Forgotten Realms - Realms of Magic Part 17

"And in so doing, you chose to abandon your claim to it," the lich replied icily. "The relic will be mine alone. You have done well, my apprentice. I shall have another bauble to add to my h.o.a.rd."

The comely apprentice strode indignantly to the door, then glanced over her shoulder at the lich. "But what of Leira, Sza.s.s Tarn? What if you anger the Patroness of Illusionists and Liars by breaching her temple and stealing something of hers?"

Sza.s.s Tarn laughed. "I have little regard for the G.o.ddess of treachery, dear Frodyne. Get some rest. I shall tell you in the morning what my skeletons find in Delhumide."

The lich listened to her footfalls retreat down the hall. Soon she would not need sleep. Or food. Soon she would need none of the things that made man weak, allowing her to one day sit at his side as he ruled all of Thay.

The lich sat straight in his chair and pushed Frodyne from his thoughts. He concentrated on his army of skele- tons in Delhumide, stretching his mind across the miles until he made contact with his undead general and directed him to march to Leira's temple. The miles melted away beneath the soldiers' bony feet as they neared the ruined temple of Leira. In an untiring cadence, they approached the temple steps. Then Sza.s.s Tarn lost contact with them.

The lich cursed and cast himself upon the Thayan winds to fly to Delhumide. As he soared, his form changed. His skin took on a ruddy tint. His cheeks became puffy, and his body thickened to fill out the red silk robes that only moments before had hung on his frame in voluminous folds. His eyes became black, almost human, and his white hair grew thicker and longer, then darkened to match the color of the night sky. The lich added a thin mustache for effect.

Few in Thay knew Sza.s.s Tarn was one of the dead. Outside the confines of his keep he a.s.sumed the image of a living man.

The ground pa.s.sed below him in a blur, the darkness obscuring most of the terrain. But the lich didn't falter in his course. He knew the way to the dead city. He'd been born there.

It was near dawn when he reached the ruined temple. He descended to the rough ground and glared at the crumbling stonework. His eyes smoldered in the gloom and surveyed the carnage. He knew now why he'd lost contact with his army. Strewn about the shattered pillars were more than a hundred skeletal warriors. Their broken bones and crushed skulls gleamed faintly. Near them lay more dead-figures with tattered gray flesh and rotting clothes, things that stank of the grave. The lich knelt near a one-armed zombie and slowly turned the body over. It had little flesh left on its frame. Most of it had been burned away by fire. Sza.s.s Tarn ran his fingers through the gra.s.s around the corpse Not a blade was singed. Magical fire had killed the army, the lich realized, fire meant for undead.

The hunt for Leira's relic was now very costly. It would take many, many months and considerable effort to raise enough dead to replace these fallen soldiers. Sza.s.s Tarn stood, silently vowed retribution for the slaughter of his minions, and carefully picked his way toward the crumbling temple stairway. At the base of the steps, the lich spied a twitching form, an undead creature with pasty white flesh, hollow eyes, and protruding broken ribs. The ghoul, lone survivor of the lich's force, tried futilely to rise at the approach of its master.

"Speak to me," the lich commanded in a sonorous voice. "Tell me what happened here."

"Followed your orders," the ghoul rasped. "Tried to breach the temple. Tried to get what you wanted. But they stopped us."

"How many?"

"Three," the ghoul replied. "They wore the robes of Red Wizards."

Sza.s.s Tam growled deep in his throat and looked up the stairs. If only three had been able to conquer this force, they must be powerful. He took a last look at his beaten army and padded by the gasping ghoul to carefully select a path up the crumbling steps. Leira's temple lay in ruins like the rest of Delhumide. A once-great city, it was now populated by monsters and was laden with incredible traps-the remaining wards of the n.o.bles and wizards who had once lived here. Creatures roamed freely across the countryside-goblins, darkenbeasts, trolls, and dragons, and they presented enough of a threat to keep the living away.Sza.s.s Tarn searched for the magical energies that protected the fallen temple, and then he made his way around them to reach the comfort of the shadows inside. The damp coolness of the ruins reminded the lich of a tomb. This was his element. Focusing his eyes, he separated stonework from the darkness. He saw before him a crumbling old hallway that extended deep into the temple and sensed other presences within. He glided toward them.

