"No, because while they have some experience of war, it isn't their trade but yours. Show them you believe that matters, and they will too, even if they don't like to admit it."
She took a breath. "All right."
He flashed her a grin. "Good! Then I'll leave you to it. I have to see to the folk who don't fling fire and frost around." By that, she knew, he meant that now that both Aoth and the zulkirs were gone, he intended to shuffle the battle lines. The least reliable or ably led of the archmages' troops would stand with seasoned sellswords to steady them if need be, and also stand in less critical positions. Fortunately, the past several tendays had given him time to assess which portions of the allied army were weak, and he'd done it just as automatically as he kept track of everything else on campaign.
His mail shirt rustling, he turned and tramped away. She walked toward the waiting wizards. "Sorry to keep you waiting," she said. "But Khouryn needed to speak to me."
"What I want to know," said a Red Wizard, "is why we need to speak to you." The dagger embroidered on his cloak indicated that he was one of Lauzoril's subordinates. "Do you think it's your place to command us?"
"Someone has to lead," she replied, "if we're to cast our spells to their best effect."
"But why you?" he demanded.
She gave them Khouryn's argument. "Because I spend the better part of every year at war, and our leader needs the wisdom that only comes from such experience."
A sharp-featured woman, the collar of her blood-colored cape bearing the chain-and-manacle patch that was one of Nevron's emblems, pushed to the front of the crowd. "Every Red Wizard learns how to fight," she said.
That set them all clamoring in agreement. Jhesrhi winced at the vehemence of their rejection.
It made her want to back down, especially since she had no particular desire to command them anyway. But she'd promised Khouryn, and even more important, despite herself, she suspected he was right: she likely was the best person for the job.
So she sought for a way to maintain her composure and inner calm, and as a means to that end, observed how very alike the Red Wizards were with their hairless heads, pasty Mulan faces, and voluminous scarlet garments flapping around on their lanky arms and legs. In fact, they reminded her of a flock of agitated flamingos.
Amused by the comparison, she let them squawk, and during the course of it, an idea came to her. She bowed her head and raised a hand as if in surrender, and, expecting words as submissive as her posture, the Red Wizards gradually fell silent.
She didn't disappoint them. "All right," she said. "I can't lead if you won't follow. But we all know someone must command. So who among you volunteers?"
Aoth had told her Red Wizards were ambitious, and as she'd hoped, nine of them spoke up and stepped forward as one. They kept right on talking at the same time too, louder and louder until they were shouting, and their supporters were yelling along with them.
This time, Jhesrhi wasn't the focus of the rancor, and so she had to resort to stronger measures to recapture everyone's attention. She tapped her toe, and the ground beneath her amplified that tiny bump into a jolt that sent the others staggering like vermilion insects crawling on a drumhead. A couple of wizards fell on their rumps.
"Sorry," she said, making no effort to sound sincere. "But maybe now you see the problem with one of you taking charge. None of you senior Red Wizards will allow one of your peers to claim the role. You're afraid he'll parlay it into some sort of permanent ascendancy. But with me, you don't have that problem. I'm not a member of your hierarchy or even a citizen of the Wizard's Reach. I'm just a sellsword, and when the zulkirs' contract with Captain Fezim expires, I'll vanish down the road."
"You know," said a man in the back of the crowd, "Nevron does seem to think well of her. I mean, to the extent that he thinks well of anyone."
"She's got power," said another wizard. "I've seen it before, and she just demonstrated it again. And we can't take all day arguing and politicking. We have to make a choice before Szass Tam's troops show up."
"That," said Jhesrhi, "is the most sensible thing anyone's said so far. So: let me be your leader for this one battle or at least until the zulkirs and Captain Fezim return."
The assembled mages stood silent for a moment. Then the one who'd spoken first glowered at her and said, "If that's the limit of your authority, then I can tolerate it."
"And I," said someone else. The rest either grumbled their assent or at least raised no further protest.
"Thank you for your trust," Jhesrhi said. "Now, we don't have a lot of time, so let's begin. As you all know, our army took a beating seizing the Dread Ring. The army of Anhaurz is fresh, and there are a lot of them. Still, we have one important advantage: we have four archmages on our side."
