All Shadows Fled - Ed Greenwood [27]
"Give me his message," Thuldoum said in bored tones, extending a gloved hand. "I do hope to find it still sealed."
"No message," Amglar returned calmly as they thundered on up the road toward the Standing Stone. "Manshoon farspoke me, and bade me pass on his feelings." If this warning had no effect, things were going to be a royal muddle from now on.
"I see," the senior Zhentarim replied in tones of clear disbelief. Amglar shrugged, letting the man see his gesture. Of course, most Zhentarim would see such nonchalance as the bravado of a fool, not the confidence of a man secure in his power. He was just going to have to educate this one differently.
"Myarvuk," the new arrival snapped grimly, obviously short on patience, "Baedelkar will not be joining us. Your duties will now include his."
The younger Zhentarim nodded in expressionless silence; Amglar knew he was wondering if this cheerful newcomer had been the cause of Baedelkar's disappearance-and if one Myarvuk would be the next wizard to drop out of sight forever when Nentor Thuldoum grew displeased.
He'd never worked with the man before, but knew that Thuldoum had been deadly in battle while riding out of the Citadel of the Raven against brigands, Thent-ian freehands, and all manner of goblinkin and monsters of Thar. Later the senior Zhentarim had come to Zhentil Keep to train battle mages for the Network; "Dull Doom" he'd been to his apprentices, due to his dry, studious manner and the short, ruthless temper it concealed. Not a man to cross. Nonetheless, Myarvuk, son of Thaelon, was going to do just that. Starting, in a small way, now.
"What was Baedelkar's fate?" Myarvuk asked, with the most casual 'I'd better know' tone he could muster.
"Dead," Nentor said shortly, "slain in his bed by" – he shrugged to indicate that his next words were a guess – "something he must have tried to summon." His mouth shut like a falling portcullis, making it plain that no more would be forthcoming about his absent apprentice. Then he turned his head to glare at Amglar again.
"Swordlord," he snapped, making it sound as if he'd been asking for it repeatedly and was growing impatient, "I await your report of the doings of the Sword thus far. Come up here where I can see you."
Amglar inclined his head in slow, silent acquiescence, and spurred his mount forward. Yes, it was going to be a long road to Shadowdale…
Glorious Victories
Tower of Ashaba , Shadowdale,
Flamerule 16
"Snug, my lord?" Shaerl asked, tightening the straps that held the plates around Mourngrym's upper thighs.
"Keep your fingers on the buckles," the lord of Shadowdale told his wife with an affectionate grin, reaching down to tousle her hair. They were alone in their bedchamber in the Tower of Ashaba, hiding Mourngrym's wounds from the wagging tongues of rumor. He didn't want half of Shadowdale fleeing because they'd heard he was dead.
It had been a very near thing. Without Blminster, Storm, or Sylune to hand, with the temples already crammed to the rafters with wounded, and with Lhaeo busy ransacking the heavily trapped cellars of Elmin-ster's Tower in search of healing potions and weapons, there were few people left in the dale who could deal with wounds caused by poisoned blades. A white-faced Shaerl had spent a long evening cutting open her lord, tears and his blood mingling together on her face as she brushed errant locks of hair out of her eyes and bent repeatedly to her grisly task.
Mourngrym winced as she forced a sideplate over the quilted undertunic on his ribs, which bulged where they shouldn't because of the bandages beneath. "Sorry, Mourn," she muttered, feeling his muscles tighten under her hands.
The lord of Shadowdale let out a sigh. "Don't be. Without you I'd be dead right now, and the dale fallen."
Shaerl made a rude noise. "Such dramatics! Do you think I'd flee or put a dagger in my heart if you died, when your killers and those who sent them will come marching into my reach