Red Magic - Jean Rabe [19]
The wizard owned more than eight hundred slaves, a considerable stable. Most were male laborers who worked at various tasks around his properties. Several dozen were warriors and sailors who had been captured in nearby countries. Fewer still were slave women who attended to his needs. He continually added to his stable, as the Red Wizard needed a steady supply of slaves to replace those who died of overwork, old age, or, more likely, because of his malicious magical experiments.
There were few Red Wizards who owned more slaves than Maligor. Slaves made up about two-thirds of the country's population and were considered one of Thay's major imports. Maligor prided himself on having some of the most exquisite slaves.
This evening, however, his pleasure slaves were doing little to please him. The Red Wizard's mind was elsewhere, concentrating on another woman-the one he had seen before his darkenbeast died. Maligor still puzzled over her. He had sent the darkenbeast after an errant gnoll guard, yet through his telepathic link with the darkenbeast, he had picked up no trace of the gnoll-only the red-tressed beauty.
The woman was confounding. If she was in Thay, she might be a slave because of her long hair. But she was not one of Maligor's. Perhaps she was the slave of another Red Wizard, the same one who had solicited the services of the missing gnoll. Perhaps she herself was a Red Wizard-but if she was, why had the darkenbeast attacked her? And what had happened to the gnoll?
Maligor pursed his lips, causing the slave shaving him to tremble. Continuing to puzzle over the matter will do little good, he thought. The gnoll, wherever he is, knows nothing of my real plans. But the woman… who is she? Where is she?
"Finished, my lord," the buxom slave announced timidly, interrupting his thoughts. Looking frightened yet expectant, she wiped the damp cloth across the top of his head with a shaky hand and replaced the shaving blade in its case.
Maligor eyed her sternly and ran his hand over his head to inspect her handiwork. He watched her bottom lip quiver and her face grow pale in fear that her performance was less than satisfactory. For a moment, he was tempted to find fault with her, then decided to be uncommonly kind.
"It is barely adequate, but it will do for tonight. Tomorrow make sure you do better."
Visibly relieved, she rose and joined the elven woman. The other slaves continued their tasks. Maligor stared past them to the blackness beyond the room's small windows. It was late, and from his position all he could see was a small section of sky and a few tiny stars, the bottom claw of the Malar constellation. He pulled his thoughts away from the dead darkenbeast, pondering instead what was transpiring under the stars in Amruthar at this moment. At least he would know about that within a few hours, as he had informers stationed in several taverns and on select street corners to pick up gossip. Maligor enjoyed the ability to keep track of most of the city's seedy activities without leaving the safety of his fortified tower.
Maligor felt comfortable and secure here. His tower stretched sixty feet above the rich Thayvian soil. It boasted a crenellated top, where seasoned fighters were always stationed within easy reach of massive mounted crossbows and jugs of oil that could quickly be set aflame. The outer walls were made of solid granite, eighteen inches thick in most places. All the windows in his keep were of the same size-eight inches wide by two feet high. This small size made for better defense. Each was barred or covered with protective spells to keep unwanted things from entering or the wrong eyes from looking inside. To complete his defenses, the wizard had magical guards and wards scattered