Unclean (13 page)

Aoth understood why the high priest had singled her out. She was, after all, the zulkir of Divination. Uncovering secrets was her particular art.

She gave the High Flamelord a rueful, crooked smile. “You shame me, Your Omniscience. I can repeat the same speculations we’ve already passed back and forth until our tongues are numb: We’re facing an unpleasantness that one of the vanished kingdoms of the Sunrise Mountains left behind. Despite the best efforts of my order, I can’t tell you precisely where the undead horde originated or why it decided to strike at this particular time. You’re probably aware that, for better or worse, it’s difficult to use divination to find out about anything occurring in central Thay. Jealous of their privacy, too many wizards have cast enchantments to deflect such efforts. When my subordinates and I try to investigate the undead raiders, we meet with the same sort of resistance, as if they have similar wards in place.”

Lallara sneered. “So far, this has all been wonderfully productive. Even a zulkir has nothing to offer beyond excuses for ineptitude.”

If the barb stung Yaphyll, she opted not to show it. “I will say

I’m not astonished that ancient spirits are stirring. The omens indicate we live in an age of change and turmoil. The great Rage of Dragons two years ago was but one manifestation of a sort of universal ferment likely to continue for a while.”

Iphegor nodded. “On that point, Your Omnipotence, your seers and mine agree.” He smiled like a beast baring its fangs. “Let us give thanks that so much is to butn and likewise embrace our task, which is to make sure it’s the corrupt and unworthy aspects of our existence which go to feed the purifying flames.”

“Can we stay focused on killing this nighthaunt and its followers?” Lallara asked. “I assume they qualify as ‘corrupt and unworthy.’”

“I would imagine so,” said Szass Tam, “and that’s our purpose here today: to formulate a strategy. Tharchion Focar has made a beginning by sending to Thazalhar for reinforcements. How can we augment her efforts?”

Samas Kul shrugged his blubbery shoulders. The motion made the tentlike expanse of his gorgeous robes glitter and flash with reflected firelight. “Give her some more troops, I suppose.”

“Yes,” said the lich, “we can provide some, but we must also recognize our limitations. We reduced the size of our armies after the new policy of trade and peace proved successful. The legions of the north just fought a costly engagement against the Rashemi. Tharchions Kren and Odesseiron need to rebuild their forces and to hold their positions in case of another incursion. I don’t think it prudent to pull warriors away from the border we share with Aglarond either. For all we know, our neighbors to the north and west have conspired to unite against us.”

“Then what do you suggest?” asked Iphegor Nath.

“We already use our own undead soldiers to fight for us,” the lich replied. “The dread warriors, Skeleton Legion, and such… . I propose we manufacture more of them. We can disinter folk who died recently enough that the remains are still usable and

lay claim to the corpse of any commoner or thrall who dies from this point forward. I mean, of course, until such time as the crisis is resolved.”

“People won’t like that,” Lallara said. “We Thayans put the dead to use in a way that less sophisticated peoples don’t, but that doesn’t mean the average person likes the things or wants to see his sweet old granny shuffling around as a zombie.” She gave the lich a mocking smile. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Szass Tam replied blandly. “There are two answers to your objection. The first is that commoners have little choice but to do as we tell them, whether they like it or not. The second is that we’ll pay for the cadavers we appropriate. Thanks to the Guild of Foreign Trade, we have plenty of gold.”

Samas Kul smirked and preened.

“That may be,” said Iphegor, “but it isn’t just squeamish commoners who’ll object to your scheme. I object. The Firelord objects. It’s his will that the bodies of his worshipers be cremated.”

“I’m not averse to granting your followers an exemption,” said Szass Tam, “provided you’re willing to help me in return.”

The priest snorted. “At last we come to it. The reason you included me in your conclave.”

“Yes,” Szass Tam replied. “I intend to put the order of Necromancy in the forefront of the fight against the marauders. My subordinates won’t just supply zombies and skeletons to Tharchion Focar. They’ll stand in the battle lines themselves and use their magic to smite the foe. Dealing with the undead is their specialty, after all, so they should acquit themselves admirably, but our forces will prove more formidable still if the church of Kossuth commits itself to the struggle. Pyarados needs warrior priests to exert their special powers versus this sort of threat, and none are more capable than your Burning Braziers.”

