Jean Rabe - The Harpers 03 - Red Magic

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Red Magic
Book 3 of The Harpers series
A Forgotten Realms novel
By Jean Rabe
A ProofPack Release
Proofread and formatted by BW-SciFi
Ebook version 1.0
Release Date: June, 4th, 2006
Two swings and the gnoll's arm fell to the ground, blood spurting from
his shoulder and jetting onto the naga. The creature fell to his knees,
pleading for his life but receiving no support from the others, who
remained at attention as they watched the scene in horror.
"Vary your sword thrusts as I have done. Keep your opponent
guessing. Keep your eyes locked onto his, and show no mercy," Asp
instructed coldly. "Above all, show no mercy!" With that, the naga placed
both hands on the hilt of her sword and brought the weapon down with all
her strength, cleaving the gnoll's head in two. He crumpled, and she
presented the bloodied sword to the soldier from whom she had borrowed
it. "I hope this demonstration has been of some help," Asp stated
emotionlessly.
THE HARPERS
A semi-secret organization for Good, the Harpers fight for freedom and
justice in a world populated by tyrants, evil mages, and dread creatures
beyond imagination.
Each novel in the Harpers Series is a complete story in itself, detailing
some of the most unusual and compelling tales in the magical world known
as the Forgotten Realms.
RED MAGIC
Jean Rabe
RED MAGIC
Copyright ®1991 TSR, Inc.
All Rights Reserved.
All characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely
coincidental.
This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or
unauthorized use of the material or artwork contained herein is prohibited without the express written
permission of TSR, Inc.
Random House and its affiliate companies have worldwide distribution rights in the book trade for English
language products of TSR, Inc.
Distributed to the book and hobby trade in the United Kingdom by TSR Ltd.
Cover art by Fred Fields.
FORGOTTEN REALMS is a registered trademark owned by TSR, Inc. The TSR logo is a trademark
owned by TSR, Inc. RPGA is a service mark owned by TSR, Inc.
First printing: December, 1991
Printed in the United States of America.
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 90-71502
987654321
ISBN: 1-56076-118-0
TSR, Inc. TSR Ltd.
P.O. Box 756 120 Church End, Cherry Hinton
Lake Geneva, Cambridge CB1 3LB
WI 53147 U.S.A. United Kingdom
To Bruce,
for his patience and encouragement.
And to the RPGA™ Network,
an organization not unlike the Harpers.
One
The crimson-draped figure paced in the damp, circular chamber, his well-rehearsed path carrying him
through the darkness shrouding the smooth stone wall and to an ancient bronze incense burner. He bent
over the antique from Moonshae to permit the acrid vapors to spiral upward from the basin's scented coals
into the shadowed recesses of his hood. He drew the smoky gray tendrils deep into his lungs while the haze
from the burner and the room's lone, fat-soaked torch danced around his flowing robes.
Maligor's garb was similar to that worn by all of the Red Wizards of Thay—dark red, the color of blood
oozing from a deep, fresh wound. The robe's many folds concealed his form; the sleeves hung several
inches below the tips of his thin, pale fingers, and the hood obscured his gaunt, wrinkled face. The
embroidered hem, which draped on the polished mosaic floor, swirled wildly about his slippered feet as he
concluded his meditation and strode to the narrow window to gaze out over Amruthar.
The dying rays of the sun stained the city's cobblestone streets a glowing vermilion. Maligor's impressive
tower rose just beyond the western edge of Amruthar, its shadow pointing like a lance to the closing gate.
The location offered the Red Wizard a superior view of the major business district and the two-story inn
where most of his informants operated.
Amruthar conferred an impression of quiet this early evening; only a few citizens roamed the streets in
the section visible to Maligor. However, appearances in Thay, he knew, were nearly always deceptive. The
alleys and shadowed walkways were alive with cutpurses and burglars just starting their evil agendas.
Schemers bloomed and profited when the sky grew dark, and peddlers who proffered commodities too illicit
to pass off during the day even in Faerun's most wicked country.
Most of the commonfolk were huddled inside their homes, protecting their mundane existences from the
city's deviate nature. Maligor could smell the coal smoke rising sluggishly from the stone chimneys as they
prepared their meager dinners. For a moment, the Red Wizard wondered what lavish feast his slaves would
be baking for him—a fast that would have to be discarded, as he was too busy this evening for pleasantries.
