Road of the Patriarch ts-3

by Robert Anthony Salvatore

  For Kane, a simple wanderer, had been the one to strike the fatal blow and free the Bloodstone Lands from the grip of the Witch-King Zhengyi.

  The guards knew him, bowed as he passed, and whispered excitedly to one another when he had gone by.

  As the pair came upon the decorated white wooden doors—another gift of the White Tree—of Gareth's audience chamber, the guards posted there scrambling to open them, they discovered that another of their former adventuring band had come calling. The animated and always-excited ramblings of Celedon Kierney charged out through the doors as soon as they were cracked open.

  "Gareth has put out the call to Spysong, then," Kane remarked to Dugald. "That is good."

  "Isn't that what brought you here?" Dugald asked, for Kane, like Celedon, was part of the Bloodstone scouting network known as Spysong, with the monk serving as its principle agent in Vaasa.

  Kane shook his head. "No formal call summoned me, no. I thought it prudent."

  The doors swung wider and the pair stepped through the threshold. All conversation in the room stopped. A wide smile erupted on the handsome face of King Gareth. Dugald had been expected, of course, but Kane's arrival was obviously a rather pleasant surprise.

  Beautiful Lady Christine, too, offered a smile, though she remained less animated than her passionate husband, as always.

  Celedon offered Kane the raised back of his right hand, fingers stiffened, thumb straight up. He held it there for a moment, then turned his hand so that his thumb tapped his heart, the greeting of Spysong.

  Kane acknowledged it with a nod, and moved forward beside Dugald to stand before the dais that held the thrones of Gareth and Christine. He immediately noticed the weariness in Gareth's blue eyes. The man seemed very fit for his forties. He wore a sleeveless black tunic, his bare, muscled arms showing no weakness. His hair was still much more black than gray, though a bit of the salt had crept in. His jaw line remained firm and sharp.

  But his eyes…

  The blue still showed its youthful luster, but Kane looked past the shine to the increased heaviness of Gareth's eyelids and the slight discoloration of the skin around his eyes. The weight of ruling the land had settled upon his strong shoulders, and wore at him despite his disposition and despite the love showered on him always by almost everyone in Damara.

  Leadership with consequence would do that to a man, Kane knew. To any man. There was no escaping such a burden.

  Court etiquette demanded that King Gareth speak first, officially greeting his newest guests, but Celedon Kierney moved in between the guests and the royals.

  "A-a drow!" he yammered, waving his arms in disbelief. "Surely that is what brought Master Kane to court… his surprise—nay, astonishment—that you are doing such a thing."

  Gareth sighed and shot a plaintive look Kane's way.

  Kane, though, found his attention stolen by the crinkled nose of General Dannaway, who stared at him with obvious disgust. The monk, dressed in his dirty rags, was not unaccustomed to such expressions, of course, nor did they concern him.

  Still, he met the man's gaze with an intense look, one so unnerving that Dannaway actually took a step backward.

  "I–I must be going, my king," Dannaway stammered, and bowed repeatedly.

  "Of course," Gareth replied. "You are dismissed."

  Dannaway moved at once for the exit, crinkling his nose again as he passed near an uncaring Kane.

  But Dugald, smile wide, was not so generous. He put a hand on Dannaway's elbow to halt the man and make him turn, then whispered—but loudly enough for all to hear, "He could insert his hand into your chest, pull forth your heart, hold it beating before your disbelieving eyes, then put it back before your body ever missed it." He ended with an exaggerated wink and the unnerved Dannaway stumbled away and nearly to the ground.

  He rushed ahead so quickly that he overbalanced, and had not the guard at the white doors swung them wide at his approach, he no doubt would have barreled into them head-first.

  "Dugald…." Lady Christine warned.

  "Oh, he should know," the fat friar replied, and he laughed, and so did Celedon. Gareth soon joined in, and even Christine could not completely hide her giggle. Kane, though, showed little emotion.

  It was just the five friends, then, and all pretense and protocol could not hold against the bonds of their shared experiences.

  "A drow?" Kane asked after the titters died away.

  "Dannaway speaks highly of him, and of the drow's friend," Gareth replied.

