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 embarrassing 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 damned 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.
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 passed 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 assaults 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 damnable 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! Massster Brudasss! 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 modicum 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, passed effortlessly through his blade, then even through the Baaz himself. Still, Drek saw nothing.
Gritting his teeth, the Bozak muttered, “Never mind, Drek. There’s no one. There’s no one for you to fight.”
His companion blinked, then once more gave Brudas the three-legged chicken stare. The Bozak did not care. All that concerned him were the spectres and their ungodly hunger. No longer did Brudas dream of carving out his own realm somewhere, some day. Now all he wanted was to be left alone by the legion of undead.
Drek sheathed his weapon. “Sssir, if I may. You’ve been working hard, sssir. Maybe you should get a little more ressst. Yesss, maybe a little ressst would do you sssome — ”
“Do not treat me like a hatchling!” Brudas pulled his arm away from Drek’s reaching hand. “All I need — He hesitated, eyeing the monstrous faces all around. He was awash in a sea of dead. “All I want,” Brudas muttered, “is to be left alone.”
The ghosts paid his plea no mind, but Drek, who did not realize to whom his superior actually spoke, took the words as a command. With just a slight hint of annoyance in his sharp salute, he responded, “Yesss, sssir! Asss you wish!”
The taller draconian almost called him back, but to do so would have further shamed him in the Baaz’s eyes. Besides, of what use was Drek to his troubles? Drek neither heard nor saw the phantom horde and simply thought his commander had gone mad.
No! Brudas would not be so readily defeated. He had survived the loss of the gods, the coming of the overlords, and years under the tasking of his mistress. He would not let a bunch of moaning ghosts bring him to madness and ruin!
