Saura whispered an incantation into the night and the lock slid open, the door swinging mysteriously inward. Carefully, she stepped into the shop. Once inside, she ensured all the shades were drawn and blinds were closed on the two street facing windows. Then, crumbling a piece of phosphorescent moss to invoke the Art, she cast a simple light spell on the serrated blade of her curved dirk. The room was cast in an eerie yellow light, revealing thousands of ancient tomes, manuals, scrolls, and books stacked in a haphazard fashion around a room nearly twenty paces square. A small wooden table, empty except for a well-worn ledger, stood in the center of the cluttered room. Just opposite the door, another opening leading out of the room was covered with a hanging tapestry. She figured that the passageway led to the proprietor's living quarters, and she turned away from it, ignoring the possibility that her prize might lie in that direction. She'd deal with the proprietor later. It wouldn't do to go leaving potential witnesses about.
Saura whispered the arcane words and traced the intricate designs of a spell that would illuminate all items within the shop that possessed magic. Nearly one-in-four books showed some sort of magical aura, surprising her. Deciding to search for the strongest aura of magic, she stepped into the mass of tomes and began to sort through those items she identified with her spell, looking for the book whose aura told of ancient power, and matched Nusair's cryptic description: black dragon's hide, edged in beaten copper.
Soon after starting, Saura stopped her search when a voice called out from behind the hanging tapestry, startling her from the task at hand.
"Who's there?" The voice was shaky and unsure.
For a moment, Saura considered avoiding confrontation, but the promise other Red Robes drove her onward. She slid her dagger into its sheath, effectively plunging the room into blackness.
As quickly as it disappeared, light once again streamed into the room. The glow was faint, though, and coming from behind the tapestry that hid the room's exit. Saura quickly hid behind a large stack of leather bound books. From there, she watched as an old man carrying a low-burning candle in one hand and waving a wand before him in the other, stepped tentatively into the room. From her two days of surveillance, she knew the man as Mephnit Nandem, the owner of the establishment.
Mephnit was dark of skin and hair. He would have been tall, if he hadn't been bent over with age. He looked afraid. He wasn't much of a threat, as far as Saura could tell. That thought brought a tentative smile across the wizard's face. The old man was no warrior, nor was he a wizard to be feared.
Saura stood and said, "I am a collector… of fine books and ancient writings."
"More likely a thief," the old man said, startled. He backed away, waving the wand before him. "Why do you come here, breaking and entering and wielding magic in my home?"
Ignoring the man's question, Saura stated the obvious: "I'm looking for a book, old man. It's an ancient tome, if truth be told, with a black and copper cover."
Mephnit's eyes darted to her left and returned nervously to settle on Saura.
"Come back in the morning," said the old man. "I don't do business in the witching hours."
"There's a reason I'm here now," Saura hissed. She threw back her hood revealing the tell-tale tattoos of a Thayan spellcaster.
The man stepped backward once more. "I have wards up. The watch will come. You should go, wizard. Your kind is not wanted in Skuld," he continued to clutch the magical device in sweating hands. "If you're caught, you'll be killed."
Saura's patience wore thin with the old man. She doubted the old sage knew much of the Art at all-certainly not enough to ward the place against any sort of magic that Saura could wield. But she had no idea if he had somehow sent out warning to the watch. Time was slipping away. She decided to play on his greed, and took a bag from the folds of her cloak, emptying its contents on the small table. Ten beautiful rubies spilled out and rolled about the tabletop. The man's eyes widened in exasperation.
"My offer is high," she said with a smiled.
Mephnit hesitated for just a second. He was obviously interested in the offer. But Saura was disappointed at his response. "I am sure it is not high enough," he coughed out. "If I am caught dealing with Thayans, I too will be put to the sword."
"I grow tired of this talk." She put on her crudest look, and shot out her hand to snatch at his shoulder, pulling him closer so that his face was only inches from hers. "That is the price," she rasped at him. "The next offer will be much higher!" she finished the last comment by raising her eyebrow and sneering wickedly. It was no threat, only a promise.
