Muttering the words, the draconian unleashed his spell on the lock.
The power. Give me the power.
Brudas stumbled back as the lock flashed and flamed. He spun around, glaring at the miserable trio of Baaz and looking for the one who had spoken the odd words. "Who dared interrupt me at such a crucial moment? My spell might have gone awry!"
The Baaz looked at one another confusedly, Drek finally daring to reply, "No one ssspoke, sssir! I sss-wear!"
The Bozak hissed, but did not pursue the matter. He could deal out punishments later. Greedily, Brudas returned his attention to the lock.
The spell had not worked as well as it should have. Frustrated, Brudas turned and studied the lock closer. Tiny plumes of smoke still rose from the blackened section. Not destroyed, as he had hoped, but certainly weakened. A shovel or pickax would finish the job nicely.
Backing away, Brudas commanded, "Drek! Your shovel! Strike the lock!"
Drek seized the tool and stepped to the door. Raising the shovel high, he let loose with his enviable strength, smashing the lock. The lock broke with a satisfying crack.
Breathing heavily, Drek stepped back. Antic.i.p.ation rising, Brudas glanced at the other two apprehensive Baaz. "Open it!"
Molgar and Gruun swiftly obeyed. The muscles of the draconians strained, but the two soon had the great door ajar, enough to let a single figure squeeze through at a time. Seizing the oil lantern, Brudas thrust it in and swept it over the interior.
More water and mud greeted him. Nearly three-fourths of the chamber lay submerged. He couldn"t hope even to get inside more than a few yards.
A waste of time. If there were any artifacts within, the sloping floor would have sent them all deep down in the swamp, to a place not even Brudas could command the Baaz to go.
With hope fading, he swung the lamp around for one last inspection-and caught a glint of metal.
Brudas stared, at first certain he was mistaken, but, no, the tip of some metallic object was poking above the muck. The Bozak somehow sensed he had not simply found some bit of rusted tableware or old sword. No, Brudas could sense magic . . . the old magic.
"Drek! Over there! See that? Retrieve it! And be warned! If you lose it, you"d best just follow it to oblivion, understand?"
With a fearful nod, the Baaz strode into the ruined chamber. Brudas nearly held his breath, but Drek managed to pluck the relic free and return with it in only a couple of minutes.
"Give me that!" the Bozak demanded, fingers twitching in excitement.
The object that Drek anxiously pa.s.sed on to him proved to be a bracelet of sorts, but of a design Brudas had never come across before. It seemed too large for either draconian or human wrists and far too bulky to be worn practically. Much of it had been fashioned out of silver that seemed to hint of moonlight, but what fascinated him most was the intricate centerpiece to the artifact, a crest with a horned, animal-skull design that hinted of the lost G.o.d Chemosh, lord of the dead.
Adding to its effect were two black stones flanking the skull design. Staring at them, the Bozak could have sworn that they flared briefly in response to his intense gaze. The stones appeared to be ent.i.ties separate from the rest of the bracelet. Brudas sensed some spell attached to them, but the level of power paled in comparison to the rest of the relic.
One of the stones seemed slightly ajar, as if something had nearly knocked it free of its mounting. With great caution, Brudas brought one talon gingerly to the stone. He did not want to lose the stone by accident.
As his talon touched the ebony gem, a brief spark from the stone startled Brudas, nearly causing him to drop the entire bracelet.
The power. Give me the power!
Clutching the relic awkwardly in one hand, he glared at the three Baaz, but none of them looked as if they had spoken the peculiar words. The Bozak shook off the whispering voice. Perhaps he had imagined it. Inspecting the bracelet, Brudas decided not to risk touching the loose stone again. Still, the mild jolt he had received had been enough to encourage him.
Brudas eyed the sunken chamber. The prospects of finding anything else in this danger-laden, unstable ruin were minimal at best. He had been fortunate to find even this one artifact. Still. . .
"Continue the search. Leave nothing untouched! I will return to my tent to study this item." Ignoring the dismayed expressions of the others, the Bozak strode away, as best he could, climbing laboriously up to the surface and shaking mud off all the way back to his tent.
