"That's true," said Szass Tam, "and I'll tell you a secret: It doesn't bother me if you dare to rob a god. Do the gods deal with us so kindly or even justly as to merit abject devotion?" He waved his hand at the offerings on the altar. "Look at all this-not the gold and gems that usually catch your eye, but the copper, bread, and fruit. Needy women have given what they could ill afford, perhaps all they possessed, to bribe your god, yet he won't answer all their prayers. Some petitioners will remain barren or perish in childbirth even so. Why is that, and what's the sense of a world where it's possible for women to miscarry and infants to die in their cribs in the first place?"
Hezass had no idea what the necromancer was talking about or how to respond. "Master, you understand I share a true bond with Kossuth even if I do pocket a few too many of the trinkets the faithful offer him. He forgives me my foibles, I believe. Anyway, the world is what it is. Isn't it?"
Szass Tam smiled. His expression had a hint of wistfulness about it, the look, just conceivably, of someone who'd briefly hoped to find a kindred spirit and been disappointed. "Indeed it is, and I didn't mean to cast aspersions on your creed or bore you with philosophy either. Lets focus on practical concerns."
"With respect, Your Omnipotence, your 'practical concern' seems to be to blackmail me, but why? I have no choice but to do whatever a zulkir commands, and beyond that, I'm grateful for everything you've done for me. I'm happy to aid you in return."
"Your loyalty shames me," the lich replied, and if he was speaking ironically, neither his voice nor his lean, intellectual features betrayed it. "If only everyone were as faithful, but 'the world is what it is,' and with the council of zulkirs divided against itself, even I sometimes find it expedient to make it clear to folk that, just as I reward those who cooperate with me, so too do I have ways of rebuking those who refuse."
Hezass smiled. "You've covered the rebuking part. Now I'd like to hear about the reward."
The dead man laughed. A whiff of decay escaped his open mouth, and Hezass made sure his features didn't twist in repugnance.
"As one of your peers recently reminded me," Szass Tam said, "the miners dig prodigious quantities of gold out of the mountains of High Thay."
"So I understand," Hezass said.
"At present, most of it comes down to the Plateau via the road that runs east. That's natural, since it's really the only highway worthy of the name, but I see no fundamental reason why more gold couldn't move west and south, following the courses of the rivers, perhaps with magical aid to see the caravans safely over the difficult patches, and obviously, if it does, it will descend into Lapendrar. You can tax it as it passes from hand to hand and turn a nice profit thereby."
"A nice profit" was an understatement. Hezass suspected that over the course of several years, he might amass a fortune to rival Samas Kul's. "You truly could arrange it?"
"Why not? Pyras Autorian is my friend, no less than you."
More, actually, Hezass thought. He was Szass Tam's confederate, or to be honest about it, his underling. Pyras Autorian was purely and simply the lich's puppet, a docile dunce who did exactly and only what his master told him to do, which suddenly seemed like quite an admirable quality, since it meant there was no doubt Szass Tam could deliver on his offer.
"What must I do," Hezass asked, "to start all this gold cascading down from the heights?"
"Quite possibly nothing, but here's what I'll require if it turns out I need anything at all… "
Tammith's fingers dug into Bareris's neck as if she'd acquired an ogre's strength. Her mouth opened to reveal canine teeth lengthening into fangs. She started to drag him down.
He tried to plead with her, but her fingers cut off his wind and denied him his voice. He punched her in the face, but the blow just made her snarl. It didn't stun her or loosen her grip on him.
At last he recalled a trick one of his former comrades, a warrior monk of Ilmater and an expert wrestler, had taught him. Supposedly a man could use it to break free of any stranglehold, no matter how strong his opponent.
He swept his arm in the requisite circular motion and just managed to knock her hand away, though a flash of pain told him it had taken some of his skin along with it, lodged beneath her nails. She immediately grabbed for him again, but he threw himself back beyond her reach.
He scrambled to his feet and so did she. "Don't you know me?" he wheezed. "It's Bareris."
She glided forward, but not straight toward him. She was maneuvering to interpose herself between him and the door.
