Unclean: The Haunted Lands Page 10

  In contrast, Lallara, zulkir of Abjuration, though still seemingly hale and vital, evidently disdained the cosmetic measures which might have kept time from etching lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth and softening the flesh beneath her chin. Scowling, she toyed with one of her several rings, twisting it around and around her forefinger.

  Astonishingly obese, his begemmed robes the gaudiest and plainly the costliest of the all the princely raiment on display, Samas Kul likewise appeared restless. Perhaps he disliked being called away from the celebration of his rise to a zulkir’s preeminence, or maybe the newly minted mage-lord was worried he wouldn’t make a good impression here at the onset of his new responsibilities and so lose the respect of his peers.

  Rounding out the assembly was Iphegor Nath. Few indeed were the folk who could treat with zulkirs on anything even approximating an equal footing, but the High Flamelord, primate of Kossuth’s church, was one of them. Craggy and burly, he wore bright orange vestments, the predominant hue close enough to forbidden red that no man of humbler rank would have dared to put it on. His eyes were orange as well, with a fiery light inside them, and from moment to moment tiny flames crawled on his shoulders, arms, and shaven scalp without burning his garments or blistering his skin. His air of sardonic composure was a match for Szass Tam’s.

  Nymia and Aoth dropped to their knees and lowered their gazes.

  “Rise,” said Szass Tam, “and seat yourselves at the table.”

  “Is that necessary?” Lallara rapped. “I’m not pleased with the tharchion, and her lieutenant doesn’t even wear red. By the looks of him, he isn’t even Mulan.”

  “It will make it easier for us all to converse,” the lich replied, “and if we see fit to punish them later, I doubt that the fact that we allowed them to sit down first will dilute the effect.” His black eyes shifted back to Nymia and Aoth, and he waved a shriveled hand at two vacant chairs. “Please.”

  Aoth didn’t want to sit or do anything else that might elicit Lallara’s displeasure, but neither, of course, could he disobey Szass Tam. Feeling trapped, he pulled the chair out and winced inwardly when the legs grated on the floor.

  “Now, then,” said Szass Tam, “with the gracious permission of His Omniscience”—he inclined his head to Iphegor Nath—“I called you all here to address the situation in Tharchion Focar’s dominions. It’s serious, or so I’ve been given to understand.”

  “Yet evidently not serious enough,” the High Flamelord drawled, “to warrant an assembly of all eight zulkirs. To some, it might even appear that you, Your Omnipotence, wanted to meet here in the temple instead of your own citadel to avoid the notice of those you chose to exclude.”

  Yaphyll smiled a mischievous smile. “Perhaps it was purely out of respect for you, Your Omniscience. We came to you rather than put you to the inconvenience of coming to us.”

  Iphegor snorted. Blue flame oozed from his hand onto the tabletop, and he squashed it out with a fingertip before it could char the finish.

  “You’re correct, of course,” Szass Tam told the priest. “Regrettably, we zulkirs fall into two camps, divided by our differing perspectives on trade and other issues, and of late, our squabbles have grown particularly contentious, perhaps even to the point of assassination. That makes it slow going to accomplish anything when we all attempt to work together, and since this particular problem is urgent, I thought a more efficient approach was required.”

  “Besides which,” Iphegor said, “if you resolve the problem without involving your peers, you’ll reap all the benefits of success. The nobles and such will be that much more inclined to give their support to you in preference to Aznar Thrul’s cabal.”

  “Just so,” said Samas Kul in a plummy, unctuous voice. “You’ve demonstrated you’re a shrewd man, Your Omniscience, not that any of us ever imagined otherwise. The question is, if we score a hit in the game we’re playing with our rivals, will that trouble or displease you?”

  “It might,” the primate said. “By convening here in the Flaming Brazier and including me among your company, you’ve made me your collaborator. Now it’s possible I’ll have to contend with the rancor of your opponents.”

  “Yet you agreed to meet with us,” Lallara said.

  Iphegor shrugged. “I was curious, I hoped something would come of it to benefit the faith, and I too understand that Pyarados needs immediate attention.”