For the first time since coming to Krolus, Brudas had made a real find, one that might help him realize his dreams of success, of power.
Brudas had grown tired of serving Sable and receiving little in return. He had grown tired of his own failing magic, making him feel even more useless than a Baaz or a Kapak. Auraks had their fabled craftiness to serve them when magic failed, and the others were good for either battle or labor, but a Bozak without magic was worthless. He was not even of any use to himself.
However, with the forces Brudas sensed in this artifact, he might be able to depart the black dragon"s domain and make his way to better climes, to some place where he, not some overgrown, fat lizard, could rule. Then Brudas would be master, not servant. . . .
Entering his tent, he stalked to the table and, with a contemptuous sweep of his arm, cleared it of the lesser relics. Hanging his oil lamp nearby, Brudas placed the bracelet on the table, then leaned toward it, reptilian orbs slitted. He cared not for what purpose its designer originally had created it. Sable would have found the artifact"s background of interest, but all Brudas cared about now was how he would be able to draw the magic and use it for his own spells.
A test. It required a simple test. The Bozak would cast the easiest of spells, utilizing only the least amount of energy.
With growing eagerness, Brudas clutched the sides of the bracelet, making certain to leave both index fingers atop the skull design. Feeling the nearness to strong magic sent a chill of excitement down his spine. He could barely contain himself as he began to recite the words of the spell. If all went as planned, the Bozak hoped to create a small sphere of light that would float just above the table. A simple spell. In the old days, even a novice wizard could have cast this with ease.
As he whispered, Brudas noticed a slight movement of the tent walls. The lamp dimmed a bit for no reason he could discern.
The final words slipped from his toothy maw.
And a pale, cadaverous hand suddenly slipped across his own, while a moaning, demanding voice like a winter wind cried out, "Give it to me! I must have it!"
Caught by surprise, Brudas stumbled backward, losing his grip on the relic. His gaze fell upon a ghostly form, an older, bearded man wearing tattered robes. The face had little flesh and the eyes were so hollow and hungry that for a moment Brudas, who had as a servant of the G.o.ddess Takhisis dealt before with the undead, could only stare back in astonishment.
In its skeletal hands the ghost held a glowing force, and, as both spectre and burden faded away, Brudas realized the ghoulish creature had just stolen the magic from his spell.
Hissing in both anger and consternation, Brudas rose to his feet and raced out of the tent. Outside he saw nothing but the swamp and the ruins. Both the ghost and glowing magic had vanished.
For a moment, he considered calling for the Baaz, but thought better of it. To ask them if they had heard or seen a ghost would only make him look ridiculous in their i|norant eyes.
However, one ghost would not stop him. The Bozak knew some dark spells, one that could repel the undead. Trudging back inside the tent, the draconian eyed the bracelet. Best to keep away from it for now. The creature clearly was attached to it, perhaps had even been its creator. Well, come the morrow, Brudas had an idea that would send the ghoul on its final journey.
As could be expected, the Baaz found nothing more worthwhile. Drek, while excavating, had almost been crushed by the weakening ceiling of the chamber. Brudas sent the miserable creatures to yet another site he believed worthwhile, then he began his research. That took not only the rest of what could laughingly be called the day, but also well into the night.
He had not touched the bracelet again, not wanting to accidentally summon the spirit. As Brudas lay down on his cot to sleep, he pondered his options. Should he capture the ghost, perhaps make the spirit tell him where other magical artifacts of significance might be found? A waste of power most likely. Better to be rid of the creature entirely.
Brudas drifted off to sleep, his thoughts still on spells. He dreamed of spellcastmg and saw himself upon a great mountain, using his magic to drive the overlords away and, in their place, he took over the rule of all Ansalon. The draconian took special pleasure in humbling his mistress, Sable. In his dreams, he forced the ebony leviathan to cower before him, her head buried so flat against the earth it made him laugh to see it. No more would the Bozak follow anyone else"s dictates. Even the Auraks would acknowledge his greatness.
In the dreams, hundreds of craven subjects crowded around him, begging his mercy, cheering his might Brudas granted them the wonder of witnessing his spellwork, casting wondrous display after wondrous display. . . .
