Crusade - James Lowder [35]
Lythrana nodded. Her green eyes were red from the wind, but that didn't dull their intensity. "This is as good as anywhere."
Signaling to the master of the hunt, the king took a barbed spear from a young squire. He handed the weapon to Lythrana, then took another for himself. The king's huntsmen hurried off into the woods with the hounds in search of game. Only when they'd flushed a large boar or stag from the trees would the hunt begin for the nobles. In the meantime, a handful of guards spread out around the tall grass in the clearing to protect the king.
While he waited, Azoun resumed the discussion of the crusade he'd begun earlier with Lythrana. As the king had expected, Lythrana knew a great deal about the Tuigan presence in Rashemen and Thesk. However, he was surprised to learn that the leaders of Zhentil Keep thought a peremptory strike against the barbarians a very wise idea-as long as it was accomplished by the other nations of Faerun.
"If you understand the importance of the crusade," Azoun said to the envoy, "you must also see the importance of a temporary truce with the Dales.
I need Mourngrym and the others to commit troops. They won't if they think you'll attack the minute they're gone."
Lythrana squirmed in her saddle slightly. The tight riding breeches and warm woolen jacket she had obtained at the palace itched uncomfortably; she was far more accustomed to silk than coarser, more functional fabrics. "Do you think the dalesmen will believe any pact we sign?" she asked.
Azoun sat up straight in his saddle. "Of course," he exclaimed, "but only if you also agree to send crusaders to Thesk as a sign of good faith."
Poking the ground idly with her spear, Lythrana considered Azoun's suggestion for a moment. "It's unlikely," she finally concluded. "Unless we get something in return-other than the satisfaction of doing good." She almost spat the final word.
From her tone, Azoun knew Lythrana already had a price in mind. "What do you want?"
"Darkhold," she said matter-of-factly. "The Keep wants you to stop harassing the patrols from Darkhold."
"Out of the question," Azoun snapped. "The citadel of Darkhold houses criminals and brigands. They prey upon our western border. I could never-"
Azoun saw Lythrana's cool smile and stopped speaking. "You didn't expect me to request something silly, like food or trade agreements, did you?" she asked. "Zhentil Keep has an… interest in Darkhold, and your patrols are jeopardizing that. If you want the Keep to sign a pact with the Dales, you'll have to sign a pact with us."
A high, shrill note echoed over the field. Azoun turned toward a copse of trees a hundred yards to the east and pulled his spear into battle-ready position. The latter action was really a reflex, borne of both battles fought when younger and training in the law of arms. The trumpet was always a call to attention and action.
Lythrana's horse pranced nervously, and she pulled her spear up from the ground, too. "I leave again for home late tonight, Your Highness. I'll need your answer right away."
Anger swelled inside Azoun, a black, choking gall that almost made him tremble. All he wanted was to fight the Tuigan, to help Faerun-all of Faerun, including Zhentil Keep. Yet, it seemed that no one truly saw the importance, the urgency, of his task.
Azoun frowned. He simply couldn't accept that kind of deal with the murderers and highwaymen who inhabited the citadel of Darkhold.
Before the king could give Lythrana his answer, though, the master of the hunt broke from the trees and rode toward him. The huntsman's large black horse swept through the tall grass like a ship on choppy seas. As soon as he was near, the hunter dismounted and bowed his head. "The dogs have found nothing," he reported. "Would Your Highness like to move to another spot?"
Azoun was relieved by the news, but he was not going to let Lythrana know that. He knit his eyebrows in feigned consternation and frowned. "This land should be better stocked. Our foresters are not keeping the poachers away,