  “Masters!” Nymia said. All eyes shifted to her, and she faltered as if abruptly doubting the wisdom of speaking unbidden, but now that she’d started, she had no choice but to continue. “With all respect, you speak as if Pyarados is lost, and that isn’t so. The undead seized one minor fortress and won one additional battle.”

  “With the result,” snapped Lallara, “that they’re now devastating your tharch and could easily range farther west to trouble the entire plateau.”

  “The ghouls have overrun a few farms,” Nymia insisted, the sweat on her face gleaming in the firelight. “I still hold Pyarados,”—Aoth realized she was referring specifically to the capital city of her province—“ and I’ve sent to Tharchion Daramos for assistance. He’s bringing fresh troops from Thazalhar.”

  Yaphyll smiled. “Milsantos Daramos is a fine soldier, a winning soldier, and Thazalhar is too small and sparsely populated for a proper tharch. I wonder if it might not be a good idea to merge it and Pyarados into a single territory and give the old fellow authority over both.”

  Nymia blanched. “I beg you for one more chance—”

  Szass Tam silenced her by holding up his hand. “Let’s not rush ahead of ourselves. I’d like to hear a full account of the events in the east before we decide what to do about them.”

  “Aoth Fezim,” Nymia said, “is the only man to survive the fall of Thazar Keep. For that reason, I brought him to tell the first part of the story.”

  Aoth related it as best he could, without trying to inflate his own valor or importance. He made sure, though, that the others understood he’d fled only when the castellan had ordered it and not out of cowardice.

  Then Nymia told of the battle at the west end of the pass, justifying her defeat as best she could. That involved explaining that forms of undead had appeared whose existence Aoth had not reported and that neither he nor the other scouts had noticed the creatures swimming beneath the surface of the river. The griffon rider wasn’t sure if she was actually implying that he was responsible for everything that had gone wrong or if it was simply his trepidation that made it seem that way.

  When she finished, Szass Tam studied Aoth’s face. “Do you have anything to add to your commander’s account?” he asked.

  Partly out of pride, partly because he was all but certain it would only move the zulkirs to scorn, Aoth resisted the urge to offer excuses. “No, Your Omnipotence. That’s the way it happened.”

  The lich nodded. “Well, obviously, victorious soldiers inspire more trust than defeated ones, yet I wouldn’t call either of you incompetent, and I don’t see a benefit to replacing you with warriors who lack experience fighting this particular incursion. I’m inclined to keep you in your positions for the time being at least, provided, of course, that everyone else is in accord.” He glanced about at the other zulkirs.

  As Aoth expected, none of the others took exception to their faction leader’s opinion, though Lallara’s assent had a sullen quality to it. Rumor had it that, willful, erratic, and unpredictable, she was less firmly of the lich’s party than the faithful Yaphyll and was something of a creative artist in the field of torture as well. Perhaps she’d been looking forward to inflicting some ingeniously gruesome chastisement on Nymia, her subordinate, or both.

  “Now that I’ve heard Tharchion Focar’s report,” Iphegor said, “I understand what’s happening but not why. I’d appreciate it if someone could enlighten me on that point.” He turned his smoldering gaze on Yaphyll. “Perhaps you, Your Omnipotence, possess some useful insights.”

  Aoth understood why the high pri
est had singled her out. She was, after all, the zulkir of Divination. Uncovering secrets was her particular art.

  She gave the High Flamelord a rueful, crooked smile. “You shame me, Your Omniscience. I can repeat the same speculations we’ve already passed back and forth until our tongues are numb: We’re facing an unpleasantness that one of the vanished kingdoms of the Sunrise Mountains left behind. Despite the best efforts of my order, I can’t tell you precisely where the undead horde originated or why it decided to strike at this particular time. You’re probably aware that, for better or worse, it’s difficult to use divination to find out about anything occurring in central Thay. Jealous of their privacy, too many wizards have cast enchantments to deflect such efforts. When my subordinates and I try to investigate the undead raiders, we meet with the same sort of resistance, as if they have similar wards in place.”

