Aoth grinned back. "It's so strong that turning away from it won't call into question our resolve to reach the Ring in Tyraturos. We'll head southwest down the Lapendrar-for after all, the other direction would take us dangerously close to the Keep of Sorrows-looking for a place to ford."
"Which we won't find," Khouryn said, "because the spring thaw and the spring rains have swollen the river. Actually, we'll be headed toward the border even though it will look like we're still trying to march deeper into the country."
"Not bad, eh? We might actually make it out of Thay with a company left to lead."
"As long as the bard and the ghost succeed at their task, and then everything else works out. As long as we aren't still diddling around taking in our surroundings when Szass Tam sends forth his tides of death."
Aoth's smile turned wry and crooked. "You know, for a moment there, I actually felt my spirits lift."
Even in Szass Tam's own city, where his undead minions were ubiquitous and the living scurried like mice to make way for them, there were rebels, and Arizima Nathandem was their leader. In her youth, the Red Wizards had taken her as an apprentice, until a training exercise gone awry left her with a persistent stammer and the inability to recite spells with the requisite precision. Then they'd cast her out as a useless cripple.
At first agreeing with that judgment, she'd fallen a long way, her Mulan blood notwithstanding. She'd landed in a festhall and still worked there today, though age had long since wrinkled her face, whitened her hair, and stained some of her teeth and outright stolen the rest. Now she managed the house, and it served the rebel cause admirably. No one questioned it when people of all stripes came and went at any hour of the day or night.
She conducted Bareris and Mirror into a sort of mock torture chamber, equipped with soft leather whips, switches, blindfolds, gags, and restraints, but no implements likely to inflict permanent harm. Just toys to amuse a Thayan noble bored with ordinary forms of sexual congress.
Arizima sat down stiffly on the bed. "It's b-been a… long time," she said.
"Your circle wasn't fighting," Bareris replied. "Our time was better spent elsewhere."
The old woman scowled. "We sp-spy. We can't do anything more, not here at the heart of it all, or Szass… Tam's agents will swoop down on us like hawks!"
Mirror, who currently resembled a blood orc they'd passed in the street, inclined his head. "We understand that, Lady. My brother meant no offense."
Arizima cackled. " 'Lady,' is it? You'd think the b-bard would be the one with the golden tongue."
"You lead a band of our comrades," the phantom replied. "That makes you a knight, or as good as, in my eyes."
"Thank you," she said. "That's kind. Now, why have you… returned, and how can we help you?"
"Help us find a way into the Citadel," said Bareris, "so we can destroy Szass Tam."
Arizima peered at him as though looking for some sign that he was joking.
"I mean it," Bareris said, and, as clearly and convincingly as he could, he explained the lich's scheme and what he and his comrades intended to do about it.
By the time he finished, the old woman was shaking her head. "Tear down this world and put up a new one with himself as the only god? That's madness!"
"I agree," Bareris answered, "but the trouble is that it truly does seem like Szass Tam's particular flavor of madness. And while the zulkirs of the council doubt the ritual will accomplish its goals, they do believe it may well devastate Thay and neighboring lands."
"So after all our years of hoping and praying and trying to nibble away at the necromancers' reign, it's now or never."
"Yes. But the good part is that if our plan works, we'll have four archmages popping out at the lich to attack him by surprise. That's never happened before. The zulkirs were never willing to bet everything on this sort of gamble."
"All right," Arizima said. "I under… st-stand, and I want to help. I just don't know if I can. We've watched the fortress for decades, but the more you look, the more discouraged you become."
"I assume that it's still impossible for a mage to translate himself inside."
"Yes. I've seen demons try. They appear in midair looking like they ran headfirst into a wall."
"But what if I were to disguise myself with magic?"
"It won't work. There are wards to strip away illusions and shrouds of invisibility."
"Then what if I just walk in as though I have legitimate business inside? I don't look all that different from many other undead. I have the proper uniform and that 'golden tongue' you spoke of. And after all, it is the regent's palace. There must be people coming and going all the time."
"All the d-d-doorkeepers are undead, so you'd have trouble making your blandishments work on them. And if you did persuade them, they'd assign an escort to take you where you c-claimed you wanted to go."
"Curse it." At the periphery of Bareris's vision stood an X-shaped wooden stand with shackles to hold a prisoners wrists and ankles, and he had to resist a sudden urge to turn and give it a kick. Hoping it would calm him, he took a breath instead. "Very well, if neither magic nor pure brazenness will serve, that leaves skulking and climbing."
"Yes," Mirror said, "but not for you. Not yet."
Bareris frowned. "What are you talking about?"
"I can fly," said the ghost. The tusks and snout of the orc melted away, and his face became a murky semblance of the melancholy, mustachioed one he'd worn in life. "I have innate abilities to walk through walls and fade from view that Szass Tam's defenses may not affect, or at least, not as strongly as they'd cancel out a sorcerer's tricks. If things go wrong, I'll have a better chance of getting away. So let me try to slip inside by myself, and if I succeed, we'll both go in tomorrow night."
Bareris didn't like it. Now that they'd come this far, now that Szass Tam was only a mile away, the urge to press on burned like a fever inside him. But he couldn't deny that Mirror's idea made sense.
In the dark, the Citadel loomed like a bizarre, multi-bladed weapon raised to gut the moon. Like any castle worthy of the name, it stood at the center of a patch of open ground and had sentries patrolling the battlements.
Peering from between two of the buildings nearest to the fortress, Mirror watched the guards and timed them as they made their circuits. When he understood the routine, he waited for a gaunt, yellow-eyed dread warrior to trudge by, then darted forward.
He didn't advance invisibly, because even if such a trick would work for him, it wouldn't for Bareris. So he sneaked as he had in life when creeping up on an enemy. He stayed low, kept to the deepest shadows, and reached the foot of the outermost wall without incident.
He inspected the huge granite blocks and the mortared chinks between them. He doubted that an ordinary climber could scale the vertical surface unless possessed of exceptional skill. Not quickly enough, at any rate. Bareris, however, was inhumanly strong, remarkably agile, and knew charms to make himself stronger and more nimble still. Mirror judged that his friend could make it.
That meant it was time for him to do the same, before the next guard came tramping along. Alternately checking to make sure the minimal hand- and toeholds didn't run out and watching the crenellated wall-walk overhead, he floated upward.
With his head at merlon-height, he took another wary look around. This section of the battlements was still clear and, according to his estimation, should remain so for a little while longer. He rose until his feet were at the level of the walkway, then stepped through a crenel onto the ledge.
It was conceivable that if Bareris made it only this far, he could help Aoth, Nevron, and the others translate themselves into the Citadel. But the bard doubted it, and based on all that the past hundred years had taught Mirror about Szass Tam's wiles, he was inclined to agree. They assumed they'd need to cross the courtyard below, get past the inner wall, traverse a second bailey, and slip inside the towering central keep itself to have any hope of success.