Crusade - James Lowder [37]
With a stiff bow, the wizard shuffled from the dining room.
Within minutes the table was clear and only Azoun, Filfaeril, and Lythrana were left in the cavernous hall.
"I find it hard to believe Vangerdahast has lived over eighty winters,"
Lythrana began casually. She stretched luxuriously, once again comfortable in her tight black dress. "He seems no older than fifty. In fact, someone at the Keep mentioned he looked about that age ten years ago, too."
Azoun cast a disinterested glance at the envoy. "He's a wizard, Lady Lythrana. It should be no surprise to you that he ages little; such practices are common among the mages at the Keep, too." He looked to his wife, who was oddly subdued in the presence of the exotic envoy. "But my advisor's age isn't what we're here to discuss."
"The demands haven't changed, Your Highness. Let Darkhold go about its business unmolested for one year."
"And?" the king prompted.
Lythrana paused. "We sign a pact with the Dales. You get the dalesmen to provide you with archers for the crusade."
"That's not enough," Azoun said sharply. His voice echoed from the floor.
"There are at least one hundred thousand Tuigan in Thesk right now. I want Zhentish troops to stand with the rest of Faerun."
Lythrana leaned back from the table. She started to speak, then swallowed her words and sighed.
"You're afraid of them too, Lythrana," Azoun rumbled. "I can see it in your eyes when I talk about them." He stood up and turned his back to the table.
The emissary bowed her head. "Of course I am. I was one of the people the Keep sent to spy on the Tuigan." She pulled down the high collar of her black dress. A long red scar marred her otherwise perfectly white shoulder. "I was the only one of my party to escape alive."
The king whirled around. "Then help me. Give me troops."
Lythrana met Azoun's gaze again. "I want to," she hissed after a moment,
"but the Keep won't. Not without something in return."
The king paused. He knew that this was all the envoy had to offer, that Lythrana would not, could not concede him anything else. The king's course was set; Azoun had decided after the hunt that reasons of state demanded only one decision from him. "We'll leave Darkhold alone for two seasons," he said at last.
"No. A year."
Azoun sighed, then nodded. "A year."
The words burned like acid in Azoun's soul. He knew that he was allowing the network of evil that connected Zhentil Keep and Darkhold-the Zhentarim-free reign to attack travelers and raid caravans, but he saw no other solution. If the Tuigan came to Cormyr, they'd cause a thousand times more suffering than the troops in Darkhold could ever create. He needed the archers from the Dales to stop that from happening.
Azoun pointed a slightly quivering finger at Lythrana. "Darkhold will be left unhindered for a year," he said, "but I want troops. And if I don't get them, or if Zhentil Keep stands in the way of this crusade again, I promise you that Darkhold will be crushed to rubble."
Lythrana was shocked into silence for an instant. "Of course," she agreed after a time. "Zhentil Keep wants the Tuigan stopped as much as you."
The Zhentish envoy looked over at the queen, who sat quietly at the end of the table. "Are you taking notes?" she asked, her words mixed with puzzlement and sarcasm.
Locking her ice-blue eyes on Lythrana's cold stare, Filfaeril smiled pleasantly. "No," she said. "The crusade is Azoun's matter."
Lythrana arched a thin black eyebrow under her raven-dark bangs. Noting the look on the envoy's face, the queen added, "However, if Zhentil Keep breaks its word and attacks the Dales or Cormyr while the king is in Thesk, I will be here to mount an army against you."
Narrowing her eyes to green slits, Lythrana studied the queen more closely. Filfaeril looked delicate, with her pale skin and long golden hair. Even the filmy rose-pink dress the queen wore made her seem fragile. But as the envoy looked into Filfaeril's eyes, she caught a glimpse of something-a hardness,