by Paul S. Kemp
“Six thousand, I would wager,” Brennus said matter-of-factly.
“Closer to seven,” Rivalen said.
Except for an occasional cough, curse, or prayer, quiet ruled the walls of Selgaunt. All eyes stared out on the field, on the Saerloonians. Tamlin fought a rising sense of dread. Dawn was mere hours away.
As the false dawn lightened the sky, two carriages rumbled up to the gates, wheels clattering. The doors opened and a contingent of eight priests exited. Ansril Amhaddan, the fat High Songmaster of Milil, led the group, flanked by Aumraeya Ulmbrin, the High Priestess of Sune. Behind them stood representatives of the other major faiths of Selgaunt: Denier, Oghma, Lliira, Lathander, Tymora, and Waukeen. All of the priests and priestesses wore the formal vestments of their faith. They spoke to nearby soldiers and the soldiers pointed up at Tamlin. The priests’ gazes fixed on him, on Rivalen, on Brennus. They did not wave in greeting.
Tamlin descended the stairs and met them on the road behind the Khyber Gate, in the shadow of the trebuchets. The men fell silent around him. He felt hundreds of eyes on him.
“What is this, Ansril?” Tamlin said.
Ansril answered in his smooth tenor. “Hulorn, we are here to vehemently protest the presence of the Shadovar priests.”
“Sharran priests,” spat Aumraeya, her attractive face twisted into a scowl.
Before Tamlin could respond, the darkness around him deepened and Rivalen appeared at his side. Brennus appeared in the next breath. A murmur went through the Selgauntan priests and the men nearby. Anger twisted the priests’ expressions. Behind the anger, Tamlin saw fear.
Ansril and Aumraeya looked at Tamlin and studiously avoided eye contact with the Princes of Shade. “I will not discuss this with you in their presence,” Ansril said to Tamlin.
The shadows around Rivalen churned. His words had an edge like a sword. “Mind your tone, priest.”
Before Ansril could respond, Tamlin said, “You will discuss it in their presence or not at all. I requested that Prince Rivalen summon such aid as he could. The Sharran priests and priestesses are here at my invitation.”
The priests behind Ansril and Aumraeya looked appalled.
“They are Sharrans,” Ansril said, as if that settled the matter.
“They are,” Tamlin acknowledged. “And?”
“Is that not enough?” Aumraeya asked, eyeing Rivalen with contempt.
Brennus’s homunculi gestured obscenely at the Sunite priestess. She glared at them. “It is not,” Tamlin answered.
“We are here to assist in the defense of the city,” Rivalen said.
“To what end, Sharran?” Aumraeya snapped. “What secrets hide in the dark hearts of you and your goddess? What do you really want here?”
Rivalen did not move, but he seemed to grow larger. The shadows around him churned. As one, the priests of the entourage backed up a step, eyes wide, hands on holy symbols. “I will remind you all only once more to mind your tone.”
Tamlin held up a hand. “That is enough. You have made your speech. I have heard it. Leave now.”
“Desperate times are no excuse to ally with darkness, Hulorn,” Ansril said, eyeing Rivalen and breathing heavily.
Tamlin lost patience. He stepped forward and glared into Ansril’s face. He spoke in a voice loud enough for all nearby to hear. “Nor is politics an excuse for cowardice. The Sharrans you hold in such contempt are willing to fight and die beside the soldiers of this city. You are not. They man the walls while you cower in your temples. They stand shoulder to shoulder with our soldiers while you slink about in your carriage. You would not have even used the powers granted you by your gods to feed the people of this city had I not ordered it.”
The soldiers around him nodded, mumbled agreement.
Ansril gulped. Aumraeya blanched.
“You mischaracterize us,” she said. “We do not cower. Matters are complex. You, of all people, should understand that.”
Tamlin could not keep the contempt from his voice. “I understand that you have failed me and this city. I understand that you are wasting my time while an army prepares to assault these walls.”
Ansril said, “Hulorn, we have fellow priests in Ordulin, in Saerloon, in Urlamspyr. We cannot war against our brothers and sisters in faith. Surely you must—”
Tamlin cut him off. “Did you come here to fight, Ansril, or to explain why you will not? I have no time for the latter.”
