Amglar's eyes narrowed as he ducked low on his horse's neck, but it was too late to stop the rush of furious armsmen into the trees, charging in as he'd ordered. Horses screamed and reared, and men toppled from saddles everywhere in the tangled intersection. The swordlord fought to stay in his saddle.
'Back, mages!' he bellowed, waving with his sword toward the Standing Stone itself. 'Back!'
By some favor of the gods, neither Zhentarim had been hit; they spurred their horses after him, ruthlessly riding down armsmen in their haste. 'Swordcaptains, to me!' Amglar roared as he reached the trees to the east, his eyes on the woods to the north. If his hunch was right, there'd be no more arrows from there-nor any other attack.
'Is this your doing, mage?' he snarled when a frightened-looking spellmaster rode up to him.
'No!' Thuldoum barked. 'If these arrows are spell-borne, it's not a magic I know! I-'
His rings flashed once more. He was staring down at them in horror when the trees on the eastern side of the road erupted in clothyard shafts! An arrow took Amglar through the shoulder, and another three thudded into his charger. Yelling in pain and fury, he flung himself free as it bucked and went down, crashing over backward atop an unfortunate armsman.
He hit the road hard and bounced in the dust, winded. Myarvuk slid from his saddle, half a dozen shafts standing out from his body and a glazed, lifeless stare in his eyes. Gods spit on it-the truly biddable mage down already!
As Amglar fought for his breath, arrows flared into flames and then nothingness around the spellmaster, who must have some sort of magical shield against them-of course, Amglar thought sourly. But the volley tore into the officers turning in answer to his call. The intersection was full of rolling, maddened horses and sprawled, trampled bodies… in just a few breaths half an army had been reduced to bloody chaos.
'Halt!' Amglar roared, struggling to his feet, arm and shoulder burning. He ran into the path of the second 'lance,' just as they came thundering up the road to see what had occurred. 'Halt!'
He staggered hastily back-a thousand cantering horses can't stop immediately-tripped on a body, and with a roar of pain fetched up against a tree.
'Sir?' A swordcaptain asked, beside him. Through red mists of pain, Amglar set his teeth and looked up. Blood was coursing down his arm, bright red on the black armor; he clutched at his arm and snarled, 'Get a horn and call the rally and retreat to those I sent into the woods. They'll not find a foe unless they run on all the way to the dale! Then relay the order to halt! On your way, send three or four more captains to me!'
The man nodded and hurried away, wasting no time on salutes or words. Amglar glared after him. Good. At least one Zhentilar knew how to be an officer; he'd have to remember that man's face.
Feeling the spellmaster's eyes on him but paying no attention, Amglar strode to meet the officers who were hurrying toward him. 'Clear this place,' he ordered.
'Drag everything up the north road, and set torches; we'll strip the bodies later. Slay any horse that can't stand on four good legs. Let no man touch the fallen mage-that task is for the spellmaster alone.' Without turning his head, he snapped, 'Thuldoum! Be about it.'
The Zhentarim said nothing, but Amglar heard the creaking of leather as the wizard dismounted, and a snort of irritation from the man's horse as someone else took the reins.
'I want you to know,' the spellmaster said in a low, fast voice, 'that I had no part in this attack. It was not my doing-and nothing I carry has any power to hurl arrows anywhere!'
'I know, mage,' Amglar said shortly. 'It was some sort of arrow spell-three spells, belike-set to go off when something enchanted passed by: your rings. They're probably rolling around laughing in Mistledale right now. See to your dead comrade.'
He walked away without looking at the Zhentarim and headed to the front of the 'lance that had halted on the road. He would tell them to dismount and set a watch in the trees in case there were archers or rangers lurking out there.
