Shadows of Doom - Ed Greenwood [48]
"How many?" The blunt question came from dark-eyed, dark-browed Blakkal Mord, a local leather worker. This one was no friend to any newcomers to the dale-including, of course, all men of the Brotherhood.
Angruin's eyes narrowed. Certain councillors were always trying to find out just how many soldiers the lord commanded in the dale. Were they truly simple enough to believe they'd ever be given a truthful answer?
"A score and three," Angruin said promptly. "At the field, when we chased these enemies through the woods, and this morning, when they attacked the road guard at Eastkeep."
There was a stir up and down the table. Not all here had heard of this before. Not surprisingly, Xanther and the other Sembian merchant, the wine dealer Saddusk, spoke together. "What befell there?"
Angruin looked meaningfully to the Lord of the Dale. Longspear motioned him to continue and picked up his flagon. It was good wine. He gave a silent nod of thanks to Thammar Saddusk, who returned it gravely. Then he turned back to the wizard. It had been happy fortune that the wine merchant had decided to move to the dale, in semiretirement from the bustle and high prices of Sembia's crowded cities, just after Longspear had taken it. The wine at the High Castle, by all accounts, was better than what one could get in Zhentil Keep itself, unless one was both noble and too rich to care what was charged for it.
Angruin began with a shrug. "Two people-an old man and a young woman, the watchers on the keep wall say- came out of the woods and fought with the guard on the road. They prevailed, entered the guard hut, and then fled."
"Prevailed?" Gulkin Hammarlin asked, his tone none too friendly. "Were all the guards slain?" The burly former hiresword was no friend to Zhent newcomers, either, and apt to be difficult. He was the best carpenter, glazier, and roofer in the dale, though; too useful to silence.
"Yes." Angruin's mouth shut like a trap, leaving only the single word hanging in the air over the table.
"Nine armed men?" Saddusk's dry voice asked. "What of the guard-wizard? What's his name-Dommil, or whatever?"
Stormcloak gave Longspear another inquiring look. Heladar took great satisfaction in raising his own eyebrows in mock surprise and motioning him to continue again.
"Ildomyl," Angruin said flatly. "Dead."
The mages Nordryn and Hcarla, Stormcloak's sneering lurkers-at-shoulders, both looked at him sharply. Nordryn and Ildomyl had been friends, and Nordryn looked shaken.
Hcarla just looked irritated, no doubt because Angruin hadn't told him of this before the meeting. Hcarla always wanted to know everything that was going on. On two late-night occasions when Longspear had shown certain traveling ladies the private chambers of the Lord of the High Dale, Heladar had caught sight of Hcarla's familiar-a small, ugly, bat-winged cat. On the second occasion, Heladar had taken great delight in cutting the spying creature out of the air with his blade and watching it plummet into the moat. Hcarla had been weak and white-faced for days.
But enough ancient history. No doubt everyone in the dale knew by now that the mercenary band that had seized the High Dale by deposing High Constable Mulmar and slaughtering the constables he commanded had come from Zhentil Keep. Anyone with wits at all knew that no independent band would include more than a handcount of wizards. The dalefolk knew that Heladar Longspear was here at the pleasure of the Zhentarim, even if no whisper of that had ever passed the lips of any Brotherhood agent.
Yet would that connection, even proven, spur a neighboring realm, nearby merchant, or hard-luck mercenary or outlaw band to challenge the rule of the self-proclaimed Lord Longspear? Nay. 'Twas more likely to discourage any open attack.
So, did these magical attacks, first launched through the Zhentarim-created Daggerdale supply gate, come from rivals in the Brotherhood, or were they mounted as some sort of devious test? Heladar studied the faces of the men who sat