The frightened man's eyes darted once again to the corner, then back to hers. "H-how can I trust the word of a… of a Thayan wizard?" he asked, stuttering.
"You cannot!" she shrieked in final frustration.
Like a striking cobra, her hand lashed out and knocked the wand from his shaking hand. She could see the fear in his eyes as he backed toward the exit. Saura briefly considered murdering the man with a magic missile or some other spell that would be clean and sterile. Then she reconsidered. Sometimes, Saura preferred cold steel. As gracefully as any hunting cat, Saura drew her knife and went to work.
Three days after murdering the shopkeeper and making off with the tome, Saura stood in front of Nusair, holding a bag that contained the great artifact. The walls of the library surrounded them once again, and Saura bent a knee to her benefactor.
"I have returned, Master," she said.
The trip back to Bezantur was not nearly as long as the trip to Skuld. Nusair had equipped Saura with a stone imbued with a spell of recall, which allowed her to teleport back to her home base whenever she wanted. Of course, all that was predicated on the safe retrieval of The Scalamagdrion.
"Have you brought it?" He asked.
He should have known better. Saura would never have come back without the artifact. Failing on such a mission would have cost her her life, or worse, her position at Darkul Tower.
Still, she humored him. "Yes, Master. I have brought your prize."
Saura stood and dropped the bag on the room's great table, partially spilling the ancient tome onto the well-worn surface. Her master's eyes lit up and she could not suppress the feeling of victory that spread through her.
"Now for your part of the bargain," she said.
Nusair walked to the book, turning his back to the beautiful apprentice. He pressed his hand against the bag that held it.
"Yes… about that…" he started.
Saura's feeling of triumph fell through the floor.
That night, Nusair slipped from between the silken sheets in his bed. He let his lips brush lightly against Saura's ear one last time. She knew how to please him better than anyone.
He briefly considered taking her with him to the library, letting her share in his victory. But that would be foolish. Why should he give her any more power than she already had? There were certain pleasures worth holding on to, no matter what the cost. Besides, he'd be damned if he would be one of the few Red Wizards to officially induct a Rashemi into his red circle. He'd be a laughing stock, and any chances of serving Master Nevron more closely would be dashed as surely as if he had hidden The Scalamagdrion with the intent of taking it for himself. That decided, as quietly as he could, Nusair threw on his red robes, and snuck from his sleeping room toward his library, leaving her dozing peacefully in his bed.
The Red Wizard opened the door to his library and looked upon the darkened chamber. On the table rested The Scalamagdrion, shrouded in darkness, its cover glowing with a faint red light. He thought about starting a fire to heat the cold room, but his own impatience wouldn't let him. He whispered a quick incantation and tiny flames leaped from his fingers to light the candles that graced the table and walls, casting out just enough light to read by.
Copper bindings wrapped about the ancient tome like the crushing arms of a monstrous drake. It seemed to Nusair that the forms of dragons, terrible to behold, writhed and undulated on the cover, eac
h one seeming to snap at unseen victims, their talonlike claws and razor teeth glinting magically in the candlelight. Yet, strangely the cover bore no such markings.
For a moment, Nusair hesitated. But the promise of the book was too much. He had come too far to fear some petty illusion. Inside the bindings waited riches and power beyond even his imagination. The book would be his defining discovery. Once he unlocked its secret and gave the book to Nevron, he might well be catapulted to the highest levels of Thayan power circles… perhaps even to command a tharch or become a trusted lieutenant to the Zulkir of Conjuration himself.
Intent on unlocking his hard won discovery, Nusair swallowed the momentary pang of fear that had worked its way into his throat. He reached out with shaking hands to touch, however tentatively, the artifact. The book's age and power pulsed under his fingers, and he drew back.
