The Kingless Land - Ed Greenwood [71]
Craer shrugged. "What's to stop his mages from sending spells through me against you-or through you, against me? We can't spare time worrying about our friends-the Three know our enemies are enough, even without wizards and their spells!"
"True," Hawkril Anharu admitted, "and I've seen enough of the Lady Embra now to know she isn't hiding some secret hatred of us and playing at being our friend until she can get us to the right place to be sacrifices in some dark scheme or other. She does hate her father, and she's not a veteran schemer or an adventurer. Yet still, Craer-something isn't right. I always know when something isn't right."
***
"Wait here, Anharu," said the Golden Griffon, handing the hulking armaragor his sword-belt, scabbard, and all.
"This is not wise, Lord," Hawkril murmured, as he received the baron's blade. His eyes were on the priestesses, down in the hollow.
"Meeting unarmed with servants of the gods is never wise, loyal sword," the Baron Blackgult said, his piercing black eyes flashing. "But then, wisdom is something I rarely have time for, these days. So-'tis time to be bold again. Wait here."
And the man Hawkril loved and admired more than any other strode away, weaponless, a toothless lion gone down to parley with priestesses armed for war. The high-horned helms on their heads crackled with magic, the black and creaking leather armor on their bodies bristled with weapons, and all six of them bore naked swords in their hands.
The mighty armaragor watched him go, shaking his head. "Something is not right," he murmured, though he knew very well what it was. For a summer and more the Priestesses of Sharaden had made verbal war on the baron, demanding larger temple lands, more powers to tithe, and recognition of the Horned Huntress as the supreme god in Blackgult.
The baron had told them he would readily agree to their first demand, grudgingly meet them in some wise on their second-and reject their third absolutely and forever. The Three ruled over Darsar, not "One." Even Dark Olym had his place-claws, tentacles, and all, and no mortal demand could change that or should try to.
The priestesses had cried that they, and they alone, knew the personal desires of the Lady, and that the baron must acquiesce-or be cast out, a godless man whom no man could serve or fight for, and receive any blessing of the gods.
The baron had replied that the words of priests were not the words of gods, and no less than a dozen priests, of both other faiths, stood with him in Blackgult in repudiation of the demands made by the priestesses. Their response had been to request this parley in Telgil's Hollow, with the baron attending alone and unarmed.
The baron had boldly accepted, stunning his sword-masters and cortahars… and surprising even the clergy of the Lady, who'd obviously expected him to refuse such an obvious danger, so that they could cry his defiance of the Holy Horned Huntress, and call down war upon him.
And so it was that one bold lion of a man strode now down into the obvious danger, leaving Hawkril Anharu standing in tense unease. No man of Blackgult had been allowed to enter the hollow for six days now. The armaragor had risked much, some days before that, in making secretive preparations, but once he'd begun, others in the court of Blackgult had aided him willingly. None of it might be necessary, but somehow…
The limb of a nearby tree dipped once, deliberately, and Hawkril nodded his thanks for the signal. The wizards were at work, as well as one priest of the Forefather. No magic could have its birth in that hollow, or enter it, for the next little while, to aid or to harm. Which left the baron still alone and unarmed against six priestesses with drawn swords in their hands.
Hawkril saw him stop, and stand speaking. Horned heads moved, bodies shifted with insolent grace. Arms rose in florid gestures, as they sidled nearer, drifting to encircle the Golden Griffon.
The baron laughed, then, and said