Rain poured from the empty air to batter the canyon wall, and wherever it pounded one of the Rashemi, flesh blistered and smoked. The enemy made haste to shield themselves or scuttle for cover, which interrupted the witches' barrage of spells.
Then he appeared before Azhir, so suddenly she assumed he must have shifted himself through space, but without the ostentatious burst of light, crackle of power, or puff of displaced air that often accompanied such feats. Rather it was as if she'd simply blinked, and at that precise moment, he'd stepped in front of her. Though he could no doubt appear however he liked-and gossip whispered that his true form was ghastly indeed-Szass Tam, zulkir of Necromancy, looked as he always had whenever she'd met him. He was tall and dark of eye, with a wispy black beard and a vermilion robe trimmed with gems and gold. He was gaunt and pale even for a Thayan aristocrat, but even so, he seemed more alive than otherwise. Only his withered hands and the hint of dry rot that occasionally wafted from his person truly attested that he was a lich, a wizard who'd achieved immortality by transforming himself into one of the undead.
She started to kneel, and he caught hold of her arm and held her up. "No time for courtesies," he said. "My magic interrupted the attack, but it will resume in a moment. Get your people moving toward the river."
She stared at him in confusion. "We don't have a way to cross."
"I'm about to remedy that."
He produced a scroll, perhaps plucking it from the empty air, though it was also conceivable that, his shriveled fingers deft as a juggler's, he'd simply drawn it from his voluminous sleeve. He unrolled the vellum, turned to face the Gauros, and spoke the trigger phrase, releasing the magic stored in the parchment.
Three arches of crimson light shimmered into being above the river, spanning it from shore to shore. Bridges, Azhir realized, he built us bridges.
She grabbed the nearest warrior, held him and shouted at him until she made him understand that a means of escape was available. Then she released him to spread the word, even as she continued to do the same.
Perhaps her efforts did a little good, but it was primarily Szass Tam who goaded the Thayan warriors toward salvation. He multiplied himself to appear in a dozen places at once, each version bellowing to all in an amplified voice discernible even over the ambient din.
In less time than Azhir would have imagined possible, they were all scrambling for safety. The smooth, transparent curve of the bridge she chose looked as if it ought to be slippery as glass, but in fact, the surface was sufficiently rough that she had no difficulty negotiating it.
It was only when she was on the south shore, and Szass Tam was dissolving the bridges to forestall pursuit, that she remembered that a death beneath the blades of the Rashemi would have been a merciful fate compared to what the lich was likely to do to her.
Homen Odesseiron had long ago learned that a battle doesn't end when the fighting stops. He and Azhir had to restore order to their battered and demoralized legions, make sure the healers tended the wounded, withdraw their force to a place of greater safety, and establish a defensible encampment.
It was hectic work, but even so, Homen stole the odd moment to savor the beauty of wisps of white cloud in the bright blue sky and the towering mountainsides with their subtle striations of dun and tan and their trim of fresh spring greenery. He made time because it might well be his final opportunity to enjoy anything.
Soon enough, Szass Tam led the two insubordinate tharchions into a tent-Homen's own green- and white-striped pavilion, as it happened, with his axe-and-boar standard planted before the entrance-to talk in private. Once inside, he kept the governors kneeling for a considerable time. The servants had spread carpets on the ground, but the exercise in humiliation made Homen's knees ache even so. Since Azhir was as old as he and wearing plate to boot, it was probably even more uncomfortable for her. He hoped so anyway.
"I confess," said Szass Tam at last, "I don't recall the council of zulkirs ordering a raid on Rashemen. Perhaps I missed a meeting."
There was a part of Homen that wanted to shout, It was all her idea, reckless, ambitious, hatchet-faced bitch that she is. She pressured me into it. But his pride wouldn't permit him to whine like a frightened child, and it wouldn't have done any good anyway. As governor of Surthay, he had to take responsibility for his own decisions.
"Your Omnipotence," he said, "I exceeded my authority and led my troops into a trap. I'm to blame and will accept whatever punishment you deem appropriate."
Szass Tam smiled. "Are you sure? You've seen the kind of punishments I'm wont to concoct. Get up, both of you. Do you have anything to drink stowed in these trunks? If so, perhaps you could pour us each a cup."
Feeling confused, Homen did as the necromancer had bade him. Szass Tam inhaled the bouquet of the Chessentan red, swished it around, then sipped from his golden goblet with every sign of a connoisseur's appreciation, though Homen wondered if the undead were truly capable of enjoying such pleasures. Perhaps the lich simply drank-and even, on occasion, ate-to appear more normal and so put folk at ease.
"Well," said Szass Tam, "it's clear what the two of you did, but kindly explain why."
"Master," Azhir said, "with respect, surely it's plain enough. I sought to perform great deeds for Thay, to fill her coffers with plunder and extend her borders."
"And to enrich and elevate yourself in the process." Szass Tam raised a shriveled finger. "Please, don't embarrass yourself by denying it. Kept within limits, self-interest is a virtue in a tharchion." His dark eyes shifted to Homen. "I take it you share your co-commander's sentiments?"
"Yes," Homen said. "Your Omnipotence knows that in my youth, I was a Red Wizard of Evocation. I could have remained with my order and enjoyed a privileged, luxurious existence, but the warrior's life called me. I aspired to win great victories on the battlefield."
Szass Tam nodded. "Yet for all your personal prowess and all the might of Thay's legions, you rarely prevailed in a campaign of any consequence."
Homen's face grew warm with emotion. Shame, perhaps. "That's true. Somehow, through the decades, Rashemen and Aglarond withstood us again and again, and now I'm an old man. I didn't want to go to the grave as the failed captain of a humbled realm."
"I understand." Szass Tam took another sip of wine. "But why not ask the zulkirs to authorize your expedition? We could have given you additional troops-"
"By the Black Hand!" Azhir exploded. She must have been utterly unable to contain herself to interrupt a zulkir. He arched an eyebrow, and realizing what she'd done, she blanched.
"It's all right," Szass Tam said. "Complete your thought."
"It's just-" Azhir took a breath. "Master, have I not asked for permission repeatedly over the course of the last several years, and have you not denied me every time? These days, the policy is trade"-her tone made the word an obscenity-"not war. All we want is our neighbors' gold, even though we already have plenty, even though the mountains of High Thay are full of it. I remember when we dreamed of ruling Faerыn!"
"As do I," Szass Tam replied.
Homen hesitated then decided that if the lich hadn't struck Azhir dead for her outburst, he might likewise tolerate a somewhat impertinent question. "Master, pardon me if I presume, but you almost sound as if… you agree with us? I thought you supported peace and the trade enclaves."
Szass Tam smiled. "There are only eight zulkirs, but our politics, our gambits and maneuverings, are more intricate than any sane outsider could imagine. You should be wary of assuming that all is as it appears, but we can talk more about that later." He shifted his narrow shoulders like a laborer about to set to work. "For now, we must determine how to turn today's debacle into a splendid achievement, a deed meriting a triumphal procession as opposed to pincers and thumbscrews."