Crusade - James Lowder [93]
The guard stationed outside, his surcoat soaked onto his armor, gave the wizard a short bow. Vangerdahast returned it perfunctorily and ducked inside.
The tent was dark and musty. Vangerdahast recalled a spell that would kindle a warm light, but quickly dismissed it. The Tuigan might attack at any time, so every spell, no matter how simple, might prove useful. With a string of grumbled expletives, the wizard dumped his pouch onto his cot and fumbled with a tinderbox. After lighting the lantern that hung from the tent's center support, he shucked off his wet robe.
The lantern spread a weak light through the tent, revealing a huge assortment of books, scrolls, and other, more curious items. A live hedgehog lay sleeping in a large glass jar, which itself was bumped up against a box of dragon scales of various colors. Oils and liquids stood in neat rows, their tightly stoppered containers clearly labeled. Mortars and pestals were stored neatly in one corner, next to a large shelf filled with spellbooks. In short, the tent was incredibly organized for the amount of material it held.
But then, that was Vangerdahast's way. He hated clutter and confusion.
"An untidy room is the sign of a sloppy mind," he always said. "And people with sloppy minds can't be trusted in a pinch." That saying applied to the fabled mage, Elminster of Shadowdale, too. Vangerdahast had visited the ancient sorcerer's home many times. He was always astounded to find the place in utter disarray-though Elminster claimed to know where every item was.
Vangerdahast doubted that the Sage of Shadowdale even knew what every item in the cluttered tower was, let alone its location.
As he glanced around the tent, the royal mage thought of Elminster, then cursed again. "I wish ye were in this gods-forsaken place instead of me," he muttered, using the dialect Elminster favored. Vangerdahast talked to himself aloud quite often when he was alone. It was a habit he'd picked up in his sixtyodd years of magical research, conducted largely in isolation.
That habit did not reflect a deteriorating mind, however. For a man of almost eighty years, Vangerdahast was in good shape, both mentally and physically. An occasional spell had bolstered his health and perhaps added a few years to his life, but all in all the royal wizard was as fit as most men half his age. His weight was a bit of a problem, to be sure, but his paunch had been the result of too little physical activity, not too much wild living.
With a heavy sigh, Vangerdahast folded his robe and placed it neatly on a chair to dry. He then picked up his satchel and removed the lists of spells the army's mages knew. After placing the papers in a small steel box, protected by wards in case a spy should attempt to open it or even move it, the wizard pulled a dry robe from a chest and shrugged it on. For a moment, he considered contacting Fonjara Galth, the representative from Rashemen, but decided against it. Her country was almost three hundred miles to the east, now well behind the Tuigan's front rank. The special powder the witch had left for contacting her would be wasted if used to gather information that might prove inconsequential to the Alliance's current predicament.
"There are other letters to be sent!" Vangerdahast said a little too loudly.
His voice filled the tent and surprised him a bit. He smiled sheepishly, straightened his robe, and went to the small table set up next to his bed. After opening a pen case and a jar of ink, the wizard located a piece of fresh parchment and set to work.
To Queen Filfaeril of Cormyr, the note began. We are now camped in Thesk, part way between the free city of Telflamm and the Theskan city of Tammar. We have encountered the enemy through scouts. Emissaries have been dispatched to the Tuigan camp, and we now await their return.
Again a trumpet sounded over the camp, and Vangerdahast looked up reflexively. Just another scout returning, he decided. Frowning, the wizard turned