Thornhold - Elaine Cunningham [43]
He smoothed his hand down her back and made an effort to steer the conversation onto a safer path. “Your concern is noted, but the reward is worth the risk. The fortress will be a good acquisition for the Zhentanm. It is strategically located on a major trade route.”
“And it is far from Darkhold. Let us not forget that. You could have your precious child at your side and not concern yourself with any need to share her-or the power she carries.”
The priest felt the blood drain from his face. This seemed to amuse Ashemini. Again she cocked her head and studied him. “Now I understand the whispers of the common soldiers,” she purred. “Do you know what they say of you, when they feel certain that they will not be heard? You are so pale and austere, so light of step and delicate of frame that you seldom make a sound, barely cast a shadow. You unnerve them. They say that you resemble a vampire in all things but the fangs!”
Beneath the obvious insult in her words lay several layers more, reminders that Dag Zoreth was a small man, a physical weakling in a fortress of warriors. But he smiled nonetheless. His hand dipped lower, his fingers dug into firm and yielding flesh. “If you desired to do so, you could inform them that my teeth are sharp.”
Her laughter bubbled over again. “It is so much more amusing to let them learn at their own peril.” She sobered quickly, and moved beyond reach of his punishing caress. “We were speaking of your plan for an assault on a mountain fortress. Surely you know of the difficulties inherent in a siege! It is a long and costly process. The fortress you desire is but a few days’ march from cities unfriendly to our cause, which greatly lowers your chances of success. Do you think Waterdeep would allow a Zhentish army to lay a lengthy siege, when in five days they could muster enough fighters to engage you in open warfare?”
Dag had considered all of this and prepared for it. He captured a lock of her pale gold hair, let it slide between his fingers, and skimmed his hand down the slender length of her. “Set your mind at ease. I do not intend to lay siege to the fortress.”
“No? What, then? You cannot believe you can conquer it outright. There are not enough warriors in the whole of Darkhold to accomplish such a feat. Nor could you move a force of the needed size without drawing attention. The alarm would be sounded before you left the Greycloak Hills! What then?” she demanded again.
His eyes grazed the feminine form that Ashemmi’s crimson gown did little to hide. “It is dangerous to reveal too much to an enemy. Or have you not heard?”
She smiled again, darkly, and her arms lifted to twine around his neck. “If enemies are well matched, battle can be a pleasant diversion. Tell me, and then we need talk no more.”
Dag reminded himself of his vow to have nothing more to do with this viper in elf form. “I have been preparing this attack for a long time. Arrangements have been made to ensure a successful, if unorthodox, escalade.”
“You can do better. I remember well,” she breathed in his ear.
He stepped back while he still could. “Content yourself with this: the capture of this fortress will not deplete Dark-hold’s military strength. I do not plan to shatter the Pereghost and his commanders against the fortress walls,” he said, naming Ashemmi’s chief rival for the position of second-in-command. He inclined his head in a brief, ironic bow. “I apologize for any inconvenience this might cause you.”
They studied each other in silence. Dag Zoreth had no intention of telling Ashemmi that he would gain much more from the assault than the possession of a fortress. She already knew too much, as her presence here demonstrated.
“You have been forthright. Now it is my turn,” she said, as if she followed the path his thoughts were taking.