“Hulorn,” Aumraeya said. “You are most—”
Tamlin could no longer bridle his tone. “Begone from here! Now! Before I have you arrested! I have heard all of the excuses I need to hear.”
Aumraeya looked as if she had been struck. “Arrested?”
One of Brennus’s homunculi chanted, “Arrested, arrested.”
Ansril regarded the little creature, Brennus, Rivalen, and Tamlin. He stuttered, finally managed, “There is nothing more for us to say, I see. Come, Aumraeya.”
The priests turned around and stalked back to their carriages. Tamlin watched them go, his anger unabated.
“Where is Vees Talendar, I wonder?” asked Rivalen casually.
Before Tamlin could consider the question, a drumbeat from the Saerloonian forces carried over the walls and reminded the men of their business.
“Back to work, lads!” shouted Onthul. “Nothing more to see. Back to it.”
As the priests’ carriages moved off, Brennus spoke softly to Rivalen and Tamlin. “Ansril or one of the other priests may do something foolish in their anger.”
“We do not trust him,” whispered the homunculi conspiratorially.
Rivalen met Tamlin’s eyes and Tamlin saw in the Shadovar’s expression that he did not trust Ansril either. Rivalen said, “Hulorn, he could communicate the composition of our forces to other priests of his faith outside of Selgaunt. Any of them could. If that information were passed to the overmistress or Lady Merelith, it could damage our cause.”
Tamlin shook his head, trying to get his thoughts ordered. Too much was coming at him. He had meant the threat to arrest the priests as more bluster than promise. He said, “I do not think Ansril or any of the priests are traitors, Prince.”
“I have seen it before,” Rivalen said.
Brennus added, “You need not arrest them, merely put them under … observation in a controlled setting.”
Tamlin pondered. Ansril was impulsive, and Aumraeya had been red-faced with anger. They could do something foolish. They might regret it afterward, but once done, it would not be something that could be undone. He made his decision, and summoned Onthul to him.
“Hulorn?”
Tamlin looked the tall guard captain in the eyes. “Send men to round up and detain the priests of the temples of Milil, Sune, Oghma, Deneir, Lathander, Tymora, Waukeen, and Lliira.”
Onthul’s eyes widened. “Imprison them, my lord?”
Tamlin shook his head, glanced at Brennus. “No. Detain them, lest one of them do something … rash. Hold them within my palace. Disarm them, but see that they are comfortable.”
Rivalen said, “Tell them you are converting the palace to a battlefield hospital, Captain Onthul. Tell them you are consolidating the priests there to maximize their ability to heal the wounded.”
Tamlin nodded. “But they are not to leave, Onthul. And the only spellcasting they are to do is in healing the wounded. Your men have the authority to enforce that edict with steel. Do you understand?”
Onthul did what soldiers did. He accepted his orders. “Yes, Hulorn.”
“Trusted men only, Captain Onthul. Experienced men. This is a grave matter.”
“Of course, my lord. I have a force in mind.”
Tamlin patted his captain on the shoulder and Onthul moved off. When he was gone, Brennus said, “You have done the hard thing but the right thing, Hulorn.”
Rivalen put a hand on his shoulder. “You have come far, Tamlin.”
Tamlin nodded. He may have done the right thing, and he may have come far, b
ut he still felt dirty.
“Something is happening!” a Scepter shouted from atop the walls.
“Here they come,” Rivalen said.
Abelar drove Swiftdawn as hard as he dared. Her flanks heaved under him and sweat foamed her coat. Regg on Firstlight kept pace, but barely. The terrain flew past them in a blur. They stopped periodically to allow the horses a drink and to allow Brend to verify the tracks of the horsemen they pursued.
“They make no effort to hide their passage,” Brend said, examining the ground. “I could track them from horseback at a full gallop. They are headed due west, riding hard.”
Back to the main body of Forrin’s troops, Abelar knew. If Abelar did not catch them soon, they would face not a raiding force, but an entire army.
“We ride harder,” he said, and put his heels into Swiftdawn. She reared and tore off across the grasslands. The men followed.
