Undead hl-2

by Richard Lee Byers

  Lauzoril inclined his head as if to convey approval. "I suppose the evokers will hold an election."

  Nevron snorted. "They can try."

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  6-11 Marpenoth, the Year of Blue Fire

  It gladdened Szass Tam to see the gates in the high black walls of Bezantur standing open, and the banners of the Order of Necromancy flying from the spires that rose above. He had a sudden foolish urge to spur his infernal steed with its jet black coat, iron hooves, and red eyes, gallop ahead of his army, and enter the city immediately.

  It wasn't an entirely mad idea. According to his scouts and seers, no one was left in the city with the will and the power to have any chance of harming him. But he was going to rule Thay in years to come. It would be politic to start out by entering the realm's greatest city with the pomp appropriate to the new "regent."

  So he took the time to organize a procession, while his officers chafed at the delay, and he derived a bit of secret amusement from their restlessness. They believed he was wasting precious time, but that was because they didn't understand just how much mystical strength the Black Hand had given him.

  He'd already expended a goodly portion of it, and the rest had begun to slip away as he'd known it would. But he fancied he had enough left to bring his war to a satisfactory conclusion.

  When everything was ready, he marched his army into the city with Malark Springhill, Homen Odesseiron, and Azhir Kren riding in places of honor just behind him. The streets echoed to the deafening chants that kept the blood orcs striding in unison, and to the huzzahs of the folk who lined the streets and leaned out of windows to wave little red flags and cheer for him.

  Sometimes the cheering faltered, and when it swelled again, it had a forced quality to it. Szass Tam suspected that happened when the crowd caught sight of some particularly hideous or uncanny-looking horror, even though he hadn't put a great many of his most alarming servants on display. Some were too gigantic to pass easily through the streets, some were invisible in the afternoon sunlight, and others had to hide from it lest it sear them from existence. Still, enough remained to daunt even a populace that had long ago accustomed itself to the fact that demons and undead served in the ranks of its armies.

  Or perhaps the carrion stink of all the dread warriors and ghouls packed together was making people sick to their stomachs.

  In any case, Szass Tam was realist enough to understand that few, if any of these supposed well wishers, had yearned to see him crush his rivals, although it was likely a number had prayed for someone to win and bring the long war to an end. They were cheering to convince him they'd only served the council because they had no choice, and therefore it would be pointless for their new overlord to punish them.

  Comprehending their true motives didn't vex him. He enjoyed the moment because it was a symbol of his victory. He didn't need Bezantur to love him.

  Triumphal processions through the city traditionally entered through the northeast gate, followed a circuitous route that took them past the major temples and Red Wizard bastions, and terminated in the plaza north of the Central Citadel. Szass Tam adhered to the custom and found Zekith Shezim waiting to greet him. His eyes and the jagged patterns of his tattooing as dark as his gauntlet and vestments, the high priest of Bane advanced, kneeled, and proffered a ring of iron keys.

  They should properly have been keys to the Central Citadel, but Szass Tam, who'd seen the genuine items before, albeit not for ten years, recognized that they weren't. His enemies had probably taken all the real ones when they fled.

  No matter. This little ceremony was like the acclamation of the crowd. He could appreciate it for what it was.

  He took the keys and said, "Thank you. Now stand, Your Omniscience, and rest assured, a bow will suffice in the future."

  Zekith rose stiffly. "Thank you, Your Omnipotence."

  Szass Tam smiled. "It occurs to me that I may need a new title. Every zulkir is 'Your Omnipotence.' "

  "On the other hand," Malark said, "you're the only one left."

  "Not yet," said Szass Tam, "but with luck, soon."

  Zekith took a deep breath. "Master, I apologize. I tried to burn the fleet as you directed, but it didn't work out."

  "It's all right," Szass Tam said. "When one arrow misses, you shoot another, and happily, my quiver isn't empty yet. Now, I need someone to govern this place. Would you like to be autharch of Bezantur, with more honors to come if you do a good job?"

  "I would."

  "Then you'll need these." Szass Tam handed back the keys. "Well, not really, but one good piece of mummery deserves another."