Dead men lay heaped underfoot. Someone was groaning weakly under a pile of bodies off to the right. Amglar scowled. A swordlord's lot is not a happy one. Swords Creek, Mistledale, Flamerule 16
'Who goes?' The challenge came out of the night. The voice sounded young and eager, and its owner was probably holding a loaded crossbow. Jhessail sighed and spoke quickly before Illistyl or Merith could say anything smart. 'Owls are blue tonight,' she told the darkness calmly. 'Kuthe's patrol, with three Knights of Myth Drannor. I am Jhessail of Shadowdale.'
'Pass, Lady,' the voice said, sounding suddenly respectful, even wistful.
An admirer, then, probably a Harper. Merith laid a hand on his lady's thigh and squeezed. Leaning close, the elf whispered, 'Men who lust after you are everywhere in the Realms, it seems. Truly I am fortunate to have arrived in your arms first, and-'
'Oh, do belt up, dear,' Jhessail said, grinning.
'Aye,' Illistyl's sharp tones came out of the close darkness on Jhessail's other side. 'And forthwith, before I spew!'
'If ye can stand the company of the two blades she's picked up, who both fancy themselves clever-Belkram and Itharr of the Harpers-Sharantyr's left room and a warm fire for ye,' the gruff tones of Rathan came to them out of the night.
'Kind of her,' Jhessail said, 'but we're going right back out after we feed and hobble our horses. We're going to be a little surprise in the Zhentarim backside on the morrow!'
'Ye'll probably lift a few eyebrows hereabouts, too, if ye try charging on hobbled horses!' Rathan chuckled.
'We're leaving the horses here, you dolt,' Jhessail told him affectionately. 'Where's Torm?'
'He felt restless, and wanted to go 'exploring,' as he put it,' the burly priest replied. 'So I gave him a little too much wine and smote him one. He'll wake before dawn, in just the right mood for a good battle.'
'I'm glad it's you who shares a tent with him,' Illistyl said feelingly.
'I'll be only too happy to surrender my sleeping furs to thee, gentle maid,' Rathan said eagerly, 'and I'm sure Torm won't object in the slightest!'
'Ah, ha!' Illistyl agreed flatly. 'I doubt he'd mind, indeed.' She rode on, turning to add, 'I'll save my furious defenses for the fray tomorrow.'
'I rather think we all will, lass,' the elderly voice of a dale farmer came gruffly out of the nearby darkness.
'Or we'll be dead before another night comes down on the Realms.'
The Standing Stone, the Dales, Flamerule 16
'Galath's Roost is the only logical place to camp for the night-that's the problem,' Swordlord Amglar said to the silent ring of officers around the map.
'What problem?' Spellmaster Thuldoum said sharply. For some hours now, he'd been trying to overcome his own fright and whispers of incompetence or disloyalty by playing the sharp-tongued aggressor. Everyone in earshot was tired of it.
'I mean, wizard,' Amglar explained in wearily patient tones that brought secret smiles to the lips of a few swordcaptains, 'that it's the place our foes expect us. Just as they knew we'd pass by this spot.'
He waved at the road behind them and the dark and silent bulk of the Standing Stone beyond. Three hundred armsmen and six score war horses lay dead along the north road, heaped cottage-high under the stars… and already the wolves were howling, nearer each time. Amglar tried not to think of the fallen. The dead were beyond his orders; it was the living he had to worry about.
'So?' the Zhentarim said coolly. 'They hardly have enough blades to hold a ruin against us, even in the dark. And my spells can make it bright as day, so our archers can keep to the night and strike down well-lit targets as they please.'
'I'm thinking there'll be traps there, not defenders,' Amglar said heavily. 'I don't suppose you can see into the place from here, can you? Or better: let our veteran swordcaptains look at things. They'll know traps better than either of us.' To say anything else might make this Spellmaster hurl spells in a fury, and after what had befallen so far, that would be all the Sword of the South needed.
The Zhentarim was shaking his head. 'No, it's much too far to send an eye. I'd have to have seen the hold before with my own eyes to scry it with any of the other magics I carry.'
