identities carefully concealed, Amnite trade extended across all the known Realms and worked its way toward unknown reaches as well.
These princes had invested a great deal into the expedition of Captain-General Cordell and his Golden Legion. More than a year had passed since the departure of that legion on its quest for gold over the western seas, and as yet no profits had found their way to the princely coffers.
Now the princes, each meticulously masked and robed, met in private session to discuss the disappearance of Cordell and-more significantly-the potential loss of their investment. The domed council chamber was darkened as usual, a further aid to the masquerade.
At last the golden doors opened softly and a courtier entered.
“Don Vaez is here,” said the silken-dressed attendant.
“At last,” rasped one of the princes from beneath his-or, perhaps, her-dark mask. “Send him in.”
In moments, a tall figure passed through the door, removing his broad-brimmed hat with its ostrich-feather plume in a sweeping bow. The man stood erect again, a thin smile playing about his lips. He was smooth-shaven, with long blond, almost white locks that fell about his shoulders.
“Ah, Don Vaez, you may do us a great service,” murmured another of the princes.
“As always, I exist to serve,” offered Vaez, with another courtly bow.
“Indeed.” The prince’s sexless voice dripped with irony. “You know, of course, of the Golden Legion’s expedition to the west?”
“Naturally. A great promise lay upon it. I trust there has not been,.. trouble?”
“For long months, we received steady messages through the Temple of Helm here in Amn. The Bishou, chief cleric of the mission, provided good reports. It seems that our expectations of gold were met, even exceeded, in this land Cordell had claimed for us.”
Don Vaez’s eyes gleamed, but he remained silent.
“Several months ago, however, these messages abruptly ceased,” offered another prince, in a higher but still subtly masked voice. “We have reason to expect the worst.”
“That explains many things,” replied the adventurer. None of the merchants made any response, so Don Vaez continued. “Two dozen carracks gathering in Murann, companies of harquebus, crossbow, and horse. Even some of the veterans of Cordell’s legion, those that did not sail with him to the west. The rumors that Amn has decided it needs an army…”
One of the princes raised a cautious hand. “We do not need an army, not here. But quite possibly such a force will be required in order to see a proper and deserved return on our investment.”
“Do you suspect that Cordell has betrayed you?” inquired Don Vaez sympathetically. He now knew why he had been summoned to appear before the council. He knew, and he was well pleased.
“We do not know. Perhaps he ran into greater difficulties than he anticipated; he took but five hundred men. Now we will send nearly three times that number on his trail. We know, through the temple, what course he sailed, even where he made landfall.”
The air seemed to grow heavy in the room for the space of a brief pause. Don Vaez waited.
“We want you to lead the expedition after him,” a prince finally offered. “We send you after our gold, and to learn Cordell’s fate. If he lives, you are to bring him back-in chains, if necessary.”
Another of the princes raised a golden bell, shaking it slightly to elicit a musical tinkling. In moments, the golden doors opened to reveal the courtier who had admitted Don Vaez.
“Summon Pryat Devane,” ordered the prince curtly.
In a few moments, the cleric entered, bowing first to the
princes and then to Don Vaez. The adventurer studied the short pryat. The clean-shaven priest wore a close- fitting cap of steel and a loose robe of fine silk. His hands were cloaked in the silver gauntlets of Helm.
“Pryat Devane was Bishou Domincus’s closest aide,” explained the prince.
“You’re the one who maintained contact with Domincus?” asked Don Vaez.
“Indeed, my lord. Every few weeks, through the conduit of our faith, the Bishou informed me of the progress of the mission. They made good progress for a time. They penetrated to the heart of the continent, to a city that was overflowing with gold. Then… silence.”
“That’s a mystery we’ll soon solve,” the captain said heartily, “You’ll be making the journey with me, I presume?”
“With my lord’s pleasure,” explained the pryat, with another bow.
“Of course!”
“I am sure you will find the pryat a useful addition to your expedition,” remarked one of the princes. “We have provided him with a small gift, that he may aid you more effectively-a flying carpet.”
Don Vaez nodded to the cleric and then bowed, more deeply than ever, to the council. Indeed, he could think of many uses for a cleric that could fly. As he turned from the masked princes, a sly smile toyed with his lips. The task pleased him-pleased him greatly-for Cordell had long eclipsed the Don’s own reputation as a loyal mercenary.
And to use Cordell’s own men against him! The irony did not escape Don Vaez. The Council of Six had granted him the opportunity of a lifetime! When he finished with it, he determined that his name would hold a high place in the annals of the Sword Coast.
Cordell shifted uncomfortably in his saddle. He had always been a hard campaigner, but never had he pushed himself as hard as in the last months, since the escape from Nexal. Now there was no part of his body that did not ache, throb, or cry out from fatigue, hunger, or thirst.
He looked across the vast encampment. His own legionnaires, the hundred and fifty that still survived, spread in a ring around him. working at polishing and sharpening weapons, oiling tattered boots, or sewing plates of armor together where the desert heat had rotted worn straps.
Six of the men, led by young Captain Grimes, rode patrol in the desert They needed more scouts, but only fifteen horses remained to the legion-fifteen horses in all the True World-and the unfortunate steeds all were near total exhaustion.
So were the men, for that matter, he realized. Now his legionnaires the remnants of his once valiant force, fled alongside their former enemies, the Nexala. The greater enemy of the monstrous horde menaced both groups equally He realized with bitter irony that the gold of Nexal had also been lost There was no longer any reason to make war with the Mazticans.
One bright spot in the months of flight and disaster had been the loyalty of the Maztican warriors from the nation of Kultaka. when he had first entered that nation on his march inland Kultaka had resisted his legion furiously Following Cordell’s victory, however, the young Kultakan chief, Tokol, had become his most staunch ally Now some six thousand Kultaka warriors marched alongside the Nexalans and the legionnaires. The ancient rivalry-hatred, in reality-between Kultaka and Nexal had been temporarily subordinated to the pressing need to escape the monstrous horde that threatened them all.
Nearby Cordell saw Captain Daggrande, the doughty dwarven captain of the crossbow, talking with a small cluster of Maztican archers. Daggrande was one of three dozen dwarves to live through the Night of Wailing. Unlike most of his comrades Daggrande had learned to speak the Nexalan tongue.
For a moment, the general’s mind drifted as he thought of other men-Captain Garrant, Bishou Domincus, many faithful soldiers-who had met their ends in the dying city. He
thought of the mountainous trove of gold there, now buried beneath tons of rubble and guarded by tusked and taloned beasts. Once the loss of that gold had seemed the end of the world to him. Now it seemed but one more thread in the doom that still threatened him and his men.
Still, there remained the gold buried within the walls of Helmsport. This, the trove he had claimed from the conquest of Ulatos, had been left behind when the legion marched to Nexal. All of the men who knew the exact location of the treasure had accompanied him to Nexal; among the small garrison left at the port were none who knew where the gold was buried.
The general dismounted and walked over to Daggrande as the dwarven veteran looked up from his discussion of weaponry. Cordell winced inwardly at the look of guarded suspicion in his old comrade’s eyes. Even Daggrande