  "Yes, Your Omnipotence."

  "Your first task will be to see to the needs of my troops. Many have requirements and appetites that the citizens of Bezantur may find objectionable. But I want my warriors strong and satisfied that their commander takes good care of them. Up to a point, that means making sure no one interferes with them as they pursue their pleasures, but it would also be nice if the city was still standing tomorrow morning. Do you follow?"

  "Yes, Master. I can strike the proper balance."

  "Then I leave the matter in your hands. My captains and I are going to look at the harbor." He, Malark, the two tharchions, and an escort rode in that direction.

  The waterfront still smelled of smoke, and small fires flickered here and there. The major conflagrations had reduced the vessels in dry dock to black, flaking shells, ready to crumble at a touch. The piers had burned until whatever remained of the walkways collapsed into the sea. Only the support posts remained, sticking up out of the waves.

  Malark smiled a crooked smile. "I'm afraid there isn't much harbor left to look at."

  Azhir glared at him. "Is that how you acquired your reputation for cleverness? By stating the obvious?"

  Szass Tam had already noticed that the tharchion of Gauros resented his newfound amity with a man, who, until recently, had been one of their most troublesome foes. He wished he could convince her that Malark had no interest in usurping her position. Unfortunately, she scarcely would have found an honest explanation of the spymaster's interests reassuring.

  "Is this it, then?" Homen asked. He, too, disliked Malark, but he'd always been more adept at masking his emotions. "I don't see so much as a serviceable rowboat. I suppose we could march west to Thassalen. We might find ships there. But even if the autharch lets us into the city without a fight, by that time, the council will be far away."

  "We aren't going to Thassalen," Szass Tam said. He turned to one of the mounted guards. "Tell my wizards to attend me." The warrior saluted and pounded off, his horse's hooves drumming on the pavement.

  The mages were no doubt weary from so many days of travel, but they had the good sense to come running. Szass Tam called the necromancers forward and positioned them so as to define the vertices of a complex mystic sigil. Then he took his place at the center.

  He summoned a staff made of the fused bones of drowned men, bound with gold salvaged from sunken ships, into his withered hands. He hadn't had occasion to use the rod in over two hundred years, but perceived immediately that it was as potent as ever. He could feel the force inside it pulsing slow and steady as a line of rumbling breakers pounding at a shore.

  He linked his consciousness to that of his subordinates. He chanted words of power, and they chorused the responses.

  The feeble sunlight faded until it seemed that dusk had arrived early. The air grew cold. Then gray, shriveled heads bobbed to the surface of the harbor as sailors who'd fallen overboard and swimmers who'd ventured too far from shore responded to the necromancers' call. There were scores of them in view, and Szass Tam could sense still others, too far out to be visible but waiting to serve him nonetheless.

  Meanwhile, memories of ancient pain and hatred woke in the ooze on the sea floor, and there they would shelter until true night fell. But then, they too would slither forth to do his bidding.

  When he'd summoned and bound all he could, Szass Tam
changed his incantations and the ritual passes that accompanied them, altering the net that was his magic to gather a different catch. Before, he'd fished for the festering stains left by the deaths of men. Now he trawled for echoes of the extinctions of beasts.

  The rotting carcass of a kraken shifted its tentacles and swam upward from the seabed. The bones of a colossal eel tumbled and slid through slime to reassemble its skeleton. Mad with the need for vengeance on wyrm slayers who were long since dust, the ghost of a sea dragon roared, and although no one standing beside the ruined docks could see or hear it, people cringed and cried out nonetheless.

  Szass Tam lowered his staff. When the ferrule touched the ground, he suddenly felt so weak that he leaned on the instrument.

  It was unexpected. Liches were supposed to be immune to fatigue. But this wasn't ordinary weariness. He truly was nearing the end of the Black Hand's gift of power, and he realized that once it was gone, he'd be weaker than normal for a time. Perhaps it took a portion of his own strength to contain Bane's energies safely until required, and then turn them to their proper purpose.

  He was glad the weakness lasted only a moment. It was poor practice for a lord to allow his vassals to catch him looking vulnerable.

