James Lowder - Crusade

While he waited, Azoun resumed the discussion of the crusade he'd begun earlier with Lythrana. As the king had expected, Lythrana knew a great deal about the Tuigan presence in Rashemen and Thesk. However, he was surprised to learn that the leaders of Zhentil Keep thought a peremptory strike against the barbarians a very wise idea-as long as it was accomplished by the other nations of Faerun.

"If you understand the importance of the crusade," Azoun said to the envoy, "you must also see the importance of a temporary truce with the Dales. I need Mourngrym and the others to commit troops. They won't if they think you'll attack the minute they're gone."

Lythrana squirmed in her saddle slightly. The tight riding breeches and warm woolen jacket she had obtained at the palace itched uncomfortably; she was far more accustomed to silk than coarser, more functional fabrics. "Do you think the dalesmen will believe any pact we sign?" she asked.

Azoun sat up straight in his saddle. "Of course," he exclaimed, "but only if you also agree to send crusaders to Thesk as a sign of good faith."

Poking the ground idly with her spear, Lythrana considered Azoun's suggestion for a moment. "It's unlikely," she finally concluded. "Unless we get something in return-other than the satisfaction of doing good." She almost spat the final word.

From her tone, Azoun knew Lythrana already had a price in mind. "What do you want?"

"Darkhold," she said matter-of-factly. "The Keep wants you to stop harassing the patrols from Darkhold."

"Out of the question," Azoun snapped. "The citadel of Darkhold houses criminals and brigands. They prey upon our western border. I could never-"

Azoun saw Lythrana's cool smile and stopped speaking. "You didn't expect me to request something silly, like food or trade agreements, did you?" she asked. "Zhentil Keep has an… interest in Darkhold, and your patrols are jeopardizing that. If you want the Keep to sign a pact with the Dales, you'll have to sign a pact with us."

A high, shrill note echoed over the field. Azoun turned toward a copse of trees a hundred yards to the east and pulled his spear into battle-ready position. The latter action was really a reflex, borne of both battles fought when younger and training in the law of arms. The trumpet was always a call to attention and action.

Lythrana's horse pranced nervously, and she pulled her spear up from the ground, too. "I leave again for home late tonight, Your Highness. I'll need your answer right away."

Anger swelled inside Azoun, a black, choking gall that almost made him tremble. All he wanted was to fight the Tuigan, to help Faerun-all of Faerun, including Zhentil Keep. Yet, it seemed that no one truly saw the importance, the urgency, of his task.

Azoun frowned. He simply couldn't accept that kind of deal with the murderers and highwaymen who inhabited the citadel of Darkhold.

Before the king could give Lythrana his answer, though, the master of the hunt broke from the trees and rode toward him. The huntsman's large black horse swept through the tall grass like a ship on choppy seas. As soon as he was near, the hunter dismounted and bowed his head. "The dogs have found nothing," he reported. "Would Your Highness like to move to another spot?"

Azoun was relieved by the news, but he was not going to let Lythrana know that. He knit his eyebrows in feigned consternation and frowned. "This land should be better stocked. Our foresters are not keeping the poachers away, it seems." Turning to the Zhentish envoy, the king added, "We have royal lands only a few miles from here that are sure to provide you some sport."

Lythrana shook her head, tossing her black hair as she did so. "If Your Highness doesn't mind, might we go back to the city?" she asked. "I believe I underestimated how tired my long journey has made me."

It took only a signal from Azoun to throw the assembled nobles, huntsmen, and guards into motion. Within minutes, the dogs were gathered and the king's party was riding at a leisurely pace toward Suzail.

"I've never hunted boar before," Lythrana noted idly as she rode beside the king. "Though I've heard the beasts are much like the Tuigan."

"What do you mean?" the king asked.

Lythrana rested her cold green eyes on Azoun. "We've had scouts-spies, if you will-come back from Rashemen and Thay with reports about the Tuigan." She kicked her horse into motion when it stopped to graze. "They're beasts: ruthless, cunning, and amoral. Like boars, the horselords won't tire and won't stop trying to kill you until either you or they are dead."

"Then why won't you help me against them?" Azoun snapped.

Lythrana saw that his brown eyes were flashing with anger. The nobles and huntsmen moved away in respectful silence. "We will," she said quietly. "After we have your word about Darkhold."

Azoun pulled his reins and stopped his horse. The party halted around him. "We will discuss this further over dinner," he growled. With a quick strike of his heels, the king pushed his brightly caparisoned horse into a trot, then a gallop. As he rode, Azoun let the cool air wash the fury from his heart. He allowed the birdsong he heard and the bright sunshine dappling the road ahead of him to soothe and relax him.

All the way back to the city, he turned the problem over and over again in his mind. At first, he saw no other alternative but to refuse the Keep's proposal-and lose the support of the dalesmen and any troops he might gain from Zhentil Keep itself. Many of Azoun's own subjects had been victimized by the roving bands of thieves and slavers who used Darkhold as a base. Time and again, Cormyrian merchants had complained to the king about the powerful citadel. Azoun had done his best to curb the raiding parties coming from the stronghold, but Darkhold itself was located outside of Cormyr's borders and protected by powerful magic. Destroying the citadel utterly was out of the question. Still, Azoun knew that it his duty to combat the evil based there.

As the miles wore on and his initial anger and revulsion at the idea wore off, the king began to wonder if a flat refusal was all that wise.

I am serving my gods by fighting the men of Darkhold, he decided without much thought. But do I further my cause more when I combat lesser evil like that or when I battle a massive evil like the Tuigan?

An answer did not come to Azoun easily, and when he had tentatively decided on a course of action, he wasn't sure that it was the right one. In fact, he changed his mind on the way to Suzail, then once more as he prepared for dinner.

That evening, Lythrana and Azoun were joined by Filfaeril and Vangerdahast in the castle's vast formal dining room. A long, highly polished table of pale wood stood in the room's center. Curtains of deep red velvet covered the windows and reflected dully in the polished oak floor. Together, the floor and the wall hangings first echoed, then damped the high, sweet notes from Thom Reaverson's harp as he played a light tune.

The meal passed swiftly. Vangerdahast spent some time in idle, pleasant chatting with Queen Filfaeril. Azoun and Lythrana kept to themselves, but for very different reasons: the Cormyrian king pondered the growing price of the crusade; the Zhentish envoy silently wondered at the meeting's outcome.

"That will be all, Thom," Azoun said as soon as the meal was over. He pushed his untouched plate of imported strawberries away and signaled for a servant to clear the table.

Turning to the king, Vangerdahast rose to his feet. "I think I will retire, Your Highness. The matters left for you to discuss do not require my presence." With a stiff bow, the wizard shuffled from the dining room.

Within minutes the table was clear and only Azoun, Filfaeril, and Lythrana were left in the cavernous hall.

"I find it hard to believe Vangerdahast has lived over eighty winters," Lythrana began casually. She stretched luxuriously, once again comfortable in her tight black dress. "He seems no older than fifty. In fact, someone at the Keep mentioned he looked about that age ten years ago, too."