  "Dannaway sees it as a source of glory for his work at the wall," Celedon put in. "And a mitigation of the great losses incurred in the journey he instigated to the replica of Castle Perilous."

  "Not much of a replica if these vagabonds so easily defeated it," Dugald scoffed.

  "We do not know their worth," Kane said. "And I remind all that a great ranger fell at that castle. We know not its true nature, nor the depth of its powers. To that end, Spysong has dispatched Riordan to Palishchuk to begin a more thorough investigation."

  The mention of Riordan Parnell brought nods all around. Another member of the band of seven who had defeated Zhengyi, the bard still served the land well with his uncanny ability to coax the truth from reluctant witnesses.

  "Other investigations will be needed, of course," Kane said. "I suggest that our responses be kept to a minimum until they are completed."

  "Never a moment to relax, eh, my friend?" asked Gareth.

  "Riordan went at the request of the Duke of Soravia," the monk replied, referring to still another of the seven heroes, Olwen Forest-friend, a bear of a man whose laughter would often shake the walls of a tavern. "Olwen did not receive the news of Mariabronne's demise well."

  "His protege," Dugald remarked, nodding. "Mariabronne studied under him for so many years, and has lately spent much time at Olwen's side." He gave a sigh and shook his head. "I must offer Olwen comfort."

  "The Duke of Soravia will not attend tomorrow's ceremony," Gareth said, nodding in agreement.

  "He believes it to be premature, no doubt," said Kane.

  "We have visiting dignitaries who wished to witness the event," Lady Christine said. "Baroness Sylvia of Ostel—"

  "We cannot deny the accomplishments of this group," Gareth interrupted, but Kane continued to look at Christine.

  "The Baroness of Ostel," the monk said. "Whose closest ally is…?"

  "The Baron of Morov," said Celedon. "Dimian Ree."

  Gareth rubbed his chin. "Ree is an unseemly character, I agree. But he is, first and foremost, a baron of Damara." Celedon started to interrupt, but Gareth held up his hand to stop him. "I know the rumors of his relationship with Timoshenko," the king said. "And I do not doubt them, though none of us have found any solid evidence of corroboration between Morov and the Citadel of Assassins. But even if it were true, I cannot move against Dimian Ree. Heliogabalus is his domain, and it remains the principle city of Damara, whether I am there or here."

  Gareth's point was well taken by all in the room. The Sister Baronies, as Morov and Ostel were often called, commanded the center of Damara, and Baron Ree and Baroness Sylvia had the unquestioning loyalty of more than sixty thousand Damarans, nearly half the population of the kingdom. Gareth was king and had the love of all, so it seemed, but everyone in the room understood the tentative nature of Gareth's ascent. For in unifying Damara under one ruler, he had reduced the power of several long-entrenched baronies. And in trying to bring Vaasa into his realm to create the greater Kingdom of Bloodstone, he was rattling the nerves of many Damarans, who had known untamed Vaasa as a source of naught but misery for all of their lives.

  More talk went on outside of Bloodstone Village than within, Gareth and everyone else in the room knew well, and not all of that talk favored the creation of a greater Kingdom of Bloodstone, or even the continued unification of the previously independent baronies.

  Though Baroness Sylvia and Lady Christine had forged something of a friendship over the pas
t few years, no one in the room thought highly of Baron Dimian Ree of Morov, considering him to be the consummate self-serving politician. But none in the room dared underestimate him, either, given the volatile political climate, and so Gareth's words put a block in the path of the debate.

  "The drow and his friend approach Bloodstone Village in the company of a dwarf," Kane said.

  "Athrogate, by name," said Gareth. "A most unpleasant fellow, but a fine warrior, by all accounts. A second dwarf died in the castle, and will be honored posthumously."

  "Athrogate is a known associate of Timoshenko and Knellict," said Kane. "As was the wizard, Canthan, who also fell in the castle."

  "Master Kane, you have quite a conspiracy envisioned," said Christine.

  Kane took the jab with good nature, and bowed to the Queen of Bloodstone. "No, milady," he corrected. "It is my duty to serve Gareth's throne and King Gareth, and so I do. The web of a potential conspiracy appears faintly visible if the light is just right, but it could be a trick of the sun, I know."

