The Haunted Lands: Book II - Undead

by Richard Lee Byers

  He generally didn’t try to eat and converse with a superior at the same time. He feared it would make him look more graceless and uncouth—more Rashemi—than he did already. But for once he was too starved to worry about it. He poured a goblet of pale amber wine, loaded a plate, and dropped down in a chair.

  He fancied that, exhausted and famished though he was, he at least managed to talk between mouthfuls rather than through them. When he finished, Nymia said, “Your report agrees with everyone else’s. This situation is bad.”

  “You didn’t see firsthand?”

  “I happened to be near a circle of conjurors when they made the decision to abandon the battlefield, and they translated me back to Bezantur along with them. I didn’t have to journey overland.”

  How nice for you, he thought. “I saw a fair number of griffons in the aerie, so a reasonable number of my men must have made it to safety. That’s something, anyway.”

  “It would be more if we were actually safe.”

  Aoth took another sip of wine. “Don’t you think we are? Bezantur’s the biggest city in Thay. The walls are high and thick, and whatever strength remains to the south stands ready to man them. Give or take a few companies still wandering around the countryside, maybe unaware that we even lost a major battle in Eltabbar.”

  Nymia sighed. “I don’t know. A year ago, I would have said that even Szass Tam couldn’t take Bezantur. But now the south is weaker than ever before, and I’m not just talking about our legions. We lost two more zulkirs. Dmitra Flass didn’t return from the battlefield. She died, was taken prisoner, or defected. Then Zola Sethrakt dropped dead. Of wounds sustained in the battle, or so I’m told.”

  “I admit, that’s unfortunate.”

  “So is the state of the city’s food stores. We can’t endure a protracted siege. Szass Tam can starve us into submission.”

  “What are you telling me—that the council wants to surrender?”

  “No, but they might flee into exile and abandon mainland Thay to fend for itself. The fleet is in port waiting to carry people of importance away. We legionnaires are likewise prepared to commandeer every other vessel we can lay our hands on.”

  Aoth felt sick to his stomach. “So that’s it? After fighting for ten years, we’re just going to run away?”

  “Not necessarily. The zulkirs haven’t made a final decision.” Her lips quirked into a crooked smile. “Nor have I.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Perhaps it’s not too late to slip out of Bezantur, offer my services to Szass Tam, and secure a position of wealth and influence in the Thay to come.”

  Aoth marveled that she trusted him enough to confide such thoughts to him. Didn’t she realize that he knew she’d acquiesced to the zulkirs’ plan to vivisect him?

  Maybe, he thought with a flicker of wry amusement, she understood him better than he’d ever imagined, well enough to realize her callousness hadn’t ignited a thirst for revenge in him. He still wasn’t sure why not. Perhaps, with the world falling and burning around him, he simply didn’t have the outrage to spare for every disappointment and betrayal.

  At any rate, he told her, “Go if you want to. I won’t tell. But I won’t go with you, either.”

  “Why not?”

  “If I weren’t so tired, maybe I could explain it to you. Or to myself. As it is, I just know after coming this far, I don’t feel like turning my cloak at the end. Maybe I don’t want to be like that whoreson Malark.”

  “I think you owe it to yourself to think more deeply than that. Even if we assume that the zulkirs can somehow hold this part of the coast, or that Szass Tam won’t come after them if they flee into exile, we surely can live grander, richer lives in his new kingdom than in the council’s shrunken dominions.”

  “I wouldn’t be certain of that. You see what he’s made of Thay already.”

  “As a tactic. He’ll bring back sunshine and green grass after he wins the war.”

  “You’re probably right. But, maybe because I’m so tired, I swear I can hear Malark asking the question he pondered over and over again—why did Szass Tam murder Druxus Rhym?”

  Nymia shook her head, and the stud in her nostril caught a ray of light. “Now you’re no longer making sense, or at least you’re fretting over trivia. He killed Rhym before the war even started. Ten years later, what does it matter why?”