He drew his sword. "Stop. I don't want to hurt you, but you have to keep away."
Rather to his surprise, she did stop. A master sword smith had forged and enchanted the blade, giving it the ability to cut foes largely impervious to common weapons, and perhaps the creature Tammith had become could sense the threat of the magic bound in the steel.
"That's good," Bareris said. "Now look at me. I know you recognize me. You and I-"
Her body exploded into smaller, darker shapes. Astonished, he froze for an instant as the bats hurtled at him.
His fear screamed at him to cut at the flying creatures. He yanked off his cloak and flailed at them with it instead, fighting to fend them off while he sang.
Something jabbed his arm and then the top of his head. Bats were lighting on him and biting him despite his efforts to keep them away. He struggled to ignore the pain and horror of it lest they disrupt the precise articulation the spell required.
The bats abruptly spun away from him as if a whirlwind had caught them. In fact, they were suffering the effects of the same charm that had repelled the enormous fleas. It was supposed to work on any sort of vermin, and apparently even creatures like these were susceptible.
The bats swirled together and became Tammith once more. Her fangs shortened into normal-looking teeth, and her face twisted in anguish. "I'm sorry!" she whispered. "I'm sorry."
He inferred that his magic had done what his punch could not: Shock her out of her predatory frenzy and restore her to something approximating sanity. He sheathed his blade, put his cloak back on, extended his hand, and stepped toward her.
"It's all right," he said.
She recoiled. "Stay away! I don't want to hurt you."
"Then you won't."
"I will. Even though I… fed on poor Yuldra already. Something about who you are, what we are to each other, makes it worse. Don't you understand what's happened to me?"
He realized he was reluctant to say the word "vampire," as if speaking it aloud would seal the curse for eternity. "I have some idea, but what magic can do, it can undo. People say the holiest priests even know rituals to… restore the dead to life. We just have to get you away from here, and then we'll find the help you need."
She shook her head. "No one can help me, and even if somebody could, I'm not able to go to him. I'm more of a slave now than I was before Xingax changed me. He chained my mind, bound me to serve the wizards and their cause."
"Maybe I can at least do something about that. It wouldn't be the first enchantment I've broken with a song."
"You can't break this one. Get away from here while you still can."
"No. I won't leave without you."
She glared at him. "Why not? You abandoned me before."
Her sudden anger shocked him. "That's not true. I left Bezantur to make us a future."
"Well, this is the one you made for me."
"That isn't so. I'm going to save you. Just trust-"
A voice sounded from overhead: "What are you doing in here?"
Bareris looked up to behold the most grotesque creature he'd ever seen. Riding on the back of what appeared to be a zombie hill giant, the thing looked like a man-sized, festering, and grossly malformed infant or fetus. He surmised that it could only be Xingax, "the whelp."
Bareris reminded himself that he was still wearing a red robe and still cloaked in an enchantment devised to quell suspicion and inspire good will in others. In addition to that, X
ingax was squinting down at him as if the mismatched eyes in his lopsided face didn't see particularly well. Perhaps this encounter needn't be disastrous.
The bard lowered his gaze once more. He hoped Xingax would take it for a gesture of respect, or a natural human response to profound ugliness, and not an attempt to keep the creature from getting a better look at an unfamiliar face.
"I was just curious to see what you'd made of the slave."
"Do I know you?"
A bead of sweat oozed down Bareris's brow. He wished he knew the proper attitude to assume. Was Xingax a servant, something a supposed Red Wizard should treat with the same arrogance he showed to most creatures, or did the abomination expect a degree of deference?
"I'm new. So far, I'm just performing routine tasks. Creating zombies and the like."
"I see. What's your name?"
"Toriak Kakanos."
"Well, Toriak, let's have a decent look at your face, so I'll know you in the future."
Bareris reluctantly complied. When his eyes met Xingax's, a malignant power stabbed into the core of him, searing and shaking him with spasms of debilitating pain. He crumpled to the floor.
"It was a good try," Xingax said, "but I meet all the wizards as soon as they come through the portal. Is it possible this is… what was the name?… never mind. The bard who tried to rescue you before."