Maligor glanced past the spacious open-air market. The crude wooden stalls were being ritualistically
boarded up for the evening to prevent vagrants from sleeping inside, the unsold goods packed onto wagons
to be trekked home because the merchants feared to leave them here, wisely trusting no one. The morning
would bring a different view, a vibrant, welcoming, bustling scene to delight the senses. The market would
be crowded with retailers hawking all manner of exotic fruits, fresh vegetables, homespun and imported
cloth, and shiny trinkets to catch the eyes of women with gold jingling in their bulging purses.
Likely there would be a slave dealer or two, despite the merchant guild's mandate that slaves must be
sold in the stockyards so that the sellers would have to pay taxes on their illicit goods. Some of the best
deals could be made purchasing flesh in the open-air market, though, because the sellers needed to move
the stock quickly before the guild tried to close them down and claim its due. Maligor made a mental note to
send one of his buyers there tomorrow. A Red Wizard's prestige was often measured by the size of his
slave stable. And in this country, where two-thirds of the population were slaves, Maligor always strove to
maintain far more than his share.
Just beyond the emptying stalls sat the fashionable alcazar of a young Red Wizard, a man who flagrantly
displayed his wealth, which he had incomparably more of than common sense or magical might. The
opulent abode appeared out of place in the old section of the Free City of Amruthar. Maligor smiled.
Neighboring countries claimed this was the only independent city in Thay. However, Maligor and the other
Red Wizards—in fact all those who lived in Thay—knew better. While the city fell under no one Red
Wizard's jurisdiction and claimed decades ago to have seceded from Thay, many of the most powerful Red
Wizards lived nearby and secretly directed the government by manipulating the strings of the puppet rulers.
Some wizards, Maligor among them, were more obvious in their control, openly bribing and magically
charming people in key positions and making Amruthar more closely influenced by the Red Wizards than
perhaps any other city in Thay.
Maligor mused that the young Red Wizard ensconced in his perfect home never could be a power in the
city. The newcomer likely lived here because of the closeness of the great teachers of the arcane, such as
Maligor. But the young man would never climb above the rank of a simple fledgling. Maligor would see to
that.
Maligor, on the other hand, had great bureaucratic and supernatural strength. He was a zulkir, the Zulkir
of Alteration, one of a handful of Red Wizards who guided Thay's destiny through an all-powerful political
council that directed the rulers of each city, created laws, both useful and obscure; detailed their
enforcement; and described in massive volumes the punishments for lawbreakers. The zulkirs, however,
only called upon Thay's courts to discipline people when it was convenient, and in fact often ordered those
in their employ to commit every illegality that could be conceived. The zulkirs, who did not trust each other
and did not cooperate beyond the council, could engage in whatever nefarious and heinous acts they
desired. They were above the law. The council also dictated Thay's foreign policy, which at this point
consisted of keeping every neighboring country unnerved and guessing.
Each zulkir personally controlled a magical discipline and oversaw all those who studied it. Maligor's
specialty was transmuting objects, living and otherwise. If his current plan proved successful, he would
control much more than that.
Maligor resumed watching the young sorcerer's mansion, curious about the young wizard. He closed his
eyes and concentrated, visualizing in his mind being inside the elegant building, peering through the windows,
glancing down corridors, searching. In a hazy vision, he witnessed servants bearing the young man steaming
platters of rare delicacies. Splendid, Maligor thought. The fool will be too full and lazy to pay me any heed
this evening, and he is too weak to put up the proper wards to keep prying eyes away from his home.
It was the nature of Red Wizards to second-guess their peers and ceaselessly protect their backs. The
wizards frequently plotted against each other for pleasure, for personal gain, for retribution, or simply to
hone their skills. This puerile behavior prevented most wizards from gaining sufficient power to rise above
their brethren, and it also forestalled them from working together to expand Thay's boundaries.
Despite the magical inactivity at the young wizard's alcazar, Maligor realized that other Red Wizards in
the city would be busy this night, no doubt brewing their own wicked plans to inflict pain and suffering on
others for their own financial or personal reward. He fancied that none of their plots would be as devious or
promising as his present scheme, for he held little respect for his colleagues. A smile gently tugged at the
corner of Maligor's pale, cracked lips. None in Amruthar, none in Thay—indeed even no one else in his
own tower—knew what he was up to.
