Black wizards - Douglas Niles [10]
"Their garments, for one thing," Daryth continued. The prince knew that his friend had studied at the Academy of Stealth, but Daryth rarely spoke of those experiences. It was not, Tristan sensed, something the houndmaster was proud of. "The assassins of the Pasha's school always wear the finest weave of Amnish silk – this silk." He held up a piece of cloth torn from one of the slain attackers.
"And these little crossbows are a favored weapon of the Pasha's elite. Smeared with poison, they are absolutely deadly within fifty feet." Daryth paused. "I'm sorry. It's a miracle that they didn't get you as well."
"Then there was Razfallow." The Calishite paused for a moment. "I studied under him when I was at the Academy. That was when I was young – but strong and quick. The skills taught at the Academy, I thought, would see me to a life of luxury and ease. But those skills – stealthy murder, theft, betrayal – they come with their own cost.
"And Razfallow made those costs clear to me. He is one of the deadliest assassins in the Realms. Eventually, I made him angry. The most convenient solution was for me to leave Calimshan, and so I did."
"Obviously, he remembers," remarked the prince.
"I gave him good cause to," muttered Daryth, but despite Tristan's curious look he would not elaborate.
"What is he?"
"A half-ore. His mother was a full blooded ore – it's a sore spot with him."
"As if a person might not notice," muttered the prince.
"Finally, we found two guards atop the palisade slain from a single stab wound – here." Daryth bent his head forward, gesturing with a finger at the base of his neck. "I know of no other assassins in the world who use such a tactic for surreptitious slaying."
"The Pasha of Calimshan sent assassins to Corwell?" asked the prince. Perhaps he could find a focus for his anger.
"Probably not. Although they were trained in Calimshan, they were paid with these." Daryth held out a pair of gold coins, stamped with the outline of a crenelated castle on one side. The prince reached for the coins and flipped them over. On the back was a familiar silhouette.
"Caer Callidyrr? They were paid with the coin of the High King?"
"So it would seem," Daryth nodded soberly. "It was careless of one of them to carry his coin with him – perhaps he did not trust his fellows. Now he has no use for the coin, and its presence on his body tells us much.
"What is the relationship of the High King to the rulers of the Ffolk, such as your father?"
"The title High King is more an honorific than anything else. Not since Cymrych Hugh has there truly been a king that united the Ffolk under one leader. Now, he wears the Crown of the Isles to signify his authority – that was the gold crown forged for Cymrych Hugh himself – but has little real authority, except over the Kingdom of Callidyrr. In Moray, Snowdown – and here in Corwell – we pay little attention."
"But what does that honorific mean?"
"In name, he is the lord of the kings of Corwell, Moray, and Snowdown. The High King is in fact the King of Callidyrr – the largest kingdom of the Ffolk. Though the other kings, including my father, owe fealty to him, there is no power behind the title. The current king, Carrathal, has brought much trade to Callidyrr from the nations on the Sword Coast. He has even hired a council of mages from Waterdeep and beyond to advise him. Still, he has been no more dynamic than any of the others in providing strong leadership – or bringing the nations of the Ffolk together."
Tristan paused. He and his father had discussed this more than once. Because the Ffolk had no single, strong leader, the Northmen had been able to conquer many of their lands – one by one. We cannot bring ourselves to unite against them, Tristan reflected – even when they bring all of their nations together against one kingdom. But he still could not follow Daryth's