and they did not even take notice.
Her coterie would travel with the bulk of the army, stirring up the more impetuous of the telthor and turning their arcane power against the spells of the wychlaran, and without the aid of the vremyonni, the sisterhood of the wychlaran would fall. That left only the durthan, holed up in Erech Forest, but Yulda knew that once the durthan understood which way the wind was blowing, they would flock to her banner. Then she would use them too, as she used everything and everyone in her path, climbing over the backs of their spent and lifeless corpses to attain her goal.
Durakh only nodded at the witch’s admonition, her lips pursed in thought.
“There is one thing that I believe we haven’t fully considered,” Durakh said.
“What is that?” Yulda replied, already sensing the turn of the cleric’s thoughts.
“What will Thay do as Rashemen tears itself apart from within?” Durakh asked, and this time Yulda heard true concern in the priestess’s voice. “I hardly think that the Red Wizards will sit quietly on the sidelines until the dust settles.”
Yulda rubbed her hands together and let out a hideous cackle.
“That is exactly what they will do, dear Durakh,” Yulda said as her laughter subsided. “Those petty wizardlings and I have come to a certain… understanding.”
In truth, she would have to give up a good portion of the western border of Lower Rashemen, but that would be a small price to pay for the freedom to work without those meddling Thayans interfering. Besides, when she had finally consolidated her power, Yulda might be able to “renegotiate” her agreement.
Durakh did not seem pleased by the existence of any pact with the Red Wizards, a fact that caused the witch no small concern. Before Yulda could follow her train of thought, however, the half-orc stood and cast a cold look at her.
“You are, of course, free to make arrangements with anyone you choose,” Durakh said, “just so long as you do not forget our own ‘understanding.’”
Despite the cleric’s insolent tone, Yulda held her temper in check. Too much was at stake to let a simple lapse in discipline upset everything.
“Our agreement still stands,” she assured Durakh. “Once we have disposed of the wychlaran, you may take part of the army and explore the Fortress of the Half Demon.” Yulda almost shuddered. The fortress, one of the many ruins left over from the Narfell Empire, rulers of the land before the Rashemi people were formed, held the remains of an ancient portal that legends said would lead to the Lower Planes. “If you can secure the fortress and hold it,” Yulda continued, “then it is yours in perpetuity.”
May you die trying, the witch thought. It was, she had to admit, an elegant solution to what could become a troubling problem. Alive, Durakh could eventually become a rival for power. If she were to die on her quest, which, according to what Yulda knew of the fortress, was quite likely, it would spare her the bother of having to destroy the cleric on her own.
Durakh bowed her head slightly.
“Then I must ask to take your leave,” Durakh said, “for I have much to do if we are to leave on schedule.”
Yulda inclined her own head in a regal manner designed to irritate her lieutenant.
“Then you have my leave,” Yulda replied. “I trust that everything will be in order.” The witch turned her back on the cleric and began once more to study the maps upon her desk, confident that everything would move according to plan.
Outside, the storm continued to rage.
CHAPTER 10
The Year of the Crown
(1351 DR)
The crowd stirred.
Taenaran stopped fiddling nervously with the ties of his shirt, sensing the subtle change in the assembly’s mood. He stood with the other prospective apprentices, arranged in a rough clump in the midst of the entire community, which had gathered beneath the eaves of the arael’lia, the heart-oak, to witness the Rite of Acceptance.
Her coterie would travel with the bulk of the army, stirring up the more impetuous of the telthor and turning their arcane power against the spells of the wychlaran, and without the aid of the vremyonni, the sisterhood of the wychlaran would fall. That left only the durthan, holed up in Erech Forest, but Yulda knew that once the durthan understood which way the wind was blowing, they would flock to her banner. Then she would use them too, as she used everything and everyone in her path, climbing over the backs of their spent and lifeless corpses to attain her goal.
Durakh only nodded at the witch’s admonition, her lips pursed in thought.
“There is one thing that I believe we haven’t fully considered,” Durakh said.
“What is that?” Yulda replied, already sensing the turn of the cleric’s thoughts.
“What will Thay do as Rashemen tears itself apart from within?” Durakh asked, and this time Yulda heard true concern in the priestess’s voice. “I hardly think that the Red Wizards will sit quietly on the sidelines until the dust settles.”
Yulda rubbed her hands together and let out a hideous cackle.
“That is exactly what they will do, dear Durakh,” Yulda said as her laughter subsided. “Those petty wizardlings and I have come to a certain… understanding.”
In truth, she would have to give up a good portion of the western border of Lower Rashemen, but that would be a small price to pay for the freedom to work without those meddling Thayans interfering. Besides, when she had finally consolidated her power, Yulda might be able to “renegotiate” her agreement.
Durakh did not seem pleased by the existence of any pact with the Red Wizards, a fact that caused the witch no small concern. Before Yulda could follow her train of thought, however, the half-orc stood and cast a cold look at her.
“You are, of course, free to make arrangements with anyone you choose,” Durakh said, “just so long as you do not forget our own ‘understanding.’”
Despite the cleric’s insolent tone, Yulda held her temper in check. Too much was at stake to let a simple lapse in discipline upset everything.
“Our agreement still stands,” she assured Durakh. “Once we have disposed of the wychlaran, you may take part of the army and explore the Fortress of the Half Demon.” Yulda almost shuddered. The fortress, one of the many ruins left over from the Narfell Empire, rulers of the land before the Rashemi people were formed, held the remains of an ancient portal that legends said would lead to the Lower Planes. “If you can secure the fortress and hold it,” Yulda continued, “then it is yours in perpetuity.”
May you die trying, the witch thought. It was, she had to admit, an elegant solution to what could become a troubling problem. Alive, Durakh could eventually become a rival for power. If she were to die on her quest, which, according to what Yulda knew of the fortress, was quite likely, it would spare her the bother of having to destroy the cleric on her own.
Durakh bowed her head slightly.
“Then I must ask to take your leave,” Durakh said, “for I have much to do if we are to leave on schedule.”
Yulda inclined her own head in a regal manner designed to irritate her lieutenant.
“Then you have my leave,” Yulda replied. “I trust that everything will be in order.” The witch turned her back on the cleric and began once more to study the maps upon her desk, confident that everything would move according to plan.
Outside, the storm continued to rage.
CHAPTER 10
The Year of the Crown
(1351 DR)
The crowd stirred.
Taenaran stopped fiddling nervously with the ties of his shirt, sensing the subtle change in the assembly’s mood. He stood with the other prospective apprentices, arranged in a rough clump in the midst of the entire community, which had gathered beneath the eaves of the arael’lia, the heart-oak, to witness the Rite of Acceptance.
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