The Red Wizard slowly raised his head, and his form shimmered and coalesced into something else. Suddenly, his arms and legs filled out, and his tunic no longer had the appearance of being a few sizes too big. His spine stretched out, and his chair sagged under the additional weight. Szass Tam’s face grew fuller, and his cheeks took on a color that was almost healthy. His jet-black eyes burned brightly and his hair darkened and thickened, creeping back up to cover the top of his skull once more.
“Come,” he called out in a deep, melodic voice, though there had been no knock on the thick chamber door yet.
Slowly, almost hesitantly, that entrance swung open. A human woman, no older than twenty or so, peeked in.
“What is it, child?” the lich purred solicitously. But beneath that pleasant demeanor, an undercurrent of impatience rippled. It was not lost on the young servant.
She quickly entered the room, and Szass Tam could see she would need a little prodding to get her to speak. He sighed imperceptibly and once again thought back to his former chambermaid, Charmaine. He found especially at times like this that he missed the thin, middle-aged woman who had served him faithfully for over thirty years. She was poised and polite, qualities the lich appreciated and even valued, to an extent. Charmaine had worked tirelessly over the years in his largest keep here, situated between Eltabbar and Amruthar, and asked for no monetary payment other than food and shelter. She had made it clear to the Red Wizard that she longed for immortality; it was a desire he understood all too well, and he had admired her directness. He promised her after four decades of services he would have one of his vampire generals bestow that “gift” on her, and she could serve him forever. But a misunderstanding occurred a few months ago.
A new vampire in Szass Tam’s service had been attracted to her, not knowing her important station amongst the thirty or so living servants that worked within the keep. He approached her one night, and Charmaine mistakenly thought he had been sent by Szass Tam. She believed her moment of reward had come. She willing gave herself to the young vampire, and he, caught up in his own bloodlust, drained her dry and murdered her. When Szass Tam discovered his favorite servant had been killed, he incinerated the vampire with little more than a single thought. He debated long and hard about raising Charmaine as a zombie, hating to lose such a good servant. But he knew she had always detested his legions of ghouls and zombies, only acting with the utmost civility around them because she knew the lich hated impropriety. And so he decided instead to let her be in peace as her final payment, though it caused him a great inconvenience. As he watched Charmaine’s replacement nervously fidget with a small, draped bundle in her arms, he sighed again.
“Is everything ready for my guests, Neera? Bedchambers freshened, clean linens?” he prodded the red-haired girl. “You know I would hate for them to be lacking any comfort, don’t you?” With that last question, he eyed her meaningfully. Szass Tam knew full well that her left arm was still healing from the burn he had inflicted there not too long ago when Neera had neglected a few pieces of cutlery at a place setting for one of his “special” dinner gatherings.
“Yes, m-my lord,” she answered meekly.
“And the meeting hall?” he nudged her along, tired of the game already.
Perhaps sensing her master’s growing impatience, she stood a little straighter and replied more confidently, “Everything has been made ready. You won’t find anything lacking, I assure you.” Szass Tam smiled a bit and thought to himself that the woman might have promise after all.
“Is that all then?” he asked her, looking pointedly at her bundle.
“No, my lord,” she replied. “I have word from one of your patrols.” He simply stared at her, no longer willing to cue her any more this evening.
“One of the ghoul brigades returned from the lower depths of the Citadel,” Neera explained, her voice growing stronger. “They described seeing increasing collections of magma, and one even reported a river of lava flowing through a former passageway, now impassable.”
The lich lowered his head and nodded to himself. It was as he expected, though the news did not please him.
“And,” she added, “they found this.” She held out the wrapped bundle, uncertain if she should approach the Red Wizard.
Szass Tam drew himself up to his full, however false, height and approached the chambermaid. He could see her tremble at his approach, and that pleased him.
“Let’s see what they discovered.” He took the bundle from her unresisting arms. He smiled charmingly at her. Even though she feared him, she could not stop the stain of red on her cheeks. “You may go for now,” he dismissed her. She dropped her eyes and curtsied briefly before slipping out of the library.
