The autharch kept a little brass gong beside his seat at the big round table, presumably to command everyone's attention and silence, and Dmitra clanged it. The assembly fell silent, and the others turned to look at her. "Your Omnipotences," she said, "Your Omniscience, Saers, and Captains. Not long ago, we believed ourselves on the brink of defeat. But fate intervened, and now we have another chance."
Samas Kul snorted. Although no one had set out food in the hall, he had grease on his full, ruddy lips and a half-eaten leg of duck in his blubbery hand. "Another chance. Is that what we're calling it?"
Dmitra smiled. "What would you call it?"
"Considering that we have reports of whole cities and fiefs burned or melted away, of the land itself tortured into new shapes, I'd call it a disaster."
"That," said Iphegor, "is because you don't understand what's happening." He raked the company with the gaze of his lambent orange eyes. "What you take to be a calamity is actually an occasion for great rejoicing and great resolve. Kossuth has always promised that one day the multiverse would catch fire, and that much of it would perish. It's our task to make sure it's the debased and polluted portions that burn, so that we'll dwell in a purer, nobler world thereafter."
"Nonsense," Dimon said. The tharchion of Tyraturos had even fairer skin than most Mulans, and blue veins snaked like rivers across his shaven crown. He was a priest of Bane, god of darkness, as well as a soldier, and wore the black gauntlet emblematic of his order.
Iphegor pivoted to glare at him. "What did you say?"
"I said you're talking nonsense. This blue stuff isn't really fire, and your god and his prophecies had nothing to do with its coming. It's here because Shar and Cyric killed Mystra. We know that much even if we know precious little more, so you might as well stop trying to convince us that the crisis means we ought to exalt your faith above all others."
"You see only the surface of things," Iphegor replied. "Look deeper."
"That's always good advice," Dmitra said, hoping to avert an argument between the two clerics, "whatever god one follows. We need to weigh our options and choose the one that will leave us in the strongest position when the disturbances end."
"Assuming they ever do," Lallara said.
"They will," Dmitra said, trying her best to sound certain of it. "The question is, what shall we do in the meantime?"
"Make peace," Lauzoril said.
"No!" someone exclaimed. Turning, Dmitra saw that it was Bareris Anskuld. She wondered briefly why he'd remained on the other end of the room from Aoth. They generally sat together if they both attended a council, and it seemed odd that he wouldn't be at his comrade's side in the moment of his misfortune.
Prim and clerkish though he was, Lauzoril was also a zulkir, and unaccustomed to being interrupted by his inferiors. He gave Bareris a flinty stare. "Another such outburst and I'll feed you to your own damn griffons."
With a visible effort, Bareris clamped down on his emotions. "Master, I apologize."
"As is proper," Lallara said. "But I might have produced an outburst myself, if you hadn't beaten me to it."
"I hate Szass Tam as much as any of you," Lauzoril said. "But the truth is, we've all been fighting for ten years, with neither side able to gain and keep the upper hand. As a result, Thay was on its way to ruin even before the blue fires came. Now the realm truly stands on the verge of annihilation. All of us who possess true power should work together to salvage what we can. Otherwise, there may be nothing left for anyone to rule."
"Are you talking about reestablishing the council as it once was?" Zola Sethrakt asked, her voice cracking. She was a youthful-looking woman, comely in an affected, angular sort of way, who never went anywhere without a profusion of bone and jet ornaments swinging from her neck and sliding on her arms. As a result, she could scarcely breathe without clattering. "I'm the zulkir of Necromancy now!"
"Rest assured," Lauzoril said, "you will always enjoy a place of high honor."
"Every order has the right to elect its own zulkir, and mine chose me!" Zola screeched.
"The dregs of your order elected you," Lallara snapped, "after the lich led all the competent necromancers into the north. So I suggest you pay careful heed to whatever your seniors on the council advise, and graciously accept any decision this body may happen to reach. Otherwise, if we do invite Szass Tam back, and he resents you spending the last ten years in his chair, you can contend with his displeasure without any support from the rest of us."