Her audience looked at her in puzzlement. The sharp-featured woman in service to Nevron said, "No, we don't. As I understand it, they've abandoned us to go fight Szass Tam himself in the high mountains."
Jhesrhi smiled. "Yes, but the soldiers from Anhaurz don't know that. Apparently their autharch has no qualms about facing the likes of Lallara and Samas Kul, but I doubt that everyone who follows him is equally happy about the prospect.
"So we wizards," she continued, "are going to do everything we can to bolster the enemy's belief that the zulkirs are here and fighting to devastating effect, in the hope that it will shake their resolve. We'll accomplish that in two ways. First, coordinating our efforts, we'll strike as hard and cunningly as we can. Second, we'll employ illusion to give our foes an occasional glimpse of the archmages. I've always heard that some Thayans-in exile or otherwise-are clever at phantasms. If you're one of them, speak up."
For a heartbeat, no one did. Then an older man, also wearing Lauzoril's knife insignia, raised his hand with a seeming diffidence unexpected in a Red Wizard. "Mythrellan was the last truly great illusionist. Szass Tam killed her during the War of the Zulkirs, and the order she led dissolved not long after the Spellplague. Still, some of us have learned as many of its secrets as we could."
"Then I'm sure you can handle the job," Jhesrhi said. "So that's the general idea. Obviously, we need to make more detailed plans, and luckily, we do have a little time. The necromancers and their creatures won't attack before nightfall. But that doesn't mean we have to wait. Before we do anything else, I'd like to give the enemy a small taste of what we-excuse me, the great and terrible zulkirs-mean to do to them when the fight truly begins. A little something to think about as they march the last half mile to the battlefield."
Aoth supposed it had been inevitable that Szass Tam would cause a stir when he emerged from the catacombs with his erstwhile enemies striding along behind him. It seemed unlikely that any of the lich's retainers had ever actually seen a member of that motley band before, but anyone who'd heard tales of gross, waddling Samas Kul in his jeweled robes and burly, sneering Nevron with his tattooed demon faces probably recognized them. From that, it would be easy enough to guess the identities of Lauzoril and Lallara, while Bareris, Mirror, Jet, and Aoth himself looked sufficiently distinctive to attract notice whether an observer knew them or not.
Still, curious as people plainly were, they were even more deferential and scrambled to clear a path for their master. So the strange procession climbed up through the Citadel quickly, with whispered speculation murmuring in its wake.
"I could have shifted-"
Startled, Aoth jerked his head around. An instant ago, or so it seemed to him, Szass Tam had been walking at the front of the parade. Now, somehow, the lich was beside him.
"— us all to the top of the keep," Szass Tam continued, "but my sense is that a little more time won't matter one way or the other, and walking gives you and me a chance to talk." He smiled. "It's also the only chance you'll ever have to watch Samas climb a flight of stairs. Not that it's a pleasant spectacle, especially from the back."
Aoth looked around. None of his allies appeared to notice that Szass Tam was trying to engage him in co
nversation. Not even Jet, despite their mental link.
"I made what's happening seem inconsequential." The necromancer looked at his left hand. The rings vanished from his shriveled fingers, and others appeared a moment later. Evidently he was arming himself for battle. "The enchantment would fail if I tried to strike someone dead or attempted some other violent action, but it should enable us to have a private chat."
Aoth took a breath. "Frankly, Your Omnipotence, I can't imagine what you think we have to 'chat' about. You want to kill everyone, including me. At the moment, circumstances may require us to fight on the same side, but that doesn't mean I've forgotten."
Szass Tam sighed, and Aoth smelled a hint of old decay on the lich's breath. "Plainly, Captain, something prolonged your life. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here."
"The blue fire. Turns out it did more than just sharpen my eyes."