The tome had been crafted long before even the coming of Mulhorand to Toril, in the dark and mysterious palaces and winding spires of Imaskar or perhaps Netheril, where brown deserts and wastes were all that remained-reminders of power gone awry. But that was long ago, and the roots of the long dead regimes were buried with the kings and pharaohs of old. The ambitious Red Wizard had better things to do than worry about long dead civilizations.
He reached out once again and gripped the cover in his trembling hands then allowed his fingers to crawl across the strange cover to the latch holding it closed. There, he flipped open the leather tongue securing it. Suddenly, he found his breath coming in short gasps of air. What had he to fear? Only words written on pages awaited him, he chided himself. But still, all his instincts told him to leave the book closed. Let sleeping dragons lie, the old saying went.
"Bah!" Nusair exclaimed aloud to the empty room. He was a Red Wizard, and ridiculous wives' tales and irrational fears would not cow him. He took a deep breath then slowly, deliberately, opened the tome. He leaned forward to peer downward upon the thing that he had labored so long to recover. A loud, deep groan, like a dying man's final pained breath, escaped the pages of The Scalamagdrion as the front cover struck the worn oak table.
Without more than that single groan as a warning, a monstrous reptilian creature leaped from the pages of the tome, its body growing to crush the table, sending splinters of oak flying in all directions. The dragon was twice as tall as
Nusair, with massive muscled arms and stunted wings. Its tail stretched another body length behind and was tipped in a bladelike plate. The dragon's gray-silver scales glinted like platinum in the firelight. Its jaws opened and revealed razor teeth that sparkled like diamonds.
"Loreat Levethix," the beast hissed, its voice scratching across its tongue and its breath hot on Nusair's face.
Nusair gasped. His heart accelerated, threatening to burst from his chest. He recognized the dragon's words at once-Die Wizard.
Then the room was plunged into silence.
Nusair fell back before the beast, scrambling to put distance between himself and its grinning jaws. The Scalamag-drion stared down at him with terrifying malevolence and advanced, watching Nusair's every move.
Nusair reached into his mind for the spells that he had prepared. Grasping on one that would roast the creature in a hellish fire, the Red Wizard muttered the words that would call the Weave to him. N6thing happened, his voice lost in the magic silence cast out by the dragon. Cursing to himself, Nusair rushed for the door.
He never made it.
The dragon launched itself between the Red Wizard and the door, coming down on the wooden floor with a loud crunch that shook the entire tower. The beast swung its massive claws at Nusair, but the wizard was too quick. He dodged to the left then dived to the ground. The beast's dagger-claws whistled as they passed within inches of Nusair's head. The Red Wizard rolled onto his back and tried to stand. Just then the second claw raked across his chest.
Both flesh and magic robes alike gave way before the terrible attack. Nusair bellowed a silent scream at the top of his lungs, as blood sprayed the floor behind him and ribs cracked like so many twigs under foot.
Gasping for air, he looked upward at his assailant, pain thundering in his temples. The Scalamagdrion arched its back up and away, preparing to strike again, but with its jaws. It glared down on him. It seemed to relish the look of horror on Nusair's face, as its razor-sharp teeth gleamed in the remaining candlelight. Nusair shuddered in fear and prepared himself for the inevitable.
Just then, the Red Wizard remembered the magic ring that he always wore as a last resort. He didn't need to speak to activate the device-only a simple flick of the wrist. And so he did, desperate for anything to work against his murderer. Four blue globes of shining light launched from the ring and shot, like arrows, the short distance to the dragon's armored breast. The balls impacted on the creature in bright explosions of white light.
But Nusair's elation at the attack's success disappeared as the dragon's glimmering scales absorbed the globes of magical energy. Then, as quickly as the missiles hit the dragon, they reappeared, emerging from its very flesh and launched right back at Nusair. The Red Wizard barely had time to let loose yet another cry of terror that disappeared into the magical silence, before the first of the ball lighting bolts tore into him. The explosions wracked his body. He convulsed as the power of the charges surged through him, leaving him broken, burned, and writhing in pain.