Eventually the hallway ended, and the lich studied the walls, searching. Nothing. No moving stonework. He scrutinized the bricks by running his ringers over the cool surface to his left and right until he felt no resistance. The bricks before him were not real. Then he heard footfalls, soft and distant. The sound was regular, as of someone walking, and it was coming from far beneath him. He took a step forward and pa.s.sed through the illusionary wall.

Beyond lay a damp stairway that led down into darkness. The lich cupped his hand and spoke a single word. A globe of light appeared in his palm and illuminated the stairwell. Along the walls and on each step were weathered sigils of various-sized triangles filled with swirling gray patterns-all symbols of Leira. The lich paused to appreciate them. He had little regard for the G.o.ddess, but thought the sigils had been rendered by someone with considerable skill.

Most Red Wizards in Thay wors.h.i.+ped one or more malign deities. At one time Sza.s.s Tarn had, too-but the need to wors.h.i.+p some power that might grant eternal life had faded away with the years and with the onset of lich-dom.

Sza.s.s Tarn still considered himself respectful of some of the powers, such as Cyric. But not Leira.

Sza.s.s Tarn was halfway down the steps when he felt a presence approaching. The minutes pa.s.sed, and the undead zulkir's patience was finally rewarded when a pearl-white phantasm with the face of a beautiful woman formed in front of him. The lich pondered its appearance and decided the thing was nothing more than a hapless spirit tied to the temple.

"Trespa.s.ser," the spectre whispered in a soft, feminine voice. "Begone from the sacred place of Leira, she who is most powerful. Begone from the Lady of the Mists' temple, the place we are sworn to protect."

The lich stood his ground, eyeing the thing, and for an instant, it appeared the spirit was astonished he did not run. "I will leave when I am ready," the lich said flatly. He kept his voice low so his quarry deeper in the complex would not hear.

"You must go," the spirit repeated, its voice changing, becoming deeper and sultry. The visage was that of another woman. "This is not a place for those who do not believe. You do not believe in our G.o.ddess. You wear no symbol of hers."

"I believe in myself," the lich replied evenly. "I believe in power."

"But not in Leira."

"No. I have no respect for the Lady of the Mists," the lich growled softly.

"Then your bones shall rot here," the spectre cursed in a new voice.

The lich stared at the creature. The undead now bore the image of a young man with a long nose, and the voice was strong and masculine. Large ghostly hands reached out and thrust into Sza.s.s Tarn's chest. The lich stood unmoving, unaffected by the spirit's attack.

"This cannot be! You should be dead!" the spirit shouted with the voice of an old woman. Indeed, the pearl-white form was now covered with wrinkles, and the transparent flesh sagged on her cheeks and jaw.

"I am already dead," the lich whispered in reply. "And you will bend to my will-whatever manner of undead you are." Sza.s.s Tarn's eyes once more became pinpoints of hot white light. They bore into the old woman's eyes and fixed the diaphanous being in place.

"Who are you?" Sza.s.s Tarn demanded. "What are you?"

"We are Leira's," the old woman replied. "We are the last of the priests who lived in this temple. When the city fell to the army of Mulhorand, we died. But so strong was our faith in the Lady of the Mists that our wills banded together in one form so we could serve Leira forever."

The lich's lips curled upward slowly. "It is your misfortune you stayed." His pinpoint eyes glowed brighter, and he concentrated on the ghostly form before him. The spirit "moaned in pain, the voice of a young man joining the old woman's.

"No!" the spirit cried in a chorus of voices. "Do not hurt us! Do not send us from the temple!"

"To the Nine h.e.l.ls I will send you-to join the other priests of the Patroness of Liars," Sza.s.s Tarn threatened, "unless you serve me and cease your cacophonous whining."

"We serve only Leira," the spirit wailed even more loudly.