Szass Tam carried the carefully wrapped bundle over to his desk. He laid it to one side and prudently replaced the pages of his folio and stored it in a special location of his library. He made a mental note to himself that he would need to bring it with him for the gathering a tenday hence and deposit it in a very guarded location. Considering the company he was drawing together, the lich was grimly aware that it would not do to have the collection end up in any one of their hands.
Having satisfied himself that the pages were secure for the moment, he turned his attention to the cloth-covered package. Szass Tam unwrapped the parcel and tilted his head. Lying in the center of the cloak were several bones, picked clean of all flesh. He lifted one up toward a candelabrum and sighted down the length of it like a carpenter with a level.
“Dwarven,” he whispered and caught a whiff of the remains. “Duergar,” he deduced.
Caught up in his ponderings of the rare discovery, Szass Tam relaxed his appearance spell and reverted back to the thin skeletal body he truly possessed. His red robe pooled at his feet like a puddle of blood as he shrunk a few inches. He ran a thin claw along the leg, pausing to finger a few deep gouges in the bone. As he absently rubbed the marks, the lich grew thoughtful. In his two hundred years of experience, he had never seen bite marks quite like these.
“This will require some investigating,” he murmured to himself. After a moment more of silence, however, his thin, cruel lips parted in a grin.
“But what a delightful addition to my collection,” he added, always able to put leftovers to good use. Still smiling, he covered the bones and prepared for his next move.
20 Mirtul, 1373 DR
The dream was always the same. Naglatha found herself on a windswept plain with fertile farming lands as far as the eye could see in every direction. The air was charged with an electric energy that was palpable. Not far from her, atop a slight knoll, stood a small but powerful enclave of men clothed in crimson cloaks. She recognized their leader, Ythazz Buvaar, by his fiery eyes and vigorous manner. She moved closer to the group of men to hear him better.
“The time has come,” she heard him shout, “to shake off the chains of the pharaohs. Their days are over.”
Naglatha moved a strand of her midnight-black hair away from her eyes and mingled with the group of red-robed men. None of them saw her, and she was free to step about and study them all without changing the events of the vision. Naglatha could see some were moved by the words of the man who would be the first leader of the Red Wizards. Before this time, they were simply a group of renegade spellcasters that hid themselves from the watching eyes of the god-kings of Mulhorand. Their numbers were scattered throughout the kingdom, but a core group of the sect, that called themselves by the title of Red Wizards, demanded freedom from the theocracy of the old empire. They wanted the right to study and learn about every form of magic that existed in Faerûn and discover that which did not. And the god-kings would not give them their freedom willingly.
Concentrated mostly in the northern provinces, these men did not have the backward, inbred worship for the pharaohs that most of their society possessed. And Ythazz Buvaar had stepped forward from that consortium. He foresaw a kingdom without the pharohs, where anyone could attain the same position of
power as the god-kings, but through magic instead of worship. He rallied the others to his vision. They had caught his enthusiasm enough to raise an army and sack the capital city of Delhumide. But now, the rulers of Mulhorand had sent an army to crush the rebellion, and Ythazz Buvaar had gathered the most powerful wizards here on the hills above Thazalhar to stop them. Naglatha could feel her heart quicken its tempo in expectation of what she knew was to follow. She could have recited the words herself, she knew them so well.
“Now is the time,” Ythazz Buvaar told the others. “Now is when we show those god-kings just how powerful our magic is and why it is like the sea. Whether they choose to believe in it or not,” he said with a slight smile, “they have entered the water. And they are about to get wet.”
Naglatha watched as the select men joined hands, almost as if in prayer. She longed to enter the circle herself, but she was never able to do that. Each time she had tried in the past, the dream simply faded away. So now she made herself content by studying the proceedings as they unfolded. But it chaffed her to sit along the sides and not be a part of the glory of the birth of Thay, even though the events occurred four and a half centuries ago and these men had long since turned to dust, their time come and gone.
