The Kingless Land - Ed Greenwood [84]
Had he been a little less in awe of the baron, and so less apprehensive about the consequences of daring such a question, the youngest Silvertree wizard might finally have noticed the eye peering from a spy hole behind the baron… an eye that had spent much time watching the ruler of Silvertree and his Dark Three in recent weeks. But he wasn't.
The Baron of Silvertree lifted up a goblet from the table as if he'd never seen it before, sipped from it, and then told it, "The need to wonder aloud, and know things that concern them not, are failings that seem to afflict all wizards," Faerod Silvertree drawled, "those loyal to me regrettably included."
"Forgive me, Lord, I-I-"
The baron held up a hand. "Enough; you have asked, and so you shall hear… a little. It can hardly come as news to a studious mage that the baronies all up and down the Silverflow are rising to war-war that will come, once 'tis expected, as night follows day. Hireswords eat too much, and their loyalty comes at too high a price, for any of us to let them go unused for more than a season at most. Someone will strike at someone else, and all the Vale will erupt. I'll see to it, if no one else does."
Faerod Silvertree gave his youngest wizard a wintry smile and said, "You've no need to know who in my judgment will do what; that's a game open only to those who try to hold land in the Vale. It matters little, in any event, for since Blackgult fell to me and I was able to seize all it held, the rest of the rulers of the Vale have been doomed. Aglirta shall rise again, and I shall be its king… though a lot fewer folk will be around to see it, once the war to come-and the specific slayings it'll be prudent for me to carry out, thereafter-are done."
It seemed to be Markoun's day to dwell dangerously. He found himself boldly asking, "But surely, Lord, every baron with armaragors and hireswords enough might, in private, say the same words you've just uttered? How can all of you be right?"
The baron merely smiled, and Markoun nervously rushed to fill the lengthening silence. "Or is it all up to the battlefield and the whim of the Three?"
The baron's smile did not change. "I think you've seen something of how well prepared Silvertree is for war to come. Not merely you three, and my alliances, and an army larger and better than all others in the Vale, but the granaries."
"Granaries? Yes, but-"
The baron stroked the head of his favorite maid, who was nuzzling at his codpiece. "Ah," he said, "you see, but you do not see. Learn, then: when we ride to war, the warriors of Silvertree will fight with torch and oil-jug every bit as enthusiastically as they ply their swords and loose their crossbows."
Markoun's eyes narrowed. "To burn and destroy? Forgive me, Lord, but that's something I've never understood… how does harming and despoiling what you conquer gain you anything? Won't the Silvertree warriors who die in battle have thrown their lives away for… nothing?"
Faerod Silvertree smiled down at a surging sea of heads, as all six of his maids sought to reach where the others had not. "A ruler must take a longer view of things than those he rules," he explained. "So should you-a wizard-if you expect to flourish. In your mind, you see only the fires and the deaths and the wailing and think only of plunder as slaves or as stuff of gold that you can snatch up in your hands and bear off in triumph. Learn another way of thinking of things, Yarynd."
"Ah… what other way?"
"Thus," the baron said smugly. "The devastation well-prepared Silvertree will wreak on its foes-including those neighbors who think themselves my allies but who are going to be revealed as faithless traitors, once swords are out-will plunge them into starvation in the hard winter ahead. A few weak survivors will make poor farmers in the season beyond, whereupon conquering them-as they face a bleak harvest and another winter-will be simple. I shall hold feasts in every town and village my forces occupy. Those who