Regg shouted at him over the beat of hooves. “They took Elden to draw us out, Abelar. Or to use against you as a negotiating tool in a forced peace. They will not harm him.”
“The overmistress does not want peace,” Abelar answered. “And she, or her niece, may want nothing more than to hurt my father and me by hurting Elden. I will not have it, Regg. I will not.”
“Nor I,” Regg answered.
Several hours later they spotted their prey ahead. The four score raiders rode in loose formation and crested a rise, perhaps half a league ahead of them. Abelar could not make out any details, but he knew Elden was among them. He had to be. Lathander had led him to his son. He said nothing to his men. All of them could see what he saw.
“We are riding out of the sun,” Regg shouted to him over the thunder of hooves.
Abelar nodded. That they were.
They lost sight of Forrin’s riders the moment the last of them rode over the rise. Abelar whispered to Swiftdawn to give him everything she could and she answered. Abelar knew they were closing the distance. Lathander would not have brought him so far for nothing.
When they topped the rise, he saw the eighty riders galloping east on the grasslands below them. But that was not all he saw. Not half a league ahead of the riders rode a handful of scouts, and behind them, stretching out in a long, dark column of steel and flesh, rode the main force of Malkur Forrin’s army.
Abelar halted atop the rise and the rest of the men did the same. Swiftdawn snorted, flanks heaving. The rest of the horses gulped air and whinnied.
Endren unleashed a stream of epithets and Regg did the same.
Forrin’s force rode in a line perhaps thirty riders wide. Supply wagons rumbled along in the rear. Shields, armor, and blades caught the setting sun and glinted orange. There were over a thousand men.
The raiders did not know they had been pursued but Forrin’s scouts saw Abelar’s force. A few pointed and three of them whirled their horses around and sped back to the main body. Another blew a signal on his trumpet while he awaited the approaching raiders—the raiders bearing Abelar’s son.
Abelar unslung his shield, drew his blade.
The raiders met up with the scouts, swirled around them. Heads turned to look back on Abelar and his force. Abelar scanned the raiders, looking for Elden. He did not see him, but the riders were too distant for him to make out details.
“Do you see him, Regg? Father?”
Regg leaned forward in the saddle, shook his head.
“It is a blur to me at this distance,” Endren said.
“Anyone?” Abelar shouted to his men.
All shook their heads but Roen, known for his sharp eyes. “I think I see him, Abelar. He is slumped in the saddle before another rider. I cannot be sure, but—”
“That is him,” Abelar said, his heart on fire.
Trumpets sounded from Forrin’s main force even before the retreating scouts reached it, and the entire formation halted. Two thousand eyes looked up at Abelar and his two score men. The raiding party galloped back to the main force and merged with it. The distance prevented Abelar from distinguishing one rider from the next.
“I cannot see him any more in that mix,” Roen said.
“Why do they hesitate?” Regg asked.
“They’re wondering if we have an army behind us,” Endren said.
A breeze carried the faint sounds of shouted orders up the rise and the leading elements of Forrin’s army shifted into a wider, looser formation, as if in preparation for a charge. Two hundred cavalry formed a broad line as their commanders moved among and along them, shouting orders. Meanwhile, the rest of Forrin’s force slowed and started to arrange itself into a defensive crescent.
Abelar kept his eyes on the raiding party, but they melted into the main force. He could not tell where Elden might be. He looked for Forrin, assuming Elden would be taken to him but to no avail. He saw groups of men here and there that he assumed to be commanders, but he could not tell one from any other. He would not be able to find his son until he was in their midst.
“Line the men, Regg,” Abelar said, and tightened the strap on his shield. Swiftdawn whinnied.
“Abelar?”
“Single rank. Tight spacing.”
Regg looked away, back at Abelar, said softly, “Abelar …”
Abelar turned to look at his friend. “Line the men, Regg. Now. Tight spacing.”
Regg stared at him for a moment and Abelar did not like the doubt he saw in his friend’s eyes.
“We are forty men,” Regg said, and nodded at Forrin’s troops. “They are a thousand.”