Ythazz Buvaar led the chants. Most of the words were lost on Naglatha, though she always woke with them ringing in her ears, and they haunted her waking thoughts. The spells were lost to time as well, though she never gave up hope that she would one day rediscover them. She worked tirelessly in her search, and no price was ever too great to pay for even the slightest scrap of information. She approached all her tasks with the greatest of zeal, and her ruthlessness set her apart from many of the other Red Wizards. She had garnered a reputation as an individual who would do anything to further their cause, no matter the cost. But, in her heart, she wished they were more like the men of her recurring dreams; men who seized glory without hesitation.
Ythazz Buvaar raised his head to the sky and said, “We call you, Lord of the Hidden Layers. We beseech you for aid, and we bind you to us. We call you by your true name. Come, Eltab, for we have great need!”
The wind died down and fell silent. The very air seemed alive with energy. At first, there was the sound of distant thunder. Eventually, though, the men gathered there realized that the sound was the ground that rumbled beneath their feet. Naglatha could feel the vibrations deep within her own chest, and her breath became rapid. A great tearing sound was heard, and the land split wide beneath the spell-casters’ feet, throwing some to the rich soil. However, Ythazz Buvaar and Naglatha held their ground.
With a hiss of steam and eldritch smoke, a figure slowly rose to the surface. Standing almost fifteen feet tall, the demon-king Eltab stood before the group of stunned wizards. His body was completely covered with black and red plates, like some unholy armor. While he was vaguely human in shape, his hands ended in fearsome claws, and his head was that of some great muzzled beast. Multiple horns sprouted from his head, and he flexed monstrous, insect wings that spanned almost twenty feet. Naglatha held her breath in awe, and she watched the dark lord regard the gathered men with his malevolent, red-slitted yellow eyes.
Many miles to the north, a similar rending took place in the land, and a river was born that would, for years to come, bear the name of the abyssal demon these men had summoned.
“Who has called me forth?” the tanar’ri lord demanded in an ancient voice that chilled Naglatha to her very core.
Most of the Red Wizards cowered or were paralyzed by the creature’s frightful gaze, but Naglatha saw with a mixture of envy and admiration that Ythazz Buvaar stepped forward.
“We have done so, lord,” he spoke with only the hint of a quiver in his voice. “We have freed you by word and deed, and we have great need of you.” He bowed when he finished.
Eltab stood there and flexed his wings in thought. “And what would you ask of me?” he finally demanded.
“We ask you for the blood of our enemies,” Ythazz Buvaar explained. “We ask that these plains run red and the land is drenched with it like an unstoppable tide.” Naglatha could see the demon was intrigued and even relaxed his frightful stare for a moment.
“And what would you give me,” the tanar’ri asked slyly, “if I grant you this favor?”
“We will give you your due and our worship,” Ythazz Buvaar promised. “Lead us in this, and we will follow you for all our days to come. We will guide you to the descendents of the Rashemaar usurper, Yvengi, and there you may take your just revenge.” Ythazz Buvaar watched the demon closely after the last offering.
“Yvengi!” the demon king cried, and the ground shook again. Naglatha watched as he crouched lower and held his hands out as though he were strangling someone. “Yesss,” he hissed, clutching at the air, “I would grind his descendents to dust for their ancestor’s crimes against me. If not for him, I would not have been trapped. If not for him …”
Naglatha swelled with pride at the way Ythazz Buvaar manipulated the demon-king and the way he stood his ground as the others trembled in the shadows. This was a man who could control the country and rule the way kings should. This was the way of power, she thought, the way of a true Red Wizard of Thay.
“We will take you to his line,” Ythazz Buvaar continued, and Naglatha could see the shrewd gleam in his dark eyes, even though the tanar’ri lord could not. “We will give them to you and more.”
“Yes,” the demon said, “you will give him to me and more. Much more than that.” The demon-king turned, and for one moment, locked eyes with Naglatha. She was startled, for in all the times she relived the dream, that had never happened before. She stood transfixed, uncertain what to do next. However, the tanar’ri lord turned away and was flanked by the frightened and awestruck Red Wizards. And he led them into war.
