Farthest Reach (27 page)

“This forest is restless,” Ilsevele said as they rested beside a forest pool, eating their midday meal. “I do not think I have ever walked in a forest so wakeful.”

“There are parts that are even more wild,” Jorin said. “Many of my people live within the forest, but even those of us with elf blood avoid the truly wakeful places. And I think things have been growing worse over the last few years.”

“Worse? How so?” asked Araevin.

“There have always been fierce beasts in the wood, things like barghests and gray renders, ettercaps and sword spiders, even a few bands of gnolls in the eastern parts, but the unnatural creatures have been growing more prevalent… and bloodthirsty.” Jorin gazed off into the woods, frowning. “I would give much to know what dark power is stirring in these woods.”

“Maybe the star elves know something,” Maresa remarked.

Jorin shrugged. “I suppose it’s possible,” he said. “But they do not walk in the same forest that we do. It might be different for them.”

“They don’t walk in the same forest? What does that mean?” the genasi asked. “Are they here, or not?”

“They’re here, all right. I can’t easily explain it, but you’ll see for yourself soon enough,” Jorin said. He stood up, brushing off his hands, and looked up at the forest canopy overhead. “We should keep moving-I want to get a few more miles behind us before it gets dark. We’re going to find ourselves in some of the more perilous parts of the forest before we reach Sildeyuir.”

16 Kythorn, the Year of Lightning Storms

Company after company of Sembian soldiers marched over the Blackfeather Bridge, a disorderly river of steel-clad warriors, horses, and creaking wagons that stretched for miles over Rauthauvyr’s Road. The day was warm and heavy, drowsy under the morning sun. The summer was still young, and though the days were long and bright, the air held only a dim promise of the stifling heat and great thunderstorms that would come to the southern Dales in a few tendays.

Sarya Dlardrageth stood by the shaded porch of a large stone inn on the bridge’s northern end, with a small band of her fey’ri beside her: Teryani Ealoeth, one of her closer relations among the fey’ri Houses, and four more fey’ri who served Teryani as guards, spies, or messengers. Sarya wore her guise as the human Lady Senda, while the fey’ri had all likewise assumed human appearance. Borstag Duncastle certainly had half an idea of Sarya’s true nature, but none of the other Sembians did. The daemonfey queen deemed it best to let them continue in ignorance.

Teryani Ealoeth watched the marching soldiers with studied disinterest. She was short and slender, with a dark-eyed, heart-shaped face of exceptional beauty. One of the first spies Sarya had sent out into the human lands surrounding Cormanthor, Teryani’s task had been to insinuate herself into the councils of those Sembian lords who were most concerned with Cormanthor and the Dalelands. Unlike other fey’ri, who saw no reason to hide their heritage behind shapechanging tricks unless they had to, Teryani delighted in deceit as an end in and of itself. More than a few of the human soldiers passing by the inn yard leered at her or offered various lewd suggestions, which she simply ignored with a cold, scornful smile.

“Are these really worth the trouble, my lady?” Teryani asked Sarya. Her voice was girlish and sweet.

“They are,” Sarya said. “Remember, Teryani, I could hardly care less whether the army of Evermeet scatters them in an hour of fighting. The important thing is to set Sembia against Evermeet. If Miritar’s host butchers this army like bleating sheep, we will have our Sembian friends gather more swords and throw them at Miritar. Evermeet’s soldiers are precious, but I have no shortage of Sembians, do I?” She paused, and added, “In fact, it might not be bad if these companies blundered into an utter disaster in Cormanthor. Sembia is too strong for my liking, and I’d like to see it bled dry in these little flyspeck lands they call the Dales.”

“I will see what I can do,” Teryani promised, and she returned her attention to the human soldiers marching past.

The Sembian army wasn’t Sembian at all, really. Companies of Chondathan crossbowmen, Chessentan swordsmen, and Tethyrian cavalrymen in half-plate armor made up most of the army’s fighting power. All had been hired by a league of Sembian noble Houses with interests in the Dales and the Moonsea trade routes, headed up by House Duncastle. In fact, some of the mercenaries had been in the employ of Duncastle for years, engaged in such tasks as the occupation of Scardale and the protection of House Duncastle’s Moonsea caravans. Others had been quickly hired under the authorization of Sembia’s Great Council of merchant lords, ostensibly for the purposes of restoring good order and protecting Sembian investments in the Dalelands.