"Now serve a better master." The lich raised a fleshy finger and pointed it at the spectre's face. The visage of the young man had returned. A silver beam shot from the tip of Sza.s.s Tarn's finger and struck the spirit's head, sending the apparition flying backward several feet. The beam pulsed wildly while the spirit convulsed in agony.

"Who do you serve?" the lich persisted.

"Leira," the creature groaned in chorus.

Again the lich struck the creature with a silver beam. The ghostly image wavered and began to spread, as if it were being stretched on a torturer's rack. The spirit's arms and legs lengthened to the corners of the stairwell, and it became as insubstantial as mist.

"Who do you serve?"

"We serve you," the spirit finally gasped in its myriad voices.

Sza.s.s Tarn's eyes softened to a pale glow. He studied the spirit to make sure it was indeed under his control. The many minds he touched berated him, but they swore their loyalty. Smugly satisfied, Sza.s.s Tarn willed his human eyes to return."Tell me, priests," the lich began. "Were you this ineffectual in stopping the Red Wizards who came before me?"

"The ones below?" the spirit quipped. The creature's face was now that of a beautiful woman, the one the thing had displayed when Sza.s.s Tarn first encountered it.

"Yes. The ones below."

"They believe," the ghostly image stated. "They wear the holy symbol of Leira upon their s.h.i.+ny heads. All believers are welcome in this temple. All believers-and you."

"You let them pa.s.s freely because they tattooed symbols of Leira on their heads?" the lich queried. "You believed they wors.h.i.+ped your G.o.ddess because of a little paint?"

"Yes," the ghostly image answered. "Leira's temple is for Leira's own."

The lich looked past the creature and peered down the stairs. "You will come with me. You will show me the traps that litter the path before us. And you will show me the relic I seek."

Sza.s.s Tarn resumed his course down the stairway, the spectre at his side pointing out weathered mosaics of its G.o.ddess, expounding on the greatness of Leira, and gesturing toward magical wards on every step. The lich pa.s.sed by the broken bodies of long-dead trespa.s.sers as he moved from one chamber to the next. He was so intent on finding the relic that he nearly pa.s.sed over the only freshly killed corpse. The spectre pointed it out to him. The body of a red-robed man, no older than twenty, lay crumpled amid chunks of stone. The man, who wore the painted symbol of Leira on his head, sprawled with his limbs at odd angles. His eyes were wide with terror, and a thin line of blood still trickled from his mouth.

"He was with the other wizards," the spectre said in an old man's voice. "Pity he died so young. Though he wore the symbol of the Lady of the Mists and I let him pa.s.s, the guardian looked into his heart. His heart betrayed him as an unbeliever. The guardian struck him down."

"Guardian?"

"The Lady of the Mists' eternal servant," the spectre replied. "The guardian waits in the chamber beyond."

The lich peered into the black distance and started forward. The spirit of Leira's priests dutifully followed on his heels.

"Kill the thing!" Sza.s.s Tarn heard a deep male voice cry. The lich quickened his pace and entered a ma.s.sive cavern lighted by luminous moss. He stopped and stared at the cavern's three occupants-Frodyne, a Red Wizard he didn't recognize, and a monstrous construct.

"What treachery is this?" the lich's voice boomed.

"Master!" Frodyne squealed. She was dressed in a soiled and torn red robe, and the triangle she had painted on her scalp was smeared with sweat. Her normally soft features were set in grim determination as she called for her companion to join the fight. The man stayed behind her, ignoring her coa.r.s.e words, and stared at the great thing before them. Frodyne spread her fingers wide and unleashed a magical bolt of fire at the monstrosity.

Frodyne's foe stood at least thirty feet tall, its head nearly reaching the chamber's roof. The guardian was not undead, but it was certainly not living. The lich eyed the thing from top to bottom. It had the torso of a man and the head of a goat. Its chest bore the symbol of a triangle filled with swirling mists. The thing possessed four eyes that were evenly s.p.a.ced above the thick bridge of its metallic nose, and its mouth gaped open, exposing pointed teeth made of steel. Four arms as thick as tree trunks waved menacingly at the sides of its body and ended in six-fingered iron claws. Every inch of the creature was gray. The thing's ma.s.sive legs ended in cloven hooves that created sparks when they stomped on the ground and rocked the cavern. The shockwaves made Frodyne and her companion scramble to stay on their feet.

