Outwardly, the wraiths appeared no different, though their hollow voices carried a hint of surprise. “All those gnolls—a mere distraction?”
“A diversion,” Galvin agreed. He eased himself to his feet, leaning against the wall for support. He was still weak, and he hoped the wraiths would cooperate, because he didn’t have the strength to oppose them now. “Everyone is paying attention to Maligor’s gnolls—even the mighty Szass Tam. With everyone preoccupied, Maligor’s darkenbeasts are free to strike elsewhere.”
“What are his real plans?” the largest wraith howled, as he hovered just beyond the druid. “Where did Maligor go? Szass Tam must know. Tell us.”
“I don’t know any more. But we’re going to find out. I’m going to need your help, though, and at the same time, I’m going to help you. There are several levels below this tower. They should be a good place for you to stay when the daylight comes.”
The wraiths protested waiting any longer, but Brenna convinced them that Galvin wasn’t able to travel now. In the end, they followed the druid to a section of wall the stones had told the druid about. He pushed against it, and it slid wide, revealing a curving staircase that descended into darkness.
Galvin told the wraiths to seek out the bottommost levels, where the staircase seemed to disappear and an overpowering stench pervaded the air. The creatures could move quickly, could see without light, and didn’t seem likely to mind the rotting smell. They seemed to take a perverse glee in the task.
“The first underground level is ours,” Galvin told Brenna, steadying himself against the wall. “The stone spoke of great horrors there. Wynter, come with us.”
Brenna helped support the weakened druid as they made their way down the series of smooth stone steps. The centaur followed awkwardly. Wynter had difficulty negotiating the stairwell and had to bend his human torso forward to avoid scraping his head on the ceiling. He was comforted when Brenna and Galvin finally left the staircase and entered a wide, high corridor. Here the odor of death and decay wasn’t too overpowering. The trio discovered lanterns placed along the walls and lit them to reveal a series of barred cells. The iron bars were thickly encrusted with filth and rust, and the straw that poked between the bars was moldy and crawling with insects.
A ring of keys hung in the center of the corridor, obviously beyond the reach of the cells’ inhabitants, but within sight of most of them.
Brenna left Galvin’s side and rose to her tiptoes to pull the ring loose. She hurried to the closest cell, then fumbled with the keys until she found the correct one. Throwing the door open, she stepped inside and glanced about. Twisted, tortured bodies hung from manacles. The wounds in their flesh looked deep, but the pain wasn’t what had killed them. Their swollen, cracked lips and protruding ribs attested to the fact that they had starved to death. Brenna gasped and proceeded to investigate the cells.
Wynter tried to help her, but he found the cell doors were too small to accommodate his equine frame. Instead, he stood out in the hall and strained to listen.
“All the cells are like this,” Brenna announced when she was through, her disgust apparent in her voice. “All the occupants are dead. It’s as if Maligor forgot about them and simply let them starve.”
“Maybe,” Galvin said. The druid was leaning against the door to the farthest cell and peering inside. “Bring the keys over here Brenna.”
The enchantress hurried over and quickly unlatched the door. Galvin entered first, then turned and held out his hand to her. Taking it, Brenna climbed down the few steps to the cell floor. This cell was cleaner than the others, but splotches of dried blood covered most of the surface and partially obliterated a map that lay spread out on the floor.
Brenna bent to tug the parchment loose from the floor and study it. It was crude map, drawn with a shaky hand. The map depicted tunnels and traps and bore a few markings she couldn’t decipher. She showed it to the druid, then blanched as he leaned against the wall to brace himself.
“You’re weak. You need to rest,” she admonished.
The druid nodded, too exhausted to argue.
They carried their find upstairs, noticing that the candles they had lit had all burned out. The trio had been below ground more than an hour, and the first rays of the dawning sun were spilling in through the windows and reflecting off the marble floor.
Galvin padded through the main hallway until he reached the doors through which they had entered the tower. He still moved unsteadily in his weakened state, and he tottered when he threw open the doors. Wynter trotted after him, the clip-clop of the centaur’s hooves reverberating off the polished marble floor.
Brenna remained inside, studying the map and wondering what Galvin was doing. The clink of bones and swish of old, tattered cloth told her. He was ushering all of the undead inside to keep them from worrying Amruthar’s citizens and from wandering away. The sorceress went several feet up the staircase and sat down to avoid rubbing up against the ambling corpses that flooded the hallway. The druid directed the skeletons and zombies down to the chambers below and called out to the wraiths to take charge of the other undead.
“I’ll summon you when we’re ready to leave,” Galvin called, his tone halting, as if he were out of breath.
“Heal thyself, human,” came the haunting reply. “We will leave at sunset.”
It took a long time for the hundreds of sluggish corpses to file into the chambers below. When the last was gone, Wynter pushed the hidden door closed behind them.
Brenna spread the crude map out on some nearby steps, then hunched over to scrutinize it again. Galvin sat beside her.
“The map might not mean anything,” he said, leaning back on his elbows and fighting to keep his eyes open.
“Maybe,” she replied quickly, “But then again, maybe it’s important.”
The clip-clopping of Wynter’s hooves caused the enchantress to glance up from the parchment. The centaur stood at the bottom of the short staircase and held out his hand. Brenna shrugged and passed him the map.
The centaur’s dark eyes puzzled over the rough lines, then grew wide. “There are some hills marked here,” Wynter said thoughtfully. “They’ve got to be Thay’s gold mines, its lifeblood. People here will tell you the citrus and other crops support the country. But it’s really the gold. If you have enough gold you don’t need crops. You can buy anything you want. I’m starting to remember things, Brenna.”
The enchantress grabbed the banister and pulled herself up. Galvin stayed rooted to the stairs.
“Show me,” Brenna encouraged, and she hurried to Wynter’s side.
The centaur pointed to various features on the map. Then he scratched his head. “I don’t know what Maligor wants with the gold mines. There’s a tharchion who supervises the mines. He’s appointed by all the zulkirs jointly. The tharchion isn’t going to throw in with Maligor, or with Szass Tam, for that matter,” Wynter added. “Besides, the mines are north of here. Galvin said Maligor’s army moved east.”
“Could a large bird fly to the mines in an evening?” Galvin asked. “Are the mines close enough?”
The centaur knit his brows, puzzled at the question. “I suppose it could,” he answered, “if the bird could fly fast. It really isn’t all that far, but it would take a man several days, perhaps, to walk there.”
Galvin sighed, then grinned at his Harper friend. Wynter certainly seemed to be recovering. The druid wanted the centaur fit and at his side when the confrontation with Maligor came.
“I don’t know for sure what Maligor is up to, but I’ll wager he’s going after the mines,” the druid suggested.