The favored darkenbeast shrieked with delight and used Maligor’s mind to learn the way out of the tower. It flew up the stairs, through the long corridor, and hovered before the large doors. It shrieked again, and the frightened guards opened the doors.
Then it was out into the night air, flying low until it passed far from the city, then soaring to a higher elevation, relishing the feel of the wind rushing past its wings. Maligor felt the sensation, too; his mind soared as he climbed the stairs to his bedchamber.
Eleven
A legion of fifty skeletons marched behind Brenna, Galvin, and Wynter. The fleshless skeletons were armed with spears, broadswords, hand axes, and other weapons; some were mounted on skeletal horses, their bones clinking together and sounding like wind chimes. In a grotesque way, their appearance was almost humorous. Some were dressed as men would—in pants, tunics, and hats. Others wore robes and cloaks. But the majority sported bits of outfits or fragments of blankets. Szass Tam felt that dressing them in some sort of clothing would help hide their appearance, especially during the day, until they were close to the walls of Amruthar.
Following the skeletons shuffled a division of zombies, also about fifty in number, some of which were so recently dead that Brenna thought they could pass as human. At first she wondered why Szass Tam didn’t put these up front. However, on closer examination, she discovered that their stench gave them away and made them more repulsive than the animated bones. All of the zombies were clad, some in armor. They shuffled forward with their eyes cast on the ground in front of them, since they were unaccustomed to the sunlight. None of these carried weapons, intending to fight with their claws, which were filthy and carried diseases.
The remainder of the undead numbered about forty—jujus; zombie monsters, including a quartet of decomposing hill giants; yellow musk zombies, which were part man, part plant; and a few things with manlike shapes that the heroes couldn’t identify.
Even though they preferred the comforting darkness of night, all of these undead were able to move about freely in the light of day. The Harpers and Brenna worried what might join their legion after the sun set a dozen hours from now.
The centaur wore barding, horse armor that made him feel as if he were being treated like an animal rather than a man. But from a distance, he thought he would appear to be a knight on horseback, and he rather fancied that idea. His rump was covered with a crupper—segmented, padded metal plates riveted together that extended to just below the tops of his back legs. A hole allowed his tail to poke through.
On his back was a flanchard, another piece of smooth and polished plate. It looked as if it had been molded to his body but possessed none of the flexibility of his natural hide; it connected to the crupper and extended to the start of his human torso. The flanchard chaffed a little and felt heavy and uncomfortable; Wynter had never worn armor before. However, he knew it would protect his flanks, and that was where the bulk of his injuries had been sustained earlier. The peytral portion—the section that would normally protect a horse’s neck—had been discarded. Instead, Wynter wore part of a human’s plate—a cuirass, a backplate and breastplate over a heavy quilted shirt. Oddly, that part of the ensemble fit him almost perfectly and was surprisingly easy to move in. His head was protected by a close helmet, the visor of which was up so he could see more easily. Of Mulhorandish make, it didn’t match the cuirass, being newer, more ornate, and covered with stamped designs.
In metal gauntleted hands, Wynter carried an enchanted bardiche, a formidable pole-arm that consisted of a stout wooden staff with a long, slightly curved blade at one end. It had been ensorcelled to strike more easily and was weighted so that when it struck opponents, it could slice off limbs. It was sharpened until it glinted keenly in the sunlight.
Although Wynter hadn’t been specifically trained in the use of such a weapon, the centaur was confident his mastery of the quarterstaff and experience with a pike would suffice to allow him to use this weapon if he truly had to. He switched the bardiche back and forth between his left and right hands, getting accustomed to the feel of it. It seemed finely balanced and could no doubt cleave a skull in two with little effort. The centaur disliked killing, fighting, and even carrying such weapons, yet his appearance gave the impression he was spoiling for a fight.
Szass Tam had forced Wynter to dress like this, reasoning that his large size might cause opponents to select him as their first target, but the armor should give him enough protection. Conversely, the centaur knew his stern countenance would cause at least some opponents to reconsider facing him, perhaps giving the Harpers a psychological edge.
His companions were not armored as formidably as the centaur, but they were also protected, equipped, and looked impressive.
Galvin had declined Szass Tam’s offer to be outfitted in the finest full plate mail. The druid was adamant that all the metal would hamper his movements, and thus would be more of a hindrance than a benefit. He settled on wearing a mail shirt, the links of which were small, tight, and afforded adequate defense, while being flexible enough to satisfy him. Over it, and against his strong objections, he wore a sleeveless black tabard that bore the lich’s symbol, a skeletal hand crushing a fleshy one. Galvin took it to mean Szass Tam believed the undead would one day conquer the living.
The druid’s kite-shaped shield was painted black and had a large, open skeletal hand in the center of it. He rode a heavy war-horse, also black. It had chain barding and a flowing ebon cloth decorated with embroidered skulls that hung on both sides of the saddle. The druid was an accomplished equestrian, having often ridden the wild horses of Faerûn, but this mount unsettled him. It was trained for war, it walked with practiced, measured steps, and it lacked the spirit of the wild horses. When he was finished being Szass Tam’s pawn, he intended to leave it behind.
Galvin had left his scimitar with the lich, but not by choice. The Zulkir of Necromancy insisted the druid carry an enchanted blade, a long sword that would make him a more stalwart opponent against Maligor’s minions. Further, he worried the druid by explaining that there may be some forces under Maligor’s control that could only be harmed by magical spells or weapons. Galvin preferred the feel of his own weapon, which seemed an extension of his own hand, but he wasn’t in a position to argue with Szass Tam.
Brenna was the least affected by the lich’s demands. Her attire was simpler. Being a wizard and unable to wear armor because it could interfere with her spell-casting, she had been provided with an arcane defense—silver etched golden bracers that fit high on her forearms and felt as light as parchment. The lich claimed they afforded almost as much protection as the plate Wynter wore. Brenna was skeptical, but she accepted them sullenly, finding some consolation in the fact she didn’t have to leave any of her possessions behind with Szass Tam.
She had a harder time stomaching the charcoal-black robe he gave her. It was too large, falling in folds about her feet, and the shoulder seams extended several inches down her upper arms. The neckline, cuffs, and hem were trimmed with bits of bone. From the cut and the lingering scent of perfume in the fabric, she knew it was a woman’s robe, and she wondered what the previous owner had been like. She must have been six feet tall and twice Brenna’s girth. The enchantress got goosebumps thinking about the garment and considered shedding it and putting on something different. However, she suspected Szass Tam was watching them somehow, and for some reason, he seemed insistent the trio dress in a grim fashion and display his markings.