Naglatha could see her other bodyguard, similarly outfitted, kept his station in the doorway, however, and did not enter the room. Milos Longreach had served his mistress for many years, and he knew better than to enter into her presence unless the danger was real, or if she beckoned him. Naglatha smiled at his wisdom and knew she could trust his ability to wield his massive scimitar if truly needed. She turned her attention to the other and sighed in resignation.
Heraclos the Quick was a relatively recent addition to Naglatha’s stable. The previous “eunuch,” who had served her well and longer than Milos, had met an untimely accident a few years back, and Naglatha had been forced to find a replacement. Heraclos had come somewhat recommended with the caveat that he needed breaking. Naglatha accepted his service, sure she could master him quickly. Unfortunately for both of them, Heraclos bore more than a few scars from her efforts at training.
“What brings you into my chamber,” she demanded, “unbidden and unwashed?”
Heraclos slowly approached her bed and lowered himself to one knee. “Mistress,” he offered, “I feared for your safety.”
Naglatha made a show of investigating the ornate and obviously empty room before she turned her gaze back to the guard. “Explain yourself,” she ordered.
With the color slowly rising to his cheeks, Heraclos said, “My lady, in my few years of service, I have never known you to fall asleep at mid-day. And so soundly, too,” he added. “I know you must be weary. We made the journey back here from Selgaunt in record time, but still, when you did not answer the first of my knocks, I wondered what had happened.” He lowered his head after that and awaited his mistress’s punishment. He did not have to wait long.
Naglatha pulled back her bed sheets, swung her legs to the floor and withdrew a long, thin rapier she had secreted next to her. While still seated on the bed, she placed the tip of the sword under her servant’s chin and raised his face with it until she caught his eye.
“You will never,” she said vehemently, “enter this chamber unless you have just cause to suspect my immediate peril.” The rapier made a thin hiss in the air as she sliced Heraclos up his left cheek. “Do you understand?” she questioned him in a deadly whisper.
A second hiss and blood flowed down his right cheek as well.
“Yes, Mistress,” he answered submissively.
“Good,” she smiled at him. “Now go and clean up. And,” she added, “do not return until I summon you.”
“Yes, my lady,” he replied and left the chamber swiftly.
Naglatha sighed and reached over to the end of the bed, where she had carelessly tossed her robe before she had lain down for her brief nap. She slipped the rich garment over her and savored the feel of the scarlet material against her bare shoulders. Only in private did she don the clothing that marked her true station as a Red Wizard. Most of her time was spent in clandestine service of her fellow wizards, and her identity had to remain a secret. That was one of the reasons she had not shaved her head in true Thayan fashion, nor sported any visible tattoos as did many for ornamentation and protection. The other reason she did not cut her hair was because Naglatha reveled in its heavy weight and ebony color. Her hair was so black that it actually glinted blue in the right light. She was proud of her mane.
She put her arms in the air and let her head fall back, stretching the muscles along her neck and spine like a cat. When she straightened, she moved over to the heavy drapes and threw them open. Bright sunlight streamed through. Naglatha was loathe to admit to her servant that he was right: she normally didn’t sleep while the sun still rode high in the sky. Then again, she had never had to return so quickly from Sembia to Thay before. She padded barefoot over to the large desk she had requested from the innkeeper to review her plans.
On one of the two chairs by the desk was a small bag. Naglatha began to empty the contents onto the writing table. As she rifled through her own belongings, she mused once again how she hated travel. Working out of Sembia and Thay was not bothersome in and of itself, only moving between the two cities and staying at inns along the way was. She longed for the comforts of her own homes, not the impersonal possessions of someone else, no matter how expensive they might be.
Naglatha removed a folded black robe. Like her red one, this cloak was also decadently soft and sumptuous. A matching mask with a strange, red insignia followed. She placed both items carefully on one of the chairs. She regarded the pile and, after a second thought, passed her hand over the collection. The robe and mask disappeared from sight, cloaked in an illusion that made them look like part of the chair. Naglatha pulled out a bundle of letters, neatly tied up. She dropped the empty satchel to the floor and sat down on that chair, untying the missives and spreading them out carefully on the wooden desk.
