Black wizards - Douglas Niles [37]
Tristan's heart pounded at her words. To see the Ffolk united again under a strong High King! To find the one who would be that High King! He proudly gripped the Sword of Cymrych Hugh and raised his head to meet the eyes of the dead queen, though he still knelt before her.
"This I shall do, my lady, for the rest of my life, if need be. But tell me, how shall I know this king?"
"You shall know him with your heart. But you may better find him by knowing these things:
"His name shall be Cymrych, and he will bear that sword.
His destiny will carry him many places.
He shall fly above the earth,
Even as he delves its depths.
Wind and fire, earth and sea
All shall fight for him,
When it is time for him to claim his throne."
She finished speaking and appeared to grow very tired. Tristan sprang to his feet only to see her lie again in the case, her body reposed in the eternal stillness of death.
* * * * *
The mustering of the Scarlet Guard was a thing spectacular in sound and sight, fearful to behold. The citizens of Callidyrr scurried into the nearest buildings as the king's mercenaries assembled in the heart of the town.
Each of the four brigades of the guard gathered in its own quarter of the city and then marched toward the great, open square that stood below the towering majesty of Caer Callidyrr. All the towers of the castle streamed with pennants proclaiming the proud emblem of each of the dozen companies in the force.
First, three brigades of human mercenaries, battle-hardened soldiers, marched in tight formation into the square, standing at attention around three of the four sides.
Each member of these brigades, composed of three companies each, wore a cloak of blazing scarlet and a tall helmet plumed with crimson feathers. Their weapons were clean and gleamed in the midday sun.
Fierce, implacable warriors, these human mercenaries were feared along the length of the Sword Coast. No crime was too heinous, no murderous or rapine task too hateful, for the Scarlet Guard to take on.
But none of these three brigades could match, in might or in terror, the reputation of the fourth brigade.
King Carrathal stood upon the rampart of Caer Callidyrr with his close adviser, the wizard Cyndre, beside him. His pulse raced at the spectacle before him.
"Oh, I say! This is simply splendid! They look so…" His Majesty groped for the right word "…so military!"
"Indeed, sire," nodded the sorcerer. Cyndre was pleased at the sight as well, but did not reveal his emotions quite as openly as did his master.
Hmmm, isn't there supposed to be one more?" King Carrathal was busy recounting the troops before them.
"I believe the ogre brigade is arriving soon, Your Majesty."
The ground shook underfoot as the tromp of heavy footsteps pounded the street. There was no sign of any citizen of Callidyrr now, as there was no mistaking the source of that mighty cadence.
The ogre brigade marched as a long column into the square, thumping steadily to the place of honor before the castle.
The ogres stood at attention, but it was obvious that they were not particularly skilled at this, though they excelled at shuffling, spitting, grunting, and nose-picking. Each of the great brutes stood at least eight feet tall, with crooked, trunklike legs and a stocky, stooping body.
Their faces were bestial, with long foreheads that sloped down to beady, glaring eyes. Broad noses flared upward, revealing wide nostrils and even wider mouths. Wicked tusks extended from the corners of those mouths.
These brutal monsters came from every corner of the Realms, gathered and disciplined – barely – by the good pay of their human commanders. And in truth, ogres were well-suited to the needs of the guard. Huge, fearless fighters, they could crush any band of humans that dared to stand before them – and would as easily spit a child upon a spear as an opposing swordsman. The ogres relished the tasks of the guard, for killing and mayhem were their most basic desires. The missions of