Crusade - James Lowder [38]
The king leaned on the table with both hands. "Be assured, Lady Dargor, neither Queen Filfaeril nor I ever make idle threats. We do not like to deal with the worshippers of evil gods, but you are the lesser of two bad options."
Lythrana stood slowly. "Zhentil Keep never assumed you would regard us as anything but a 'necessary evil.'" A false, cold smile crossed her face, then she bowed. "We should end this meeting before either of us says something … regrettable. The papers detailing the treaty will be ready in an hour?"
When King Azoun nodded, Lythrana bowed again and moved toward the door. "I will send word as to how many troops you can expect and where they will meet you."
As the echoes of the envoy's retreating footsteps died in the large room, the king put his hands on Filfaeril's shoulders. The queen pursed her lips. "I don't trust her for a moment," she noted. "Still, I suspect the Keep isn't foolish enough to break a truce."
Azoun smiled weakly. "They certainly must see that if I can raise an army of thirty thousand to fight a foreign war, the force that would rise against them if they foolishly attacked the Dales would be ten times that size."
The door slid open, and Vangerdahast briskly crossed the room. He looked expectantly at Azoun, who only nodded.
"The Keep will send troops?" the wizard asked expectantly as he got nearer.
"They haven't said how many yet," replied Azoun, "but I'm sure I can get at least fifteen hundred men-at-arms from them." He squeezed Filfaeril's shoulder and added, "We should be ready to send the first troops to the east within twenty days."
5
The Black Rat Arrow loops were the only source of natural light in the tower's lower floors.
As a result, rooms located there were usually dark, dreary places, even during the daytime. King Azoun didn't mind the deep shadows. In fact, he welcomed the darkness as he stood quietly on the bottom floor of his fortress's northeastern watchtower, for the shadows hid the monarch's growing anger at the soldier who stood before him, his tunic rumpled, his boots unpolished. The guard also had his sword drawn, and a broad smirk lined his thick-boned face.
"So tell me again, old man," the guard grunted at the king. "Just what are you doing down here? Don't you belong back in the main hall with the rest of the relics?"
Azoun narrowed his eyes and cursed silently. The piggish man who stood before him, dappled in the late afternoon sunlight from a nearby arrow loop, was being far too obnoxious to be tolerated. "I told you, my good man," the king said softly, "I'm looking for the captain of the guard. I have a message from His Majesty. Now, are you going to let me deliver it or not?"
The soldier rubbed his poorly shaven chin. "I don't know. I mean, I can't be too careful about who I let roam around the keep." He paused for a second and scratched a particularly hairy spot at the corner of his jaw.
It was obvious to Azoun that the guard was simply being difficult to someone he saw as a harmless old civil servant. "Kind sir," he pleaded, "I must be on my way. The king will be very cross if I don't deliver this message soon."
"All right, but just you remember that Sergeant Connor was nice enough to let you pass," the guard warned, finally stepping out of Azoun's way.
Smiling, the king stared at the soldier's round face. "Oh, yes," he said. "I'll remember." To have you demoted and fined for harassing one of my servants, Azoun added to himself. The ruler of Cormyr bowed fatuously and limped out of the tower into a corridor inside the castle's outer wall.
The king wore the guise of a royal messenger that afternoon: a fine black tunic with a purple dragon sewn across the chest, rough woolen pants, a dark cloak, and low-cut leather shoes. He carried a heavy cloth satchel and a rolled, sealed piece of parchment, official-looking enough to fool almost anyone he met.
Azoun had done a little to change his features, too. With the help of some dye, the king's graying