  Lallara sneered. “So far, this has all been wonderfully productive. Even a zulkir has nothing to offer beyond excuses for ineptitude.”

  If the barb stung Yaphyll, she opted not to show it. “I will say I’m not astonished that ancient spirits are stirring. The omens indicate we live in an age of change and turmoil. The great Rage of Dragons two years ago was but one manifestation of a sort of universal ferment likely to continue for a while.”

  Iphegor nodded. “On that point, Your Omnipotence, your seers and mine agree.” He smiled like a beast baring its fangs. “Let us give thanks that so much is to burn and likewise embrace our task, which is to make sure it’s the corrupt and unworthy aspects of our existence which go to feed the purifying flames.”

  “Can we stay focused on killing this nighthaunt and its followers?” Lallara asked. “I assume they qualify as ‘corrupt and unworthy.’”

  “I would imagine so,” said Szass Tam, “and that’s our purpose here today: to formulate a strategy. Tharchion Focar has made a beginning by sending to Thazalhar for reinforcements. How can we augment her efforts?”

  Samas Kul shrugged his blubbery shoulders. The motion made the tentlike expanse of his gorgeous robes glitter and flash with reflected firelight. “Give her some more troops, I suppose.”

  “Yes,” said the lich, “we can provide some, but we must also recognize our limitations. We reduced the size of our armies after the new policy of trade and peace proved successful. The legions of the north just fought a costly engagement against the Rashemi. Tharchions Kren and Odesseiron need to rebuild their forces and to hold their positions in case of another incursion. I don’t think it prudent to pull warriors away from the border we share with Aglarond either. For all we know, our neighbors to the north and west have conspired to unite against us.”

  “Then what do you suggest?” asked Iphegor Nath.

  “We already use our own undead soldiers to fight for us,” the lich replied. “The dread warriors, Skeleton Legion, and such…. I propose we manufacture more of them. We can disinter folk who died recently enough that the remains are still usable and lay claim to the corpse of any commoner or thrall who dies from this point forward. I mean, of course, until such time as the crisis is resolved.”

  “People won’t like that,” Lallara said. “We Thayans put the dead to use in a way that less sophisticated peoples don’t, but that doesn’t mean the average person likes the things or wants to see his sweet old granny shuffling around as a zombie.” She gave the lich a mocking smile. “No offense.”

  “None taken,” Szass Tam replied blandly. “There are two answers to your objection. The first is that commoners have little choice but to do as we tell them, whether they like it or not. The second is that we’ll pay for the cadavers we appropriate. Thanks to the Guild of Foreign Trade, we have plenty of gold.”

  Samas Kul smirked and preened.

  “That may be,” said Iphegor, “but it isn’t just squeamish commoners who’ll object to your scheme. I object. The Firelord objects. It’s his will that the bodies of his worshipers be cremated.”

  “I’m not averse to granting your followers an exemption,” said Szass Tam, “provided you’re willing to help me in return.”

  The priest snorted. “At last we come to it. The reason you included me in your conclave.”

  “Yes,” Szass Tam replied. “I intend to put the order of Necromancy in the forefront of the fight against the marauders. My subordinates won’t just supply zombies and skeletons to Tharchion Focar. They’ll stand in the battle lines themselves and use their magic to smite the foe. Dealing with the undead is their specialty, after all, so they should acquit themselves admirably, but our forces will prove more formidable still if the church of Kossuth commits itself to the struggle. Pyarados needs warrior priests to exert their special powers versus this sort of threat, and none are more capable than your Burning Braziers.”

  “According to Tharchion Focar,” Iphegor said, “some of the undead apparently possess the ability to strip clerics of their magic. You can understand my reluctance to send my followers into such a situation.”

  “Ah, yes,” said Szass Tam, “the quells. Even the most learned necromancers believed that, like nighthaunts, the last of them perished eons ago, but now that we know of the threat, we can employ countermeasures. We’ll guard the priests better—perhaps your orders of militant monks should undertake the task—and arm them better as well, so they’re capable of defending themselves even under adverse circumstances.”

  “Arm them with what?” Iphegor asked.

