Crusade - James Lowder [4]
"We'll never have the opportunity to see what Zhentil Keep would do in that situation for we cannot-no, will not- wait for the Tuigan to arrive on our doorstep," King Azoun stated firmly. "If I have the support of the rest of Faerun's leaders, I'm going to stop Yamun Khahan long before he reaches us."
"And the guilds?" Dimswart asked.
Without pause, Vangerdahast replied, "We could toss the leaders of the Trappers' Guild into the tower until the crusade is over."
Azoun shook his head. "And make martyrs of them? Hardly." He glanced out of the open window again and added, "The guilds will simply have to follow my commands in this. There really is nothing they can do to stop me."
Dimswart and Vangerdahast knew from Azoun's voice that the discussion was over as far as the king was concerned. The tower room fell silent.
Abruptly a sharp breeze from the open window carried the noise from the street to the tower and made the tapestries flutter on the wall. The air in the room, a little thick with the smell of the musty old books piled neatly near the window and the oiled wooden chess set over which Dimswart still fussed, lightened for an instant with a breath of sea air. If only for that moment, the tension in the room seemed to dissipate-until a loud rapping sounded at the lone entrance to the tower, a heavy, iron-braced trapdoor.
"Ah, that will be Winefiddle," Dimswart noted as he stood and moved quickly to unlock the entrance. The sage slid the bolt back noisily, then said,
"Speak the password and enter," his foot planted firmly on the door.
"Don't be ridiculous," came the muffled response, followed by another loud thump on the oaken door. After a barely suppressed chuckle, the unseen man added, "I have a message for the king, Dimswart, so stop this nonsense and let me up. You'd think you were Vangerdahast, asking for a password."
The wizard cocked an eyebrow as Dimswart pulled open the door.
Winefiddle, a rotund man with thinning brown hair and puffy red cheeks, shuffled up the stairs into the room. "You'd think I was-," he huffed as he climbed into the room. Then the fat man saw the royal wizard standing before him, his arms crossed, tapping his foot.
"Both you and Dimswart have succeeded in annoying Vangy this morning, Curate Winefiddle," Azoun noted as the priest faced the fuming mage. The quiet, happy cleric usually had a soothing effect upon the king, and that day was no exception. He forgot about the Tuigan and the crusade for a moment and smiled. "This is just like old times."
Vangerdahast snorted. "Yes, Your Highness, this rather is like the times you 'went adventuring' with these oafs. It's a wonder you all weren't killed any number of times."
"That we survived some of those adventures is due partly to you, Vangerdahast," Winefiddle said sincerely. He shifted the sack he carried to his left hand and wiped the sweat from his brow. "If you hadn't been so conscientious about following Azoun around, the King's Men would have perished any number of times." Noting the astounded look on the wizard's face, the cleric straightened his light blue tunic and headed for a comfortable chair on the other side of the room.
"You see, Vangy, someone appreciates you," Dimswart said, sitting back at the chessboard. "Even I admit that you saved our lives once or twice when we were tearing up the countryside as the King's Men."
The room was silent again for a moment as all four of them dusted off memories of the King's Men. Dimswart, then a mage of little renown, and Winefiddle, a novice in the temple of Tymora, the Goddess of Good Fortune, had formed the group, eager as they were to seek fame and fortune in the wilder parts of Cormyr. They were soon joined by other Cormyrian adventurers, including a highly skilled swordsman who called himself Balin. In reality,