The Rage (30 page)

“We’ve done our best to—” Oriseus began.

“Yet I always remembered,” Sambryl interrupted, “that I’m the sovereign, and like my ancestors, have the duty to lead the realm in times of crisis.”

“Your Majesty,” Oriseus said, “if I may speak bluntly, your predecessors were paladins. You aren’t even a warrior. It only makes sense for you to delegate these decisions to those who are.”

“No,” she said. “Whatever you may have assumed, I didn’t come to these chambers today simply to smile and nod at whatever you proposed. Rest assured, I value the council’s advice, but I believe that with regard to the Gray Forest, you’re underestimating the danger. Perhaps your disdain for the maestro’s profession, your nostalgia for the days when burghers knew their place, and no one but a chevalier schooled in the old traditions would dare call himself a master swordsman has blinded you.”

Idriane said, “Your Majesty, we will of course obey you this as in all things. That understood, may I at least recommend that we send the greater part of our troops northeast, where battle already rages, and a smaller force west to assess the situation there?”

“Yes,” Sambryl said. She sipped from her golden goblet then continued, “But a number of the Queen’s Bronzes will accompany the lesser force to make sure it’s strong enough to do whatever needs doing. Afterward, dragons on the wing can cross the realm swiftly enough to join the campaign on the other side.”

“In that case,” Rangrim said, “I volunteer to lead the

scouts. I suppose one of us lords ought to do it.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Taegan said. “When do we depart?”

Oriseus made a spitting sound then said, “Don’t be absurd. Evidently you know how to conduct yourself in a tavern brawl, but you’d best leave real fighting to the Warswords.”

Taegan could all but feel the gems the cultists had amassed slipping through his fingers, and perhaps that wasn’t even the worst of it. The patronizing dismissal stung his pride.

“You continue to underestimate me, Milord.”

“Perhaps he does,” said Rangrim unexpectedly. At any rate, I think you’ve earned the right to tag along, and since it’s my command I suppose that settles it.”

Taegan bowed.

“Just promise me,” Rangrim added, “we’ll have something more interesting than chiggers and mosquitoes to fight.”

“You can count on it,” replied Taegan. “As I said, according to the fair Cylla, even if the cult hasn’t succeeded in making any dracoliches yet, they have live wyrms defending their stronghold.”

“It’s a good thing, then, that we’ll have our own dragons, powerful, fearless, and true,” said the paladin. “Wait until you meet my friend Quelsandas. I’ll match him against any black or green ever hatched.”

SEVENTEEN

11 Tarsakh, the Year of Rogue Dragons

“Oh,

Oh, blood and dung,” the sailor cursed.

Dorn had been standing in the bow taking in the unique purple hue of the Moonsea. Unlike normal people, he had no actual home, but except for the past couple months, he had spent his entire life near that body of water, a deep freshwater lake despite its name, and somehow it pleased him to see it once again. Jarred from his contemplation, he turned and saw that the ferryman had genuine cause for dismay.

Earlier that afternoon, the barge-like ferry with its wide deck and shallow draft had finished its transit of the marshy River Lis and turned west toward Elmwood, the first settlement of any size whatsoever along the southern coast. The town was a smallish place that made its living fishing, farming, and facilitating the passage of travelers

and goods back and forth between the Moonsea and the Dragon Reach. Over the years, Dorn had exterminated several dangerous beasts on the settlement’s behalf and found it to be something of an oddity. Some inexplicable chance had by and large exempted it from the bloody strife and full-scale disasters so often afflicting the rest of the region, and perhaps as a result, the inhabitants tended to lack the dour, grasping, suspicious mindset exhibited by so many of their neighbors.

But maybe they were on their way to learning; it looked as if trouble had found Elmwood at last. Three war galleys and a couple of smaller patrol boats floated at anchor in her harbor. Each flew the device of Zhentil Keep, a dark scepter ablaze with green fire, set against a golden disk clutched in the claws of a black wyrm. A single such vessel might have stopped at the village to conduct some innocuous bit of business, but the presence of so many at once seemed a sure sign the agents of the Black Network, the Zhentish hegemony’s ruling cartel, were up to something sinister.

“Everybody!” Dorn bellowed. “Come here, now!”