When Naglatha turned around, the battle was over, and the Red Wizards were victorious. She lifted the hem of her robe and picked her way carefully over the many Mulhorandi corpses that littered the plains, bodies stacked like cordwood. The scene was what Ythazz Buvaar had asked for: blood covered the earth like a crimson sea. And, atop the same knoll, the victorious wizards gathered once more, but not in the company of the demon-king.
“Victory is ours,” he told the surviving spellcasters. “And this land is now ours. We will become more powerful than those religious fools to the south. We shall be the power to be reckoned with.” Naglatha was rapt with force of his words.
“And what of the demon,” a wizard named Jorgmacdon asked, “now that we have won?”
“We called him forth, and now we will send him back,” Ythazz Buvaar answered defiantly.
Naglatha lowered her head in sorrow, though, because she knew that was not to be. Her mind raced over the details of how more than a few of those wizards lost their lives in their attempts to return the demon-king to the Abyss. Baus Ilmere, the youngest among them, was sliced neatly in half by Eltab’s rending claws with almost surgical precision. He was one of the luckier ones. Even Ythazz Buvaar did not escape completely unscathed. They learned at a high cost that once called, the beast could not be easily dismissed by them or anyone else, for that matter.
When she raised her head next, she was standing in the capitol of the newly created Thay. The leaders of the rebellion had chosen to name their country in honor of Thayd, who led the first uprising against Mulhorand two thousand years ago and prophesized the empire’s eventual fall. Mulhorand refused to admit defeat and continued to include Thay in their maps as a part of their empire, but it was in name only to them and ridiculed by the rest of Faerûn. The Red Wizards had won their freedom. Many of the men from the Battle of Thazalhar stood united within the newly walled city as Jorgmacdon, now the first Zulkir of the School of Conjuration, strained to place the final glyph that would seal the abyssal lord beneath the city, which would forever bear his name: Eltabbar. Tremors shook the buildings, and the demon’s cries of fury echoed throughout the streets.
“This is not the
end,” Eltab raged. “This I promise you!”
But as Jorgmacdon and the others weaved their spells, those cries grew weaker and weaker. None were able to divine a way to return him to his Abyssal Plane, but the Red Wizards were able to bind him for many years to come beneath the city’s canals and waterways, whose very purpose was to be his prison.
“It is done,” the exhausted zulkir proclaimed though there were still the faintest rumblings beneath their sandals. “We are free of him,” he told the other Red Wizards. “And now we can build our own empire.”
Naglatha smiled warmly, and her black eyes glowed at the thought of the dynamic future the country had and the possibilities that were open to these powerful men who were not afraid to wield that might. Caught up in the ecstasy, she moaned softly in her sleep.
“Mistress,” a worried voice called out, “is anything amiss?”
Naglatha resisted the pull of the sound of her bodyguard. She hated the thought of awakening to find she was in a land of commerce now, populated by traders and merchants. Eventually, however, she could no longer refuse the worried queries. She opened her eyes gradually, adjusting to the light. Naglatha raised herself slightly, and the silken sheets slid down to rest on her thighs. She propped herself up by her elbows and shook her head gently, her waist-length hair falling away from her smooth face. Naglatha blinked the grains of sleep from her eyes and turned slowly toward the door of her room.
“Come,” she said in answer to the insistent knocking on the heavy oak door.
A tall man, nearly six and a half feet in height, strode forcefully into the room. He moved quickly for one who carried slightly more weight on his frame than he should, and immediately surveyed the chamber. He was completely bald and had on fairly expensive servant’s garb. He sported elaborate jewelry and that, coupled with his girth and clean-shaven body, created the impression that he was a eunuch from Mulhorand. It suited Naglatha to have people believe that of her servant and not recognize him as a bodyguard and a Thayan Knight.
The Crimson Gold Page 4