“According to Tharchion Focar,” Iphegor said, “some of the

undead apparently possess the ability to strip clerics of their magic. You can understand my reluctance to send my followers into such a situation.”

“Ah, yes,” said Szass Tam, “the quells. Even the most learned necromancers believed that, like nighthaunts, the last of them perished eons ago, but now that we know of the threat, we can employ countermeasures. We’ll guard the priests better—perhaps your orders of militant monks should undertake the task—and arm them better as well, so they’re capable of defending themselves even under adverse circumstances.”

“Arm them with what?” Iphegor asked.

“With this.”

Suddenly a baton of crimson metal reposed in Szass Tarn’s withered fingers. Though Aoth was looking straight at the zulkir of Necromancy, he had the odd feeling that somehow he’d just missed seeing the rod materialize. Startled, Samas Kul gave a little jerk that set his layers of flab jiggling. Yaphyll smiled at his discomfiture.

“Take it, please,” Szass Tam said.

Iphegor accepted the baton which, Aoth now observed, had stylized tongues of flame etched on its sutface. As soon as the primate gripped it, the small flames dancing about his person poured hissing down his arm and over the weapon. The tip of it blazed up as if someone had soaked it in oil. Now it resembled a brightly burning torch, and despite the cooling enchantment of his tattoo, Aoth shrank back slightly from the fierce radiant heat.

“I feel the power in it.” The primate rose and brandished the torch in an experimental manner. “What exactly does it do?”

“I’ll show you,” said Szass Tam, rising, “using these targets.”

He waved his hand to indicate the entities now occupying one corner of the room. Aoth hadn’t noticed them materializing either, nor had he sensed any telltale fluctuation of magical forces

in his vicinity. Nymia caught her breath in surprise, or alarm.

One of the creatures was a zombielike “dread warrior,” an undead soldier still possessed of the martial skills it had mastered in life, its eyes aglow with yellow phosphorescence. The other was some sort of ghost, a bluish transparent shape that flowed and warped from one moment to the next. Its face flickered repeatedly from wholeness to raw, bleeding ruin, as if an invisible knife were cutting away the nose, lips, and eyes in turn. Aoth assumed the display reprised agonies the spirit had suffered while alive.

After his recent experiences, he felt an unreasoning urge to lash out at the undead things with his spells before they could strike at him, but in point of fact, they weren’t moving to menace anyone. Szass Tarn’s magic evidently caged them where they were.

Iphegor gave the lich a glower. “People aren’t supposed to be able to translate anything in or out of the temple without my consent.”

“I apologize if it seemed disrespectful,” said Szass Tam. “Perhaps later on Lallara can help you improve your wards.” As zulkir of Abjuration, as protective magic was called, she was presumably well suited to the task. “For now, though, shall we proceed with our demonstration?”

“All right.” The high priest extended his arm, aiming the baton as if it were a wizard’s wand or a handheld crossbow. “I assume I point the fiery end at the object of my displeasure.”

“Yes. Now focus. Place yourself in the proper frame of mind to cast a spell or chastise undead through sheer force of faith, but you aren’t actually going to expend any of your own power. You’re simply going to release a measure of what’s stored in the rod.”

Iphegor snorted. “I do know how to employ a talisman.” “Of course. When you’re ready, the trigger word is ‘Burn.’”

“Burn,” Iphegor repeated.

Dazzling flame exploded from the end of the torch to engulf the captive undead. When the flare died a heartbeat later, they were gone as well. The burst had reduced the dread warrior to wisps of ash, while the phantom left no tangible residue whatsoever.

“Impressive,” Iphegor conceded.

“Thank you,” Szass Tam replied. “The discharge is a mixture of fire and that pure essence of light and life which is poison to undead creatures, and I guarantee you, the Burning Braziers will be able to invoke it as required, even if other magic fails.”

“There will still be a significant element of danger, and you still need to give me an adequate reason to put Kossuth’s servants in harm’s way.”

“Concern for the common folk who need your help?” Yaphyll suggested, grinning.