  "Wherever we have seen a filament of a web, we have found a spider," Celedon interjected, rather loudly. "It is not right, I say. There is more here than we know, and we should not be offering such honors as apprentice knight of the order until the questions are answered beyond all doubt. I'll not—"

  Kane stopped him with an upraised hand, right before Gareth could tell him to shut up. "The drow, his human companion, and the dwarf," the monk said in a quiet voice. "Be they friends, we have gained worthy allies. Be they enemies, and we have put them under our eye, clearly so. To know your enemy is a warrior's greatest asset. If you wish to remain as king, Gareth my friend, and hope to expand beyond the gate fortress north of here, then you need to know Athrogate and the creatures of the shadows who work his strings."

  "And if these three, this drow, the dwarf, and the man on whom I will tomorrow bestow knighthood, are truly aligned with the Citadel of Assassins?" Gareth asked, though his grin betrayed the fact that he already knew well the answer.

  Kane shrugged as if it did not matter. "We will reward them and honor them, and never allow them free passage to any place or position where they might do us harm."

  Even Celedon calmed at that assurance, for when Kane offered such words, he always delivered on his promise.

  Soon after, Celedon, Dugald, and Kane took their leave, promising to return later that evening for a feast in their honor.

  "You're hoping to lure Olwen here with a grand table," Christine said to Gareth when they were alone—alone except for the guards, who had become such a fixture of their lives that they were all but invisible to the couple.

  "Olwen can smell an orc from a hundred yards, so it is said," Gareth replied. "And so it is also said that he can smell a meal from a hundred miles."

  "It is more than a hundred miles to Kinbrace," Christine reminded, referring to the seat of Soravia's power, where Olwen dwelt. "Even with his enchanted boots, even with his growling stomach urging him on, Olwen could not cover that distance in time for your feast."

  "I was thinking that another might enjoy the reunion of the seven," Gareth slyly replied.

  Christine rolled her blue eyes, for she knew of whom her husband spoke, and she wasn't thrilled at the prospect of entertaining Emelyn the Gray. The oldest of the band who had defeated Zhengyi, past his seventieth birthday, Emelyn's understanding of «civility» often tried Lady Christine's patience. Glad she was those years ago when the wizard announced that he would return to the Warrenwood ten miles southeast of Bloodstone Village, and happier still was she when it became apparent that he would rarely return for a visit.

  Gareth moved out of the audience chamber to a side corridor that led to his private rooms. He entered a small anteroom to his bedchamber and moved to a desk set against the side wall, near his bedroom door. The back of the desk rose high above the writing table, and was draped with a silken cloth. Gareth pulled the drape free, revealing a mirror, framed in gold that was molded into exotic runes and symbols. From the side of the mirror, the king slid forth a six-inch red ball set in a golden base. He positioned it right before the mirror and lifted his hand as if to cover it.

  "There is no other way?" Christine asked from the doorway behind him.

  Gareth glanced back at her and offered a grin as she rolled her eyes yet again. He knew that she was only half-serious, for Emelyn was indeed a trial, and in all truth, Gareth had not been sorry at the wizard's announcement of his «retirement» with the centaurs of Warrenwood.

  "We may be needing Emelyn's services soon enough," Gareth replied, and he placed his hand on top of the red ball and closed his eyes, picturing his old friend in his thoughts.

  A few moments later, he looked into the mirror, and instead of seeing his own reflection, he saw a separate room. It was full of vials and skulls, books and trinkets, statues small and large, and a grand and ornate desk that seemed as alive as the white tree from which it had been fashioned.

  At the desk with his back to Gareth sat an old man in satiny gray robes. His white hair, long and unkempt, hung down nearly to the desk—in fact its end strands showed that they had dipped into the inkwell more than once—as he hunched over his parchment.

  "Emelyn?" Gareth asked, then more insistently, "Emelyn!"

  The wizard straightened, glanced left, then right, then turned around to look behind him and across the room at the sister mirror set in his wall.