"Ah. Well, if you live as long as Malark and I have, you may come to see what a shabby, unsatisfactory place the world truly is." Szass Tam summoned a silver wand into his hand, considered it, and made it disappear again. "Nothing here is worth preserving, and that includes your current existence and mine. They're shot through with misery, and they're going to end in a little while regardless. Would you scruple to demolish a wretched hovel if you could erect a palace where it stood?"
Aoth snorted. "You can talk all you want about creating a better world, but to me, it looks like what you really crave is to be a god."
"Well, the two goals weren't mutually exclusive." Bracers made of intricately carved bone shimmered into existence on Szass Tam's wrists. "Sadly, however, they have both become unattainable."
"How so?"
"You're a warmage, but I'm sure you know enough about other forms of sorcery to grasp the principle that one must perform great rituals on prepared and purified ground. And that if the magic fails, the wizard must rededicate the circle before trying again."
"Right. I do know that."
"Well, the Unmaking is more powerful by many orders of magnitude than any other ceremony ever conceived, and thus its requirements are even more stringent. If you begin it and something stops you from finishing-as we intend to stop Malark-then no one can ever perform it in that place. It's not possible to dedicate the site a second time."
Aoth studied the lich through narrowed eyes. "And the 'site' is Thay itself? Because the circle defined by the Dread Rings takes in most of the realm?"
Szass Tam inclined his head. "Exactly. So you see, you no longer have to worry about me wiping you and the rest of the East from existence, and you may want to reconsider your allegiance."
Aoth opened his mouth to scorn the suggestion. But then something made him ask, "Why?" instead.
"Isn't it obvious? You deserted from the council's army and took your griffon riders with you. You were actually going to attack the Wizard's Reach at Aglarond's behest until word of my intentions persuaded you to change your plans. You then made common cause with the zulkirs and found you had to demand they treat you as an equal to have any hope of succeeding at your own objectives."
The regent replaced his blackwood staff with one that looked made of the same insubstantial shadowstuff as Mirror. Unlike the solid staff, it didn't tap or thump when the butt came in contact with the floor. "They won't stand for such 'treason' and 'insolence,' Captain. They wouldn't stand for the tenth part of it. They mean to kill you when this is over. If you ever learned to know them at all-or simply caught the look in Nevron's eyes when you dared lay hands on him-you must realize I'm speaking the truth."
From the start, Aoth had feared the zulkirs would ultimately turn on him, but he had seen no choice but to ally with them even so. "Whereas you, on the other hand, were never one to hold a grudge."
Szass Tam chuckled. "You have me there. I've taken my share of revenge. It's satisfying and one of the means by which a person gains and holds power. Yet I think you have a sense that I'm not so petty as these others. I can forgive when it serves my purposes and when a foe has won my respect. Malark is a case in point. He balked me for ten years before switching sides, and I could have punished him after I finally took southern Thay. Instead, I gave him my friendship and raised him high."
"I don't want to be a lord in Thay. I'm happy leading the Brotherhood of the Griffon."
"Then heed me now. I overheard what you whispered to Anskuld, and you're right. Assuming we all survive our clash with Malark, the council will then strike to destroy me. Stand with me, and I'll see to it that you return to your sellswords safely, with enough gold to make every one of them rich. Side with Nevron and the others, and I guarantee that even if I don't kill you, one of them eventually will."
The wind blew out of the east, which meant it was blowing straight in the faces of the advancing soldiers. At first, it was only an annoyance, but it gained strength by the moment and in so doing, picked up stinging, blinding, choking dust.
That last proved magic had raised the gale, not that Chumed Shapret had doubted it before. Generally speaking, Thay was a dry country, but the past few tendays had seen a fair amount of rain. The ground was too muddy for even a powerful wind to strip away so much soil.
A seasoned campaigner, Chumed had long ago learned to carry a kerchief in his saddlebag for situations such as this. He knotted it around the lower half of his face, wished he had a way to keep flying grit out of his eyes as well, turned his destrier, and cantered in search of So-Kehur.
Scuttling along in the vanguard in the form of a huge steel scorpion, the autharch wasn't difficult to locate, even with the streaming brown haze in the air. "Master!" Chumed called.