Judging from her scowl, Lallara found the high priest’s recalcitrance less amusing. “Szass Tam already offered to exempt your followers from the mandate to surrender their dead.”

“True, that’s something,” the fire priest said, “and so are these torches, which, I assume, the Braziers will keep even when the threat is past. Still, if I’m to throw in with you and earn the enmity of Thrul and his party, I need more.”

“It seems to me,” said Szass Tam, “that you’re getting it. As we seek ascendancy over our fellow zulkirs, don’t you aspire to make the worship of Kossuth the primary faith in the realm?”

“It already is,” said Iphegor.

“Granted,” said the lich, “but the churches of Bane, Cyric, and Shar are also strong, and in time, one of them could well supplant you. As you and Yaphyll agreed, this is a generation of ‘change and turmoil.’ We’re offering you a chance to guarantee your continued dominance. If your faith receives special treatment from the zulkirs and plays a heroic part in destroying the

menace in Pyarados, new worshipers will flock to your altars.

“Surely that’s sufficient incentive,” Szass Tam continued. “Surely it’s more important than anything else we could offer, so must you really haggle like a fishwife for additional concessions?”

Iphegor grinned. “It seemed worth a try, but perhaps it is beneath our dignity. All right, I agree to your terms. When the tharchions and your zombies and necromancers march out, the Burning Braziers, Black Flame Zealots, Brothers and Sisters of the Pure Flame, and the Order of the Salamander will march with them.”

Szass Tam returned the smile. “I’m glad to hear it.”

The council of war broke up a short time later, and left Aoth feeling both relieved and a little dazed. As he and Nymia retraced their steps through the temple, he murmured, “They spoke so freely.”

“Because the High Flamelord insisted on candor,” the tharchion replied.

“Yes, but they did it in front of us. They could have sent us out of the room when they started talking about their rivalries and politics and all the rest of it, and I wish they had.” He chuckled without mirth. “A man who ‘doesn’t even wear red’ doesn’t need to know about such things.”

“They didn’t bother,” Nymia said, her sweaty face set and hard, “because we’re insignificant to them. You’d do well to remember it.”

The slaves, guards, and masters were just ahead. The setting sun stretched their shadows in Bareris’s direction like dark fingers reaching to gather him in.

Though why that ominous simile flickered through his mind,

he couldn’t imagine, because this was a joyous if not miraculous moment. He’d lost precious days to the virulent fever the child-thing’s bite had induced. It had been only by the grace of Lady Luck that he’d spotted the tracks that told him the thralls and their captors had left the road. Yet he hadn’t fallen so far behind he could never catch up, nor lost the trail either, and his search had come to an end. He kicked his weary horse into a gallop.

A small woman, her dark hair just beginning to grow out, scrambled forth from the ranks of the slaves. It was Tammith. Even at a distance, even after six years, he knew her instantly, as it was plain she’d recognized him despite his outlander’s clothing and the sweaty unshaven locks flopping around his head. Crisscrossing her arms, she waved her hands over her head until an ore grabbed her and shoved her back in among the other thralls.

Seeing her subjected to rough treatment made Bareris all the more frantic to close the distance. Still, he forced himself to rein in his mare, because it had looked as if she was waving him off, and some of the guards were maneuvering to intercept him if he came any closer.

It was the final inexplicable oddity in a whole string of them. First he’d learned that necromancers had purchased Tammith and the other slaves in the middle of the night and marched them out of Tyraturos under cover of darkness. Then, bribing and questioning folk along the way, he’d gradually realized that over the course of the last several tendays, people—some recognizably Red Wizards, others possibly their agents—had marched a considerable number of slaves into the sparsely populated north, where the demand for such chattels was ordinarily limited. After that came the discovery that Tammith s owners didn’t appear to be taking her to a town, fief, or farm but rather into open country.

Bareris didn’t need to know what it all meant. He only wanted

to extricate Tammith from the middle of it, but it came to him that, eager as he was to be reunited with the woman he loved, it might be prudent to approach the caravan with caution.

He reviewed the list of all the spells he knew, imagining how he might use them if things went awry, then sang a charm to augment his force of personality. While the enchantment endured, people would see him a shade taller and handsomer than he actually was. They’d find themselves more inclined to like, trust, and oblige him.