The Red Hand

The people had thought it was the work of a witch, and had tried to burn an innocent woman to death. But when Brunor and Fred lay in wait for the defiler of graves, keeping watch for nights on end in the graveyard, they found that it was a man in scarlet robes. They had tracked him to his lair in a tower in the woods, built and concealed by magic. It had been a long and fearful battle, the hardest Fred had ever fought before he'd been sent to the Dragon's caves, and one he'd just barely survived.

For years afterwards he'd woken up screaming in the middle of the night, having dreamt of things he'd seen in that tower. In those nightmares he had often seen the symbol engraved on the dark wizard's talisman, a red hand with a spiral in its palm. And now he saw that symbol tattooed on the mummy's neck. It was enough to make him question whether he was dreaming now.

A wizard had told him and Brunor that this was the symbol of the Red Hand. They were an order of rogue sorcerers who dealt with the dwellers in the outer dark in exchange for knowledge hidden from the inhabitants of these planes. They were said to have the power to transcend death. The mage had told them that the Red Hand were long dead, perhaps devoured by the powers they unwisely dealt with, the sorcerer they'd killed being the only exception. Fred was greatly relieved to remember this. Perhaps the Red Hand had built this place and the Dragon had taken it over after their deaths. Still, even if these corpses were no threat to him, he had little desire to remain here.

The cat swiftly scampered out of the room, and Fred followed it. It ducked into a shadowy room off the edge of the passageway he'd entered through. "Well, that was useless," said Fred. "I wonder why I bothered following you. Then again, you are the only living creature I've seen in these dismal caves, other than that bear--"

The cat then hissed at him. Fred was about to give some sharp rebuke to it, having no one else to talk to, when he heard the tread of footsteps coming down the hallway. He leaned forward to see what it was. It was a procession of men garbed in the same red robes that rogue mage had worn, holding up torches that flickered with blue light. In the center of them was a woman walking as if in a trance. Her skin was pale and her long silky hair was as black as a raven's wing. She was completely naked and her skin was painted with red glyphs. One of them, the one painted on her forehead, he had seen before. He'd seen it painted on the forehead of a still-living decapitated head lying on the table in the dark mage's laboratory, silently screaming for help.

"Are all the Preceptors present?" said a man in the back of the procession. "I'm eager to get this over with. There is business to be done, and vengeance to be taken."

"They are still in the Dark Aethyr," said the figure at the head of the procession, "but they will return soon." Its voice sent a shiver up Fred's spine. It was dry and whispering and sounded infinitely old. "And then you may have your vengeance, Alexander, as little as it matters. Vengeance is a thing of mortal flesh, and it is of little concern to me."

"Well, survival is a thing of mortal flesh too, Preceptor Megrim," said the robed man. "Not all of us are ready to cross the Great Threshhold yet, as Lysande is. That knight helped kill one of our order and he could easily kill the rest of us."

"If the dragon does not take care of him," said the other, "than we will. The power of death and decay is great here. We can control it and he cannot." He turned to the pale woman who stood as silent and still. "Lysande, are you afraid."

Her hands were trembling, but her face is set. "No. I am not afraid," she whispered. "I am ready." The mages marched into the nearby platform, and formed a circle, with Lysande lying down in the center. Megrim drew a dagger from its cloak, engraved with some of the same glyphs painted on Lysande's skin. Megrim's hand was withered, and Fred knew that it was a corpse, just like the three he'd found on the platform.

The mages in the circle spoke words in a strange and keening tongue, words which Fred could barely make out, for it seemed to him as if he was still in the tower of the rogue mage. He saw the writhing corpses strapped to tables and heard their gibbering and wailing. But the sight of the robed corpse poised with its dagger above the girl's chest brought him back to the present. He had to act soon before the vile thing took her life!

1. Fred charges in heedlessly against the circle of wizards.
2. Before Fred can charge in, the cat bats at his leg as if warning him to hold back.

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