"A harder thing to do now, with Cormyr and Sembia both looking our way and beginning to suspect who our mages are."
"Aye," came the deep voice again, "but will Stormcloak call for the aid we need, or will his first concern be impressing Lord Manshoon and other Zhentarim of power with his own strength and battle cunning? He may well try to win the day alone for greater glory. He cares nothing for this place. All can see that much."
"Hush, will you. Hear? He comes. That must be his guard, for there's not another large band of sword brothers left."
Elminster laid a silent hand on Sharantyr's sword arm to check her. Silently she laid her own free hand over his and patted it reassuringly. No. The time was not now.
There came the sound of many booted feet, a door opening, and a single, measured tread approaching the table.
"Councillors," came a cold, confident voice, "we hold the castle. Only a few of those who attacked us yet live. I'm told that women and young girls are all who remain to storm our gates. We've not found the mage or the two warriors who led the rabble. I suspect Cormyr is backing them, but I'll find out soon enough. As you know, the real tragedy today is the loss of our lord, slain by those two warriors." He paused, but no voice broke the silence.
"With his fall, rule over this dale passes into my hands," the voice continued flatly, challengingly. The words fell into another silence.
Then a deep voice said, "By what right do you claim lordship here, Stormcloak? Your magic, aye, but have you any less… ah, brutish claim? It is customary for the council to choose who shall rule over the High Dale." A general stirring accompanied these words, a shifting, rising tension that died into heavy, anticipatory silence.
Stormcloak's reply was as cold as a glacier wind. "You must know, Councillor, where Lord Longspear came from and what men he led in battle. That place is where I and my fellow mages came from. You are not a fool; you tell me."
"Zhentil Keep," the deep voice replied slowly, waiting.
"Aye," Stormcloak agreed dryly. "Whose orders I have followed, and passed on to Longspear and others, since the day we came here. I held authority over Longspear from the first, whether he acknowledged it or not. As to the vote of this council, consider a simple sum. To be lord I need only a majority of votes, and all the Zhentarim will vote with me."
"There are fewer of you," the deep voice reminded him, just as dryly, "than there once were."
"Well then, good Councillor Gulkin, perhaps it is time that the real strength of the Brotherhood was made known to you-to all of you. Call it a necessity of war, if you will, and if any tongues here today should slip about it later, be warned that their silencing will also be… a necessity of war."
A wine goblet was set down deliberately. Men stirred and shifted again.
Stormcloak's voice came again. "Kromm Kadar is the most recent addition to this table. Our blacksmith serves Zhentil Keep. His predecessor was a Sembian spy, whom we killed. Kromm serves the same master I do; his vote will be with mine."
Tense silence was the only reply. Stormcloak's triumphant, almost taunting voice came again. "There is also Alazs. Am I not right?"
"Yes, Lord," came a new, thin voice.
"Alazs breeds good horses and has sold many to Lord Longspear. I'm sure he'll continue to put good mounts under our men. He has orders to, from the same source as I get my directives. Alazs has swung a sword for the Brotherhood in the Moonsea North for many a year. Perhaps you've heard of Alazs Ironwood, the Sword of Melvaunt?"
Silence was the only reply. Stormcloak was moving about the room; his voice receded slightly. "Are you counting, Gulkin? Have I the votes yet? Not quite. Ah, but there's another. Our physic, Cheth, is more than a man of potions, drugs, and herbs. He, too, serves the Brotherhood-and his healing seems most successful when applied to those we want healed."
"Is this wise," a rasping voice came, "revealing us all, when you could have just voted this stump-head down?"
"I believe so, Master Moonviper," Stormcloak replied. "I think it's important that we drop the pretenses with which Longspear wasted so much of our time."
The listeners on the stairs heard the glass stopper of a heavy decanter set down, liquid gurgling, and the thud of the decanter returning to the tabletop.
"Sword, would you-?" The stopper was replaced and the decanter shifted again.
"Thank you." Stormcloak sipped, swallowed, and came closer. His voice was loud, very close under them, when he continued. "I have long had my suspicions, Councillor Gulkin, that some among us may well serve other masters, unknown to me. Perhaps you know something of this and can enlighten me? No? Well, feel free to unburden yourselves, any of you, should you learn of such misplaced loyalties among us. There have always been those who meddle-worshipers of dead dragons, the Harpers, and the Red Wizards, to name just three. I'll be very surprised if at least one man here doesn't know more of one such concern than he wants us to realize. Of course, we must always look to Cormyr on the one hand and Sembia on the other to take an interest in us, lying between them, the lightly patrolled backlands of both within our reach."
They heard him walking about almost lazily in the deep silence that followed.
"That, Cheth," Stormcloak added lightly, "is why I'd like everyone here to know just how matters stand. Besides, this will give traitors among us something to do-trying to report back to those who hold their secret loyalty, and not be discovered by us while doing so."
"Yes, Lord Stormcloak," Cheth agreed.
"Ah, but let us have the vote," Stormcloak's voice came again, almost purring now. "Or rather, to save time and thirsty throats, councillors, let us hear who would vote against me. Simply speak out and name the one you would have rule the dale in my stead." He chuckled and added, "In view of the situation at present, please ensure that you choose someone you know to be still alive."
Elminster leaned over and murmured, his lips against Sharantyr's ear, "I'd not seen this humor in the man before. It's much worse than his cold, snarling side."
Sharantyr turned her head until her soft lips were at the Old Mage's ear. "I take it, then, that you're voting against him?"
Elminster chuckled silently. It made his beard dance against her cheek.
"I believe you're right, Cheth," Stormcloak's voice came up to them. "It seems I am lord in the High Dale, after all. We'll have to set a feast over this. Tonight, in the Great Hall. Give the orders, won't you, Councillor Gulkin?"
"Aye, Lord," the deep voice muttered. "Is this meeting at an end?"
"If the council agrees," Stormcloak said silkily. There was a gruff, uneven answering chorus of assent, the sound of chairs scraping back, and the noise of booted feet moving about. The sounds receded until they died away entirely.
"Follow the wine merchant," Stormcloak's voice came again. "He's been entirely too quiet and agreeable these six rides past."
"Aye, Lord," someone replied, and left.
Stormcloak's tread came closer until it was right beneath them. His hard, carefree voice said, "All right, Haragh, you can come down now. You've been crouching up there listening to all of it, haven't you?"
Sharantyr twisted out from under Elminster's hand and launched herself down the stairs like a vengeful arrow. Her sword flashed as she came out into the light in a leap that brought her down on top of the startled wizard.
Only the goblet in the Zhentarim's hand saved him. Her landing drove his outstretched arms up, and the goblet with them in front of his throat. Her sword cut it to twisted ruin, but Stormcloak's flesh beneath escaped, leaving him alive and able to shriek.
Sharantyr's training made her look up as they struck the floor together. Three fully armored, capable warriors were moving toward her, weapons grating out.
Veterans, and not alone. Two swordsmen had been going out the door after the departing councillors. They were already turning startled faces to her.