Then he felt himself being lifted by tangible, man-shaped shadows, the same shadows that had brought about the Harpers’ defeat, and passed to the blond-haired vampire. The lord of darkness casually tossed the druid over a bony shoulder. The vampire’s body, even through the heavy black cloak, felt as cold as ice. The druid prayed to the forest gods that the thing would kill him now rather than drink his blood. Galvin could think of no worse fate than to become an undead creature living on the blood of others and serving in some Red Wizard’s hellish troops.
Galvin succumbed to a forced and unnatural sleep. Behind him, under the explicit orders of the vampires, the shadows and jujus constructed a litter to drag Wynter. The city gates opened, letting the peddlers and their families inside, then closed tight. The guards knew better than to confront the forces of a Red Wizard. They stayed at their posts, and from the barbicon, they watched as the litter was completed and the undead moved off into the night.
The master of the undead wanted all three heroes, and the zombies and shadows knew that to disappoint Szass Tam meant unending torment or worse.
As if in a dream, Galvin saw himself moving across the countryside, through a meadow enveloped by soothing, cool darkness and devoid of natural creatures. Then he moved through a small wooded area where the trees had been long dead and their branches twisted into grotesque positions. He imagined the limbs were outstretched arms trying to grab him and pull him inside their hollow trunks. But he was safe, too far away for them to reach him, yet not far enough away from whatever was making him shiver. Just past the trees lay a defiled and overgrown graveyard. Half the graves had been opened and their tombstones knocked to the ground. He assumed the occupants were serving a Red Wizard and that the remainder of the graveyard’s occupants would eventually do the same.
He continued his hours-long journey, only now realizing in his dream state that his legs were not transporting him. He felt as if he were floating. It was an uncomfortable sensation, and he struggled to wake up. Then he thought of Brenna and was saddened she wasn’t in his dream; he couldn’t see her, and that made him feel alone.
Eventually the druid realized the dream was real; he was watching a twisted Thayvian countryside from the shoulder of his captor. The ground was barren here, and he was being carried toward an imposing stone structure, a small castle surrounded by a low stone wall on top of which were positioned, at even intervals, barbed iron spears pointing slightly outward. The macabre fence looked like long black talons against the sky’s grayness. Galvin knew the journey had been a long one. It would be dawn soon.
The druid was carried through an opening in the wall. To his right and left stood tall men in tattered cloaks, their faces hidden by cavernous hoods. There were more men behind him—skeletons, he knew, because their bony hands clasped spears and swords and the bones of their ribs showed through their worn garments—but he paid little attention to them. He was thinking about the building in front of him and of Brenna Graycloak.
Then the nightmare began. The second vampire came into the druid’s view; the lord of darkness held Brenna in his pale white arms. Galvin feared she was dead, that Wynter was dead. Then he prayed they were alive so they wouldn’t become zombies in an undead Thayvian army.
Galvin struggled, then felt himself falling, experiencing a sharp jolt of pain as his shoulder, then the rest of his body, met the cold stone floor of a room. Gradually he opened his eyes to see Wynter barely breathing only a few feet from him; the centaur’s body was riddled with clawlike gashes, and he lay on a crude, blood-soaked litter. Brenna was lying on a couch, her face bruised and her eyes closed. Her chest rose and fell regularly, giving the druid some relief.
The room was furnished simply but elegantly with carved, polished furniture; rich tapestries; and heavy black velvet curtains that covered the windows and kept the druid from knowing the time of day. The floor was smooth and immaculate. It gleamed in the light of thick candles held high by sconces. Galvin wondered how the centaur had been brought into the room, then answered the question himself when he saw the large, ornate double doors.
The two vampires glided past the druid. They seemed eerily graceful and elegant, their expensive cloaks swirling behind them. In back of them shuffled a handful of juju zombies, their tattered clothes dragging across the floor and their stench filling the air. With considerable effort, Galvin leaned forward, propping himself up on his elbows. He wanted to see where the undead were going.
His spirit was crushed when he saw them assembled before a red-robed figure.
“Harpers,” Szass Tam intoned almost emotionlessly as he moved from in front of the vampires directly into Galvin’s line of sight. The lich was in his fleshly form, giving no hint to the druid that he was himself an undead. He was adorned in a scarlet satin robe embroidered with red-gold threads that shimmered in the light of the myriad candles placed about the room. The sleeves were voluminous, and as the zulkir moved, the folds looked like flames licking up his arms. Szass Tam slipped toward the couch and placed a cold hand on Brenna’s forehead; she moved in fitful slumber, and he smiled evilly.
Galvin pulled himself to his knees.
“What do the Harpers want in Thay?” the lich asked Galvin silkily, all the while keeping his eyes on the enchantress.
“She’s not a Harper!” Galvin shouted, his voice waking Brenna and causing the lich to raise one eyebrow. “Who are you? What do you want with us?”
“I am Szass Tam,” he said softly as he rubbed his hand across the top of Brenna’s bald head, tracing with his index finger the designs painted there. “I am the Zulkir of Necromancy, the most powerful Red Wizard in Thay… and your master.”
It all came crashing down on Galvin then, and it made sickening sense. While undoubtedly other Red Wizards in Thay had undead at their command, only the Zulkir of Necromancy controlled a large force of unliving, and it was likely that only he could command vampires.
“You killed nearly every ghoul in one of my patrols the other night. That brought you to my attention and piqued my curiosity. One of them who managed to get away spotted your silver charm. Undead dislike silver, so he remembered it.”
Brenna recoiled from the zulkir’s touch and pushed herself into a sitting position, then shrank back from the wizard. She still felt weak from the attack by the shadows, and the room was spinning. She felt even more faint when she saw the unmoving form of Wynter.
The lich smiled at her, then moved to the center of the room and regarded the trio.
“Harper spies,” Szass Tam said evenly. “I don’t like the Harper organization and its politics. Harpers are nothing more than meddlers in other people’s affairs.
“I remember many decades ago when I crossed paths with some meddling Harpers. I defeated them with ease and needed no potent sorcery to do it. Your organization is unruly and ineffectual, poking into everything and commanding nothing. Your membership is secret, so you have no single strong leader. You are fools.”
The lich turned his back on the heroes and glided to his desk. Slowly he opened the lower right-hand drawer. It was filled with all manner of souvenirs—daggers, totems, odd bits of jewelry. He rummaged through it until he pulled out a tarnished chain made of heavy links. It bore a charm—a silver moon affixed to a harp. The lich had a half dozen similar chains and pins taken from spies his minions had killed over the past dozen decades. Those Harpers, whose charms the lich kept, were now part of his undead army.
The lich paused, remembering. It had been probably thirty or forty years since Szass Tam’s forces had last discovered a Harper. He had given the organization little thought. Until now. Until these three had virtually dispatched one of his patrols.