The Crimson Gold

by Voronica Whitney-Robinson

  “Are you quite through?” the lich demanded, and there was no way for Pyras to miss the contempt in Szass Tam’s voice.

  As soon as the spots cleared from his vision, he sheepishly released his hold on the lich and tried desperately to compose himself.

  “I’m so sorry,” he offered lamely to the necromancer, “I don’t know what happened.”

  “Perhaps you are coming down with something,” Szass Tam offered as he smoothed out the wrinkles on his red robe where Pyras had clutched his arm, “or perhaps these occasional rumblings are frightening you more than you care to let on, hmm?”

  “I am not sure what is wrong,” he replied softly. “These headaches have been growing increasingly painful.”

  “Well,” the lich said after some consideration, “I suppose it would be a shame if you became so incapacitated that I would be forced to look for a replacement for you amongst the other autharchs.” He stroked his beard thoughtfully. “However, it wouldn’t be the first time that happened. You do recall your predecessor, don’t you?”

  Pyras blanched as he remembered the man who had held the position of tharchion before him. He could still hear the man’s screams in his dreams some nights. And, judging by the look on Szass Tam’s face, Pyras suspected he wouldn’t have any compunction removing him either. Fearfully, Pyras scurried along to keep up with the lich. He didn’t want to give him another reason to be displeased. He tried to redirect the necromancer’s attentions.

  “Uh, there was something else I wanted to tell you, Zulkir,” Pyras began, trying to somehow win himself back into his mentor’s favor. Szass Tam returned to his brisk pace again, and Pyras had no choice but to speak to him on the run, as it were. “My network of spies,” he started, trying hard to ignore what sounded like a soft chuckle from the lich, “has come to me with some disturbing news.”

  “And what might that be, dear Pyras?” the necromancer asked, and Pyras could see amusement dance in his black eyes.

  “They have reported that more than a few of the standing armies of the other zulkirs have been getting restless lately,” he explained.

  “Really?” Szass Tam questioned.

  “Yes,” the young tharchion continued, “more so than usual, and even the regular entertainments have not been effectual in relieving their tension. Certainly, the gladiatorial games are as popular as ever with the local populace, but the members of the armies themselves are not as distracted as they once were by them.”

  “So what do you suggest?” Szass Tam asked his young protégé.

  “I don’t have anything to add to what you’ve already come up with,” Pyras told him, trying hard not to sound breathless as he struggled to keep up with the lich. He didn’t want Szass Tam to see that he had become a touch weaker lately.

  “I’m so glad you approve, tharchion,” said the lich.

  “I only meant to say that once again your timing is perfect,” Pyras replied and secretly hated himself for the groveling tone that he had adopted. “To have all of the other zulkirs and tharchions here in the Citadel will be a perfect opportunity for you to quell their unease and refocus their energies.”

  The necromancer stopped short, and Pyras nearly stumbled in to him. He knew that would have been the biggest mistake of all to make. Pyras was fearful that he had, again, said the wrong thing. But he was not the object of the necromancer’s scrutiny. He followed the lich’s gaze and realized it was fixed on one of the many support columns in the hallway. Pyras could see that there were new cracks along the top. As he moved closer, the floor made a horrible screech. Lifting up his sandaled foot, Pyras discovered several small marble chips scattered along the floor. Probably from the column, he thought morosely. I’m sure I’ll be blamed for this somehow.

  But the necromancer remained silent and contemplative. He ran his strong hands along the length of the column and rapped his fist against it as though testing its integrity. Pyras almost thought the lich looked worried, but then dismissed the notion. Pyras had never seen Szass Tam anxious about anything, so he didn’t even have an idea what that emotion might like look on the lich’s dead features. He was certain the zulkir was just looking for where he might have slipped up again.