His comrades hurried forward. So did a number of the other passengers, ferrymen, and the captain himself, all wanting to see what was the matter. Nobody looked happy when he found out.

Will rounded on the skipper, a weather-beaten fellow who went about with a stubby, straight-stemmed pipe constantly clenched between his yellow teeth whether he’d bothered to fill and light the bowl or not.

“Why didn’t you warn us?” the halfling said.

“They weren’t there when we headed down river,” the captain said.

“Can you land elsewhere?” Pavel asked.

“If we turn tail, I reckon the Zhents’ll chase us, and we can’t outrun a war galley in this tub. It’s less risky just to go where we meant to and see what happens. I hate the thieving bastards too, but at least I don’t see anybody fighting.”

“Likely because the Zhents don’t need to,” Raryn said, and Dorn could only agree. Whatever the reavers from the great citadels at the western end of the Moonsea wanted, little Elmwood with its lack of men-at-arms and fortifications would have had little choice but to accede to their demands. “Still, you’re probably right. We should dock as planned.”

The captain started giving orders to his crew. Kara approached Dorn and murmured, “hi my other form, I could fly us all to shore.”

He sneered and said, “Good idea. The Zhents would never notice, and even if they did, they wouldn’t think it worth investigating.”

“I was just pointing out an option,” she said with a sigh. To his surprise, Dorn felt a pang of shame.

know,” he said, and it wasn’t a completely stupid idea. But we agreed that. to protect your sanity and keep Lareth’s agents off our track, you’ll only change when you absolutely have to, and this isn’t an emergency yet. Just be ready with your spells.”

It took another hour of gnawing apprehension before the ferry tied up at its berth. In many respects, it looked to Dorn as if the docks were operating normally, but things were different in at least one unfortunate respect. Like a murder of oversized crows, a dozen black-clad warriors swaggered down the pier to meet the arriving vessel. In the lead slouched a barrel-chested priest of Bane, who with his greasy, uncombed hair and stained clothing, looked more brutish ruffian than scholar of divine mysteries. He wore the Lord of Darkness’s clenched-fist emblem and carried a morningstar, the god’s sacred weapon, in his gauntleted hand. The harbormaster crept along at the tail end of the procession, silent and ignored. The priest climbed aboard the ferry without waiting for an invitation.

As the first of his minions followed, he announced, “I’m Pharaxes Zora, servant of the Black Hand captain of the warship Dagger out of Yulash, and now customs agent of the alliance.”

“Well, aren’t you special,” murmured Will.

“What alliance?” Pavel asked, without any overt show of hostility.

Having known him for years, Dorn could tell his friend didn’t like Pharaxes much better than he had Brimstone, but he wasn’t yet making an issue of it. He’d even tucked his sun amulet inside his brigandine to avoid revealing to which god he’d vowed his own service.

“Why, the alliance against the wyrms,” Pharaxes said. “Haven’t you heard? They’ve started attacking all across the North… and the South too, for all we know. We folk of the Moonsea must forget our differences and band together to stave off the threat. Otherwise, the drakes will eat us all, and since we Zhentarim have the biggest army and most powerful spellcasters in the region, it only makes sense for us to lead the defense.”

He spoke with a cynical leer that suggested he was enjoying the knowledge that his audience mistrusted his words but it didn’t matter anyway.

“Did the defense,” Kara asked, “require you to occupy Elmwood? Coming in, I didn’t see any signs of marauding dragons along the southern shore.”

Pharaxes said, “You mistake me, lass. Naturally, we haven’t seized control here. Much as this wretched little pest-hole would benefit from our guidance, that could be misconstrued as an act of war. But I’m sure you understand it takes resources to fend off wave upon wave of dragon flights, which is exactly what we’re facing. Therefore, since we’re fighting for the benefit of all, we’re asking everyone to contribute to the effort.”

“In other words,” Pavel said, “trying to extort fees and duties from every ship that sails these waters.”

The ferry captain’s jaw clenched as if he was in danger

of biting his pipe in two, but he was too cautious to say anything.

“As well as requisitioning vital materials from their cargoes,” said the priest of Bane, “and likewise taxing those who travel overland. Our plan is that henceforth no vessel or caravan will embark without purchasing a license. Not only will that provide for our warriors’ needs, it will help the wayfarers as well, because when we know who’s traveling where, it will be easier to watch over them.”