  “I suppose it doesn’t. Unless it points to the fact that there’s still something about Szass Tam’s schemes that we don’t understand.”

  “We may not understand everything about his strategy, but you’d have to be an imbecile not to comprehend his objective. He means to be sole ruler of Thay, and once he is, he’ll launch wars of conquest and try to make himself emperor of the East.”

  “Of course. You’re right, and I’m blathering. But here’s something that isn’t blather: Szass Tam has plenty of lords and war leaders who have served him faithfully since the war began. Even if he welcomes you into his host, those others will all be standing in line ahead of you to claim their rewards when the conflict ends. Do you think there’ll be a tharch left for you to govern? Or even a town in need of an autharch?”

  She sighed. “Probably not. So I suppose I might as well stick where I am. But if only all these wretched zulkirs would destroy each other! Then I’d crown myself queen of Pyarados and appoint you marshal of my legions.”

  Aoth smiled. “It’s a nice dream, High Lady.”

  As a boy, Bareris had loved the harbor. The sea breeze made a refreshing change from the stinks of the slum in which he lived, travelers sang new songs and told new stories, and the spectacle of the myriad ships with their towering masts, intricate rigging, and banks of oars fed his dreams of finding adventure and wealth in foreign lands. Tammith had liked it too, or perhaps she’d simply liked accompanying him wherever he chose to wander.

  As in days past, they strolled beside the water, but everything seemed different than he remembered. The docks didn’t bustle by night as they had by day, particularly with legionnaires standing watch to keep ordinary folk away from the piers. The waves were black, not blue and rippling with sunlight, and Tammith’s fingers were cold in his.

  Still, he was grateful to be here.

  Tammith sniffed, her nostrils flaring. He did the same, but could smell only salt air and the leftover stink of the catch the fishermen had brought into port earlier that day. He supposed that she, with her inhumanly keen senses, perceived something more.

  “It’s a pity,” she said.

  “What is?”

  “This part of the docks used to smell of spices. Now it doesn’t.”

  “You have a good memory.”

  “When we were paupers’ children, we used to imagine a day when we’d be able to afford foods prepared with expensive seasonings and all the other luxuries Bezantur provided for the wealthy. Now we’re officers, lords of a sort, and we can have most anything we want. But the war has turned our home into a faded, tired place.”

  “Do you mind so very much?”

  She sighed. “Perhaps I’m simply trying to mind. I don’t have a problem with caring too much about things that don’t really matter. My difficulty is trying to feel that anything does.”

  He forced a grin. “You were supposed to say, ‘No, I don’t mind at all, so long as we’re together.’”

  Her pale lips quirked into a smile. “That would have been better, wouldn’t it? But you have to remember, you’re the bard, gifted with a ready wit and golden tongue.”

  “Perhaps I can use them to coax you behind that pile of crates where you first permitted me to touch you under your shift.”

  “Bezantur would have to have some lazy dockhands if it’s still there after all these years. Anyway, I can’t believe you’re feeling lickerish again so soon.”

  “We have sixteen years’ worth of lost love to make up for. I assure you, I can couch my lance for another tilt. And you can nibble my neck if you want.”

  “No!”
>
  Her vehemence surprised him. “You realize, I like it, too.”

  “That only makes it worse. If we’re going to do this—be together—it has to be in the way of a natural man and woman. We need to put perversity behind us.”

  “All right. If you want it that way. Although you know, there are different sorts of perversity.”

  She cocked her head. “I suppose you learned of all manner of strange and disgusting practices during your time among the outlanders.”

  “Well, obviously, I kept myself pure for my beloved, but I could hardly help hearing the lewd stories told around the camp-fire. Storik once swore to me that dwarves like to—”

  Tammith pivoted away from him to peer into the dark. “Something’s happening,” she said.

  He looked where she was looking. At first he couldn’t see anything. But he heard a muddled sound, and a moment later, the first ranks of what seemed to be a considerable number of folk tramped into the pool of amber glow cast by a hanging lantern. Most of the newcomers carried weapons, either proper ones or tools like axes and chisels that could serve the purpose. Many dangled sacks in their hands, or bore them slung across their shoulders. One fellow pushed a barrow full of bundles. The wheels squeaked and rumbled on the cobblestones.