Then the draconian woke to find his fingers twitching. He felt magic briefly course through him . . . then out again.
He opened his eyes- And let out a startled shout as more than a score of ghoulish, semi-transparent figures wafted close to him, surrounding him, their hollow eyes filled with an insatiable hunger.
"Get away from me!" Brudas cried, rolling off the bed. "Getaway!"
The ghosts did not touch him, but neither did they move away. Wherever the Bozak went, the spectres followed.
They talked, begged, pleaded, and demanded.
"Give it to me!"
"I must have it!"
"No! It"s mine!"
"Please! I need need it . . ." it . . ."
With a wordless cry, the draconian stumbled out of the tent. From the tent shared by the three Baaz, Drek emerged with a sleepy expression, sword in one hand.
"What isss it? Are we under attack, sssir?" v Brudas seized him by the throat and spun the Baaz around so the fool faced his superior"s dwelling. "What do you think, you imbecile? Look at them and ask me that idiotic question again!"
Drek did look . . . and then gave Brudas a bewildered glance. "Who do you mean, Ma.s.sster Bruda.s.ss? Where? I sssee no one!"
Turning, the taller draconian found that his underling had spoken the truth. There were no ghostly figures. They had vanished. The Bozak inhaled deeply, trying to regain his composure.
The other Baaz emerged from their tents, joining them. Gruun scanned the area nervously, while Molgar was so tired he seemed to be sleepwalking. They looked at their superior.
Suddenly feeling like a fool, Brudas grew irritated. Perhaps he had dreamed it all, although surely the first ghost had existed. But a host of them . . . his subconscious must have played tricks on him.
"Go back to your tent!" the Bozak snarled at the other draconians. "Now!"
Puzzled, the Baaz wandered off. Brudas heard them muttering under their breath, no doubt discussing their superior"s sanity.
The morning mist made it difficult to actually know exactly when dawn arrived, but Brudas found he could not stay in bed any longer. The draconian had not slept well, for each time his eyes closed he felt as if the shadows gathered around him again. That no spectres were there whenever he finally chose to open his eyes did not ease his troubled mind a bit.
Weary but determined, Brudas rose and sought out the Baaz. He needed privacy for his project. After kicking Drek and the others out of their slumber, he sent the trio off to a distant part of the sunken city, a place it would take them hours to reach. That would afford him the quiet he needed-not to mention preventing a repeat of the previous evening"s embarra.s.sing episode.
Alone now, the Bozak gingerly took the bracelet from the table, brought it out into the open. He looked around, but saw no sign of any spectre. At last, taking a deep breath, the draconian mouthed the simple spell that had first brought him the ghastly visitor. In the back of his mind, though, he kept a second spell ready. The spectre would be in for a nasty surprise.
Come to me, the draconian thought. Come to me, you d.a.m.ned spirit! You"ll find me ready, this time.
As his spell grew to fruition, the ghost reappeared. The same bearded man with the hollow eyes beckoned to Brudas, and the Bozak could almost hear the same words, even though the specter had not yet spoken.
Give it to me.
Brudas would give it to him. Brudas would give the ghost a taste of magic, but not the way the phantom wanted. He stopped the first spell, intending to unleash the trap- Only to see a second, a third, then more and more ghosts rising from the earth, materializing among the trees, drifting forward from the ruins . . .
There had to be at least three dozen of them-maybe more. Each of them had that hungry, hollow look, and their voices, although different in tone, sounded as if they blended into one.
"Give it to me!"
"It"s mine! It has to be mine!"
"I need it!"
Brudas whirled and saw that they approached him from all sides. He counted far more than before, possibly as many as a hundred!
"Away from me, spirits!" he snapped. "You"ll get nothing from me! Nothing!"
They ignored him, though, their arms outstretched, hands grasping, clutching . . .
A shriveled claw pa.s.sed through the draconian, and although he felt nothing, Brudas nonetheless shook. Then, reminding himself that the ghosts seemed unable to hurt, much less touch him, he grew defiant.
