black maw between two large oval-shaped rocks. Galvin padded forward, and the eldest miner, a squat, middle-aged, hairless man with a barrel of a chest, stepped forward to meet him.

“Halt!” boomed the man, who sported a tattoo on his brow, barely visible in the torchlight. The tattoo was of a taloned hand, the symbol of Malar The Beastlord.

Galvin stopped and scrutinized the ground, looking for traces of blood and other signs of a struggle. He saw only footprints, likely belonging to the miners.

“I’m the tharchion here, and you are trespassing,” the man stated, showing no fear at the throng of skeletons behind the druid. “Turn your creatures around. We have no place for dead men at the mines.”

“We’re looking for the one who controls the mines,” Galvin returned.

“I control the mines,” the man replied. “Who is your master? Which Red Wizard do you serve?”

Wynter moved between Galvin and the human. “Tharchion,” he said, “our force is not here to attack the mines. Szass Tam, who directs the undead behind us, is fully aware that the mines belong to all the Red Wizards.”

“Then leave!” the tharchion sputtered. “My men must get back to work. Leave now, or I warn you, I will summon my guards to fight your corpses! I’ll call the magic of the mines down on you! You’ll all perish!”

Wynter was persistent. “We want some information, that’s all.”

“Be quick about it, then,” snapped the tharchion.

“Just answer a few questions and we’ll leave. We came here to learn about Zulkir Maligor.”

“Maligor isn’t here,” the tharchion sputtered. The stout man reddened in anger, puffed out his considerable chest, and pointed down the mountain. “Leave while you can.”

Galvin moved to Wynter’s side. The enchantress stayed in the background, digging in her pouch for precious components. She began a simple spell, wanting to know if the tharchion was telling them the truth.

“Was he here?” Wynter continued.

“No!” the tharchion hissed.

The centaur eyed the tharchion, annoyed by his manners. “Maligor moved a large force north recently. Have you seen it? Have you heard rumors of it?”

“Maligor’s force might not have been human,” the druid added.

“I’ve seen nothing unusual,” the tharchion replied, appearing more calm. “The slaves and guards would have reported anything out of the ordinary.” The tharchion squinted his eyes, then they flew open, as if he had just thought of something.

“But I have heard rumors about trouble to the south. Something about an army of Maligor’s gnolls. If your master, Szass Tam, is having difficulties with Maligor, you should investigate to the south. Now leave! Get those stinking undead out of here!”

“We’re sorry to have inconvenienced you, tharchion. Our apologies.” Wynter turned, being careful not to lose his footing, and headed down the mountain. The undead did not move until Galvin started after him.

Brenna grasped the druid’s arm as he passed by. “He’s lying,” she whispered. “Trust me. He’s lying about something—about Maligor’s forces, about not seeing anything, perhaps. I think he knows a lot more than he’s telling you.”

“What are you saying?” the tharchion bellowed, striding toward the enchantress.

“I was telling my friend you should be concerned about Maligor,” Brenna replied, meeting the squat man’s gaze.

“The mines might be his target. He could be after them!”

“I told you to leave—you, your stinking undead, all of you. You’re breaking Thayvian law by disrupting the operation of the mines. I could have you eviscerated—or worse!” the tharchion bellowed. “I know nothing of Maligor’s plans, so crawl back to Szass Tam.”

“Liar!” Brenna cried, watching for a reaction. “I bet you’re in league with Maligor. I bet you know where he is.”

“I’ll see you dead!” the tharchion hissed. “The Council of Zulkirs will be told about this—in full.” He waved one thick arm, and the quartet of miners rushed forward, raising their picks above their heads threateningly.

Brenna stepped behind Galvin, her fingers twirling. Feigning fear, she began to mumble softly so the tharchion couldn’t tell she was casting a spell.

The tharchion’s eyes narrowed to slits so thin they appeared to be closed. He moved until he could see the sorceress, then began to twitch his fingers and mouth his own arcane words.

Wynter had whirled around when he heard the confrontation and headed back to the plateau. The skeletons and zombies shuffled behind him, struggling to keep their balance on the steep incline.

“Kill them!” the tharchion screamed as he continued to manipulate his fingers. The quartet of miners moved forward, and Wynter reared back and charged the closest one. Galvin leapt at another one, willing his body to change as he dove at the tallest miner. The druid’s body sprouted short yellow-orange fur that flowed like water over his arms, legs, and clothing. His chest thickened, his legs became feline and muscular, and his facial features melted away to reveal the snarling visage of a jaguar. The big cat extended its claws as it closed the distance to its quarry.

At the same time, the undead began to swarm forward on the plateau, their bony feet clicking over the rocks.

Brenna completed her spell, a force that dispelled magic and that would eliminate the sorcerous hold she believed Maligor held over the tharchion. The force, which only Brenna could see, shot from her fingers in ribbons, avoiding the skeletons and wrapping about her target.

But Brenna’s magic enchantment wasn’t what she had expected. As the spell took effect, the tharchion grew taller and more slender, his form continuing to change as the bands of magic writhed about him. The magic Brenna had dispersed was not Maligor’s but Asp’s own ability, which enabled the naga to look like the tharchion. The spirit naga’s tail undulated as it grew to its full length, and her human torso sprouted from the stocky man’s dissolving chest. Finally, fully formed, Asp threw back her head and cried, “You’ll die!”

Asp’s appearance startled Wynter, giving one of the miners an opening. Sinking his pick into the back of the centaur’s leg, the miner continued his assault, trying to throw Wynter off balance. The centaur groaned and fought to keep his balance. Then he swung his fist into the miner’s face. The man rolled down the side of the mountain and into the waiting arms of the juju zombies.