  There’d been a sentry posted at the far end of the street. He must have tried to turn these people back. Bareris wondered how badly the mob had hurt him.

  He also wished he and Tammith were wearing armor. Although no one had specifically ordered them to quell unrest and protect the fleet, in an emergency, it was their duty even so.

  “I’m going to try to turn them back without fighting,” he said. “Don’t hurt anyone unless you have to.”

  Tammith nodded. “My abilities aren’t like yours. I can’t tamper with so many minds at the same time. But I’ll help as much as I’m able.”

  He crooned a charm that made him appear a shade handsomer and taller, more sympathetic and commanding, in the eyes of anyone who beheld him. Then he smiled and ambled toward the mob as if they were all staunch friends. Tammith kept pace beside him.

  “Good evening, Goodmen,” he said, infusing his voice with the magic of influence. “What’s going on?”

  A big man at the front of the pack, a trowel clutched in one fist and both arms banded with tattooed rings, glared at him. “We’re taking a ship. Or ships, if we can’t all fit on one.”

  “Why?” Bareris asked.

  “Because the blue fire is coming.”

  “No, it isn’t, and if someone told you otherwise, he was simply repeating a baseless rumor. I’m not wearing my insignia at present, but I’m an officer of the Griffon Legion. I hear what the scouts and soothsayers discover, and I give you my word, nobody has seen any blue flame moving toward Bezantur.”

  “What about Szass Tam?” shrilled a voice rising from farther back in the throng. “Are you going to tell us he isn’t coming?”

  “No,” Bareris said, “he probably is, but even he won’t be able to get inside the city walls. No enemy could. You’ll be far safer here than trying to sail to some foreign land. The same upheavals that shake the land are raising huge waves at sea. The depths are giving birth to strange new creatures.”

  “The nobles don’t think it’s safer to stay,” said the man with the trowel. “Everybody knows they’re getting ready to sail away and leave us ‘lowly Rashemi’ behind to die.”

  “Once again, I give you my word. They haven’t made any such decision.”

  “We’re done listening to you, legionnaire. We’re going. If you want, you can come along. If not, you’d be wise to step aside.”

  Since the mason seemed to be a leader of sorts, Bareris targeted an enchantment of persuasion at him specifically. “I won’t do that, because I’m trying to save your lives. The ships are well protected. Their crews are sleeping onboard, and the zulkirs have other troops and wizards stationed in the warehouses adjacent to the piers. If you proceed any farther, someone will spot you and sound the alarm. Then all those legionnaires and wizards will rise from their hammocks and bedrolls and slaughter you.”

  The big man took a deep breath. “Or we’ll kill them.”

  “There are mothers and children at the back of the crowd,” Tammith whispered. “I can hear them talking to one another.”

  “No,” said Bareris, still addressing the big man, “you won’t. You can’t win. I understand you’re brave and determined, but the soldiers have armor, superior weapons, and the training to put them to good use. They also have sorcery backing them. If you press on, you can only die, and watch your wives and babies hacked to pieces alongside you. Is that what you want?”

  The man with the trowel swallowed. “You said it yourself. At this time of night, most of the soldiers are asleep. If—”

  Tammith stepped forward. Her eyes gleamed and she snarled, exposing her extended fangs. A sudden feeling of foulness and menace radiated from her, and even Bareris flinched back a step.

  “Idiots!” she cried. “You know what Red Wizards can do. What they love to do to anyone who defies them. You know the sort of creatures who fight for them. I’m only the first of many such beings who stand in your way, I could butcher every one of you by myself, and I’m getting bored with your stupidity. Choose now whether you mean to live or die, or I’ll choose for you.”

  For a heartbeat, the mob stood and gaped at her. Then the big man dropped his trowel, and it clanked on the street. He turned and bolted, shoving into the mass of humanity behind him.