Native-born Sembians themselves were not very common among Duncastle’s soldiers, but then again, Sembia didn’t really have an army. Instead, the largest and most powerful of the land’s various noble merchant Houses each fielded their own private army, some numbering many hundreds in strength. Any Sembian city or town had a small civic guard and town watch, of course, and the Overmaster of Sembia—the elected leader of Sembia’s Great Council— commanded the loyalty of the Ordulin Guard, a small but well-equipped army that defended the capital and served to check any unreasonable ambitions on the part of the more powerful noble Houses. But by and large, any Sembian lord was free to raise and provision an army, if he saw the need for one. The troops of House Duncastle were the largest Sembian contingent in the whole army, and they made up no more than five hundred of an army whose strength was more than ten times that number.

“Mercenaries,” Sarya Dlardrageth murmured, not bothering to conceal her disdain.

She glanced over at the shade of a nearby oak, where Lord Duncastle stood beneath the broad branches, consulting with the chief captains of his army.

The merchant prince Borstag Duncastle finished with his captains, and sauntered over to watch the army pass by with her and Teryani. Sarya wrinkled her nose, unable to ignore the stink of his human blood so close to her, but with an iron effort of will she smoothed her face. Like it or not, humans were allies she needed to entice and persuade. In her war against the High Forest and Evereska she had been able to simply intimidate and browbeat the wild orcs and ogres of the Nether Mountains into marching at her command, but humans required more subtlety. Until she managed to bring them to blows with Miritar’s army, she needed to consider her words and actions carefully. Long ago in ancient Siluvanede she had learned how to whisper a word in one ear, begin a rumor somewhere else, plot a skillful murder in another place, bringing one elven House after another into her growing web of influence. Her work among the human powers of Cormanthor was not very different, really … except in this case she regarded her tools as eminently disposable.

Duncastle glanced at her, let his gaze linger on Teryani’s slender form for a moment, and looked back to Sarya.

“Good afternoon, Lady Senda,” he said in his deep voice. “You will be pleased to know that I have come to value Lady Terian’s counsel quite highly in the last few tendays, especially in martial matters. For such a delicate creature, she has a mind of steel.”

Sarya forced a smile to her face. “She enjoys my full confidence, Lord Duncastle. And in turn I am pleased by Terian’s reports of your army’s progress. I did not expect you to assemble such a large force in so little time.”

“As they say, my lady, he who hesitates is lost.” He looked at Teryani again, and his eyes glittered. “While I am personally delighted by Lady Terian’s company, I must say, I am concerned that an army marching into battle is no place for a young lady of such high breeding. Are you certain that you wish her to accompany our army on this campaign?”

“I am confident that you can look after me, Lord Duncastle,” Terian said, inclining her head to the Sembian lord. “And I have my guards, as well. I will be safe, I think.”

Sarya couldn’t help but smile at Teryani’s winsome manner. In truth the Ealoeth noblewoman was a deadly swordmaster, skilled in the arts of stealth, subterfuge, and poisoning. Even if Duncastle was half the swordsman he might once have been, she wouldn’t have been surprised if Teryani Ealoeth could have carved him like a trussed pig in any kind of swordplay-or more likely, killed him in any of a dozen other ways that the human lord never would see coming.

She decided to change the subject before Teryani carried on her coquettish little act any further.

“You need to increase your pace, Lord Duncastle. Events are moving quickly in Battledale and Mistledale. I would not want you to miss out.”

“Do not fear, Lady Senda,” the Sembian lord said with a broad smile. “We’ve already got five full squadrons of cavalry in Essembra. We won’t miss our date in Mistledale.”

“The sooner your whole army reaches Essembra, the better,” Sarya answered. “We have to halt Miritar’s host and draw them into a fight in open ground. You are in a race, Lord Duncastle.”

In Essembra, the Sembian force would threaten Miritar’s right flank. If the elven army continued north from Mistledale’s borders toward Myth Drannor, Duncastle’s Sembians could move west on the Essembra-Ashabenford trail and cut Miritar off from his base in Semberholme, as well as any aid from his human allies in Mistledale and Deepingdale. In fact, Sembia’s army would be ideally positioned to crush those allies if Miritar chose not to meet Duncastle’s threat. Meanwhile, the Red Plume army from Hillsfar descending the Moonsea Ride could come in to block him from a move to the north. And Fzoul Chembryl’s Zhentish army was sweeping far to the west, marching from Voonlar toward Shadowdale to seal the western side of the trap as Duncastle’s Sembians sealed the eastern side.