“You state the obvious.”
“It seems I must. You will not see it.”
Another clarion sounded from Forrin’s force.
Anger gave Abelar’s voice a hard edge. “I see it. But I also see Lathander’s hand in it, just as clearly. It is as it was with the village and the plague. If we keep faith, he will deliver us. We will charge in, seize Elden, and ride out.” He looked to Trewe. “Trewe, sound a blast.”
Trewe dutifully put his trumpet to his lips.
“Hold, Trewe,” Regg said, and held up a hand.
Swiftdawn snorted. Firstlight whinnied in answer.
Trewe hesitated.
Abelar stared at Regg, his anger building. “Are you countermanding my order?”
Below them, Forrin’s forces sounded a trumpet blast. Regg did not look away from Abelar. Abelar did not look away from Regg.
“This is madness,” Regg said. “Stop and think. You will kill us all. Endren, assist me.”
Endren nodded, said, “Abelar, they are too many. For now. We can return to the muster at Lake Veladon. With an army—”
Abelar glared at his father. “They are not too many! There cannot be too many! My son is captive in there! My son!”
Endren’s eyes softened. “I know. He is my grandson. I love him. But you are my son, Abelar, and they are too many.”
Abelar could not believe his ears. First Regg, then his own father. Swiftdawn turned a circle, sensing his agitation.
“The men are with me. They will follow me.”
“I know,” Regg said softly. “That is why I cannot allow you to lead them down the rise.”
“Then I will do it alone!”
Regg heeled Firstlight before Swiftdawn, blocking her. “You will not.”
Abelar stared at his friend, a man who had saved his life, a man whose life he’d saved. His hand tightened on his sword hilt. Regg held his eyes, his jaw set.
“Move aside, Regg.”
Below, two hundred of Forrin’s cavalry started to trot toward them. The horses in Abelar’s company, sensing battle, pawed the ground, snorted. The men drew their blades.
“They are with me,” Abelar said. “Look.”
Regg shook his head. “We go back to Lake Veladon, regroup.”
Abelar stared at Regg and spoke in a low tone. “I will cut my way through you, Regg. For my son, I will do it.”
Hurt flashed in Regg’s eyes. He blinked but his jaw remained set. “You will regret those
words when you reflect on them.”
Abelar heeled Swiftdawn and she butted against Firstlight. The two horses, sisters, snapped at each other.
“Move aside, Regg.” Abelar looked past his friend to Roen. “Roen, tight formation.”
Forrin’s forces started at a gallop.
Roen made no move to obey his order.
“You mean too much to the men,” Regg said. “Too much to Sembia.”
Abelar heard the truth of Regg’s words but did not care. “Neither matters more to me than my son.” Regg nodded again. “I know that.”
Abelar’s eyes welled but he refused to let the tears fall. “Lathander did not bring me—us—all the way to this point only to turn back. He would not do that, Regg. He would not. Roen, ready the men, damn it!”
Tears in Regg’s eyes answered those in Abelar’s. “But he did, Abelar. I hope you will forgive him. And us.”
He looked past Abelar and nodded.
Something hard slammed into the side of Abelar’s head, just behind his ear. Pain and flashes of light exploded in his brain. He had a vague sense of falling, arms catching him. He thought he heard Elden crying, calling to him as everything went dark.
Forrin watched his cavalry under Enken ride after the small force of horsemen atop the rise.
Reht, Vors, and Norsim sat their horses near him. They had delivered the Corrinthal boy, who sat double on Norsim’s horse. The boy’s vacant gaze and slack mouth pronounced him as simple.
“Is that Corrinthal?” Reht asked, looking back to the rise. Something close to admiration colored his tone.
“We will know soon enough,” Forrin said.
“Picked up our trail after we burned his estate,” Norsim said.
Reht shook his head in disbelief. “Forty men hunting eighty and standing to face a thousand? It must be Abelar Corrinthal, from all I’ve heard.”
“Come to get you, boy,” Vors said, and smacked the Corrinthal boy in the side of the head.
The boy exclaimed in pain but made no response.
The horsemen atop the rise turned as one and rode out of sight.