Nevron scowled. It made his face almost as forbidding as the tattooed demonic visages visible on his neck and the backs of his hands. "Then you agree with Lauzoril?"
"No," Lallara said, "at least, not yet. But I concede that for once, his idea is worth discussing."
"So do I," Samas said.
"I would, too," Dmitra said, "if-"
"If you didn't know Szass Tam better than the rest of us," Lallara said. "By all the fiends in all the Hells, will we ever have a conversation without you harping on that same observation?"
"I apologize if it's become tiresome," Dmitra said, "but I repeat it because it's both pertinent and true. I don't claim I truly understand Szass Tam. None of us do. But I have some sense of the way his thoughts run, and I assure you, it's a waste of time even to consider making peace. Having begun this war, he'll see it through to the end, no matter the cost. If he indicated otherwise, it would be a ruse."
"We could play that game, too," Samas said. "Pretend we believe he desires peace, exploit his talents to help manage the current crisis, then turn on him later."
"Remember how this all started," Nevron said. "The assassinations and other maneuvers that nearly won him his regency without even needing to fight a war, and then tell me you're confident you could play as cleverly. I'm not sure I could. I'd rather have the bastard as my open enemy raising armies against me in the north than give him free run of the south."
"Well said, Your Omnipotence," Iphegor said. "The Lord of Flames wants us to fight, and cauterize the vileness that is Szass Tam from the face of Faerыn."
Dimon made a sour face. "As I've already explained, His Omniscience is mistaken if he truly believes that his deity, who is, to speak frankly, merely the prince of the fire elemental, has any sort of special role or significance in the current situation. But though his premises are faulty, his conclusion is valid. Speaking as a hierophant of the Black Hand, I too advise relentless aggression until we lay our enemy low, for such is the creed of Bane. It's how men achieve glory in this life and the one that follows."
"It's how Red Wizards commonly conduct themselves, also," Dmitra said, "and it's an approach that's served me well. So I oppose the idea of sending any sort of emissary to Szass Tam."
Samas heaved a sigh. "I suppose I do, too. He'd probably just change our envoys into ghosts and zombies and add them to his legions."
One by one, the remaining zulkirs rejected the notion of suing for peace. Zola looked relieved when it became clear how the informal vote was leaning.
At the end of it all, Lauzoril pursed his pale, thin lips. "So be it, then. Perhaps it was a bad idea. But surely we all agree that, even if we're resolved to remain at war, we can't prosecute it aggressively at the moment. According to Goodman Springhill's spies, Szass Tam has retreated north with the greater part of his army, and we should retire to our own strongholds, to rebuild our strength and determine how to overcome the current impediment to our spellcasting."
Bareris lifted his hand. "If Your Omnipotence has finished, may I speak to that point?"
"You're here to offer your opinion," Dmitra said, "so long as you do it courteously."
"Thank you, Mistress," said the bard. "I'm well aware that I lack the wisdom of a zulkir, a tharchion, or a high priest. I'm just a junior officer. But I have learned a little about war during my years of service, and it seems to me that now is the perfect time to launch a new campaign against Szass Tam."
Lauzoril shook his head. "How can that be, when our forces a
re crippled?"
"Because, Master, such things are relative, and the lich is more crippled. For the moment, wizardry has lost a measure of its power. That means, in the battles to come, men-at-arms and priestly magic will play a decisive role, and who has more of both? You do-you zulkirs who control the populous south and the sea trade that enables you to hire sellswords from abroad. Whereas the majority of Szass Tam's troops are undead, constrained to serve through sorcery, and when the blue fires came, he lost the use of a good many of them."
Malark nodded. "My agents confirm it."
"So I respectfully suggest you press your advantage," Bareris said, "before Szass Tam figures out how to neutralize it."
Nevron grunted. "I see the sense in what you recommend, but the world is in turmoil. I doubt we understand a tenth part of what's happening. We certainly don't know how to extinguish or turn back the blue fires. Do you think an army can march and fight under such conditions?"
"Yes," Bareris said, "and why shouldn't it try? What do you have to lose? The blue fire is no more likely to consume a legion on the march than one hiding in its barracks. It can spring up anywhere, with no warning."
