"Why did you?"
The boy grinned widely enough to reveal he was missing a molar on the upper left. "I've already told you, more or less. For ten years, you've played a key role in the war. If I'd realized just how important you were going to be, perhaps I would have killed you that evening in the wood. But I imagined it beneath me to destroy a person like you-meaning a man with no command of magic-with my own hands, especially when I'd entered your camp under sign of truce. Vanity and scruples are terrible things. They can cause all sorts of problems."
Malark didn't have to glance around the room. He already knew where everything was, including his enchanted cudgels, hanging on a peg by the door. It seemed likely he was going to need them. He knew better than to batter the chill, poisonous flesh of a lich with his bare hands, even when the undead wizard had cloaked himself in the semblance of a living child.
Of course, even if he reached the batons, no sane person would give a shaved copper for his chances. It seemed that Death had forgiven his sins at last and stood ready to usher him into the blackness. He felt a thrill of anticipation.
"Please," Szass Tam said, "don't spring into action like the hero of some tawdry play." It startled Malark that the necromancer knew he was about to move. "I've never had the opportunity to study the fighting system you employ, and no doubt it would be interesting. But I'd prefer you not make a commotion, and I promise, there's no need. If I'd wanted to kill you, I could simply have poisoned your supper. Feel free to eat it, by the way. No point letting it get cold."
Malark felt out of his depth. It wasn't a feeling to which he was accustomed, nor one he enjoyed. "If I'm such a stone in your buskin, then why wouldn't you want to murder me?"
"Because it wouldn't accomplish anything. Before she ascended to greater things, Dmitra was a brilliant spymaster in her own right. If I eliminated you, she'd just pick up where you left off. What I need to do is bring you over to my side."
"As you mentioned, I've already refused your offer of patronage."
"So you did, and I daresay the events of the ensuing decade have given you no cause to regret it. Ordinary folk deplore the widespread loss of life the war produces, but a worshiper of Death must revel in it, and in the destruction produced by the blue fire as well. You must feel as giddy as a lad at his first carnival."
Malark took a breath. "I'm impressed. You've discovered something I haven't confided to anyone in a while."
"Actually, monk of the Long Death, I've discovered everything. In desperation, with all my schemes unraveling, I employed divination to learn more about my adversaries. I don't mean Dmitra and the other zulkirs. I long ago learned all their sordid little secrets. I focused on those among their lieutenants who've done the most to hamper me."
"If you really know everything about me, you know I regard the undead as affronts to the natural order of things. That's why I'd never come over to your side, no matter what you offered."
The boy grinned. "Never say never. If you'll consent to hear it, I'd like to share a story. Along the way, it will answer a question that's perplexed you for ten years. Why did I murder Druxus Rhym?"
The tale went on for a long time. The patch of sky beyond the window turned black. Stars flowered there, and shadow enfolded the chamber.
By the time he finished, Malark's heart was pounding. He swallowed and asked, "Will it work?"
"I admit-Druxus doubted it, but I attribute that to a failure of imagination, because his own analysis suggested it would. I believe it will, and I'm generally considered the greatest wizard in Thay, which is to say, in the most magically advanced realm in all Faerыn. Of course, the only way to know for certain is to try. Will you help me put it to the test?"
chapter seven
26 Kythorn-11 Flamerule, the Year of Blue Fire
Nymia Focar ran her gaze over the mounted knights lined up before her, their lances rising straight and high, their fierce chargers standing submissive to their masters' wills, with scarcely a snort, a head toss, or the stamp of a hoof. She could scarcely help noticing which of the faces framed in the steel helms were particularly handsome, or wondering who might prove exceptionally virile if summoned to her tent. A woman had her appetites.
But Nymia indulged them at night. It was morning now, and she had an army to lead to its next engagement. If the gods continued to smile on her, that would yield its own satisfactions.
After the host that marched north from Zolum divided, she'd led her troops up the narrow strip of flatland between Lake Thaylambar and the foothills of the Sunrise Mountains, then west into Delhumide. So far, she'd encountered only feeble resistance, and had high hopes of taking Umratharos before Midsummer.
Satisfied with her inspection, she waved her arm, wheeled her destrier, and rode toward the road. Hooves clattered and harnesses jingled as her horsemen started after her, and a phalanx of spearmen took a first marching stride in unison. Griffons shrieked and lashed their wings, taking to the air.
Then a black bird swooped down from the sky, its plumage glinting in the morning sunlight. Nymia reined in her steed and raised her hand. Her army stumbled to a halt.
Many army commanders used pigeons as messenger birds, and accordingly, their foes watched for the creatures and shot them. That was the reason that Dmitra Flass-or her outlander lieutenant-had trained ravens to perform the same task. The birds had a touch of magic in them, and weren't limited to flying to and fro from set locations. They could locate an army in the field or even a specific individual.
One of Nymia's aides held out his arm. The raven landed on his wrist like a falcon. He untied the miniature leather scroll case on the bird's leg and proffered it to Nymia.
She unscrewed the cap and magic swelled the tube to its natural size. She shook out the parchment and unrolled it.
The message read:
As you are surely aware, Kethin Hur was not present at the battle for the Keep of Sorrows, nor is he participating in the present campaign. He claims his strength is needed to guard his southern border and make sure the Mulhorandi don't invade while we Thayans are busy fighting one another. But my sources report signs he's secretly massing troops in the northernmost lands of his domain.
The council wouldn't approve of me telling you this. They want you focused on laying waste to Szass Tam's territories. But I thought you should know. In days to come, remember who did you a favor.
Malark Springhill had neither signed the message nor spelled out the reason Nymia ought to be concerned, but he hadn't needed to. She understood. While she was busy fighting in the North, Kethin Hur, the governor of Thazalhar, meant to raid into Pyarados, pillaging and perhaps even seizing land.
Grasping and treacherous though he was, he wouldn't have dared attempt such a thing in peacetime. But amid the chaos spawned by war, blue fire, and earthquakes, he was all too likely to succeed.
Nymia had to thwart the whoreson. But could she, when the zulkirs themselves had ordered her north?
She wished Aoth were present to counsel her. Over the years, he'd offered consistently good advice, and she'd regretted sending him to Bezantur for vivisection. But his life hadn't seemed worth an argument with Dmitra Flass.
What might he say if he were with her? Maybe that a high-ranking officer had no choice but to follow the commands of her masters, but enjoyed some discretion as to precisely how to obey. If Nymia split her army in two and left a portion of it to fight in Delhumide, she could maintain she'd prosecuted her part in the master strategy with all due diligence.