"We aren't going to Thassalen," Szass Tam said. He turned to one of the mounted guards. "Tell my wizards to attend me." The warrior saluted and pounded off, his horse's hooves drumming on the pavement.
The mages were no doubt weary from so many days of travel, but they had the good sense to come running. Szass Tam called the necromancers forward and positioned them so as to define the vertices of a complex mystic sigil. Then he took his place at the center.
He summoned a staff made of the fused bones of drowned men, bound with gold salvaged from sunken ships, into his withered hands. He hadn't had occasion to use the rod in over two hundred years, but perceived immediately that it was as potent as ever. He could feel the force inside it pulsing slow and steady as a line of rumbling breakers pounding at a shore.
He linked his consciousness to that of his subordinates. He chanted words of power, and they chorused the responses.
The feeble sunlight faded until it seemed that dusk had arrived early. The air grew cold. Then gray, shriveled heads bobbed to the surface of the harbor as sailors who'd fallen overboard and swimmers who'd ventured too far from shore responded to the necromancers' call. There were scores of them in view, and Szass Tam could sense still others, too far out to be visible but waiting to serve him nonetheless.
Meanwhile, memories of ancient pain and hatred woke in the ooze on the sea floor, and there they would shelter until true night fell. But then, they too would slither forth to do his bidding.
When he'd summoned and bound all he could, Szass Tam changed his incantations and the ritual passes that accompanied them, altering the net that was his magic to gather a different catch. Before, he'd fished for the festering stains left by the deaths of men. Now he trawled for echoes of the extinctions of beasts.
The rotting carcass of a kraken shifted its tentacles and swam upward from the seabed. The bones of a colossal eel tumbled and slid through slime to reassemble its skeleton. Mad with the need for vengeance on wyrm slayers who were long since dust, the ghost of a sea dragon roared, and although no one standing beside the ruined docks could see or hear it, people cringed and cried out nonetheless.
Szass Tam lowered his staff. When the ferrule touched the ground, he suddenly felt so weak that he leaned on the instrument.
It was unexpected. Liches were supposed to be immune to fatigue. But this wasn't ordinary weariness. He truly was nearing the end of the Black Hand's gift of power, and he realized that once it was gone, he'd be weaker than normal for a time. Perhaps it took a portion of his own strength to contain Bane's energies safely until required, and then turn them to their proper purpose.
He was glad the weakness lasted only a moment. It was poor practice for a lord to allow his vassals to catch him looking vulnerable.
"You've raised a fair number of drowned men and dead sea creatures," Malark called. "But not enough, I think, to destroy the council's fleet."
"I'm not done," Szass Tam said.
He dismissed his necromancers. They were too spent to assist any further. Then he called forth any other sorcerers capable of helping with his next effort, which was to say, every Red Wizard who'd defected from the order Mythrellan and Dmitra had commanded in their turns, and anyone else possessing a working knowledge of the same discipline.
He arranged them in a different pattern, then switched the bone staff for one made of moonlight, shadow, shimmering desert air, and fancies plucked from a madman's mind, all bound together. He led his assistants in another series of elaborate, contrapuntal invocations.
Darkness swirled on the water. By degrees, it sculpted itself into solid shapes and froze into solidity, until it became a fleet of warships floating at anchor, their hulls and sails black with scarlet trim and accents.
Szass Tam grinned at Malark, Homen, and Azhir. "I realize we didn't make enough vessels to carry the entire army. But, with the warriors we can take onboard, the ones who'll swim alongside, and those who can fly, do you think we now have sufficient strength to sink our foes?"
Homen smiled. "Your Omnipotence, I believe we do."
The world tilted and spun. Szass Tam staggered. This time, if he was to remain upright, he had to lean heavily on his staff, and not just for a moment either. He growled a word of power whose virtue was to lend stamina to a flagging body and clarity to a beleaguered mind, and his dizziness abated.
Malark, Azhir, and Homen all ran to him, the fleet-footed former monk outdistancing the others. Despite his chagrin at having his appearance of majesty compromised, Szass Tam felt touched by what at least gave the impression of genuine concern. It warmed him in a way that all the cheering in the streets had not, and reminded him that the future, glorious as it would be, would come at a certain poignant cost.
"Are you all right?" Malark asked.
"I'm fine," Szass Tam said.
"Maybe you should rest."
"No. Perhaps I'll want to by and by, but for now, I'm more than strong enough to do what needs doing. Which is raise a storm at sea to slow the council's flight. Our fine new ships, zombie sea serpents, and what have you won't do us any good if we can't catch our quarry."
He turned, scrutinized the sorcerers who waited to assist him, and called forth those with power over the weather.
Whenever Thessaloni Canos looked around the deck of Samas Kul's floating seraglio, she had to suppress a sneer. She hated the lewd gilded carvings, the companionways broad and easy to negotiate as any staircase on land, and every other detail where the shipwrights had forsaken spare, efficient utility in favor of luxury and opulent display.
But the ridiculous vessel seemed to have become a flagship of sorts. Samas had entertained his fellow zulkirs onboard shortly after setting sail, and that had put them in the habit of gathering here to confer. Thessaloni simply had to make the best of it.
With her trident dangling in her hand, she waited for the magelords to arrive, prowling the decks and trying to look past the ship's annoying toys and fripperies and determine how her captain ought to handle her in a fight. How nimbly could the ship maneuver, and how many archers could stand and shoot from the forecastle?
Meanwhile, Aoth Fezim, who'd carried her to the ship on the back of his griffon, descended to the galley, procured two hams, and watched with his luminous blue eyes as his steed snapped them down. Sailors watched, too, curious but keeping their distance as if they feared the beast might eat them next. Cold drizzle spattered down from a charcoal-colored sky, and the sea was choppy. The wind moaned out of the west.
The archwizards all appeared within a few heartbeats of one another. Samas crept on deck looking pale, shaky, and unshaven, as if he'd had a difficult night and had only just risen from his berth. Lauzoril and Lallara simply popped out of nowhere, and Nevron arrived riding a creature resembling a gigantic two-headed canary. When he dismounted, the thing turned into yellow vapor, which flowed into a brass ring on his left hand like steam retreating back into a kettle.
Aoth approached the zulkirs, came to attention, and saluted. Thessaloni climbed down from the bow and did the same. "Masters," she said.
Lallara looked Samas up and down, smirked, and said, "Aren't you treating us to another lavish breakfast this morning? More pork loin with green pepper sauce, perhaps? I do hope that enormous belly isn't queasy."
The transmuter scowled at her. "I hope you know how much I despise you."
"I do. It lifts my spirits whenever I think of it."
"We didn't come here for bickering and japes." Lauzoril turned to Thessaloni. "What's our situation?"
"I'll let Captain Fezim tell you," Thessaloni replied. "He and his men are the ones who've been aloft this morning, scouting."