Dmitra Flass clapped her hands together to call the assembly to order. The percussive sound didn't seem louder than normal, but was somehow more commanding, as if she'd used her illusionist abilities to enhance it in some subtle way. They were all gradually figuring out how to make their spells reliable in the dreary new world Mystra's death had spawned.
The company fell silent, zulkirs and lesser folk alike, but the response seemed slower and more grudging than on previous occasions. Nevron wondered if Dmitra perceived the challenge apparent in the rancorous stares of several of her peers.
"We're here-" she began.
"To decide our next move," Lallara snapped. "We know. You don't have to begin every council by harping on the obvious."
"In fact," Nevron said, "you don't have to begin them at all." A fiend bound in the iron bracelet he wore around his left wrist whispered to him, encouraging him, as it often did when he said or did anything that smacked of malice or conflict.
Dmitra arched an eyebrow, or rather, the smooth stretch of skin where an eyebrow would be if she hadn't long ago removed it. "Someone must preside, and we seem to have slipped into the habit of letting the task fall to me."
"Well, perhaps we should slip out of it," Lallara said. "I'm not fighting Szass Tam just to see someone else set herself above me."
"That was never my intention," Dmitra said.
Nevron sneered. "Of course not. But it's inevitable that the one who presides over our deliberations exerts a degree of leadership, and perhaps you aren't the best choice for the role, considering the damage Malark Springhill did."
Dmitra sighed. "We all opted to trust Malark."
"But he was your servant," Nevron said, "and thus, your responsibility."
Dmitra waved a dismissive hand adorned with ruby rings and long crimson nails. "Fine. You guide the discussion. What does it matter, so long as we confer to some intelligent purpose?"
Her quick acquiescence caught Nevron by surprise, and the spirit in the bracelet sniggered at his fleeting confusion. Through an exertion of will, he afflicted it with pain, and the laugh became a scream, another sound that only he could hear.
"As you wish," he said. Since she'd plainly wanted to preside herself, Lallara gave him a glower, not that it differed appreciably from her usual clamp-mouthed, venomous expression. "This is the situation. We've sent a host of messengers-ravens, griffon riders, spirits, and others-racing around to countermand the false orders and refute the fraudulent intelligence Malark Springhill transmitted, and to find out exactly what lies he disseminated."
Dmitra smiled her radiant smile. "Thanks be to the High One," she drawled, "that the zulkir of Conjuration isn't wasting our time harping on the obvious."
The devil Nevron carried in the heavy silver ring on his left thumb murmured to him, imploring him to unleash it to punish the bitch for her mockery, and he wished that it were practical. Yes, he was saying what everyone already knew, but he had to launch the discussion somehow, didn't he?
"Once we determined what falsehoods Springhill uttered," he continued, "we could try to figure out why. The reason for some of it was obvious. He steered companies into traps, or to destinations that served no military purpose, or sowed suspicion and disaffection in the ranks. But he also sought to shift all our forces off the plain where the road heads up the Third Escarpment to Thralgard Keep."
His wobbling chins speckled with sugar glaze, Samas Kul swallowed a mouthful of pastry. "Szass Tam's army just retreated into High Thay. This makes it sound like they're ready to come down again."
"Which doesn't make a lot of sense," Lauzoril said. "He withdrew because the disaster at the Keep of Sorrows weakened him even more than us. Granted, with Springhill's aid, he's managed to stall and hurt us since, but not so severely as to shift the balance back in his favor."
"I wouldn't think so," Nevron said. "However…" he turned his gaze on Nymia Focar.
The tharchion of Pyarados looked uncomfortable at becoming the center of attention, and that was as it should be. Her withdrawal from Delhumide had been one of the more damaging missteps of the past several tendays.
She cleared her throat. "My flying scouts confirm that Szass Tam is massing troops in and around Thralgard Keep."
"Perhaps," Lauzoril said, "the necromancers are simply protecting the route we'd need to use if we tried to climb up after them."
"I doubt it," Dmitra said. "The original garrison at Thralgard was already adequate for that purpose."
The zulkir of Enchantment frowned and made a tent of his long, pale fingers. "Let's say you're correct. What's Szass Tam's objective?"
"Eltabbar, most likely," Dmitra said, plainly referring to the capital city of her tharch. "He's tried to take it repeatedly, because it hinders him moving troops in and out of High Thay, and because it poses a constant threat to any enemy host fighting in the lands to the south of it."
"Can Eltabbar withstand another siege?" Nevron asked. A demon, a spirit of war caged in an amulet dangling on his chest, stirred restlessly at the thought of such battle. Its agitation made the bronze medallion grow warm, and sent a sort of shiver across the psychic link that it shared with Nevron.
"A short one, perhaps," Dmitra said. "Last year's harvests were so meager that we don't have a great deal of food stored away, and, going by past experience, the necromancers will seed the lake with lacedons to make fishing hazardous. But in any case, I don't want to defend against a siege. I want to meet Szass Tam's legions as they descend from the heights."
"Because the road down is narrow," said Thessaloni Canos, "and they can come only a few at a time." Tall even for a Mulan woman, the governor of the island tharch known as the Alaor and Thay's most capable admiral, she had a pleasant face, hooded green eyes, and weather-beaten skin. She wore scale armor and ornaments of coral, pearl, and scrimshaw, and her tattooing followed the same aquatic motif.
Dmitra gave Thessaloni a smile and a nod. "Exactly so. Obviously, it would be even better if the necromancers were clambering uphill, but we should still enjoy a tactical advantage."
Samas Kul grunted. It made his jowls quiver. "What happened to isolating High Thay and its legions? I liked that plan."
Lauzoril pursed his lips. "I don't suppose you can isolate them if they're absolutely resolved to come down. Not until you push them back up again."
"We could if we destroyed the roads that connect the Plateau of Ruthammar with the lands below," Samas said. "I've been pondering the problem. The evokers could send a vibration through the cliffs to break them apart, or the conjurors could summon a host of earth elementals."
"But we won't," Nevron said. "We won't attempt anything that ambitious and accordingly hazardous while sorcery is unreliable. If you think it's a good idea, then you transmuters give it a try. Turn the slopes under the roads into air. Just don't whine to me when the magic rebounds on you and obliterates your followers instead."
Samas pouted. "All right. If you think it's impractical, I withdraw the suggestion."
"The question we need to answer," Nevron said, "is why would Szass Tam make this particular move now? Why does he imagine it will work? Does he believe he can march his army down the Third Escarpment without us noticing?"
Aoth Fezim lifted his hand.