"Doppelgangers, yes, I remember all the tales about how Malaug must have bedded one and thus given us the power."
"It matters little now. I just want to hunt down this Sharantyr woman and the two men who came to Shadowhome with her."
"And kill them, slowly and painfully?"
"The two men, yes. The woman's fate depends on what she agrees to…"
Argast shook his head and mouthed the words: then I'll kill her. He was careful to turn his head so that Amdramnar had no chance to see his lips.
Then he felt a tentacle brush his leg. He was about to strike it away angrily when he saw that Amdramnar was sinking down into the shape of a horse, and lying as if dead in the grass… and that his lone tentacle was pointing urgently across the valley.
Argast crouched down. He had already begun to take horse shape when he saw them: a dozen or so men and women in drab leather armor. Dirt-caked weapons hung in their hands, and they crept cautiously through the trees. A patrol.
Someone's patrol, Argast made himself as much like the real horse beside him as possible and lay still.
It seemed a very long time before a voice said, low-pitched and near, "They're still warm… this one, at least, still lives. Ridden to death."
"So their riders must be close by… hiding from us, no doubt."
"Zhent troops, for a gold lion."
"That's a wager I'll never take, Yheldon. If we find them and they have arrows, we'll end up just as dead as the mighty Elminster-and the Zhents'll be picking the gold coins out of both our purses!"
Argast twitched in excitement. The Great Foe dead!
It was dark before the two Malaugrym dared move again, coming up to clutch each other and hiss excitedly, "Elminster, dead!"
"We must confirm this," Amdramnar muttered. "I've heard tell men have thought him dead many times before."
"Of course," Argast agreed, "but if it be true, we can hunt freely!"
"Don't forget that woman back at the keep who turned our kin to mushrooms and slaughtered us like cattle! He's not the only one in Faerun we must beware of."
"Aye, but he was the one who watched and waited for us. Moreover, with magic gone wild and gods walking Faerun and everything in confusion…"
"You're right," Amdramnar acknowledged with a sigh, turning to look east.
"You sound disappointed that he's dead."
"I am, a little. I was dreading having to face him… but to strike him down myself! The honor of our house demands it! Someone has robbed me of the chance to fell the Great Foe." Amdramnar shook his head, and chuckled. "With Elminster gone, whatever will the elder kin blame their failures on now, I wonder?"
"They'll find something," Argast said. "They always do. I think skill at finding targets for blame is part of the wisdom of being an elder." Near the Standing Stone, the Dales, Flamerule 24
"There's a large party on the road south of the Stone," Sharantyr said. She leapt lightly down from the lowest bough of the tree. The others were already loosening weapons in sheaths and taking up their gauntlets.
"Did you see lots of armor?" Belkram asked eagerly.
Sharantyr shook her head as she unlooped the reins of her mount. "No, bold warrior. I saw horses, men's heads above them, and dust. At least twenty horses, and probably more." She vaulted into the saddle and looked to Storm.
The Bard of Shadowdale smiled. "It's always good to have a look at the Stone before one rides there. It avoids a lot of surprises."
"Could it be another Zhent army?" Itharr asked as they guided their horses cautiously around roots, down mossy banks, and out onto the Hillsfar road.
Storm frowned. "Blackhelms riding openly, no. Some of our people"-they knew she meant the Harpers-"would have brought me word of any such force gathering or on the move through Sembia. Zhent agents could well have sponsored some hireswords-but on the other hand, were I an honest merchant in times as troubled as these, I'd travel in a large band with plenty of bought blades to defend me, too." A faint smile crossed her face, and she added, "So, as usual, we'd best be ready for anything."
They rode in wary silence past the ancient Standing Stone, seeing the glitter of steel in the forefront of the travelers coming north toward them. It was soon evident that the front rank consisted of five hard-eyed mercenaries with ready crossbows and full armor. They came on without stopping, loading and leveling their bows as they saw the armed rangers.
At the sight of those preparations, Storm said, "Stay well back, all of you. With magic unreliable, I can't protect you against crossbow bolts."
Itharr made a small sound of protest, but Sylune's soft voice said, "Heed her. Your death can be avoided this time if you act wisely, so why not avoid it?"
In the silence that followed, they watched Storm ride to meet the oncoming band.
"Stand aside, brigand," one of the hireswords ordered shortly.
"Surrender your names and business to me, mercenary," Storm replied calmly, unmoving. "Stand aside, I said!"
"Is anyone in this mounted assembly of a more reasonable mind?" Storm asked mildly. "Most travelers on these roads are well aware that the Knights of Myth Drannor patrol here; if your business is lawful, our encounter may be brief and pleasant… but an exchange of information is expected."
A crossbow snapped, and a quarrel flew. Belkram growled and made to launch his mount forward, sword flashing out.
At his ear, Sylune said in a voice of iron, "Stand and watch! You may even learn…"
Storm calmly plucked the crossbow bolt from her breast, examined it critically, and held it out, looking at the gaping man who'd fired it. "Yours, I believe?"
"Who are you?" another of the mercenaries snapped, face pale and voice sharp with alarm,
"Ah," Storm replied pleasantly, "the words you should have spoken first. I am Storm Silverhand, Bard of Shadowdale, and am accompanying a road patrol ordered by Lord Mourngrym of Shadowdale and the Knights of Myth Drannor to keep peace on the roads in these perilous times. Again, I ask you your names and business."
She tossed the crossbow bolt, underhanded, back to the man who'd fired it. He juggled it but dropped it to the road, and started to dismount.
"What's the delay here?" a man in rich robes called, urging his mount forward.
A man in a yellow cloak, who rode behind the mercenaries, answered, "Some sort of road patrol asking our business."
"Ignore them; we're in a hurry."
"A hurry to go where, goodsir?" Storm asked quietly.
"Ride her down!" the man ordered the mercenaries curtly. Seeing one of his men out of his saddle, he shouted, "You heard me! Get up and get on!"
"Lord," one of the mercenaries said, "this w-"
"I'll hear none of it! Onward!"
"Hireswords," Storm asked quietly, "is this most audible man your master?"
A smile flickered on more than one face along the line of armored warriors before one said, "Aye, Lady. Rethuld of Saerloon."
"Thank you, good warrior," Storm said politely. She raised her voice. "Rethuld! I would speak with you!"
"But," the man spat contemptuously, "would not speak with you! Anyone blocking the high road is a brigand, and I slay brigands, not bandy words with them!"
"By the treaty of the Stone in whose shadow we stand," Storm said quietly, "any dale lord is empowered to send patrols out on the roads-and all travelers on the road are bound to obey such patrols and surrender to their queries and examinations."
"That treaty is centuries old! We pay no attention to it in Sembia!"
"Old it may be," Storm replied calmly, "but I was there at its making, and I was also present not so long ago as all that, when the young land of Sembia in turn signed it to gain trade access to the Moonsea North and grow to its present wealth. You would do well to pay continued attention to it if you are a merchant of Sembia. Treaties ignored may be revoked-and with the roads closed, what are the prospects for your wealth then?"