"It seems you've made it angry, dear Frodyne," Sza.s.s Tarn said. "Just as you've angered me. You destroyed my army."

"I wanted the crown!" she said as she unleashed another bolt of lightning. "I learned about this temple and the relic, but you said the bauble would be yours. It should be mine!"

The lich watched her nimbly avoid a fist that slammed into the cavern floor where she had been standing.

"I'm sorry!" she yelled. "Help us, please. The crown will be yours. I swear!"

The lich folded his arms and surveyed the battle, not bothering to reply to her plea.

She scowled and brought up her fingers, touching the thumbs together and holding her open palms toward the guardian. She mumbled words Sza.s.s Tarn recognized as one of the first spells he'd taught her, and icy shards sprang from her hands. The shards flew true and imbedded themselves deep into the breast of the thing. But the attack proved ineffectual, the guardian oblivious. It pulled an arm back to swat her. Frodyne leapt to the side, and the guardian's hand found her companion instead. The sharp metal nails pulled the man's chest open. The wizard was dead before he hit the ground.

"Please, Master," Frodyne begged. "Help me. I'll do anything you ask."

"You destroyed my army," Sza.s.s Tarn spat. "Your soul can rot here for all I care."

Frodyne raised her hands again and mumbled. A sparkling blue globe appeared in front of her. She blew at it, propelling it magically toward her ebon attacker. The globe impacted just above the thing's waist, popped, and squirted acid on the black metal. Crackling and sizzling filled the chamber, and the guardian bent its head to look at its melting stomach.

"You wield magic well, my sweet," the lich said icily.

"But I need your help to beat this thing!" she cried as she fumbled in the folds of her robe and withdrew a handful of green powder.Sza.s.s Tarn slowly shook his head. "You stopped my skeletons all by yourself. You stopped my plans for having you rule Thay at my side. Surely you can stop this creature." His voice was gravelly and showed no hint of emotion.

Frodyne started tracing a symbol in the powder in the palm of her hand. The lich turned to watch the construct, which was somehow repairing its stomach. Before Sza.s.s Tarn's eyes, metal flowed like water to cover the melted section. In an instant, there was no evidence it had been damaged. It took a step toward Frodyne, its ma.s.sive footfall rocking the cavern and causing her to spill the powder she had intended to use in another spell.

"It could kill her," the spectre at Sza.s.s Tarn's side said simply. This time it wore the face of the young man. "But she cannot kill it. You cannot kill it. It is Leira's guardian, and it will continue to repair itself until the end of time. It has looked into her heart and discovered she does not honor the black G.o.ddess. It cannot rest until she is dead."

"And can it see into my own heart?" the lich posed. "Or perhaps it cannot even see me because the shriveled organ in my chest does not beat."

Frodyne's scream cut off the spirit's reply. The guardian swatted her like an insect, and she flew across the cavern to land on her back. Her red robe was shredded, and blood oozed freely from gouges in her flesh. Her face was frozen in terror, but still she did not give up. The lich had taught her well. Frodyne withdrew a bit of pitch from the pocket of her ruined garment. Placing it in her b.l.o.o.d.y palm, she raised her hand until it was in line with the guardian's four eyes. A black bolt of lightning shot forth from her fingers and struck the creature in the bridge of its nose. The guardian stumbled backward from the impact, but was not damaged.

Sza.s.s Tarn coaxed her. "Think, my lovely apprentice. Cast a spell that will keep it from reaching you. Buy yourself time."

She drew what was left of her robe about her and struggled to her feet. Words gushed rapidly from her mouth, and she pointed her index finger at the cavern floor. The stone beneath the guardian's cloven hooves wavered for a moment, s.h.i.+mmered in the meager light of the chamber, then turned to mud. But the guardian did not fall into the muck.

