whatever comforts he required, and, most importantly, an intense and thorough education in the magic of the Underdark. It was an opportunity that many of his peers would have seized without a qualm, and in truth, Mulander did not entirely regret his fate.
The Red Wizard was a necromancer, a powerful member of the Researcher faction-that group of wizards who were content to leave Thay's boundaries as they were and who instead sought ever stronger and more fearsome magics. Utterly devoted to the principles of the Researchers, Mulander was still somewhat of an oddity among his peers, for he was one of a very few high-ranking wizards whose blood was not solely that of the ruling Mulan race.
His father's father had been Rashemi, and his inheritance from his grandsire was a thick, muscled body and a luxuriant crop of facial hair. From his wizard mother had come his talent and ambition, as well as the height and the sallow complexion that were considered marks of nobility in Thay.
Mulander's cold, gemlike green eyes and narrow scimitar nose lent him a terrifying aspect, and although he conformed to custom and affected baldness, he was rather vain of the thick, long gray beard that set him apart from the nearly hairless Mulan. In all, he was an imposing man, who carried his sixty winters with ease upon his broad, proud shoulders. He was strong of body and mind and magic, the passing years had only served to thin his graying hair, which he regretted not at all, for it made the daily task of shaving his pate less onerous.
Mistress Shobalar had indulged him in this, as well, providing him with incredibly keen-edged shaving gear and a halfling servant to do the honors. Indeed, the drow female seemed fascinated by the tattoos that covered Mulander's head. As well she should be: each mark was a magical rune that, when activated with the appropriate spell, could transform bits of dead matter into fearsome magical servants. Provide him with a corpse, and he would produce an army. Or could, were he able to access his necromantic magic!
Mulander grimaced and slipped a finger under the gold collar that encircled his neck-and imprisoned his Art.
'In time, you will be permitted to remove that,' said a cool voice behind him.
The Red Wizard jolted, then turned to face Xandra Shobalar. Even after two years, her sudden arrivals unnerved him-as they were no doubt intended to do.
But today the implied promise in the drow's words banished his usual resentment.
'When?'
'In time,' Xandra repeated. She strolled over to a deep chair and, in a leisurely fashion, seated herself. Two years was not a long time in the life of a drow, but she was well aware of the human's impatience, and she intended to enjoy it.
Enjoyable, too, was the murderous rage, barely contained, in the Red Wizard's eyes.
Xandra entertained herself with fantasies of seeing that wrath unleashed upon her Baenre fosterling.
At last, the long-anticipated day was nearly at hand.
'You have learned well,' the Mistress began. 'Soon you will have a chance to test your newfound skills. Succeed, and the reward will be great.'
The drow plucked a tiny golden key from her bodice and held it high. She cocked her head to one side and sent the Red Wizard a cold, taunting smile. Mulander's eyes widened with realization, then gleamed with an emotion that went far beyond greed. His intense, hungry gaze followed the key as Xandra slowly lowered it and tucked it back into its intimate hiding place.
'I see that you understand what this is. Would you like to know what you must do to earn it?' she asked coyly.
A shudder of revulsion shimmered down the Red Wizard's spine. He fervently hoped that his flowing robes hid his instinctive-and potentially fatal- response. He knew immediately that it had not, Xandra's smile widened and grew mocking.
'Not this time, dear Mulander,' she purred. 'I have another sort of adventure in mind for you.'
The Mistress quickly described the rite of the Blooding, the ritual hunt that each young elf was required to undergo before being accounted a true drow. Mulander listened with growing dismay.
'And I am to be this prey,' he said in a dazed tone.
Anger flashed in Xandra's eyes like crimson fire. 'Do not be a fool! You must prevail! Would I have gone to such trouble and expense otherwise?'
'A spell battle,' he muttered, beginning to understand. 'You have been preparing me for a spell battle! And the spells you have taught me?'
'They represent all the offensive spells your young opponent knows, as well as the appropriate counter- spells.' Xandra leaned forward, and her face was deadly serious. 'You will not see me again. You will have a new tutor for perhaps thirty cycles of Narbondel. A battle wizard. He will work with you daily and instruct you in the tactics of drow warfare. Learn all he has to teach during the course of this session.'
'For he will not live to give another lesson,' Mulander reasoned.
Xandra smiled. 'How astute. For a human, you possess a most promising streak of duplicity! But you are among drow, and you have much to learn about subtlety and treachery.'
The wizard bristled. 'We in Thay are no strangers to treachery! No wizard could survive to my age, much less reach my position, without such skills!'
'Really?' The drow's voiced dripped with sarcasm. 'If that is the case, then how did you come to be here?'
Mulander responded only with a sullen glare, but the Mistress of Magic did not seem to require an answer. 'You possess a great deal of very interesting magic,' she said, complimenting him. 'More than I would have guessed a human capable of wielding, and judging from your pride, more than most of your peers have achieved. How, then, could you have been overcome and sold into slavery, but by treachery?'
Not waiting for a response, Xandra rose from her chair. 'These are the terms I offer you,' she said, her manner suddenly all business. 'At the proper time, you will be taken into the wild tunnels surrounding this city-as part of your preparations, you will be given a map of the area to commit to memory. There you will confront a fledgling wizard, a drow female marked by her golden eyes. She will carry the key that will release you from that collar. You must defeat her in spell battle-do whatever you must to ensure that she does not survive.
'You may then take the key from her body, and go wheresoever you will. The girl will be alone, and you will not be pursued. It may be that you can find your way to the Lands of Light-if indeed there is still a place for you there. If not, with the spells I have taught you, as well as the return of your own death magic, you should be able to live and thrive Below.'
Mulander listened stoically, carefully masking the sudden bright surge of hope that the drow's words awoke in his heart. For all he knew, this could be an elaborate trap, and he refused to display his elation for this wretched female's amusement.
Or did she perhaps expect him to show fear?
If that was the case, she would also be disappointed. He knew none. The Red Wizard did not for one moment doubt the outcome of this contest, for he knew the full measure of his powers, even if Xandra Shobalar did not.
He was more than capable of defeating an elven girl in spell battle-he would kill the little wench and set himself up in some hidden cavern of this underground world, a place surrounded by magics of warding and misdirection that would keep even the powerful dark elves from his door.
This he would do, for the Shobalar wizard was right about one thing-there was no welcome awaiting Mulander in Thay, and no welcome for Red Wizards in any land other than Thay. Another of Xandra's thrusts had found its mark, as well: he had indeed been undone through treachery. Mulander had been betrayed by his young apprentice, as he himself had betrayed his own master. It occurred to him, suddenly, to wonder what treachery Xandra's young prodigy might have in store for her mistress!
'You are smiling,' the drow observed. 'My terms are to your liking?'
'Very much so,' Mulander said, thinking it prudent to keep his fantasies to himself.
'Then let me add to your enjoyment,' Xandra said softly. She advanced upon the man and reached up to place one slim black hand against his jaw. His instinctive flinch, and his effort to disguise the response, seemed to amuse her. She swayed closer, her slim body just barely brushing against his robes. Her crimson eyes burned up into his, and Mulander felt a tendril of compelling magic creep into his mind.
'Tell me truly, Mulander,' she said-and her words were mocking, for they both knew that the spell she cast