"Yes," Tammith groaned.
"Drink from him and try to change him as the ritual changed you. It's another good test of your new abilities."
Bareris fought to control his breathing then started singing under his breath.
"Please," Tammith said, "don't make me do it."
"Why not?" Xingax replied. "Don't you love him? Wouldn't you rather he continue on still able to think, feel, and remember? Isn't that better than making him a mindless husk?"
"No!"
The whelp snorted. "I'll never understand the human perspective. It's so perverse. Even so, it grieves me to deny my daughter's request, but the truth of the matter is, if this fellow wields bardic magic, survived a battle with Muthoth, So-Kehur, and their guards, and found his way to our secret home, then, like yours, his courage and talents are too valuable to waste. I must insist you transform him. You'll thank me later."
Haltingly, as though still struggling against the compulsion, Tammith advanced on Bareris.
Her resistance gave him time to complete his song, and its power washed the pain and weakness from his body. The question was, what to do next?
He was sure he had no hope of defending himself against Tammith and Xingax simultaneously. He had to neutralize one of them fast, before either realized he'd shaken off the effect of the fetus-thing's poison gaze, and unfortunately, Tammith was both the more immediate threat and the one within reach of his sword.
Despite what she'd become, striking the blow was the hardest thing he'd ever done, but he wanted to survive and do so as a living man, not an undead monstrosity, so he leaped to his feet and drove his sword into her stomach.
The stroke would have killed any ordinary human, if not instantly, then after a period of crippling agony, but if the tales he'd heard were true, a vampire would survive it. He prayed it was so, and he prayed too that the wound would incapacitate her long enough to make a difference.
He yanked his sword free of her flesh, and she doubled over clutching at the gash. Making sure he didn't look up and meet Xingax's gaze again, he dashed for the doorway. The catwalk banged as the giant zombie lumbered after him.
The huge corpse had longer legs than he did. Aware that he was running short of spells, he nonetheless sang a charm to quicken his stride. It might be the only hope he had of keeping ahead of his pursuers.
Of course, it likely wouldn't be long before he blundered into some of Xingax's allies, at which point the fetus-thing would yell for them to stop him. Then, with new foes in front of him and his current ones pounding up behind, it would make no difference how fast he could run.
He halted, lifted his head, and shouted. The blast of sound jolted and splintered the section of catwalk immediately in front of the huge zombie. Its next heavy stride stamped a hole in the weakened planks, and then it crashed through altogether, carrying its rider along with it.
The two creatures slammed down hard in a clattering shower of broken wood. Bareris didn't expect the fall to destroy the zombie outright, but he dared to hope he'd damaged it and maybe slain the feeble-looking Xingax.
The zombie tried to rise and the whelp slipped from its shoulders. Evidently he couldn't hold on anymore. The undead giant fell back on top of him when one of its legs buckled beneath it.
Bareris could scarcely believe how well the trick had worked. How lucky he'd been. He sprinted on, found a staircase, climbed to the catwalks, and headed for the portal. He'd just promised Tammith he wouldn't leave her here, but the plain truth was now he had to get away or die, quite possibly when she murdered him herself. He vowed to himself that he'd return and next time rescue her. Somehow. Somehow.
His guts churned, his vision blurred, and a pang of headache jabbed through his skull. Something was making him ill. He cast about for the source of his distress and saw nothing.
He recalled his orc informant warning him that a person needed protection merely to come into proximity with Xingax. Could that possibly be what ailed him? If so, where was the whelp? A sudden blast of cold coated the right side of his body with frost and chilled him to the core. He'd seen battle mages conjure such attacks. Shaking, he looked for cover and found none within reach. He turned to see where the magic had originated.
Visible now, Xingax floated in empty air a few yards away from the catwalk. Obviously, the fall hadn't killed him, and he didn't actually need the zombie to carry him around. He certainly hadn't had any difficulty catching up to Bareris.
Stricken as he was, the bard almost looked into the abomination's eyes before recalling he mustn't. At the last possible instant, he averted his gaze.