Most unusual was the correspondence at the top. The insignia on it was that of two clasped hands, one human and one skeletal: the mark of the Zulkir of Necromancy, Szass Tam. Naglatha traced the design with one hand and propped up her head with the other. It was this message that had caused her to pack her belongings and make the mad dash back to Thay. A few Red Wizards knew of the presence of a secret, recruiting agent in Selgaunt by the name of The Black Flame. However, the Zulkir of Necromancy and the former chief of foreign activities, Alzegund the Trader, were the only two who knew Naglatha’s true identity and understood the nature of her business there. With Alzegund dead nine years now, Szass Tam was the only one who could find her wherever she was in Selgaunt.
She read the note over again, still somewhat in shock. Szass Tam had called a meeting in the Thaymount region. What was nearly unheard of was that he had invited all the tharchions and zulkirs who were available to attend the impromptu assembly. The numbers were startling, and the fact that the lich would ask all these Red Wizards to abandon their seats of power, no matter for how short a time, was historic. There was no way Naglatha could refuse, just as she knew no one else would either, regardless of the temporary cost and the outward protests they made.
Just what are you planning, old lich, she wondered, and why?
Shaking her head, Naglatha replaced the note on the desk and sifted through the others. Some were letters sent directly to her, and some were notes that had been intercepted or stolen outright by her extensive network of spies and thieves. She had taken on the mantle of chief of foreign activities very seriously and with an aggressiveness never shown by her predecessor, Alzegund the Trader. Perhaps that was why, she often supposed, that no one looked too closely into the causes of his deadly “accident” and her sudden opportunity for advancement. Everyone, herself most of all, was pleased at the change.
She opened a small, worn register that contained the names of the Thayans who held positions of note within the borders of Thay. Naglatha had made a careful tally of each person’s rank, and beside their name was one of three marks. The symbols, whose code was known only to her, signified whether that particular tharchion or zulkir was loyal, disloyal, or undecided in regards to Szass Tam. A few remained guardedly neutral and were, therefore, questionable to Naglatha. She suspected some of them would only too gladly go over to the most powerful side of the moment if the scales were tipped.
One communiqué that stood out amongst the many was a brief note from Tharchion Azhir Kren of Gauros to Tharchion Homen Odesseiron in Surthay. Naglatha unconsciously shook her head in amazement when she thought of Homen Odesseiron. She had never in her life known of anyone who had willing stepped down from the rank of Red Wizard, but he had—and he had survived. He made little secret that he preferred to spend his time maintaining and drilling a sizeable army of his own rather than maintain his spells and magics. Many knew of his hatred of Rashemen, but the tharchion did not reach his advanced age by chance. He was careful to always openly support Szass Tam’s policy of trade over war and did nothing to draw the lich’s attention or ire upon himself. But a few knew full well that Homen Odesseiron did not believe in the path of commerce the Zulkir of Necromancy was leading Tha
y down. And no one knew this better than Tharchion Azhir Kren.
Situated in the forbidding and desolate pine forest wilderness and ruined towers of Gauros, Azhir Kren was restless for battle. As an accomplished general, she looked for any excuse, short of manufacturing one, to lead Szass Tam’s formidable troops against Rashemen. And Naglatha knew she was nearing the point where a fabricated slight against her was not out of the question. Both she and Homen Odesseiron felt as though they had been denied the prosperity that Szass Tam’s plan had brought to many of the other Red Wizards and leaders. The letter Naglatha held in her hands was full of anger and dissatisfaction. Both tharchions felt they were no longer as powerful as they had been when Thay was more aggressive in its conquests, and both felt that an invasion was the only way they could restore their power bases. Both believed open conquest was for the overall good of Thay as well.