  "Peering in uninvited, are we?" he said in a nasal and scratchy voice. "Hoping to catch a view of Gabrielle, no doubt." He ended with a cackle of delight.

  Gareth just shook his head, and wondered again why such a beautiful young woman as Gabrielle had agreed to marry the old kook.

  "Oh, I know your game!" Emelyn accused, wagging a gnarled old finger Gareth's way and flashing a yellow, gap-toothed smile.

  "One you perfected, no doubt," Gareth dryly replied, "which is why I keep a shroud over my mirror."

  The wizard's smile disappeared. "Never were you one to share, Gareth."

  Behind the king, Lady Christine made her presence known by clearing her throat, loudly. Of course, that only made Emelyn cackle all the more.

  "I was looking for you, my friend, though Lady Gabrielle is surely a more welcome sight before my eyes," said Gareth.

  "She is in Heliogabalus, seeking components and potions."

  "A pity, then, for I have come with an invitation."

  "To see a drow honored?" Emelyn replied. "Bah!"

  Gareth accepted that with a nod. He knew, of course, that Emelyn would have heard about the morning's ceremony. Surely the word was general all about Bloodstone Valley.

  "Kane and Celedon have arrived in Bloodstone Village," Gareth explained. "I think it a good time for old friends to eat and drink, and speak of adventures past."

  Emelyn started to respond, apparently in the negative, but stopped short and chewed his lip. A moment later, he rose from his chair and faced Gareth directly. "There is little I can do until Gabrielle's return, in any case," he said.

  The mirror filled with smoke.

  And so did the room, and both Gareth and Christine gave a shout and fell back.

  The smoke cleared, revealing a sputtering Emelyn, waving his hands before his face to chase the fumes away.

  "Never used to… create such combustion," Emelyn explained, coughing repeatedly as he spoke. At last he straightened and smoothed his robes. He looked alternately into the blank stares of Gareth and Christine, then back to Gareth. "So when do we eat?"

  "I was hoping that perhaps you could retrieve Olwen before the meal," Gareth explained.

  "Olwen?"

  "The Duke of Soravia," Christine clarified, and Emelyn snapped a stare over her.

  "How might we locate him?" Emelyn asked. "He is never near the six castles of Kinbrace of late. Always out and about."

  "We could look," Gareth said. He stepped aside and waved his arm back at the scrying mirror.

  "More than a meal?" Emelyn asked.


  "You have heard of the goings-on in Vaasa?"

  "I have heard that you mean to honor a drow, and that there is apparently a knight-in-waiting."

  "A Zhengyian construct appeared north of Palishchuk," Gareth explained.

  "They seem to be more common of late. There was a tower outside of Heliogabalus—"

  "Mariabronne the Rover fell within the walls of this one."

  That set Emelyn back on his heels.

  "It was said to be a replica of Castle Perilous," Lady Christine interjected. "Alive with gargoyles, and ruled by a dracolich."

  Emelyn's eyes, gray like his robes, widened with every proclamation. "And this drow and the others defeated the menace?"

  Gareth nodded. "But the construct remains."

  "And you wish me to fly to the north to see what I might learn," Emelyn reasoned.

  "That would seem prudent."

  "And Olwen?" Emelyn asked, but before Gareth or Christine could respond, the old wizard gasped and held up his hand. "Ah, Mariabronne!" he said. "I'd not considered Olwen's love for that one."

  "Find him?" Gareth bade Emelyn, and again he indicated the mirror.

  Emelyn nodded and stepped forward.

  * * * * *

  No one in Faerûn was better at preparing a banquet than Christine Dragonsbane. She was the daughter of Baron Tranth, the former ruler of the region known as Bloodstone Valley, which included Bloodstone Village. Growing up in the time of Zhengyi, in the noble House that controlled the sole pass between Vaasa and Damara, Christine had witnessed scores of feasts prepared for visiting dignitaries, both from the duchies and baronies of Damara and from Zhengyi's court. In the years before open warfare, much of the duplicity that had lured Damara into a position vulnerable to Zhengyi's imperialistic designs had occurred right there in Bloodstone Village, at the table of Baron Tranth.