  Pyras wasn’t sure if the lich was more displeased with him lately or not. And he didn’t want to admit it, but the recent volcanic activity had made him somewhat anxious. Granted, living in a series of volcanic ridges, a certain amount of tectonic activity was unavoidable. The peaks did erupt now and again—they always had. In fact, the quantity of ash falling in the northerly and eastern areas of High Thay, downwind of the Thaymount, was so copious that it rendered the area nearly uninhabitable. Nevertheless, a few determined Red Wizards struggled to raise their own towers in the desolate spots regardless. So, quakes and tremors were not unusual. But something was different this time, Pyras felt it. Added to that was his distress and puzzlement over his recent headaches. They might have been the result of the endless nights of planning the lich had put him through for this upcoming counsel. That was a possibility. He was definitely under more stress because of it, but maybe he was just a touch frightened by the quakes as well. He knew most of the other Red Wizards that inhabited High Thay and the Thaymount had expressed their concerns to one degree or another over the last few tendays. So he wasn’t the only one who felt something was amiss.

  And there was Szass Tam. Pyras felt he was under constant pressure to please the lich. And he wasn’t mistaken there. Over the last few tendays, as Pyras sat bent over his desk making plans and taking notes, Szass Tam had been always over his shoulder. That had to have been when the headaches started. Who wouldn’t suffer from them under those conditions? On the surface, though, Tam had been supportive and instructional the whole time. He even brought me carafes of wine when he thought I needed them, Pyras remembered fondly. He had never done that before. Pyras dismissed his concerns with the thought that he couldn’t fail the lich.

  Pyras realized that the necromancer was studying his face closely. There would be no disguising the fact this time that the young, clean-shaven tharchion had not been paying attention with the proper amount of rapt fascination to the zulkir. However, the lich’s next statement caught Pyras off-guard.

  “Your eyes look more yellow to me than usual. Are you feeling well?” he asked, but Pyras wasn’t sure if there was concern or calculation in his black eyes.

  “I am fine,” Pyras replied. “I just want to make sure that everything goes the way you’ve planned. You’ve worked so diligently toward this.” Once again, the wheedling, needy tone had crept back into his voice.

  “I am so pleased my efforts have not gone unnoticed. You do have such a sharp eye,” he snapped, and Pyras knew he had angered the lich.

  “See to it everything else is as I asked,” he ordered and turned to leave the damaged hall. “No need to follow. I am done with you today.” And in a swirl of maroon and black, the lich was gone, more than likely to his inner chambers in the lower level.

  No sooner had the necromancer departed than another quake rumbled through the edifice. Pyras lay a hand across his forehead and felt his knees turn to water. As he crumpled backward in a dead faint, his last conscious thought was one of relief that Szass Tam had not witnessed this latest embarrassment.

  2 Kythorn, 1373 DR

  Tazi looked out across the plateau to the west. She placed her hands against the small of her back and tried to ease the ache that had settled there since she had left Pyrados, days passed. The road was not as well maintained as some of the others in Thay, and the bouncing of the carriage was wearing on her.

  She and Naglatha rode in the first carriage while Justikar and the two bodyguards followed up in a modified cart that also held all of Naglatha’s personal effects stacked high. The griffon, tethered to the last cart, brought up the rear. Tazi had been surprised their wooden vehicle hadn’t cracked under the weight, and she sympathized with the two horses forced to pull that load. The Rashemi drivers Naglatha had hired, ho
wever, swore the vehicles and the beasts could stand the burden. Of course, they had only had to load the cargo, not pull it themselves. Tazi suspected they simply didn’t want to share the hefty fee that Naglatha had offered them with anyone else. Greed was the same wherever Tazi ventured.

  For days now, she had traveled alone in the Red Wizard’s company. Naglatha had obviously felt secure enough in her bargain with Tazi because she had relegated her servants to ride with the duergar. She was right, Tazi had mused. With her family at stake, there was no way Tazi would have tried anything. The trip had been without incident, and the only point of discussion at all had been at the beginning of their journey as Naglatha had debated what route she wanted to take to reach the Citadel. Her manservants suggested the Eastern Way to Tyraturos and from there the High Road to Eltabbar. Milos offered up the fact that while the route was less direct, the roads were so impeccably well maintained that they would cross them quite quickly and make up time that way.