Not that it was likely to matter. He'd drained his reserves of magic nearly dry, and his twisted little infant's mouth leering, Xingax was hovering out of reach of his blade. From that position, the fetus-creature could throw spell after spell without fear of effective reprisal.
Bareris could only think of one ploy to attempt, and it was nowhere near as clever as breaking the catwalk had been. In fact, it was as old as any trick in the world, but it would have to serve. He allowed himself to collapse onto the walkway and lay motionless thereafter.
A wary foe might suspect he was merely feigning death or unconsciousness and continue smiting him at range. If Xingax took that tactic, he was finished.
But maybe the abomination wouldn't be that cautious. He seemed smugly confident of his own powers and likewise devoted to his work. He might be reluctant to kill Bareris here and now and settle for reanimating him as a zombie when it could still be possible to turn him into a more powerful undead.
I'm helpless, Bareris thought. Sick. Frozen. Dead. Just come closer and you'll see.
As if heeding his silent entreaties, Xingax floated over to hang directly over him. One larger and set higher than the other, his dark eyes squinted.
Striving to deny sickness and injury their grip of him, bellowing a war cry to infuse himself with vigor and resolve, Bareris sprang to his feet. Still doing his best to avoid looking into Xingax's eyes, he cut open the creature's chest.
Xingax gave an ear-splitting screech like the cry of the baby he so resembled. Bareris slashed away a flap of flesh from one of the creature's cheeks.
The fetus-thing started to fly away from the catwalk. Bareris lunged and caught the dangling length of cold, slimy umbilicus. It threatened to slide out of his fingers, but he clamped down tight, twisted it around his wrist, and held Xingax in place as if the latter were a dog straining at a leash.
He kept on cutting and thrusting. Xingax hurled another blaze of chill from his small, decaying hands, but Bareris discerned his intent, twisted aside and evaded the worst
of it then retaliated by lopping off one of the outthrust extremities at the wrist. His next cut sliced the smaller of the creature's eyes.
The whelp screamed and vanished, leaving a segment of gray rotting birth cord behind in Bareris's fingers. His final wail echoed.
Fearful that his foe had simply become invisible once more, Bareris pivoted and slashed at the air all around him. His blade failed to find a target, and in another moment, he realized he felt better. Xingax truly had departed, evidently translating himself instantaneously through space and taking his aura of sickness along with him.
Unfortunately, that didn't fix the chill burns on Bareris's skin. With luck, his healing songs would keep the injured patches from turning into genuine frostbite and gangrene, but he didn't have the magic or time to spare to attempt it now. He cast away the section of umbilicus, brushed rime from his garments, and strode in the direction of the portal, until he heard a commotion up ahead.
Then he realized that Xingax, surmising his foe would make for the magical gate, had transported himself there when he fled, where he'd no doubt arranged for some of his minions to guard the portal with special care while the rest scoured the catacombs for the man who'd maimed him.
Bareris struggled to suppress a surge of panic, telling himself there had to be another way out of here, wherever here was. He just had to find it.
He threw away his cloak. At a distance, the brown mantle was probably more conspicuous than the bloody rent in his robe. He hid his sword and sword belt beneath the voluminous crimson garment. Then he hurried away from the sound of the searchers and toward a portion of the maze of vaults and tunnels he had yet to explore.
Eventually he spotted a subtle change in the ambient illumination up ahead. He rounded a corner and saw a trapezoidal opening with a ray of wan light shining through. Puzzling as it seemed, given his near-certainty that he was underground, the wizards' lair possessed a window after all.
He lowered himself from the catwalk by his hands, dropped, stuck his head out the opening, and then he understood. The vaults were adjacent to a wide cylindrical shaft plunging deep into bedrock. He'd heard stories of an ancient people who'd excavated well-like fortresses in the Sunrise Mountains. Apparently they'd dug out at least one city as well, constructed on a grander scale, and he was standing in it. The morning sun hadn't yet risen high enough to shine straight down into the central vacancy, but even so, the light reflecting down from the gray clouds revealed other windows, as well as doorways connecting to chiseled balconies and staircases.
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