Malark fingered the birthmark on his chin. "The disruptions have damaged my network of spotters and scouts. But some of my agents are still on the job, and even with impaired magic, I'm optimistic that they can relay information quickly enough for it to be of use. If a wave of blue flame is flowing across the countryside, perhaps I can warn an army in the field in time for it to get out of the way."
"That's encouraging," Dmitra said. "Having heard the advice of our tharchions and their subordinates, I now believe we ought to fight the northerners as aggressively as we can. What do the rest of you think?"
Samas shook his head. It made his jowls and chins wobble. "I don't know…"
Lallara sneered. "No one is requiring you to go yourself."
The fat man seemed to swell like a toad and his blotchy face bloomed even redder. "Are you questioning my courage? I fought at the Keep of Sorrows, the same as you!"
"Yes, you did," Dmitra said, "and none of us doubts the bravery or loyalty of any of the zulkirs." It was, of course, a preposterous statement, at least with regard to their alleged fidelity, but it might serve to steer the discussion back into productive channels. "I understand your misgivings. Truth be told, I share them. But I also know we're fighting for our lives against a powerful, brilliant adversary, and we must take advantage of every opportunity."
Samas snorted. "I seem to remember you saying much the same thing before we marched a critical portion of our strength into Szass Tam's trap. But all right. Let's see if we can finally bring this stupid war to an end."
One by one, the other zulkirs concurred. "So-specifically, what will be our strategy?" Lauzoril asked. "Do we take back the Keep of Sorrows?"
The silver stud in her nostril gleaming in the lamplight, Nymia Focar cleared her throat. "Master, that wouldn't be my advice. Reclaiming the fortress would require a lengthy siege, if it can be done at all, and we want to accomplish something quickly, before Szass Tam regains the full measure of his arcane powers."
"What would that something be?" Nevron asked. "Is it time to assault High Thay itself?"
Dimon shook his head. "No, Your Omnipotence, I wouldn't recommend that, either. It would be even more difficult and take longer than getting back into the keep. So my advice is to ignore the fortress but reclaim the rest of Lapendrar. It should be easy enough with Hezass Nymar and his legions dead. Next, retake your lost territories in northern Eltabbar, and conquer as much of Delhumide as you can. Once you do that, you'll have the Thaymount surrounded, cut off from the Keep of Sorrows and Surthay and Gauros as well."
"I like that," Dmitra remarked. Then, from the corner of her eye, she glimpsed an unfamiliar figure standing just inside the door. Startled, she jerked around in that direction.
Bareris looked where everyone else was looking, then cried out in astonishment.
Tammith had somehow slipped past a locked door without an assembly of the greatest wizards in the world noticing until she was fully inside. Tammith, clad in the somber mail and trappings of a champion or captain of Szass Tam's host, her pretty face, though dark in life, now whiter than white in contrast to all that black. Tammith, whom he'd destroyed ten years ago, or so he'd always believed.
Iphegor Nath jumped up from his chair, overturning it to bang against the floor. He raised his hand and scarlet flame burst from it.
Bareris leaped up, too, without knowing what he intended, or why.
Tammith dropped to her knees. "I come as a peaceful supplicant!"
That was enough to persuade Iphegor to hesitate. He had plenty of reason to despise and distrust the undead, but not quite enough to lash out when one humbled herself before him. Even now, such creatures were considered to have their legitimate place in the proper Thayan order of things. Most of the vampires and dread warriors in the realm served Szass Tam, but thanks to the labors of Zola Sethrakt and her subordinates, the lords of the south commanded some as well.
"It appears," said Dmitra Flass, "that everyone can safely be seated." She fixed her gaze on Tammith. "I see what you are, blood-drinker. But who are you?"
"My name is Tammith Iltazyarra. Until Szass Tam and his lieutenants lost control of me and I deserted, I commanded the Silent Company. Perhaps you've heard of it."
Bareris ached to hear her speak. Her voice was sweet and familiar, yet cold and flat, a travesty of the one he remembered.
"Yes," Dmitra said. "You've given us a good deal of trouble over the years."