He retreated from the window to the incense burner's bitter embrace. The smoke caressed his face and
made his throat feel dry and his mouth taste sour. Still, Maligor enjoyed the druglike sensation, savoring it
for long moments while his eyes watered from the thick vapors. Then abruptly he stiffened, detecting
another familiar scent, one less pleasing—one that smelled like rotting flesh.
Stepping away from the burner, the wizard's gray, rheumy eyes peered into the shadows, probing
intently until he discovered the source of the stench, then narrowing to thin slits to evidence his displeasure.
"What do you want, Asp?" Maligor's voice had a noticeable edge to it. "What catastrophe is unfolding?
Surely something has gone amiss. Otherwise, you would not dare interrupt my meditation."
The wizard's tones were soft and raspy, though not by choice. Appearing elderly by human standards,
perhaps sixty or seventy, Maligor was in fact more than two hundred years old. The viscous magical elixirs
he concocted in his secret chambers in this tower and in his other numerous residences throughout Thay
helped his frail form to stave off many of the effects of age. His voice, however, hadn't held up as well
against the passage of time.
"My Lord Maligor, I'm sorry to intrude, but this truly is important." The feminine voice was sultry,
caressing the stale air in the chamber like a summer breeze.
"Yes?" Maligor entreated, still peering into the darkness.
Asp's unblemished face rimmed with close-clipped sable hair edged out from the shadows. Her startling
blue eyes, high cheekbones, and dainty lips the shade of ripe red yarberries, a poisonous fruit that grew
abundantly in Thay, contrasted with the room's dismal atmosphere. Her long, slender neck, decorated with a
delicate strand of black pearls, and her bare, white shoulders emerged from the inky blackness near the
wall, but she came no closer.
"There is a spy in our midst," she whispered, studying Maligor's face for a reaction. "He's a slow-witted
creature, but he could cause problems."
Maligor moved toward the woman, regarding her critically. "Go on," he rasped.
"He's a gnoll, one of the guards," she continued, her voice rising slightly in volume. "He hasn't been seen
for several days now. He was sometimes stationed outside this very room. That means he could have heard
us plotting, my lord. He could have knowledge of our schemes. He could be selling the information to
another Red Wizard." She ran her finely manicured fingers through her short hair, pausing to compose
herself before continuing.
"Perhaps he didn't think he'd be missed, Maligor. After all, you've been enlisting more and more gnolls
into your service. Perhaps he doesn't really know much, but then again, maybe he does. We have to be
sure. We have to do something. Our plans may not remain secret much longer if his tongue is wagging."
Maligor scowled, disheartened that Asp would bother him with such a trivial matter. He didn't care what
a mere gnoll might reveal. What the venerable Red Wizard discussed with Asp, the schemes she feared
could be unraveling, were only a mask for his overall goal. Still, he found solace in the fact that Asp
apparently remained oblivious to his true plan.
"I have no fear of a missing gnoll," Maligor answered after what seemed an interminable pause. "But to
please you, beautiful Asp, I will find him and deal with him. I will even let you help. Find something of his
and bring it to me. I'll wait for you outside the tower. Quickly now."
"Yes, your omnipotence." Asp snatched her head back into the shadows and soundlessly retreated.
Maligor sniffed the air to make certain she was gone, then vacated the chamber and ascended an iron
spiral staircase that took him two levels higher, nearly to the top of the ancient tower. Muffled cries and
whimpers filtered out from behind a massive pine door near the top of the stairs. The Red Wizard waved
his arm, and the door slowly unlocked itself and opened to reveal a room blanketed in darkness. Maligor
padded forward, unmindful of the gloom. He frequented this room so often he knew all its features by
memory. Strolling toward a corner where spiderwebs were as thick as curtains, he chanted a dozen words.
Suddenly flame sprang to life in a crystal oil lamp that hung from the ceiling. Smoke rose from the bowl and
singed the nearest webs to illuminate the surface of a large, low table that was nearly as old as the wizard.
The worn top was covered with racks of vials filled with foul mixtures, a half-dozen ragged leather
gloves, and several cages. The largest cage was brimming with rabbits of various sizes, colors, and breeds.
