Prophet of Moonshae - Douglas Niles [26]
The bard lifted the staff out and closed the lid. Turning, she offered it to Robyn.
"No." The queen shook her head. "It is the Staff of the White Well, the tool of a druid, not a cleric-nor a queen. Take it with you on your journey. It may be that you will come upon one who shall use it."
"Very well, Lady," Tavish replied, bowing deeply. "I am honored by the trust."
Robyn leaned back again, her face grown shockingly pale. "You do me honor if you help my daughter succeed."
* * * * *
He presented himself as a cleric, and how else were the men to take him? His powers were real enough: They had all seen him materialize in their midst, along the storm-wracked shore of Whitefish Bay. When he spoke, his voice was full of power and promise, sweeping the hundred or so ruffians in his audience to a pitch of enthusiasm and loyalty. They had gathered from the slums, from the waterfronts and garrison quarters, of the worst dives along the Sword Coast.
There were also the matters of his robe and his identity. The one who had summoned these men-bandits, mercenaries, and outlaws, from Gnarhelm and Callidyrr and places beyond-was robed from head to foot, revealing only his hands. The latter were pale and spotted, almost skeletally frail, but supple and quick of movement.
And not one of the men summoned here knew the name or the identity of the robed man. Yet he spoke of the gods like one who knew their ways, and his gold was real. Finally, his promise of gold answered the important questions.
Lost in the mist and rain, the white towers of Callidyrr thrust skyward no more than five miles away, but they might have been across the world for all they could be seen. The band of scoundrels gathered here secretly, coming from the cities and forests and highlands-wherever the robed man had found them.
He divided his recruits into two companies. Those of the north he outfitted with helms and weapons of the type used by northmen.
"You, Kaffa, will be my captain," said the robed man, addressing a huge, one-eyed northman. "You will take seventy men to the longship I have provided. It is anchored in a cove along the north shore of Whitefish Bay. I have the location sketched on maps, which I will provide you when our business here is concluded. Also, I have affixed a talisman to the ship-a thing that will protect you against sorcery."
"You don't lead us there?" inquired Kaffa, with a spit.
"I have other, equally important matters to attend to. But listen to me carefully, for here are your orders:
"Sail swiftly down the coast of Callidyrr," the mysterious priest ordered the crew in that dry voice that discouraged questions or debate. "Strike all the major cantrevs-Blythe, Dorset, Kythyss. Land quickly and burn what you can, wherever you can. Take treasure and captives only as it does not jeopardize your mission. Then, when you reach Southpoint, pass to the western shore and continue your raiding along the western shore of Alaron."
"Aye, Master," replied the one called Kaffa.
"And you, Larth," the priest continued, now speaking to a strapping outlaw known to be skilled with sword and shield. "You will lead the other thirty men. I have collected horses and armor in a barn beside that same cove. You will don them and ride, as knights of Callidyrr, against the lands of the northmen. Kill and burn as you ride. Take what treasure you will, but I want no prisoners!"
"As you wish, great one," replied Larth, grinning easily as he contemplated mayhem.
"Both of you, my captains, must remain alert for a message from me. When that comes, I want you to join me as quickly as possible. I will need you without delay!"
Standing on the gray shore of Whitefish Bay, the men nodded and then turned to their tasks. They would move north in small bands, agreeing to gather at the appointed cove in four days' time.
Watching them go, the robed figure allowed