  "You've raised a fair number of drowned men and dead sea creatures," Malark called. "But not enough, I think, to destroy the council's fleet."

  "I'm not done," Szass Tam said.

  He dismissed his necromancers. They were too spent to assist any further. Then he called forth any other sorcerers capable of helping with his next effort, which was to say, every Red Wizard who'd defected from the order Mythrellan and Dmitra had commanded in their turns, and anyone else possessing a working knowledge of the same discipline.

  He arranged them in a different pattern, then switched the bone staff for one made of moonlight, shadow, shimmering desert air, and fancies plucked from a madman's mind, all bound together. He led his assistants in another series of elaborate, contrapuntal invocations.

  Darkness swirled on the water. By degrees, it sculpted itself into solid shapes and froze into solidity, until it became a fleet of warships floating at anchor, their hulls and sails black with scarlet trim and accents.

  Szass Tam grinned at Malark, Homen, and Azhir. "I realize we didn't make enough vessels to carry the entire army. But, with the warriors we can take onboard, the ones who'll swim alongside, and those who can fly, do you think we now have sufficient strength to sink our foes?"

  Homen smiled. "Your Omnipotence, I believe we do."

  The world tilted and spun. Szass Tam staggered. This time, if he was to remain upright, he had to lean heavily on his staff, and not just for a moment either. He growled a word of power whose virtue was to lend stamina to a flagging body and clarity to a beleaguered mind, and his dizziness abated.

  Malark, Azhir, and Homen all ran to him, the fleet-footed former monk outdistancing the others. Despite his chagrin at having his appearance of majesty compromised, Szass Tam felt touched by what at least gave the impression of genuine concern. It warmed him in a way that all the cheering in the streets had not, and reminded him that the future, glorious as it would be, would come at a certain poignant cost.

  "Are you all right?" Malark asked.

  "I'm fine," Szass Tam said.

  "Maybe you should rest."

  "No. Perhaps I'll want to by and by, but for now, I'm more than strong enough to do what needs doing. Which is raise a storm at sea to slow the council's flight. Our fine new ships, zombie sea serpents, and what have you won't do us any good if we can't catch our quarry."

  He turned, scrutinized the sorcerers who waited to assist him, and called forth those with power over the weather.

  Whenever Thessaloni Canos looked around the deck of Samas Kul's floating seraglio, she had to suppress a sneer. She hated the lewd gilded carvings, the companionways broad and easy to negotiate as any staircase on land, and every other detail where the shipwrights had forsaken spare, efficient utility in favor of luxury and opulent display.

  But the ridiculous vessel seemed to have become a flagship of sorts. Samas had entertained his fellow zulkirs onboard shortly after setting sail, and that had put them in the habit of gathering here to confer. Thessaloni simply had to make the best of it.

  With her trident dangling in her hand, she waited for the magelords to arrive, prowling the decks and trying to look past the ship's annoying toys and fripperies and determine how her captain ought to handle her in a fight. How nimbly could the ship maneuver, and how many archers could stand and shoot from the forecastle?

  Meanwhile, Aoth Fezim, who'd carried her to the ship on the back of his griffon, descended to the galley, procured two hams, and watched with his luminous blue eyes as his steed snapped them down. Sailors watched, too, curious but keeping their distance as if they feared the beast might eat them next. Cold drizzle spattered down from a charcoal-colored sky, and the sea was choppy. The wind moaned out of the west.

  The archwizards all appeared within a few heartbeats of one another. Samas crept on deck looking pale, shaky, and unshaven, as if he'd had a difficult night and had only just risen from his berth. Lauzoril and Lallara simply popped out of nowhere, and Nevron arrived riding a creature resembling a gigantic two-headed canary. When he dismounted, the thing turned into yellow vapor, which flowed into a brass ring on his left hand like steam retreating back into a kettle.

  Aoth approached the zulkirs, came to attention, and saluted. Thessaloni climbed down from the bow and did the same. "Masters," she said.