So-Kehur turned to regard him with the opalescent eyes set in his mask of a face and with others that waved around on tendrils. Chumed suppressed a grimace of distaste. He never liked it when the autharch donned a body with features intended to suggest the essential humanity of what was inside. He suspected that in truth, the grotesque circumstances of So-Kehur's existence had long ago altered him into a being as alien as any devil or ghoul.
"What is it?" So-Kehur asked.
"The enemy raised this wind," Chumed answered.
"Well, obviously. But don't worry. They can't keep it up for long. Especially since I have our own wizards working to quell it."
"That's good to hear. But until they succeed, perhaps we ought to hold our position."
The metal mask didn't change expression, but Chumed could feel his master's displeasure gather like the threat of a storm in the air. Because of his psychic abilities, So-Kehur's emotions were often directly perceptible to others. "That's a bad idea," the autharch said. "The invaders may be trying to slow us down so they can slip away."
"With all respect, Milord, they have nowhere to go. Their backs are to the Lapendrar. The river's high, and they have no boats."
"But if we give them time, they might still find a way to cross. Remember, their leaders are zulkirs, with all the power that implies."
Chumed had by no means forgotten, but to him the fact suggested a need for caution, not for haste. Unfortunately, So-Kehur's ambition to prove himself a master general was coloring his judgment.
That meant it would likely be pointless to argue any further. So-Kehur might even sear Chumed's mind with a burst of psychic fire if he tried. So he simply bowed his head and said, "As you command."
The army trudged onward. The wind howled. Horses neighed in protest, soldiers coughed and complained, and their sergeants and officers bellowed at them to keep moving. When the first screams sounded, Chumed wasn't sure he'd actually heard them over the general din.
The next moment resolved his uncertainty.
Hitherto concealed by the blowing dust and the blur of tears in everyone's eyes, demons abruptly scuttled into view. Big as ogres, armored in chitin and spikes and possessed of enormous pincers, they looked vaguely like huge crabs, and they tore into the front ranks of the marching columns with appalling speed. Their claws nipped men in two. Their horns slashed and pierced.
&nb
sp; Chumed was a soldier, not a wizard, but he'd read a book or two concerning demons in the hope of knowing what he was facing when an enemy mage conjured entities like these onto the battlefield. Thus, he recognized the attacking brutes as nashrou. "You can kill them!" he shouted. "Strike for the gaps in their armor!"
He then cast about and saw that it didn't look as though anyone had heard him. Everything was too noisy and confused.
He cursed. He was no more eager to venture within reach of one of the demons than any of the wretches they were currently tearing apart, but apparently someone needed to demonstrate how to kill them, and sooner rather than later if he hoped to avert a panic.
Off to his right, a nashrou fought a company of blood orcs. The soldiers were game. Roaring their deafening battle cries, they stood their ground and hacked savagely but to no avail. The demon was still ripping them apart.
Chumed couched his lance and spurred his mount into a charge. His steed was a pure-blood horse, not one of the unnatural hybrids many Thayan warriors preferred, but it raced at their hideous target without hesitation.
He wondered if he'd have to knock orcs aside or even trample them to reach the nashrou, but they sensed him coming and scrambled out of his way. Unfortunately, the crab-thing noticed him too, and its four legs scurrying, rushed to meet him. A set of pincers spread wide, then shot forward.
His lance, however, was a little longer than the nashrou's limb. It struck first, and punched deep into the fissure between two plates of chitin.
The claw plunged down an instant later. He shifted his shield to block, and the pincers snapped shut on the edges. The metal groaned and buckled.
But it didn't crumple completely, because at that point, the nashrou's legs gave way, and it fell. Its grip on the shield nearly yanked Chumed out of the saddle, but then the armor jerked free.
Chumed studied the motionless creature, trying to make sure it truly was dead. It looked like it to him, and judging from the cacophonous cheers of the surviving orcs, they thought so too.
He tried to pull his lance out of the carcass, but it was stuck fast. He let go of the butt and raised his hand to quiet the orcs. "Strike for the cracks in the shell!" he told them.
Unholy hl-3 Page 25