Terribly wounded but still alive, Nusair rolled over and crawled desperately for the door, his bloody fingers digging holes into the fine wood floor, and leaving a bloody streak of glistening crimson behind. But before he could cover the last few feet to the door, the dragon leaped upon him, landing square on his back with sharp talons that punched clean through his torso to splinter the floor beneath.
At that moment, Nusair expired.
The dragon let the ring of silence fall. It flipped Nusair's lifeless body over and looked into the dead wizard's eyes. Then, with a final roar, the Scalamagdrion snatched the wizard up, and leaped once again upon the book to disappear into its pages. All that remained of the once powerful Red Wizard was a torn and destroyed red robe and a bloody trail that told of his demise.
A few moments passed before Saura emerged from a darkened corner, naked and holding her serrated dirk. She walked into the room and to the wizard's robe. She shivered then smiled smugly. Saura crouched over the object of her greatest desire and considered the implications of her betrayal for the shortest of seconds. Then she pulled the tattered and burned remains of Nusair's robe over her sleek shoulders and walked to the closed book.
"You have underestimated my powers, Nusair. I learned the secret of The Scalamagdrion long before I ever returned," she said, speaking to the tome. She added, "Samas Kul cares little about my parentage, and he will be most pleased with your gift."
Saura strode from the room carrying the ancient artifact and cloaked in her coveted robes, however tattered.
FREEDOM'S PROMISE
Ed Gentry
Kythorn, the Year of Wild Magic (1372 DR)
The ancient blue wyrm rolled lazily onto his stomach, fully rousing himself from his long slumber. He shifted, and coins and gems embedded in his azure hide fell from his body and clanked in the pool of treasure upon which he rested. His enormous orbs peered around the cave as he took note of every precious item that sprawled around him. The titanic beast magically dismissed the remaining wards around his lair with a sigh, allowing the visitor entrance to this innermost portion of the cavern.
"Well met, Gerinvioch," said the unfortunate intruder as he finally came into view, brushing sand and dust from his violet cloak.
Dampened by sweat, short, graying hair was matted so tightly against the human's steeply sloped forehead that it almost seemed as if his face simply continued on into his hair, flesh becoming strands of gray. The emblems embroidered on the sleeves of the man's robes announced him as a citizen of Estagund.
"You are Gerinvioch, are you not?" the man said as he continued to primp his robe.
&nbs
p; A long moment passed as the dragon considered the human who stood before him, a wizard to judge from appearances. Gerinvioch blinked and let out a slow yawn.
"Dragon! You will hear me!"
The old wyrm sprang to his feet, lunging forward, coming to a stop with his single-horned snout mere inches from the stunned human's face. A smile widened on his reptilian lips as he slowly pulled his head back.
"I would ask you some questions, dragon," the wizard said as his body slowly gave up its rigid posture and went slack.
Laughter erupted from Gerinvioch's belly, resounding off the stone walls in a cacophony of mirth. "Would you give audience to an ant?" the wyrm responded. He continued, not allowing the human a chance to speak. "Seeking to procure some of my treasure for yourself? Where are your fellow thieves then, bug?"
"Treasure? Why would I want a pile of such worthless refuse as this?" the wizard replied, extending his arm to sweep across the cache of riches in the cavern. "What I seek, you could never own. What I seek requires real power to wield."
Gerinvioch stared silently at the man, the anticipation welling up in him.
"The item is somewhere here in the Dust Desert," the man began after clearing his throat. "You have made your home in these lands for many years, so I thought I might be able to use one relic," the wizard continued with a beaming grin, "to find another."
Gerinvioch returned the human's grin and replied, "Truly, you believe this item is valuable since you have come to face me, a Great Blue" the dragon said, emphasizing his heritage. "What is this object you seek, human?"
"It is called the Evise Jhontil. It was a divinely inspired gift from Set to his disciples," he responded sanctimoniously, obviously doubtful of the item's ecclesiastical origin.
Gerinvioch quickly cast his eyes downward.
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