  Lallara looked Samas up and down, smirked, and said, "Aren't you treating us to another lavish breakfast this morning? More pork loin with green pepper sauce, perhaps? I do hope that enormous belly isn't queasy."

  The transmuter scowled at her. "I hope you know how much I despise you."

  "I do. It lifts my spirits whenever I think of it."

  "We didn't come here for bickering and japes." Lauzoril turned to Thessaloni. "What's our situation?"

  "I'll let Captain Fezim tell you," Thessaloni replied. "He and his men are the ones who've been aloft this morning, scouting."

  The short, burly legionnaire cleared his throat. "We lost three ships, either because the storm sank them or because it blew them so far away that we can't locate them."

  Nevron shrugged. A smell of smoke and burning clung to him. Thessaloni had first met him aboard a ship under her command, and she recalled how the odor had alarmed her until she realized where it originated. "Three isn't so bad," the conjuror said.

  "I agree," Thessaloni said, "but you haven't heard everything yet."

  "The storm damaged a number of ships," said Aoth, "and the crews are making repairs. I'm no mariner, but I'll try to give you the details if you want them.

  "The bad weather scattered the fleet as well. It will take some time for it to gather back together. But the really bad news is that the necromancers are chasing us. Somehow, they put their own fleet in the water. They've also got undead sea creatures swimming among their vessels, and skin kites and such flying above them."

  "Damn Szass Tam!" Nevron snarled. "Can we make it to the Alaor before he catches up with us?"

  "No," Thessaloni said. "The storm blew us east of the islands. The necromancers would intercept us en route."

  "I thought we brought the priesthood of Umberlee along with us," Lallara said. "Someone remind me, what use are they, if they can't bend the wind and the tides to our advantage?"

  "You Masters obviously comprehend mystical matters far better than I," Thessaloni said, "but as I understand it, Szass Tam's spellcasters are still wrestling with ours for control of the weather, and at the moment, the enemy is having more success than we are."

  Lauzoril cocked his head. "Could Szass Tam catch us if we headed farther east and south?"

  Thessaloni felt a stab of annoyance at the obvious tenor of his thought and did her best to mask her feelings. "Possibly not, Your Omnipotence. Not soon, anyway."

  "But then
what?" Lallara asked. "Do we beg for sanctuary in Mulhorand? Do you imagine they love us there, and will give us estates to rule? I think I can guarantee you a chillier reception. We have to reach the Alaor and the colony cities and confirm our mastery of them if we're to have any sort of lives at all."

  Thessaloni had never liked Lallara. Why would anyone feel fondness for a woman who went out of her way to be waspish and obnoxious? But she liked her now.

  Samas articulated the logical corollary to Lallara's observation. "If that's still our objective, then we need to fight. Can we win?"

  "Yes," Thessaloni said.

  Lauzoril gave her a skeptical frown. "You seem very sure of yourself."

  "I am." It was an exaggeration, but she'd long ago learned that few things were more useless than a captain who dithered and hedged. "Masters, with all respect, over the years I've built you the best navy in eastern Faerыn. Perhaps you've forgotten, because, the Bitch Goddess knows, for the past decade the fleet has had little to do. You've been fighting a land war, and our only tasks have been to intercept smugglers trying to convey supplies and mercenaries to Szass Tam, and to discourage raiders hoping to take advantage of the weakness of a Thay divided against itself."

  She smiled. "But by the Bitch's fork, it's a sea war now, and your sailors are eager to prove their mettle. We don't care what fearsome powers Szass Tam possesses, or how many orcs, zombies, and whatnots are riding on his black ships. They're landlubbers, and we're anything but. Give me leave to direct the battle as I see fit, and I promise you victory."

  The zulkirs exchanged glances, and then Samas smiled. "That makes me feel a little better."

  When she sensed that the sun was gone, Tammith arose from the hold to find the griffon riders trying to saddle their mounts. The beasts were skittish, fractious, and liable to screech and even snap. They were creatures of mountain and hill, and according to Brightwing's grumbling as translated by Aoth, they didn't like the crowding, the rolling deck, the expanses of water to every side, or any other aspect of the sea voyage.