"What else do you want?"
"I've emptied the tombs and graveyards of the north. I've slaughtered many of its slaves and peasants and even some of my own living soldiers. Which is to say, I'm running short of raw material on which my necromancers can practice their art."
"What a shame."
"Isn't it? Yet it needn't be a disaster. This ancient land is still full of dead bodies. It's just that they've decayed so utterly as to be indistinguishable from the soil in which they lie. But a highly skilled necromancer could still call something forth-if he were capable of recognizing the exact patch of ground containing the remains."
"And so you want me to give you that ability as well."
"Yes, and I fear there's more."
Bane laughed. Though musical, the sound was even more hurtful than his speech, and Szass Tam stiffened. "You don't lack for gall, necromancer."
"So people often told me. When I was climbing up the hierarchy of my order, I mean. Once you become a zulkir, people stop critiquing your character to your face. Anyway, you're probably aware that I share a psychic bond with many of the sorcerers under my command, and that I have a limited ability to be in multiple places simultaneously."
"Yes."
"I need my powers augmented, so I can direct my wizards more efficiently. Otherwise, I won't be able to turn a fresh supply of corpse dust into warriors fast enough to do me any good."
"Anything else?"
"Just one thing, the obvious. Currently the Church of Bane supports my fellow zulkirs. It would help if you instructed your priests to back me instead."
"Dead man, just for amusement's sake, let's imagine I might be willing to grant you all these extravagant favors. What could you possibly offer of comparable worth?"
"Thay. When I'm its sole sovereign, you'll be the only god worshiped within its borders."
"I've explained. With the higher worlds entering an era of strife and chaos, Faerыn, let alone this little piece of it, is of little concern to me."
Szass Tam stared at the sheen of eyes in Bane's murky face. "I don't believe you. We inhabitants of the physical plane may seem like grubs and ants to the gods, but you need us. Our worship gives you strength."
"Yet I reject your terms."
Szass Tam sighed. "Then how about this? After I make myself master of Thay, give me one thousand years to enjoy the fruits of my victory, and then you can take my soul. I'll be your bondsman forever after, in this world or wherever you decide to have me labor on your behalf."
Bane laughed. "Do you think so highly of yourself as to imagine that appreciably sweetens the bargain? The addition of one tiny soul, due a millennium hence?"
"It's not a prodigiously long time in the context of your eternal existence, and I am Szass Tam. Jeer and scoff at me all you like, but I know you're wise enough to understand what that means. You could scour your 'higher worlds' from one end to the other without finding a vassal who will further your schemes half as well."
Bane laughed again. "I'm tempted to accept this bargain. Then, in days to come, to make you the lowliest of my slaves, performing the most painful and degrading duties, just to punish your arrogance as it deserves."
"If you want to waste my talents, that will be your prerogative. Now, will you make a pact with me or not?"
"Do you know… I believe I will, but the terms must change in one respect. My priests and other worshipers will continue to aid the council."
"Because that way, no matter who wins, you and your creed will enjoy the favor of the victors. Very shrewd. All right, it's a bargain. Give me knowledge and power and I'll make do without your clerics."
"I warn you, you're asking for more than you were ever meant to hold, and jamming it inside you all at once will exacerbate the stress. Your mind may break apart."
"That I doubt."
"We'll see." His arm a blur of motion, Bane whipped the back of his jeweled gauntlet against Szass Tam's face.
Bone cracked, but the initial numbing shock of impact didn't give way to pain. That was because a sensation like a discordant scream stabbed into Szass Tam's mind, and it was so intense as to eclipse mere physical distress.
It howled on and on until he began to fear that, as Bane had warned, he might not be able to bear it. Then it resolved from a grating shriek into harmony. His inner self seemed to vibrate to it, but no longer felt as if it might tear apart. Rather, the sensation was exhilarating.
He realized he'd fallen, and picked himself up off the ground. He looked around for Bane, but the Black Hand had taken his leave. The dark barrier had dissolved, and the stars shined overhead.
Szass Tam's face gave him a belated twinge. Now confident of his ability to perform the delicate manipulations, he mended the bone, regenerated flesh and skin, and even regrew his beard. He started to heal the rest of his wounds as well, realized he could now rid his hands of any trace of blemish, but then, on a whim, left the fingers withered. He was used to them that way.
He could feel that, while the new knowledge was his to keep, the prodigious mystical strength Bane had lent him would gradually fade. He needed to exploit it immediately if it was to carry him to victory. Yet as he sent his thoughts soaring to link with the minds of his followers, he had time to grin at the reflection that even a so-called god with all his alleged omniscience could be gulled into making a disastrously bad bargain.
Perched on Brightwing's back, Aoth surveyed an expanse of sky, and his preternaturally keen vision discerned all sorts of things. Subtle variations in the grayness of the clouds. Sparrows. Vultures circling. A white gull that had strayed too far north of the seashore. But no ravens.
A cold drizzle started falling, further souring his mood. "Will ravens fly in this?" he asked.
"They might," Brightwing said, "if it doesn't get any harder."
"Wonderful." That meant he and the griffon had to keep flying in it, too.
Proving Malark's treachery, if in fact he was a traitor, seemed simple enough in principle. One need only show a discrepancy between the intelligence the spymaster received and the information he supplied to the zulkirs or the commanders in the field. Or between the orders the council gave him to transmit and those he actually sent along.
The trick was identifying those contradictions. Aoth was a high-ranking officer, and Bareris likewise occupied a position of trust, but even so, they had no right or apparent reason to review every secret message that found its way to Malark, or that he sent in turn. Nor were they informed of the outcome every time the zulkirs conferred, or when one of the archmages acted unilaterally.
Since they doubted their ability to spy on Malark and remain undetected while he waited on his superiors and read and prepared his scrolls, that left Aoth and his fellow conspirators to hunt messenger birds on the wing, but not near the Central Citadel or anywhere over Bezantur, where they might have had some reasonable hope of finding them. They had to seek them in the vastness of the countryside, and hope that if they did manage to kill one, its message would prove duplicitous, and they'd know enough to recognize the treason when they saw it.
"Curse it, anyway," Aoth growled. "I'm working with the false friend who betrayed me to trip up the true one who saved my life, and I'm doing it to serve the masters who wanted to cut me to pieces. What in Kossuth's name is wrong with me?"
"I've been wondering that for years," Brightwing said. "We can still desert if you'd rather."
Aoth sighed. "No, I've lost the inclination. Walking away from a long, slow grind of a stalemate is one thing, because what does it matter if you're there or not? But for a little while, after the blue fires came, it seemed the south might actually win, and now it looks as if Szass Tam might defeat us for good and all. Either way, the war feels different, and running off would seem more cowardly."