“What happens to folk caught wandering without permission?” asked Will. “Something nasty, I suspect.”

As I said,” Pharaxes replied, “we’ve established this scheme to protect everyone. Those who seek to undermine it are traitors to the common weal and must expect stern treatment.”

“I doubt,” Pavel said, “that Hillsfar, Thentia, Melvaunt, or Phlan have agreed to this scheme, which means your grand alliance has some major holes in it.”

Pharaxes scowled.

“Everyone will come around in time,” he said. “Meanwhile, we’re in Elmwood, not Hillsfar, and I’ve spent enough time explaining the realities of life.” He smirked at the ferry captain. “You owe ten gold. In addition, my men will inspect your cargo. You understand you’re forbidden to set sail again without the proper document.” He rounded on the passengers. “You folk must contribute also, each according to his ability to pay. To determine your proper share, we’ll examine the contents of your purses, pouches, and baggage.”

Dorn scowled. It was robbery, pure and simple, and he resented it. Still, he and his comrades had a job to finish, and it would probably be easier if they didn’t have to contend with the enmity of the Zhentarim in the process. Much as the prospect rankled, it might be preferable simply to surrender a portion of their coin.

Kara’s treasure, however, was a different matter. He was reasonably certain that if the reavers caught a glimpse of the fortune in jewels she carried, they’d greedily conceive a pretext for seizing it all, and that would be too great a loss

to accept. Trying to be stealthy about it, he reached for the hilt of his knife.

“Wait,” Kara whispered. “Just stand in front of me. Block their view.”

Dorn did as she asked. She sang a spell under her breath, then gave him a little pat on his human arm to signal she was done. When he glanced down at her, she no longer appeared to have a pouch hanging on her braided blue leather belt. He inferred that she’d turned it invisible.

It was a good trick, but as it turned out, the wrong move. Pharaxes wore a silver ring set with a milky oval stone. Strands of red twisted through the whiteness like blood billowing in water. When he noticed the transformation, he extended his arm and turned, aiming his hand at all the ferrymen and passengers in turn.

When he came to Kara, the gem, if such it was, turned entirely scarlet. Evidently it was a device for detecting spellcasting.

Pharaxes gave her a malevolent grin. “What was the magic, bitch? What did you do?”

“She’s a bard,” said Dorn. “She uses petty charms to make people like her. She probably hoped it would move you to treat her kindly.”

“I didn’t ask you, tinface,” the Zhentish captain said. “What did you do, whore?”

“What my friend told you,” Kara said.

Pharaxes glanced around at some of his men and said, “Search her. If she resists, beat her senseless. If you find some indication she’s misbehaved, we’ll take her aboard Dagger and punish her properly. We’ll have some fun and make an example of her.”

Two warriors advanced on Kara, and Dorn sprang to intercept them. Even as he lunged, he was conscious of the irony implicit in his response. He was scrambling to protect a dragon. True, in human form, Kara was in many respects as vulnerable as an ordinary woman, but even so, what did it matter? He hated dragons.

Pavel, Will, and Raryn attacked at the same instant he did, and they all caught the Zhents by surprise. Apparently the soldiers, though they’d seemed reasonably alert, hadn’t truly imagined that any of the motley assortment of ferrymen and travelers, even rough-looking types like the hunters, would dare assault well-armed agents of the Black Network in broad daylight with still more Zhents close at hand.

Dorn swiped with his iron claws, and his target fell with half his neck torn away. Pivoting, the half-golem punched. Kara’s other assailant caught the blow on his buckler, hopped backward, and snatched to draw his blade. That was all right. At least he no longer posed an immediate threat to Kara, who, singing, brought a floating blue translucent shield glimmering into existence in front of her body.

Dorn jerked his knife from its sheath. The deck was too crowded with milling, babbling bystanders for him to use a blade as long as the bastard sword to best effect. He turned, looking for Pharaxes, who surely represented the gravest threat. He was too late. The sudden assault had startled the Zhents, but someone had trained them well. A pair of them had positioned themselves in front of their leader to keep him safe while he cast his spells.

Pharaxes started shouting an incantation, but Pavel rapped, “Stop.”