And the experience was all but intolerable, like looking directly at the sun. As a necromancer, Szass Tam was used to contemplating the bizarre, the hideous, and the paradoxical, but even so, this view spiked pain through his eyes and deep into his head.

He forced himself to keep peering anyway, until he had the information to make his calculations. Which revealed that four dimensions were not enough.

So he called for five and let out an involuntary groan. Five were much worse than four, exponentially worse, perhaps. And five weren't sufficient, either.

So it was on to six, and then seven. Whimpering, shuddering, and jerking uncontrollably, he wondered if the mere act of observation could kill a man, even if the fellow was already dead. Given what he was suffering, he suspected it could, but even so, he refused to relent. He'd always known he was risking his existence by undertaking the Great Work, and if he perished now, so be it.

Eight dimensions. Then nine. And nine were enough. When he took the proper two-dimensional cross section of that curved and infinitely complex space, the surviving Dread Rings and his present location fell into the proper positions relative to one another.

He raised all his personal power and likewise tapped the reservoirs of mystic energy that were the Rings themselves. He wielded the magic like a scalpel, first cutting the tainted bonds that linked the healthy Rings to the ruined one. Then he destroyed the remaining ties.

The Dread Rings immediately threatened to fall out of harmony, to lose their fundamental relationship with one another. Szass Tam locked them in temporary correspondence through sheer force of will. Next, using his power as if it were an etcher's diamond-tipped stylus, he inscribed new paths between them, connections that ran through nine dimensions and the empty places between the worlds.

When he finished the new pattern, it demonstrated its viability by flaring to life, not with light but with pure power, perceptible as such to a mage's senses. Szass Tam immediately willed the nine-dimensional map to vanish, then, his strength spent, collapsed. His eyes and head blazed with agony, but he smiled anyway.

chapter ten

21-25 Mirtul, The Year of the Dark Circle (1478 DR)

"It isn't possible," said Samas Kul. Disappointment hadn't robbed him of his appetites, as the buttered roll in his meaty hand and the crumbs scattered down the front of his gorgeous robes attested. But it seemed to Aoth that though the archmage ate and drank as ceaselessly as ever, there was a sullen quality to it instead of the usual gusto. "Break a pattern and you rob it of its arcane virtues. Every apprentice knows that."

"What a pity," Lallara drawled, "that Szass Tam isn't an apprentice."

Samas glared at her. "Do you understand how he did it?"

"No," Lallara said, "but the other Dread Rings are still functional, and so is the device they comprise. We've all verified it. So it's time to stop whining that 'it isn't possible' and figure out what to do next."

Aoth agreed with her. He just hoped there was something to do and that someone would have the cleverness and the will to propose it. He wouldn't have wanted to bet on it.

The Dread Ring of Lapendrar possessed all the amenities of any great castle, including a hall equipped with a round oak table and chairs where lords and officers could palaver. It was here, beneath hanging black-and-scarlet banners adorned with skulls and other necromantic emblems, that the zulkirs, Bareris, and Aoth had assembled for a council of war. And when the sell-sword captain looked around at his companions, it appeared to him that weariness and discouragement had set their stamps on every face.

Or rather, every one but the bard's. Bareris's expression was just as it had been for a hundred years, joyless and haggard but keen as a blade. Aoth had the odd and vaguely resentful thought that for his friend, it was a good thing their plan had failed. Now he had a better excuse to go on hating and fighting.

Everyone sat silently for several heartbeats. Then Samas's throne floated back from the table. "That's it, then. I have treasure to move out of Escalant. I assume the rest of you have your own arrangements to make."

Aoth didn't realize he was going to jump up out of his chair. It just happened, and the seat overturned to bang on the floor behind him. He leveled his spear and said, "You're not running. Not unless we all decide it's the only thing to do."

Samas's face turned a deeper red, and inside its yards of jeweled vestments, his gross body seemed to swell like a frog's. "Are you truly mad enough to try to dictate to me?"

Aoth smiled. "Why not? We're co-commanders, remember? Besides, our cause is too important, and too many of my men gave their lives to get us this far."

"This is on your own head, then." Samas's quicksilver wand writhed out of his sleeve and into his hand like a snake. "Which would you prefer: to turn to smoke or to live on as mindless worm?"

"Surprise me." Aoth roused the power in his spear, and the point glimmered.

"Don't," Lauzoril said, sounding no more forceful than a priggish tutor reproving unruly children. But his voice carried a charge of coercion that balked Aoth-and Samas, too, evidently-like a dash of ice-cold water in the face.

And a good thing, too, for in the aftermath, Aoth realized he didn't truly want to fight Samas, and not because he feared him. The past century had taught him more combat magic than the zulkirs likely comprehended even now. But no matter who won, the duel would accomplish nothing. It was just that Aoth was frustrated, and, selfish and arrogant as they were, the archmages made tempting targets at which to vent his feelings.

He set his spear on the tabletop and inclined his head in the implication of a bow. "Master Kul, I apologize. Obviously, it isn't my place to give you orders. But I ask you to stay at least until we all finish our talk. Surely you can afford that much time."

"Yes," Nevron said, "stay. We insist."

Samas looked around the table, and then his throne floated back to its original position, settling to the floor so gently as to be silent despite its grandiose size and the bulk of the man inside it. Aoth sat back down in his own chair.

Samas took a long drink from his silver goblet. "All right, then. Someone convince me we have something sensible to talk about. Can we seize control of a second Dread Ring?" He glowered at Aoth, and the other zulkirs turned to him as well.

Aoth sighed. "It's unlikely. We lost too much of our strength taking this one. To be honest, we might find it difficult even to reach another Ring. The only way to do it is to march deeper into Thay, and we're almost certain to encounter resistance along the way."

"Then there isn't anything to discuss, and this is just a waste of time."

"Not necessarily," Bareris said.

Aoth felt a flicker of hope. "Do you have an idea?"

"It's not a new one," Bareris said, "but it fits the situation. If we can't destroy the weapon, we have to destroy the creature who intends to wield it."

Nevron snorted. "Assassinate Szass Tam, you mean. You're certainly right that it's not an original notion. Over the decades, I've sent scores of demons and devils to do the job. The Church of Kossuth emptied out its monasteries dispatching Black Flame Zealots. And all to no avail."

"What," replied Bareris, "if all of you-or rather, all of us- were the assassins, and we took the lich by surprise? Wouldn't we have a reasonable chance of overwhelming him, and then finding the vessel where he stores his soul to keep him from rising again?"

"Yes," Lallara said, "and perhaps if we had a net with a long enough handle, and the strength to lift it, we'd have 'a reasonable chance' of scooping stars down from the sky too. But there's no way to take Szass Tam unawares, perhaps no way to get close to him at all. The Citadel is too well guarded, and you can't translate yourself into it."