Naglatha ran her finger down her columns. Though it appeared that there were more friends than foes of Szass Tam on parchment, scraps of information had trickled down to Naglatha that indicated more than a few of the lich’s allies might be swayed or were already on the fence. Even amongst his supporters, there was dissension. Word had come to Naglatha that Tharchion Invarri Metran of Delhumide was fearful of a Rashemen invasion. And Naglatha knew full well what fear could drive one to do. Then there was Tharchion Dimon of Tyraturos. Loyal to Szass Tam, he had become disillusioned with his faith and had recently embraced the Black Lord.
If he could lose his faith, Naglatha pondered, how hard would it be for him to lose his allegiance?
It was also no secret that there had been a falling out between the lich and Zulkir Mythrell’aa. She declared her neutrality, but Naglatha suspected she would be secretly pleased to be an instrument of the necromancer’s downfall if a plan looked like it could succeed. And Tharchion Dmitra Flass was so enamored with herself and her husband that she rarely concerned herself with anything that happened outside the walls of the city that once imprisoned the demon-king Eltab.
When it comes right down to it, she mused to herself, Szass Tam was walking a fine line. How much would it really require now to knock him down?
Naglatha piled the parchments together and rubbed her eyes tiredly. She was more exhausted than she cared to acknowledge. But even though her body failed her at the moment, her mind was racing. It had been many years since Naglatha had dreamed of the birth of Thay. With all that she had been planning lately, she took the dream as a sign of things to come. She threw back her aching shoulders and shrugged off her fatigue. Now was the time for action as events aligned themselves. As a member of both the School of Illusion and Divination, Naglatha took her dreams very seriously, as they often contained portents of future events.
She was never more certain of that than she was at this moment.
Masking her stolen communiqués much in the same manner she had the disguise of The Black Flame, Naglatha moved from the desk over to the more conventional wardrobe. Opening it, she regarded the huge selection of her clothes, all neatly arranged by type and style. Each garment had been carefully straightened after her long journey. Like her hair, this was another of the Red Wizard’s vanities. In fact, she wouldn’t even let her two servants attend to her wardrobe, save to carry her trunks into the room. Naglatha wanted no one to touch the things closest to her body. After a moment’s consideration, she pulled out a fresh tunic and pants, made from the finest spun linen and as light as a feather. While the weather of Selgaunt had still been a trifle blustery and cool, it all changed predictably when she had crossed back over into Thay. One of the reasons the country remained so fertile and kept the local granaries fat and close to bursting was the machinations of the Red Wizards. Working in tandem was the biggest problem Naglatha could see them suffer from, but they had united long enough to spin a delicate web of spells that let the mild rains fall during the night, and kept the days warm but not uncomfortable. Perfect conditions for farming and pleasant for most day-to-day activities, she mused. Neighboring Thesk paid for Thay’s comfort with tempestuous turns in their own weather, but this did not concern the Red Wizards overly much; Thesk’s climate was not their problem.
Naglatha dressed carefully, keeping her colors bland and her jewelry to a bare minimum. She could not shake the feeling that something important was going to occur today, and she did not want to call attention to herself. She wanted to blend in and observe, as she was so good at doing in Selgaunt.
When she was properly attired and coiffed, a process that took nearly an hour, Naglatha called for her two bodyguards. Silently, the men entered, and she could tell immediately that they had bathed and changed their garments per her orders. They knew better than to ignore her demands. But she preferred not to acknowledge that.
“I thought I made myself quite clear earlier,” she cast a pointed glare at Heraclos, “that I wanted you to be clean.” He looked down at his thin cotton trousers, tunic and robe for any stain or smudges and—finding neither that nor a garment askew—then looked back at her.
Naglatha enjoyed playing with him. She sauntered over and was even more pleased when he took a slight step back at her approach. She raised her hand to his cheeks and traced the path of his newest injury. She pulled her finger back and held it in front of his face. The pad of her index finger was red, and a single ruby drop dangled there. Naglatha brought it to her lips and licked her finger clean.