  “With this.”

  Suddenly a baton of crimson metal reposed in Szass Tam’s withered fingers. Though Aoth was looking straight at the zulkir of Necromancy, he had the odd feeling that somehow he’d just missed seeing the rod materialize. Startled, Samas Kul gave a little jerk that set his layers of flab jiggling. Yaphyll smiled at his discomfiture.

  “Take it, please,” Szass Tam said.

  Iphegor accepted the baton which, Aoth now observed, had stylized tongues of flame etched on its surface. As soon as the primate gripped it, the small flames dancing about his person poured hissing down his arm and over the weapon. The tip of it blazed up as if someone had soaked it in oil. Now it resembled a brightly burning torch, and despite the cooling enchantment of his tattoo, Aoth shrank back slightly from the fierce radiant heat.

  “I feel the power in it.” The primate rose and brandished the torch in an experimental manner. “What exactly does it do?”

  “I’ll show you,” said Szass Tam, rising, “using these targets.”

  He waved his hand to indicate the entities now occupying one corner of the room. Aoth hadn’t noticed them materializing either, nor had he sensed any telltale fluctuation of magical forces in his vicinity. Nymia caught her breath in surprise, or alarm.

  One of the creatures was a zombielike “dread warrior,” an undead soldier still possessed of the martial skills it had mastered in life, its eyes aglow with yellow phosphorescence. The other was some sort of ghost, a bluish transparent shape that flowed and warped from one moment to the next. Its face flickered repeatedly from wholeness to raw, bleeding ruin, as if an invisible knife were cutting away the nose, lips, and eyes in turn. Aoth assumed the display reprised agonies the spirit had suffered while alive.

  After his recent experiences, he felt an unreasoning urge to lash out at the undead things with his spells before they could strike at him, but in point of fact, they weren’t moving to menace anyone. Szass Tam’s magic evidently caged them where they were.

  Iphegor gave the lich a glower. “People aren’t supposed to be able to translate anything in or out of the temple without my consent.”

  “I apologize if it seemed disrespectful,” said Szass Tam. “Perhaps later on Lallara can help you improve your wards.” As zulkir of Abjuration, as protective magic was called, she was presumably well suited to the task. “For now, though, shall we proceed with our demonstration?”

  “All right.” The high priest extended his arm, aiming the baton as if it were a wizard’s wand or a handheld crossbow. “I assume I point the fiery end
at the object of my displeasure.”

  “Yes. Now focus. Place yourself in the proper frame of mind to cast a spell or chastise undead through sheer force of faith, but you aren’t actually going to expend any of your own power. You’re simply going to release a measure of what’s stored in the rod.”

  Iphegor snorted. “I do know how to employ a talisman.”

  “Of course. When you’re ready, the trigger word is ‘Burn.’”

  “Burn,” Iphegor repeated.

  Dazzling flame exploded from the end of the torch to engulf the captive undead. When the flare died a heartbeat later, they were gone as well. The burst had reduced the dread warrior to wisps of ash, while the phantom left no tangible residue whatsoever.

  “Impressive,” Iphegor conceded.

  “Thank you,” Szass Tam replied. “The discharge is a mixture of fire and that pure essence of light and life which is poison to undead creatures, and I guarantee you, the Burning Braziers will be able to invoke it as required, even if other magic fails.”

  “There will still be a significant element of danger, and you still need to give me an adequate reason to put Kossuth’s servants in harm’s way.”

  “Concern for the common folk who need your help?” Yaphyll suggested, grinning.

  Judging from her scowl, Lallara found the high priest’s recalcitrance less amusing. “Szass Tam already offered to exempt your followers from the mandate to surrender their dead.”

  “True, that’s something,” the fire priest said, “and so are these torches, which, I assume, the Braziers will keep even when the threat is past. Still, if I’m to throw in with you and earn the enmity of Thrul and his party, I need more.”

  “It seems to me,” said Szass Tam, “that you’re getting it. As we seek ascendancy over our fellow zulkirs, don’t you aspire to make the worship of Kossuth the primary faith in the realm?”