  “And well they should be,” she had said in response to the road’s condition, “considering the fees they charge everyone at those cursed tax stations.”

  She had considered the matter for a while, and Tazi was somehow not surprised when Naglatha chose to disregard her bodyguard’s advice. She picked the more direct, but more difficult route.

  “We’ll go along the Surague Escarpment and skirt Lake Thaylambar until we reach Eltabbar. From there we can use our own transportation the rest of the way to the Citadel,” she informed them.

  Heraclos had pointed out that the Sunrise Mountains were just to the east of that route, and that was where they had recaptured the dwarf. “He could try it again and slow us down all the more.”

  Tazi recalled how coldly Naglatha had regarded her at that instant. “I don’t think there is much likelihood of that occurring, do you, Tazi?”

  “Not a chance,” Tazi had promised her, but in reality, she wasn’t so sure herself.

  “See, I’m certain the dwarf will be no trouble for you both,” she had informed her servants. Heraclos had started to protest, but she cut them off.

  “Tazi and I will be just fine. I prefer to take in the scenery with her alone,” she said, stressing the last word.

  And so, for the last few days, Tazi had ridden alongside Naglatha in their partially covered carriage and took in the sights of the Thayan countryside. If she hadn’t been a prisoner, she would have almost enjoyed it. To her right, Tazi watched the River Thazarim flow along contentedly, knowing that it would eventually meet up with the Sea of Fallen Stars to the south and in due course with Lake Thaylambar to the north. Naglatha explained that it was the largest body of water in the country, feeding the River Thay and the River Thazarim.

  A few carts passed them at that point, and Tazi could see several men outfitted with strange gear, nets, and hooks too large and bulky for conventional fishing, and towing small water craft behind them. She finally broke down and questioned Naglatha about it.

  “Deep in the heart of the lake, which is as cold as a slaver’s heart,” she recounted, “live huge herds of dragon turtles. Men have been trying for years to cull their numbers and catch the creatures. Most,” she said with a smirk, “fail miserably and not all these parties come back intact, if they come back at all. Ever since an associate of mine, Brazhal Kos, actually managed to capture one of the magnificent creatures alive, it seems that the number of these forays has at the very least doubled. Oh well,” she added, “the less fools alive the better.”

  Tazi turned away at those hash words. She still had a difficult time understanding why life was valued so poorly here. The view to the west was of a vast plain that was covered by rich fields and orchards. To Tazi, it appeared every square foot of useable tract was farmed. Granaries were stuffed to the point of bursting, and she could see no end in sight to the fertile ground.

  “Why deal in slaves,” she asked Naglatha, “when you’ve been so successful with your produce and grains?”

  “The farm goods simply paved the way and opened up the markets for the slaves. That’s where the coin is, after all,” she explained.

  “I thought you didn’t believe in the trade policy?”

  “I never said that. I can certainly appreciate the benefits of trade relations,” Naglatha expounded. “I simply don’t want them to usurp the natural course of Thay’s growth.”

  Tazi grew silent and admired the fertile areas of land. But, even as she appreciated how well tended and rich the orchards and fields were, she knew they hid a horrible secret. It was the blood and sweat of slaves that made all of it possible. Living beings that didn’t benefit from their efforts but more than likely died from them. Somehow, she believed, that had to taint everything the land produced. And she wondered how many of the things she had taken for granted in life had some darkness behind them.

  As she looked out over the rolling fields, the sun was setting in the distance. In those last few rays of evening, the fields changed from verdant green to a dark red. The color washed over everything as far as Tazi could see. It was as though a wave of blood covered the land, and Tazi shivered. If only there was something that I could do, she thought helplessly.