Two had no fur. The pathetic, hairless pair stared at Maligor through frightened eyes. The Red Wizard had
used them a few days ago to test a potion intended to remove wrinkles; it had proved a mild success. While
the wrinkles vanished from the rabbits' skin, the concoction also caused them to lose their fur. He smiled
evilly at them, deciding to try further experiments on the two later.
Another cage was crammed with squirrels and rats that cowered beyond their dead brethren, hoping to
escape the wizard's notice. A third held moles and hedgehogs, most of these freshly caught by Maligor's
gnoll trappers. The other cages were smaller and were filled with snakes, lizards, and other reptiles the
wizard could not name. A crate under the table contained live chickens and ducklings purchased at
Amruthar's open-air market.
Nearly a third of the mistreated animals were dead, and most of the others were dying, either from lack
of food or from being force-fed the wizard's putrid mixtures. Maligor favored using animals for his bizarre
research; they weren't as costly as humans, and their yowls and whimpers were easier on his ears than the
screams of his slaves. Furthermore, he had learned years ago that animals took up less space in a
laboratory and weren't expensive to feed, especially since he neglected to feed them regularly.
Maligor savored the animals' terror for long moments before pulling a scarred leather glove over his
bony right hand. Opening a cage and thrusting his hand inside, he retrieved a startled hedgehog.
The wizard ignored the panicked clawing and biting of the squat creature and tightly squeezed it until he
heard it squeal. Convinced it was lively enough, he carried it down the tower's staircase to the ground floor,
passing bowing slaves, straight-backed guards, and magical barriers that kept intruders from disturbing his
treasured privacy. Maligor gestured at the massive iron-reinforced door that served as the main entrance to
his tower, and it obediently swung open on well-oiled hinges. He squeezed the hedgehog again for good
measure then stepped outside into the warm night air.
Overhead, the stars shone brightly in a clear night sky. Maligor knew there would be a myriad of clouds
by dawn, as many of the Red Wizards were skilled with weather control magic, and the dry ground
presented a tempting challenge.
Someone would make it rain soon.
Maligor chose not to concern himself with such meaningless things, choosing instead to spend his time
on spells that would improve his personal position rather than increase the yield of the crops. Dropping the
trembling hedgehog on the ground, he roughly pinned it beneath his foot. The starlight, coupled with the
glow spilling out from the tower windows, provided just enough light to work under and set the tone for the
wizard's hellish project.
The door opened and closed behind Maligor. Turning and glaring into the darkness next to the tower's
stone wall, he saw Asp. Her offensive odor was vastly diminished in the outdoors.
She grinned slyly at the wizard. "This spell is my favorite," she uttered thickly, staring hungrily at the
trapped animal. "Perhaps one day you will teach it to me."
"Perhaps," he replied, turning his attention back to the hedgehog. The creature's eyes were wide with
horror, a fact that pleased the wizard.
"Did you find something belonging to the gnoll?" It was more a demand than a question and sent Asp
rustling through a large sack at her side. Maligor wanted to get the spell over with quickly, since he had
planned to devote the evening to putting the final touches on his latest scheme.
"Yes," she answered dutifully. "Will this do?" Asp's slender, hairless arm emerged from the darkness,
holding out a tattered cloak she had retrieved from the missing gnoll's barracks.
Maligor scowled at her, and she snatched the garment back into the shadows, where she savagely
ripped it. A moment later, her soft hand passed the wizard a long, thin strip of dirty cloth. It fluttered in the
breeze, flapping against the Red Wizard's robes.
Maligor swiftly grabbed the cloth, making certain the expensive fabric of his robe wasn't soiled by it.
Satisfied, he drew the red hood back from his face so he could work more easily.
Like the majority of Red Wizards and the bulk of Thay's residents, Maligor's head was completely bald
and adorned with tattoos. Wizards and wealthy, important Thayvians— and those who pretended they
were—decorated their pates with elaborate designs. Only slaves had long hair. Maligor's tattoos included a
bright red flame lapping on a purple field, a common symbol of the Red Wizards, and a flawless snow-white
skull on an ebony triangle, a symbol of Myrkul, the god of death, decay, and corruption. Many in the
civilized centers of Faerun considered Myrkul himself dead, slain in the godswar that had ripped across the
world years ago. However, the Red Wizard and other loyal followers believed the dark god still lived. While
Maligor cared little about deities, he supported what Myrkul stood for and believed he honored the god
through various acts involving death and corruption, such as the magic he was about to cast.
