Crusade - James Lowder [17]
"If that's your opinion," snapped a red-haired general from Battledale, "then we all might as well leave right now!"
Azoun shot an angry glance at his friend. It was clear that Vangerdahast's approach would only alienate the dalesmen further. "Please, friends," the king began, "how can I convince you of our task's importance?"
"It's not the importance of the crusade that eludes us," Mourngrym told Azoun. "However, Your Highness, you seem unable to see that any troops we send to Thesk will be men who can't stand with us against the Zhentish if they decide to attack."
"And if the Tuigan didn't try to magically spy on us at the start of the meeting," someone noted from the crowd, "then it was certainly the Zhentish."
Mourngrym nodded his approval of the comment. After glancing around for effect, he added, "I don't even see a representative from Zhentil Keep here."
"Of course not," Azoun said calmly. "I did not invite their ambassador. We will hold separate meetings after I know your dispositions."
The soldier from Battledale snorted a laugh. "We can hardly give you our 'disposition' until we know what the Keep intends to do." The steady light from the magical globe on the table cast ominous shadows on the man's face. His flaming red hair only made him look all the more demonic.
A few of the others gathered in the room bristled at the dalesman's impertinence. Mourngrym was known to be a good ruler, protective of his people, so they could excuse the edge in his voice. But this man, a member of the Battledale militia, was intolerable.
Lord Mourngrym recognized this, too, and quickly moved to head off a nasty confrontation. "Thank you for your input, General Elventree." He turned to Azoun, and the hard line of his mouth softened slightly. "If Your Highness can secure the cooperation of the Zhentish, we will consider raising troops for the crusade."
Cormyrian nobles smiled at the concession, but the other dalesmen's objections to the offer were apparent on their faces. "However," Mourngrym added, more to his fellow dalelords than to Azoun, "any troops levied from the Dales will be put under commanders from the Dales."
After a short silence, Azoun nodded slowly. "There is nothing more for me to say, then. Unless someone else has something to add, this meeting is at an end." The king waited for a moment, then bowed his head again in prayer to the God of Duty.
As soon as the prayer was over, Mourngrym again signaled to his scribe, who quickly gathered up his papers. "We appreciate being included in this conference, Your Highness," the dalelord told Azoun, a genuine warmth in his voice, "but waiting here any longer might be counterproductive. We wish you luck with the Zhentish. We will await Your Highness's word on their reply."
With that, Mourngrym snatched up his fur-trimmed cloak and headed for the door, his scribe in tow. The other dalesmen-including General Elventree from Battledale-quickly followed the lord, leaving a subdued, milling assembly in their wake. The Cormyrian nobles and other representatives soon paid their respects to Azoun and left, too. When Fonjara Galth made her way from the room, Thom Reaverson was at her side. The royal bard, prompted only slightly by the king, was intent on learning more of Rashemen. Within half an hour, Azoun was once again alone with Vangerdahast.
The king sat on a table's edge, studying the tapestry that hung at the end of the hall. He had stood in front of the hanging for the entire meeting, but only now considered the backdrop from the assembly's perspective.
Woven from threads of gold, silver, and other precious metals, the tapestry depicted the continent of Faerun, with Cormyr purposefully prominent at its center. Around the hanging's edge, the artist had placed renderings of Cormyr's kings from the last thousand years. Azoun saw his forefathers, from Pryntaler to his own father, Rhigaerd II, staring emotionlessly at him from the wall.
"My father had them leave Salember, 'the Rebel Prince,' off the tapestry, even though he ruled the country