  For the next few days, the small caravan held a simple schedule. They camped along the river each night, and the drivers broke camp every morning at the first light of dawn. The only other chore performed with any regularity was the brief grooming Naglatha’s servants offered to the griffon, Karst. She did not allow her beloved pet to go neglected.

  The nights were much cooler than in Pyrados, with rain every night. The closer they got to the Second Escarpment, the colder it got as they climbed higher in elevation. Only once did Tazi see Justikar through the journey; Naglatha must have given explicit orders that they were not to see or speak to each other. But, as they were breaking camp, Tazi caught sight of the duergar. His arms were bound and, if it were at all possible, the dwarf looked angrier than ever. However, He also looked to Tazi like he was moving somewhat easier, so she believed his injuries were healing up without complications.

  The group stopped only briefly in the capital city of Eltabbar. There, Naglatha released the drivers and their gear from her service as she kept a small town-house of sorts in the city and assured them she had ample supplies of her own. Tazi was pleased to see that she also left most of her various trunks behind at her residence and traveled fairly lightly from that point onward. Tazi couldn’t stand all the gear and the noise they made. It reminded her of the last trip she made with her family.

  They lingered in the city only long enough for Naglatha to confer with her spies. As soon as she received confirmation that the tharchion of that city, Dmitra Flass, had already departed, Naglatha hurried the group along.

  As the troupe departed the canal-ridden city, Tazi could see the forbidding ridges and snow-capped peaks of the Thaymount. They looked to Tazi like rotted, frostbitten fingers reaching for the sky, and she wondered what mysteries lay buried beneath their surface. She suspected she would find out soon enough.

  They traveled along the River Eltab on their way to the Citadel. Tazi and Naglatha sat side-by-side, while Milos drove the carriage, and Heraclos and the griffon brought up the rear. Justikar sat alongside Milos, in front, where he was in plain view. When they had left the capital, Naglatha had untied his bonds. Tazi had started to thank her, but Naglatha had held up a hand in warning.

  “It would simply be too hard to explain why I traveled with anything less than a trusted servant in these parts,” she elucidated.

  Now, climbing into the Second Escarpment, Tazi saw a few fields again, though less expansive then some of the ones she saw on the plateau below.

  “These are not meant to yield the quantities of produce and food as the tracts below,” Naglatha answered her. “What you see now are some of the private plantations and properties of some of the tharchions and zulkirs and, to a lesser degree, some of our wealthier nobles.”

  “But I thought most of the government official
s would have residences in their own provinces?” Tazi asked.

  “True,” Naglatha replied. “Think of these places as summer retreats. When the next few months hit, many will vacation up here to the cooler climates. And, it is logistically easier for the zulkirs and tharchions to keep these here instead of in their regions,” she finished and pointed to a structure some miles in the distance. Tazi tried to see what it was that Naglatha was referring to. It was only after they were closer that Tazi could make it out.

  Along a ridge of one plantation, there was row after row of buildings that could only be best described as barracks. And in a small, cleared field, Tazi saw fifty or so humanoid creatures running drills. She squinted to determine what manner of beasts they were and saw that Justikar’s back tensed up at the sight of the creatures. As well as she could remember from her lessons, there were few creatures that dwarves in general hated beside drow and orcs. Judging by their size, Tazi speculated the creatures had to be orcs.

  Their carriage came relatively close to the training ground, and Tazi could see that there were several squads of the beasts training. Dressed in shabby colors of purple and yellow with haphazardly assembled armor, the beasts had the typical stooped stature, sloping foreheads, and piglike facial features Tazi knew to be common for orcs. They even had the protruding lower jaw with heavy canine teeth and the wolfish ears. But Tazi thought that all orcs had gray skin, much like the duergar, and blood-red eyes. These soldiers, though, were mottled in appearance, with patches of maroon all over, and even from a distance, Tazi could see the orcs’ eyes were bright yellow.

  “What are those things?” she asked Naglatha.