The wizard tied the stained strip of cloth about the hedgehog's thick neck and began the incantation. He
muttered in a monotone in an ancient, arcane language. Maligor knew that throughout the city other Red
Wizards were casting spells, too. Thay reeked of magic. Spells kept troublesome slaves loyal, treasures
protected, homes guarded, and enemies at bay. And among a multitude of other things, they allowed
wizards to peer through walls, around corners, across the city or even farther—sometimes into the depths
of a man's soul. In between phrases of his spell, Maligor wondered if other wizards were using magic to
watch him.
It didn't matter, he finally decided. He kept the hand gestures required for this rite obscured; those who
didn't know this particular spell weren't likely to learn it by viewing him. He knelt shakily on the rough
ground. Reaching inside the deep pockets of his robe, he withdrew a crystal vial filled with a red powder so
dark it seemed black. He continued the chant while measuring out a minute amount of the horrid-smelling
dried wyvern's blood into his palm. Then the Red Wizard drew a circle in the powder with a jagged
fingernail, and before the breeze could disturb the components, his voice rose and quickened, and he blew
the dried blood into the hedgehog's face.
Maligor stood quickly and backed away, never taking his eyes from the animal as it convulsed with pain
and gasped for breath. Its bristling spines moved like grass in the wind, and its eyes glazed over, changing
from black to a glowing scarlet that nearly matched the color of Maligor's robes.
Asp poked her head from the shadows to get a better look, and her eyes widened in response to the
macabre scene. A sly grin played across her face as she slowly ran her thin tongue over her bottom lip.
The animal twitched and shuddered erratically, then began a grotesque transformation.
The hedgehog's sides heaved, billowing outward like a puffer fish as the creature doubled its size, then
doubled again. Its spines fused into its rapidly stretching skin, which flowed over its enlarging form and
transformed into a mud-brown, leathery hide. Its short legs, scrambling in a vain attempt to gain purchase
on the ground, elongated and spread away from its torso. At the same time, a thin membrane of flesh
formed, attaching itself to the legs on each side of the shrieking beast's body and becoming webbed wings
that flapped uncontrollably against the earth. The bones in the creature's head cracked and popped as they
lengthened; the jaw became birdlike and filled with twin rows of sharp, jagged teeth. At the opposite end, a
prehensile barbed tail sprouted and quivered.
No semblance of the hedgehog remained; there was only the darkenbeast, a sorcerous nightmare, a
hideous cross between an eagle and a prehistoric lizard.
Maligor intended to create several score of these creatures to add to his monstrous army. The
darkenbeasts, which could be made from most animals, even those the size of field mice, were fearsome
creatures that obeyed his telepathic commands. However, they were not indestructible; they reverted to
their true forms in daylight—or upon their death.
The darkenbeast wailed, and Maligor glanced at Asp. He whispered a dozen more arcane syllables,
magically tugging the image of the missing gnoll from the woman's mind and transferring the picture to his
transformed creature.
"Kill the spy," the wizard whispered to the darkenbeast. "Then bring me his traitorous body."
The malign beast cried out again, a horrible, mournful shriek that pierced the night sky. Then it spread its
wings and gracefully lifted from the ground. The creature glided over the earth, gaining height as it
distanced itself from the tower and Amruthar. Its wings beat faster and lifted it higher still.
Maligor saw his creation head west before it melted into the black sky. As the Red Wizard turned to
enter his tower, he paused, gazing through the shadows at Asp. His expression softened.
"The evening has just begun," he said, deciding to postpone his schemes for a few hours.
She nodded and quietly drew him into the darkness.
* * * * *
The hawk scanned the ground, slowly circling a grove of tall trees west of the cliffs called the First
Escarpment. The sheer, imposing cliffs marked Thay's main border and served as the edge of the plateau
of the Priador, a large expanse of relatively flat land on which most of Thay rested.
For the past several days, the hawk had been unsuccessfully searching this territory, south of the crystal
waters of Lake Umber. It would spend one more day here before giving up and returning home.