"You were warned, spirits! No one a.s.saults Brudas! Not even the dead!"
Holding up the bracelet, he began the banishing spell. Then, to his dismay. . . the ghosts stole the magic from him again. Their fingers caressed the relic as each spectre carried off some of the power.
Still, their numbers grew. It seemed as if every citizen of Krolus who had ever died rose to haunt him, yet some of the ghosts did not seem properly placed. A few wore armor more like that used in Solamnia. Others were dressed in recent fashions. A man in full sailing gear from the southlands walked beside a Knight of Takhisis. A cadaverous minotaur with a slit gullet kept pace with a kender.
The truth suddenly stared him in the face. These were not just the spectres of the sunken city. They were phantoms from all over Ansalon.
Over and over, they chanted the same dreadful litanies. They wanted, they needed, they demanded . . . It threatened to drive the Bozak mad just listening to them!
What they wanted, needed, demanded was the magic. Brudas stared at the relic, his prize. At the moment, the Bozak desired nothing more than to be free of this monstrous horde. He held the bracelet high, waving it so that the ghosts could see it.
"You want the power? You want the magic? Here it is!"
With a tremendous effort, Brudas sent the artifact sailing through the air.
Instantly, scores of the ghosts turned and followed, still mouthing their d.a.m.nable words. Yet, to the Bozak"s consternation, many more stayed where they were, even drew closer to the draconian. These ghosts had no interest in the bracelet. They wanted his magic.
His nerve broke. Brudas turned and fled. He did not have to glance back to know that he was pursued. Worse, even as he ran, the draconian saw still others rising from the stones, floating through the walls, even descending from the sky.
Magic. They all sought magic. He stumbled through the ruins, trying to find a place to hide, but everywhere he looked, the ghosts crowded toward him. They were legion, an endless flow of hungry souls seeking to devour his essence.
A small human, a ghost-child who should have been nothing to the once-arrogant Bozak, emerged from the wall of an inn half buried in the muck of the swamp. This ghastly urchin stared with the same hungry orbs, the same hideous look of the other ghosts, but on a child, it appeared even more strange, more monstrous.
"Get back! Get back!"
They would not listen to Brudas, though. Strong arms seized hold of him as he rounded a crumbling house. Brudas let out a gasp of surprise, wondering if the spectres, no longer satisfied with asking or demanding with words, had now found a way to take what he would not willingly give.
"Sssir! Ma.s.sster Bruda.s.ss! Are you all right?"
The sibilant voice dragged him back to reality. Brudas managed to focus on the one who held him- Drek, of all creatures.
"Drek!" Never before had he been so filled with pleasure at the sight of a Baaz. Brudas clutched the other draconian tight before realizing how silly he must look. Summoning up a modic.u.m of dignity, he glared at his subordinate. "Drek! What are you doing in this part of the city? You should be farther to the west!"
The Baaz gave him a sheepish expression, then held up a broken staff. "Cracked my shovel, sssir! Forgot to bring a ssspare."
"You-" Brudas nearly broke out in laughter. So mundane an accident, so typical of Drek. He dared not tell the Baaz how pleased he was, but surely the fool saw what was happening.
"Are you all right, sssir?" Drek repeated, eyeing his commander as one might eye a three-legged chicken. "You don"t look well, if you"ll pardon me for sssaying ssso, sssir!"
"Well? Well? How can I be well? They"re surrounding us, and you dare to ask such a question?"
"Who? Who"sss around usss?" the Baaz hissed, reaching for his sword. "Ogresss? Are they hiding in the ruinsss?"
Brudas looked at the Baaz in consternation, then glanced around quickly just to be certain. Sure enough, even though the ghosts had backed away slightly at Drek"s appearance, they still milled nearby, eyes hollow, hands grasping, voices calling. But Drek neither heard nor saw any of it. The situation struck Brudas as absurd as some of the comical plays watched by humans. Drek stood close to him, hissing and snarling at imagined foes. He even had his sword out and was waving it wildly. The ghosts, undaunted by his fearsome performance, pa.s.sed effortlessly through his blade, then even through the Baaz himself. Still, Drek saw nothing.