"Then perhaps," Tammith said, "I can atone for it now. I want revenge on Szass Tam for forcing me to serve him, and the only way I'll get it is to fight for the council."
"That sounds plausible," Lallara said. "But then, if the lich sent an impostor to mislead us and spy on us, I imagine he would give her a persuasive tale to tell."
"Your Omnipotence," said Bareris, "I know Tammi… Captain Iltazyarra." Although if she still remembered him, at least with any vestige of emotion, no one could have known from her demeanor. "I mean, I did when she was alive, and I can vouch that she didn't accept her transformation or induction into Szass Tam's army willingly."
"That's fine," said Samas Kul, "but how do we know she isn't acting under coercion now? The blue fire didn't free all of the lich's puppets."
"Zola Sethrakt is the zulkir of Necromancy," Lauzoril said, "and I'm the realm's greatest enchanter. Even with our abilities diminished, we should be able to determine whether her spirit is free or not."
"But what," asked Iphegor Nath, "if she came to embrace her condition and her station during her years of service to the lich? It's plain from her stature and features that she was born Rashemi. Szass Tam gave her immortality, supernatural abilities, and high rank, and by some accounts, drinking blood is a carnal pleasure surpassing any the living can imagine. Perhaps she eventually decided she didn't have it so bad."
"Your Omniscience," Tammith gritted, "if you believe that, then, for all your wisdom, you comprehend very little of what it truly means to have your life stripped away from you, with only thirst and servitude left in its place."
"If Szass Tam doesn't have her spirit chained up tight," Zola said, "then it doesn't matter what she truly feels. I can bind her to serve me."
Tammith rose so swiftly that the eye could scarcely track the motion. "No, Mistress. With all respect, I'll never submit to another such shackle. If you try to impose it, you'll have to destroy me."
And me, Bareris realized. He'd stand with her, crazy and suicidal though it would be.
"I hope you realize," Dmitra said, "that even with our magic impaired, we can destroy you. If we all exert our powers against you, you won't last an instant."
"I understand," Tammith said. "But then you'll forfeit the chance to strike a crippling blow against your real enemy."
"Meaning what?" Nevron asked.
"I heard you discussing strategy before I sn
eaked in." Tammith smiled. "Vampires have keen ears. Your plan is good, but it could be better. Szass Tam lost many of his warriors to the blue fire. Now Xingax will labor to create replacements. But if we attack his manufactory, we can prevent it, and keep the northern armies weak."
"I take it," Dmitra said, "that you know where Xingax currently has his lair, and how we can get at it?"
Tammith inclined her head.
Bareris positioned himself beside a pale marble statue of a robed wizard and struck up a song about a starfish that decided it belonged in the sky. The ballad detailed its comical misadventures as it doggedly tried to clamber up into the heavens and take its place among the other luminaries. The sculpted wizard seemed to frown as if he disapproved of levity.
Bareris disapproved of it, too, or at least had long ago abandoned the habit, and the merry lyrics and rollicking tune felt strange coming out of his mouth. In fact, for some reason, they hurt.
But Tammith had always laughed at the song when the two of them were young, and at length, huge bats swooped out of the darkness. Bareris recoiled a step in spite of himself.
The bats swirled and melted together to become a woman. She'd removed her armor and wore a mannish leather jerkin and breeches. He wondered if she ever opted for skirts anymore.
"Of all the songs you ever wrote," she said, "I always liked that one the best."
He swallowed. "After the council of war, you just wandered off with Zola Sethrakt. You didn't even speak to me."
"And so you thought to flush me out with a tune. Here I am. What do you want?"
"For one thing, to say I'm sorry for what I did in the Keep of Thazar."
"I'm sorry it didn't take."
"Don't say that. You have your freedom now."
"But I'm still dead."
"No. Xingax laid a curse on you, but curses can be broken."
"By whom? Your zulkirs, whose magic is crippled, and to whom I'm more useful as a vampire?"
He shook his head. "I don't understand. You came here of your own volition, and yet you're so bitter and cold. You act as if you don't even want to see me."
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