Rather, the gray construct hovered above the great muddy patch, its hooves dangling inches above it in the musty air.

Beneath the guardian, the mud hardened and cracked like a dry river bed.

"This cannot be!" Frodyne screamed. Then she turned to glance at her mentor.

Sza.s.s Tarn's hands glowed a faint blue, his long fingers pointed at the ebon guardian. An evil grin played slowly across his face as he returned Frodyne's disbelieving stare. He flicked his wrist, and the guardian floated forward and came to rest on a patch of rock near Frodyne.

"You! You kept it from becoming trapped!" she cried, as she twisted to the side to avoid another blow.

The lich nodded and thrust his hand into the air, mentally summoning an ancient parchment that lay in his tower.

His fingers closed about the curled scroll as the guardian reached for Frodyne. Staring at his terrified apprentice, Sza.s.s Tarn carefully unrolled the parchment. "I promised you immortality, my dear, a reward for your loyalty. You shall have it."

The lich began to read the magical words, and the construct grabbed Frodyne about the waist. Sza.s.s Tarn read faster, while the construct lifted her until she was level with its four eyes. The lich finished the enchantment as the guardian squeezed the breath from her lungs and dropped Frodyne's lifeless body like a child would discard a ruined doll.

The parchment crumbled in Sza.s.s Tarn's fingers, and his apprentice's dead body s.h.i.+mmered with a pale white glow. A moment pa.s.sed, then Frodyne's ches* rose and fell. She took great gulps of air into her lungs and struggled to her feet. She glanced at her mentor, then at the construct, which again reached out to grab her. The thing's fingers closed about her once more and squeezed harder, and Frodyne realized what Sza.s.s Tarn had done. He had given her eternal life-of a sort.

"No!" she shouted as her ribs cracked and she fell lifeless a second time.

The construct stepped back and waited. Again, the young Red Wizard was resurrected from the dead. Again she struggled to her feet.

"Enjoy your immortality, Frodyne," the lich hissed, as he watched the guardian deliver another fatal blow and witnessed her rise again. He was pleased Leira's construct would busy itself with Frodyne and leave him alone.

"The relic," the lich pressed the spectre. "Show me where the crown is."

The spectre gestured to a stony recess. Sza.s.s Tarn strode to it and took in the mounds of coins and gems.

Perfectly faceted emeralds, sapphires, and diamonds glimmered from every cranny. A crown dotted with rubies sat atop the ma.s.s. The lich quickly s.n.a.t.c.hed it up and felt the energy pulsing in the metal band.

"Leira's gift," the spirit declared. "The prize of our temple."

Stepping from the alcove, Sza.s.s Tarn placed the crown upon "his head then doubled forward as pain shot through his chest. The lich was caught off guard by the icy hot sensation. He pitched over and writhed on the rocky chamber floor until his frantic movements knocked the crown free.

The painful spasms ended, and the lich slowly stood. "What manner of power was that, priests?" the lich gasped.

The spirit wore the face of the old woman. 'The power of eternal life. The heart of he who wears the crown will beat forever."

Sza.s.s Tarn's human form melted away, revealing his skeletal frame and pinpoint eyes. "My heart does not beat,"

he said flatly.

"So instead, you felt pain," the woman answered. "The Lady of the Mists is indeed more treacherous than you.

Leira lured you here. The priest who tempted your favored apprentice with the relic was merely a p.a.w.n."

The lich kicked the crown across the floor and glared at the spectre."Again the Patroness of Illusionists and Liars struck when your apprentice betrayed you and sought the crown herself. Then my G.o.ddess triumphed once more when you lost that which you held dear, a beautiful sorceress who would have spent eternity at your side." The ghostly image pointed at the struggling Frodyne. "You've lost your army, your woman, your ability to trust others. And the prize at the end of your quest was something you can never possess. Who is the more treacherous, Sza.s.s Tarn?"

The lich threw back his head and laughed, a deep, throaty sound that reverberated off the walls of the cavern.