  When he panicked, so did his fellows. They all ran.

  Tammith laughed an ugly little laugh and took a stride after them. Bareris caught her by the forearm.

  Fangs still bared, she rounded on him, glared, and then seemed to remember who he was, or perhaps who they were together. The chatoyant sheen left her eyes, and the long pointed canines retracted.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “Don’t be. You did that brilliantly.”

  She smiled. “We did it together. Your magic softened them up, and afterward I thought that if I could throw a scare into the leader, they’d all lose their nerve.”

  “I’m glad we were able to chase them off before any of them came to grief.”

  “Believe it or not, so am I. They’re just frightened people trying to survive. They don’t deserve punishment for that.”

  Trumpets blew, and someone screamed. Crossbows clacked, discharging their bolts.

  “Damn it!” Bareris cried. Prompted by instinct, he dashed toward the water, and Tammith sprinted at his side.

  When he looked up and down the boardwalk at the end of the lane, with the docks extending out into the surf beyond, he saw what he’d feared he might. He and Tammith had turned back the troublemakers advancing down one particular street, but those misguided souls had been only one contingent of a far bigger mob converging on the harbor. Emerging from other points, the malcontents were trying to fight their way toward the docked vessels, while lines of legionnaires formed to hold them back. Other soldiers scrambled from the warehouses to reinforce them, and sailors leaped from the decks of their long, sleek ships.

  The violence exploding on every side made Bareris and Tammith’s little coup in the cause of peace and public order feel like a bitter joke. But there was nothing to do now but stand with their fellow soldiers.

  So they did. Whenever possible, Bareris sang songs of fear to force rioters to turn tail before anybody had to kill them. But he still had to bloody his sword, and the necessity sickened him as it seldom had before.

  Light and heat flared behind him, and he risked a glance backward. Flames leaped up from the prow of a warship.

  It didn’t make sense that a rioter had started the fire. None of them were anywhere near it, and besides, they wanted to steal the vessels, not destroy them. Bareris suspected that one of the wizards on his own side was responsible. He’d been trying to hurl flame at the enemy, and because of the problems with sorcery, the spell turned against hi
m.

  But that didn’t make much sense, either. Bareris had seen his share of battle magic, and incendiary spells usually flew in a straight line. A wizard onboard the ship wouldn’t have had such a clear path to the foe. Legionnaires were in the way.

  But if someone had been trying to hit the vessel with a flaming arrow or spell, the best way would be to shoot from an elevated position. Squinting, he peered upward.

  At first he saw nothing to justify his sudden, half-formed suspicions. But then he spotted a point of light like a firefly. It was an arrowhead, glowing as if the point had just been forged.

  He could just make out the dark figure holding the shaft. And other archers creeping around on a warehouse rooftop.

  He started a song to shift himself through space. He was only halfway through when one of the black-clad bowmen loosed a shaft. The arrow lodged in the foremast of another ship, and flames instantly roared up the spar. The missiles had to carry a potent enchantment to spark such a prodigious blaze so quickly.

  The world shattered into blurry streaks, and then Bareris was standing on the sloping, shingled rooftop. He’d cast the spell to position himself behind the three archers, and moving quickly but silently despite the pitch, he stalked up behind the nearest and drove his sword into his back.

  The bowman made a croaking noise as he toppled forward. Despite the clamor rising from the struggle below, it was loud enough to alert his comrades, and they both jerked around in time to see his corpse roll down the slope.

  Bareris rushed the nearer of the two remaining archers. He didn’t have an arrow on the string, and didn’t like his chances of nocking, aiming, and loosing one in time. He threw down his bow and whipped a short sword from its scabbard. The hand gripping the blade was tattooed solid black, a sign of devotion among worshipers of Bane.

  Bareris scrambled to close with the man. He wanted to kill him quickly, before the third archer, who was now standing behind him, could attack from that favorable position. But his haste, coupled with the slant of the roof, betrayed him. One foot slipped out from underneath him and he fell. The swordsman stabbed at him.