Sarya had been absolutely enraged to find that the first lord of Hillsfar had presumed to allow yet another petty human tyrant to ally with him, but she had made herself wait one full day before attacking the First Lord’s Tower with a hundred devils and fiends and a thousand fey’ri. After considering exactly how to raze Maalthiir’s tower and execute the first lord of Hillsfar in an appropriately gruesome manner, a few hours for thought had helped her to see that Fzoul Chembryl’s grandiose ambitions and Maalthiir’s underhanded dealings played perfectly into her hands.

Maalthiir is too clever for his own good, she reflected. Either he is foolish enough to think that dealing with another power proves that he is not beholden to me, or he thinks himself prudent in providing himself with an ally whom he might turn against me if we should have a falling out. The question, of course, is who will betray whom first?

Sarya was an old and practiced hand at that particular game.

“Bane’s brazen throne,” Borstag Duncastle muttered, disturbing her from her ruminations. “What is he doing here?”

Sarya followed the direction of the Sembian lord’s glance, and spotted a small party of well-appointed horsemen riding over the bridge alongside the columns of Duncastle soldiers. The man at the head of the company was a handsome lord with hair of close-cut black ringlets, attired in a fine doublet of dove-gray under which mail glinted. A score of armored riders followed him, all wearing surcoats or doublets that featured at least a splash of the same dove-gray.

“Who is this?” she asked, intrigued by Lord Duncastle’s reaction.

“Miklos Selkirk and his accursed Silver Ravens,” Duncastle growled. “He is the overmaster’s son, and his chief agent and defender in any enterprise that catches his eye.” He looked at Sarya, and scowled. “He’ll be here to spy on our every move and carry tales back to his father, mark my words.”

“Does this overmaster have the power to recall your soldiers, Duncastle?” Sarya asked with icy calm.

“He can certainly call my actions into question, and perhaps persuade the Great Council to issue such an order.”

“Then I suggest you avoid giving this Selkirk offense.” Sarya folded her arms and watched the riders in gray approach.

Miklos Selkirk and his company passed abreast of the inn. The overmaster’s son caught sight of Borstag Duncastle and turned his horse aside. He dismounted with easy grace and handed his reins to one of his Silver Ravens.

“Ah, there you are, Duncastle!” he called. “I’ve been riding all up and down this column looking for you.”

“Selkirk,” Duncastle said. He made a shallow bow, never taking his eyes from the younger lord’s face. “I was not expecting you, or else I would have left word that you were to be brought up to me.”

“No matter. The ride gave me a good opportunity to size up your army.” Miklos Selkirk turned to Sarya and Teryani, and he offered a deep flourish and bow. “I am afraid I have not had the pleasure, dear ladies. I am Miklos Selkirk, of the House Selkirk.”

“Lady Senda Dereth,” Sarya answered. “This is my lady-in-waiting, Terian.”

Sarya offered her hand, and despite her deep-rooted loathing of humans and all their works, she had to admit that Miklos Selkirk was a handsome fellow, gifted with almost elven grace and self-possession. She looked into his eyes, and saw nothing but keen steel there.

Here is a worthy adversary, Sarya thought. She would have to amend Teryani’s instructions, if Selkirk was going to be near the head of the Sembian army for any time at all.

“A pleasure to meet you, Lady Senda,” the human said. A flicker of interest crossed his face—a moment’s glance as Selkirk fixed her face in his mind, perhaps, and reminded himself to find out more about her later—then he looked back to Lord Duncastle.

“My father asked me to accompany you for a while, Lord Duncastle,” he said. “As you know, the council has expended no small sum in adding to the forces at your command, and they want to make sure that their investment is in good hands.” Selkirk glanced toward the south and shrugged, as if to imply that he thought it was all nonsense, but Sarya did not mistake the sharp calculation in his eyes. “The expedition is entirely in your hands, I assure you.

My only function is to ensure that accurate and timely reports reach Ordulin.”

Duncastle’s scowl deepened, but he held his temper in check. “Very well,” he rumbled. “You are, of course, welcome to observe as long as you feel necessary, Selkirk.”