Five
Two levels above his sorcerous army, Maligor paced in front of a cell door. The Red Wizard was tired, having just completed a series of spells that added a hundred more darkenbeasts to his forces. His exhaustion left him with little stomach for this place. The corridor stank of urine and sweat. The eight cells in this area were rarely cleaned, and they were almost always occupied. The wizard was constantly displeased with enough slaves, soldiers, and townspeople to keep them full. The horrible conditions kept the prisoners dispirited and easy to handle, and diseases usually kept the place from becoming too overcrowded.
Sometimes Maligor elected not to feed the occupants for a week or longer, leaving the corpses of those who starved to rot in the cells with the survivors. And when prisoners were tortured, it was prolonged and in full presence of the others. Maligor enjoyed watching the contorted faces of the captives as one of their kind was whipped and gutted in their full view. But the prisoner beyond this cell door was different. He had been brought here only a few hours ago, not to be punished, but to reveal information Maligor considered crucial to his plans.
Maligor continued to pace in front of the cell until he heard through the door the clinking of chains and the scratching noise a key makes as it turns in a lock. Confident the two gnoll guards had secured the “guest,” he raised his robe to his ankles and extended one slippered foot to prod the cell door open. He entered cautiously to make sure his expensive clothes didn’t brush against the filth on the door, then stepped down carefully into the cell chamber. When his eyes adjusted to the gloom within—the room was lit with a small, oil-burning lantern—he saw his guest chained to the far wall.
The man was squat, but he had a broad, sturdy frame and a barrel-like chest. Maligor saw the cuts and bruises on the man’s body and imagined he must have put up a substantial struggle to avoid being captured. His head hung limply forward against his chest; the gnolls had probably pummeled him into unconsciousness, the wizard mused. At least the guest didn’t seem to be seriously injured.
The man was bald, and his head sported a design—a pale orange, four-taloned hand, indicating that he was a worshiper of Malar, the Beastlord, one of the commonly worshiped deities in Thay. Maligor himself favored Myrkul, whom the Red Wizard considered a far superior power and whom he honored with the permanent tattoo of Myrkul’s symbol on the center of his forehead.
Maligor doubted his visitor’s loyalty to Malar, since the man’s symbol was painted rather than permanent. It had begun to fade from the rivulets of sweat that ran down his brow. The other symbols on the man’s head were already obscured. The Red Wizard scowled in frustration; much could be learned about a Thayvian’s beliefs and pontics from studying the symbols on his head. The man’s clothes were well made and in good repair, but they were dirty, covered with dust and powdered rock. In the soft glow of the lantern light, the powder gleamed, making the Red Wizard’s eyes widen and twinkle in response.
“Rouse him,” the Red Wizard ordered.
The gnolls were quick to comply, shaking the man and splashing water on his face from the leather flask that hung at the man’s side. The guards were among the largest gnolls Maligor had at his disposal, each a little more than eight feet tall. Looking like the offspring of a canine and a human, the gnolls’ dark fur blended in with the cell’s shadowy decor. Their small, shiny eyes glared out from above their hyena-shaped muzzles, and they lolled out their tongues, waiting for their master’s next command.
Gradually the man’s eyes came open, and he raised his head to stare at the gnolls’ evil visages. Tilting his head to avoid their foul breath, he glared straight into the wizard’s face.
“Zulkir Maligor!” the man gasped. “I am not under your personal command! I have done nothing to offend you. By what right did you bring me here? The Council of Zulkirs will be furious when they learn what you have done!”
Maligor’s lips produced a thin, evil grin that quickly silenced the frightened man.
“The council isn’t going to know,” the Red Wizard replied menacingly. “I’m no fool. This dungeon is fully protected from the prying eyes of other wizards.” He leveled his gaze on the man, who had begun to sweat even more profusely.
“Willeth Lionson,” Maligor stated, finally addressing the man by his name. “Tharchion Willeth Lionson.” The Red Wizard didn’t know the man personally, but he knew much about him. Being on the Council of Zulkirs, Maligor had helped select Willeth to oversee Thay’s gold mines. The Tharchion was accountable to the council and had allegiances to no individual Red Wizard.
“Tharchions do not just disappear!” Willeth sputtered. “The other wizards on the council will miss me. You can’t get away with this, Maligor! Release me at once!”
“No one is going to miss you,” Maligor countered. “You were expected to be away from the mines, remember, Willeth? You told the council you were leaving today for Tantras to look at some new mining equipment. Your dedication to improving the productivity of the mines has left me the opening I have been waiting for. And I have been waiting for a very long time.”
“No! I have friends, guards. They will wonder where I am.”
“It’s unfortunate—for you—that you were lax today, leaving the mine without being accompanied by extra guards. The few guards you took were easily overcome by my gnolls.”
Willeth strained against his chains, but they were anchored solidly to the wall. “I have other guards!” he screeched. “The guards who were to take me to Tantras.”
“The guards who were to accompany you to Tantras have been killed,” Maligor said calmly. “You have many guards, Willeth. The few I ordered dispatched will not be missed. Nor will you, Willeth.”
The tharchion pulled at the chains again to show his defiance, and the gnoll guards snarled. “You can’t win, Maligor! If you return me to the mines, you know I’ll tell the council about this. And if you keep me from returning, they’ll find out. I’m in charge of the mines! You may be one of the most powerful Red Wizards, but the rest of the council is strong enough to challenge you. Szass Tam—”
“The Zulkir Szass Tam will never know,” Maligor interrupted. “Willeth Lionson will return from Tantras in less than two weeks, reporting to the council that the equipment should not be purchased, since it is inferior. Then Willeth Lionson will go about his business directing operations at the mine. Unfortunately, that Willeth Lionson won’t be you. You’ll have to stay here.”
Maligor flicked his wrist and a gnoll guard slammed his fist into Willeth’s stomach. The tharchion let out a rush of air and doubled over as much as the chains allowed.
“I advise you to cooperate,” Maligor instructed. “Otherwise, your dying could take a seriously long while and be excruciatingly painful.”
The tharchion raised his head and glared at the zulkir. “The foul ones take you to the scum-filled belly of the underworld!” he cursed. “You’ll gain nothing from me. Nothing!”
“Dear Willeth, I do admire your resolve. The council chose well when they selected you. But I am low on patience today.” He nodded to the gnoll guards, and in unison their large, hairy fists smashed into Willeth’s chest. They repeated their blows until Maligor heard the soft crunch of ribs. Then the wizard motioned for the gnolls to stop.
“I want to know about the gold mines, Willeth. How many slaves work there? How strong is the guard force? How many foremen? Where and what are the magical defenses?”
The Red Wizard knew all the information he wanted was spread out among the members of the Council of Zulkirs. That was so no one wizard would know too much and become tempted to take over the mines. But Willeth was the one single person who harbored most of that information, and Maligor intended to extract it from him.