The throne room suddenly became filled with the smell of blood. The now-terrified mercenary observed a distinct dimming of the lights in the chamber. A chill ran up his spine.
"Maaar-cus," the voice became honey-sweet. "Would you please dismiss your commander? Latenat!"
"Yes, of course." The Red Wizard of Thay waved the mercenary away. "I will get back to you momentarily with my decisions. Leave me now."
The warrior of Bane departed in relief. He noticed a dark object growing in the wizard's hand, but didn't want to be around long enough to learn what it was.
In the red-gold throne room, the pit fiend appeared, accompanied by a loud thunderclap.
"Master, do you still wish to become a demigod on this plane? Latenat!"
"Of course, fool. I haven't gone to all this effort to have my plans upset."
"Knowing this is your will, how can you expect me to make you all-powerful? You have left me only the souls of a washer woman and a baker boy to absorb through the pool! Latenat!"
"What do you mean, fiend? Make your thoughts known, I order you!" Marcus held the black heart out for the fiend to see and covet.
The pit fiend ignored the implied threat and stomped his twelve-foot body up to the throne of the wizard. The monster glared into his eyes.
"The more people you kill, the fewer souls remain for our purposes. Do you think you could use that famous cunning Red Wizards are known for and trick these people? Let them believe they can leave the city, according to their free will. Entice the populace into the pool of darkness. Latenat!"
Green drool splashed from the fiend's fangs and splattered on the red-gold floor of the throne room. The sticky, acidic poison hissed and sparked red. This time, however, the acid left no trace.
Marcus smiled. He had grown disgusted with the condition of the floor of his spellcasting chamber and had silently vowed that such oozing pockmarks wouldn't mar his throne room any longer. With some effort, he had devised a spell to protect the floor from all types of slimes. The Red Wizard, pleased with his game, gave the fiend a wide grin, thinking, It's the little victories that really count, after all.
Marcus addressed his powerful servant. "Yes, I can trick this city of fools. But this game would be more fun if I could defeat Phlan with the armies you gave me. Unfortunately, you are right, my fine fiend. Souls are more important to our futures. Consider this trickery done. Now, go back to the spellcasting chamber. You are stinking up my beautiful throne room!"
"As you wish, master," the deep voice grated as the fiend teleported out of the room.
"Fiends are such childlike creatures," Marcus sighed, before arising to see to arrangements.
Alone in the throne room, the erinyes hopped out of her alcove to stretch her feathered wings. The creature flopped down in Marcus's throne to lounge undisturbed. Having heard the entire conversation, she amused herself by dreaming of ways to vent her "childish" impulses on the entrails of the Red Wizard.
"A strange forest we ride through, my lord. I don't remember a forest growing in this part of the cavern before."
Eyeing the trees, the knight Thorvid sheathed his sword and unhooked a large battle-axe from his saddle. The four men on horseback slowly trotted through a forest of twisted, moldering trees. Moss dangled and swayed eerily from mottled brown branches.
"These trees are damn disturbing," Tarl observed, drawing forth the Warhammer of Tyr. The ancient relic emitted a blaze of holy radiance. "My old comrade, Ren o' the Blade, could have told us just what these trees are and what all that slimy fungus is on their branches. I know I've never smelled its like before. The stench is almost like the rotting smell of undead creatures.
"Is it possible that whoever transported us here practiced first on trees, and this is what happens when a forest exists underground too long?" Thorvid asked.
Tarl shuddered at the thought. "Pomanz, your father was a forester, wasn't he? Have you ever seen anything like this?"
"I never have, and I don't mind saying that I'll be glad when we're clear of them." Pomanz sheathed his saber in exchange for his battle-axe. The three knights had battled together too many years to ignore each other's hunches. If these trees were capable of attack, axes would slay them faster than swords. "And there's something unnatural here. There's no wind, yet the branches seem to wave in a breeze."
"I don't remember hearing about a forest in any of the scouting reports," Alaric observed, swinging his axe in wide arcs to stretch his muscles.
Suddenly, the radiance of Tyr's hammer glowed brighter and shone on a clearing ahead of the foursome. Bathed in the hammer's glow, a Red Wizard of Thay stood before them. Gold-trimmed red robes flowed about the sorcerer, making him appear to hover over the ground. Black hair spilled down his back, matching a closely-trimmed beard. Steely eyes glared out from under bushy eyebrows. The wizard was an imposing sight, yet Tarl and his men were unimpressed.
"Welcome to my lands, noble knights," Marcus sneered. "Judging from your flags of surrender, can I assume you intend to turn Phlan over to me?"
The four warriors spread out in a line in front of the wizard. The horses stamped nervously, tearing up the earth and uncovering tough tree roots just under the surface.
"Whom do I have the honor of addressing?" Tarl asked in his most polite tone.
"Why, foolish priest, I am Marcus, Red Wizard of Thay and your host. I am the man who singlehandedly transported Phlan to its current resting place. Now that the pleasantries are over, I ask again-have you come to surrender Phlan to me?"
The three knights left the negotiating to Tarl. Thorvid watched the trail behind them; Alaric watched the trees to the left; Pomanz guarded their right.
"You are very brave, Lord Marcus, to meet our truce parley without guards. We have come at the request of Phlan's Council of Ten to talk terms of peace." Tarl was barely able to contain his anger at the effrontery of the mage he faced, but much more than his pride was at stake. He was committed to play peacemaker.
The wizard answered haughtily. "I need no guards to protect me from your sort. As for terms of peace-there are none. I want your city. That's why I transported all of Phlan's buildings here. But all of the citizens may go, taking any goods they can carry. Take my message back to your Council of Ten." Marcus turned to leave.
"Ignoring the fact that no one has the right to steal a city, where exactly are we?" Tarl asked.
The wizard turned to the riders, irritated. From the glare in his eyes, he clearly found them unworthy of his audience. "You are in a great cavern beneath my red tower. You are still in Faerun-at least physically. You may take my generous offer to leave safely or you may die. Now be gone."
Thorvid raised his battle-axe. "Why, you arrogant son of-" Tarl seized the knight's arm, even as he struggled to contain his own anger. Taking a deep breath, Tarl addressed the wizard.
"Before I take your offer back to my people for discussion, I would like to see how we'll get out of this cavern. And I need your guarantee of safety for the people of Phlan."
"Why, of course. Your wish is reasonable. You won't be able to take your horses up my stairs, but do come along." The wizard floated on puffs of red flame down a wide trail between the trees.
Tightening their grips on their weapons, the four warriors fought to control their skittish mounts as they rode behind the wizard.
After perhaps fifty yards, the forest opened up at the side of the cavern. A section of the cave wall melted away in a red mist, revealing a wide staircase spiraling upward.
"Only you, priest, need to see the exit out of my tower. Send the rest of your rabble back to the city."
"Where our lord goes, we follow," Pomanz declared, keeping a wary eye for signs of any trap.