Black wizards - Douglas Niles [6]
The prince stared for a second at the snarling face. The creature looked like a cross between a man and a beast – his body and features were humanlike, but his widespread maw was studded with fangs, and his close-set eyes looked hellishly intense and bloodshot.
Another cry of pain shrieked from the doorway, accompanied now by growls. The prince saw one of the attackers there stagger into the room, a huge hound biting his neck in a deadly vice. He caught a glimpse of a flashing scimitar, driving a third bowman against the the wall. Daryth!
The loyal houndmaster, skilled at combat and stealth, must have heard the disturbance. With his blade helping, Tristan thought, the fighting odds looked more favorable.
Daryth leaped into the room, past the great dog that was just raising his head from the gored body. Abruptly, Daryth froze, his darkly handsome features gaping in shock.
"Razfallow!" he finally said, his voice tight.
Tristan's foe had also paused at the sight of the houndmaster. "So, Calishite, this is where you have run to," he snarled. You did not expect to hide from me forever, did you?"
"I don't need to hide anymore," muttered Daryth, advancing slowly in a crouch. "Especially from a killer of children!"
The monster chuckled, and then, before Tristan could react, he flicked one of his daggers straight at Daryth's heart. The silver scimitar moved very slightly, however, to knock the weapon harmlessly to the ground.
Razfallow obviously sensed that the battle was lost. Before Tristan could react he sprang to the window, thirty feet above the courtyard. He turned once to stare at the prince, hate spilling almost palpably from those crimson eyes, and then he leaped into the darkness.
"Guards!" shouted the prince, racing to the window. "Intruder in the courtyard! Take him alive!"
Already the black figure had disappeared into the night, but the cry of alarm was taken up throughout the castle. Turning, Tristan saw Daryth gently cradling the king's head. The great moorhound Canthus stood next to him, gently nuzzling the still form. The only wound upon Tristan's father was the little pinprick, barely bleeding, in his shoulder. Nevertheless, the houndmaster looked at the prince with deep pain and shock in his eyes.
"The King of Corwell is dead."
* * * * *
Like all of the gods, Bhaal communicated his will to his worshippers via his clerics – priests, priestesses, holy (or unholy) people. These clerics drew their strength from their gods, and many were capable of feats of magic rivaling those of the mightiest wizards.
As a powerful god, Bhaal numbered a great many clerics among his faithful. It so happened that one of the most powerful of these was on the Moonshaes. This one would serve his purpose now.
Bhaal decided, slowly, upon a scheme. It would entertain him, and it could enhance his status among all of the gods of the Forgotten Realms. It was a complex plan, but he had numerous willing hands to aid him.
To start, he would send the cleric of the Moonshaes a dream. He could regard it as a prophecy, or a command – in any event, it would be the will of Bhaal.
The cleric, Bhaal knew, would obey.
II
The Council of Corwell
Lengthening shadows extended the towers of Caer Callidyrr into needlelike spires that reached ominously across the city of Callidyrr, and beyond, to the waters of Whitefish Bay. Evening brought an end to the bustle and barter of vigorous trade that characterized this, the largest city among the lands of the Ffolk. Night came with its own forms of barter – sale of the ginyak weed imported freely from Calimshan, or even in the darkest of alleys, the trading of young slaves from Amn or Tethyr.
The wizard moved among these alleys, intimately familiar with them. Eventually, after night had fallen completely, he stepped down a stairway into a low cellar, ignoring a slumbering old man who reeked of cheap wine. He pushed through a curtain that masked one wall of the cellar, and entered a wide, round