With the coming of evening the hawk selected a large oak tree, damaged by lightning, and glided toward
a high, gnarled limb. The perch gave the hawk an excellent view of the waxing moon, which had just begun
its journey across the surface of the pond below.
The hawk was not native to the lands around Thay. Its back was blue-gray, its belly ivory streaked with
dark gray, black, and pale orange, and it had a long, square-tipped tail that was characteristic of a species
normally found in Amn. Just below its throat was an unusual marking, a patch of glistening, silvery feathers
in the shape of a crescent moon.
The moon had worked its way to the middle of the pond before the hawk noticed an erratic rustling in
the brush. The source of the noise clumsily burst into the clearing, panting and furiously pulling burrs and
leaves from its fur with big, pawlike hands. The creature was large, standing nearly eight feet tall on
muscular legs and possessing a barrel chest and a form that seemed a cross between canine and man. Its
dun-colored skin was covered with tufts of coarse, red-tinged gray hair. The muzzle of its hyena-shaped
head was blanketed with a darker fur that matched the spine ruff that ran from the bridge of its nose, over
the top of its head, and down the back of its bull-like neck.
The creature was a gnoll, attired in crude leather armor studded with bits of metal. The leather, which
was too large at the shoulders and too tight around the hips, would have made the ensemble seem comical
were it not for the red flame on a purple field emblazoned on the front of the hardened breastplate. The
gnoll carried a circular wooden shield bearing a similar symbol that had been defaced during battle. In his
left hand, he toted a spear, which was festooned with a dirty red ribbon that fluttered in the breeze.
The gnoll lumbered to the edge of the pond, where the mud oozed about his sandaled feet. He squinted
with glossy black eyes to take in the surroundings and wrinkled the end of his snout, sniffing the air.
Convinced he was alone, the gnoll awkwardly tossed his shield and spear to the ground and dropped to all
fours to dip his muzzle for a drink. He made vulgar lapping sounds that continued for several minutes.
His thirst sated at last, the gnoll stood, brushed the mud from his hairy knees, and retrieved his spear. He
glanced around the clearing again and spotted the lightning-damaged tree. His shaggy brow furrowed and
he delved into a pouch at his side. The gnoll withdrew a crude, curled map and held it so the moonlight
illuminated the ink markings. The tree and the pond were indicated by rough, hurried sketches.
"Right place," he stated, seeming to struggle with the human speech. He rolled the map, replaced it in the
pouch, and stamped his foot impatiently. "Mudwort late, but Mudwort here." He waited a moment more, as
if expecting an answer, then made a circuit of the clearing.
"Harper!" the gnoll barked anxiously. "Harper show up. Harper, not much time I be here. Mudwort be
long, Mudwort be missed, Mudwort be killed. Harper? Harper!"
Unnoticed, the hawk gracefully spread its wings and glided from the branch behind the gnoll. Its form
metamorphosized as it descended, its talons curling, then flexing, becoming longer and growing together to
form human feet covered with soft leather boots. The beak receded, dissolving into a smooth, male face
with striking features-high cheekbones, a strong chin, and an even, tanned complexion. The proud crest of
blue-gray feathers lengthened, fluttered in the breeze, and transformed into long blond hair. The rest of the
hawk's feathers recast themselves into clothes, the wings into a cloak that flapped gently in the slight wind.
The man landed, and Mudwort whirled, finally catching the scent. The gnoll stared at the man and
creased his shaggy brow, furious at himself for not noticing the human's approach.
The man stood nearly six feet tall and was thin but muscular. He was dressed in greens of various
shades-leggings, tunic, and a rich-looking, thigh-length cloak decorated at the edges with embroidered
feathers. Even the man's eyes were green, the color of ferns after a soft, steady rain. His wheat-colored
hair hung loose below his shoulders.
Mudwort noted that the man was barely armed; he wore only a scimitar at his side and had no armor.
摘要：

RedMagicBook3ofTheHarpersseriesAForgottenRealmsnovelByJeanRabeAProofPackReleaseProofreadandformattedbyBW-SciFiEbookversion1.0ReleaseDate:June,4th,2006Twoswingsandthegnoll'sarmfelltotheground,bloodspurtingfromhisshoulderandjettingontothenaga.Thecreaturefelltohisknees,pleadingforhislifebutreceivingnos...

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