“Please do better next time,” she warned him with a wicked smile.
“Yes, mistress,” he replied and lowered his eyes.
“Now then,” she addressed them both, eager to leave. “We cannot spend all day lounging about. Have you scouted out the locations I told you to?”
“Yes, lady,” Milos replied. “A few of the taverns have changed hands since we were last here. I don’t think the Weeping Slave will have what you are searching for as its clientele have run decidedly downhill,” he added. He turned to Heraclos, and Naglatha could see that Milos was giving him a chance to gain back some favor in his mistress’s eyes. Naglatha was always surprised with Milos’ desire to grant second chances. She was certain that quality would be the end of him one day, and she dreaded having to break in yet another replacement.
“He is correct, Madame,” Heraclos added, sounding eager to redeem himself. “That place caters to the lowest sort, mostly drunks and cripples, and they would be of no use. I think you would be well advised to check both Laeril’s Arms and The Black Unicorn.”
“Really?” she drawled. “And why is that?”
“It seems that Tharchion Nymia Focar has raised the price of her little venture, and it’s attracting sturdier, more adventurous types into Thay,” he finished, seemingly pleased to have that bit of information to give her.
Naglatha was silent for a moment. She was well aware that the tharchions from here, Surthay, Gauros and Thazalhar had believed that there might exist a secret passage—buried somewhere in the nearby mountains—that led to the Endless Wastes beyond. Most thought it was only a foolish dream; not even a legend. Obviously, if such a passage did exist, trade might be diverted from the Golden Way, and whoever held that information would be powerful indeed. But Naglatha thought they had abandoned the search. If Nymia Focar was offering another reward, then she must have discovered a new piece of information. The woman loved the clink of coins and hated to part with them unless absolutely necessary or unless there was a sure thing. Naglatha decided this would bear watching, but also felt that the influx of outsiders here in Pyrados was most fortuitous. One more bit of information that Naglatha took as a favorable sign.
“Well then,” she told her servants, “I’m suddenly very thirsty. Let’s be on our way.”
As she motioned to the eunuchs and followed them out, Naglatha felt her pulse quicken.
Today is the day, she thought to herself, more certain than ever.
Later That Afternoon
Tazi sipped at her ale. As was her habit, she had managed to secure a table toward the back of the t
avern. The strategy afforded her two things: a certain amount of privacy and the ability to observe almost everyone else in the room. It was something she picked up from the man she could only think of as her mentor; there was no other word to describe him adequately. She had learned many lessons in her life and most had come at a cost. However, Tazi valued all of them. For only having lived twenty-four years, she had already paid a high price for her life.
Located on the outskirts of Pyrados, the tavern catered mostly to outsiders like her. Tazi, who had secured a room upstairs after her return from the Sunrise Mountains, had spent little time in Thay proper and was now eager to return home. When she arrived in the country, she only lingered in the city long enough to obtain the appropriate permits for her foray into the mountains. Tazi hadn’t wanted to pay, but she had received information from a reliable source that her trip would go that much smoother if she played by the rules. She had grudgingly handed over a fee that was practically thievery in itself for the authorization. But Tazi had passed through the garrison stationed in the foothills of the Sunrise Mountains with little trouble once she showed them her officially endorsed traveling permit.
“Coin always smoothes the way,” her father had liked to say. Sometimes he had been right.
Since returning, Tazi had packed away her woolen mountaineering clothes for more familiar ones. Upon entering Pyrados, the mild temperatures made her other attire heavy, itchy and unnecessary. She now sported snug black pants with a matching vest, and boots laced up to her calves—all made from the finest leathers. Her hair hung loose, brushing her shoulders. She left her arms bare but wore short gloves and an armband that had her favorite lock pick secreted inside. From a wealthy family, Tazi only dressed like this in the seediest quarters around Selgaunt. Where she found herself now fit that bill adequately. Surreptitiously peering over the rim of her mug, Tazi scanned the room and its patrons.
The Crimson Gold Page 5
