Spreading her long-fingered, white hands open before her in a sign of peace, the sultry envoy said, "It is natural for the king's worthy advisors—" she bowed slightly to Vangerdahast "—to suspect Zhentil Keep in this matter. We make no secret of the methods by which we solve our problems, or the gods we worship." The envoy brushed her long bangs out of her eyes. On her forehead lay a circle of black, surrounding a white, grinning skull—the symbol of Lord Cyric, the God of Death, Lies, and Assassination.
"We appreciate your honesty," the king said coolly.
Again Lythrana nodded and let her hair fall back over the symbol of her god. "While we are being honest, Your Highness, might I be so bold to ask why the Keep was not invited to the general meeting you held with your nobles, the Sembians, and the dalesmen?"
Vangerdahast shifted his weight, suddenly uncomfortable at the bluntness of the discussion. The wizard glanced at the king and was a bit surprised to see that Azoun was taking it all in stride. "The others were not in the right spirit to discuss plans for a foreign war in front of a Zhentish representative," he stated without hesitation. "Had you been at the meeting, I might not have found the other politicians very cooperative. Still, the lack of an invitation did not prevent you from spying on the conference."
Lythrana studied the king for a moment, puzzled by his honesty. She close to ignore the accusation, tacitly confessing the Keep's guilt. Instead she noted, "I infer from your comments that your crusade is gathering the support it needs."
"I told Lord Chess as much when I requested a special envoy."
After a moment of tense silence, Lythrana turned her green eyes back to Azoun. She forced her face to show a calm she did not feel. "It is a crisp, clear day, Your Highness, and I understand you have marvelous hunting a short ride to the north of Suzail. Could we not discuss your crusade under less formal circumstances?"
Azoun paused, perhaps a little too long, and tried to think of a way to politely decline Lythrana's request. He felt far too tired to ride and really didn't care much for hunting. Lythrana had probably guessed that, Azoun decided. But as soon as he had realized that the envoy was expecting him to decline, he smiled as brightly as he could and said, "Of course. Vangerdahast," Azoun added to his slightly shocked friend, "please have the groom prepare my horse and ask the royal huntsman to gather a suitable hunting party."
To Lythrana, who was staring in undisguised surprise at him, the king said, "Hawk or hound, Lady Dargor?"
"Hound," she replied, then motioned to her dress. "Perhaps I suggested this too hastily. I'm not quite attired—"
The king smiled graciously. "That shouldn't be a problem. We'll find you something to wear." That said, he sent the royal wizard away to prepare for a hunt.
"While we wait for Vangerdahast to get things ready," the king commented smoothly after his friend had departed, "let us discuss the Tuigan threat to Zhentil Keep."
Realizing that she was being overwhelmed by a far better politician than she, Lythrana Dargor smiled and let the king of Cormyr expound upon the menace of the horsewarriors. They had a leisurely stroll around the castle, Azoun alternately relating the history of each ancient family artifact they passed in their walk then describing the preparations for the crusade.
Within an hour, they moved the discussion outside, onto Suzail's main road. As the royal procession moved through the city, Azoun realized that it was a very good thing for the citizens to see him alive and healthy after the assassination attempt. Crowds quickly gathered at the side of the Promenade, cheering the monarch as he made his way to the northern gates of the city.
As soon as the hunting party was clear of the tent city that clustered around Suzail's walls, they let their horses speed over the open road. The chilly air whipped cloaks and made eyes water, but Azoun found it revived him. Though he didn't enjoy hunting, he did love the feeling of freedom riding a powerful horse gave him. So, grimacing against the chill breeze, Azoun pulled his purple cloak tight over his fur-lined surcoat and let his horse race on.
Eventually, the party slowed down again. As they brought their horses to a canter, the master of the hounds gathered his barking charges closer to his lead. The busy, thriving farms that surrounded Suzail had given way to wilder country, and the king and his party found themselves surrounded by thicket-covered fields and sparse forest. Azoun trotted his horse to Lythrana's side.
"Will this do?" he asked politely. "I suspect these fields and stands of trees might hide a suitable wild boar or two."
Lythrana nodded. Her green eyes were red from the wind, but that didn't dull their intensity. "This is as good as anywhere."
Signaling to the master of the hunt, the king took a barbed spear from a young squire. He handed the weapon to Lythrana, then took another for himself. The king's huntsmen hurried off into the woods with the hounds in search of game. Only when they'd flushed a large boar or stag from the trees would the hunt begin for the nobles. In the meantime, a handful of guards spread out around the tall grass in the clearing to protect the king.
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.