restoring good order and protecting Sembian investments in the Dalelands.
Native-born Sembians themselves were not very common among Duncastle’s soldiers, but then again, Sembia didn’t really have an army. Instead, the largest and most powerful of the land’s various noble merchant Houses each fielded their own private army, some numbering many hundreds in strength. Any Sembian city or town had a small civic guard and town watch, of course, and the Overmaster of Sembia-the elected leader of Sembia’s Great Council-commanded the loyalty of the Ordulin Guard, a small but well-equipped army that defended the capital and served to check any unreasonable ambitions on the part of the more powerful noble Houses. But by and large, any Sembian lord was free to raise and provision an army, if he saw the need for one. The troops of House Duncastle were the largest Sembian contingent in the whole army, and they made up no more than five hundred of an army whose strength was more than ten times that number.
“Mercenaries,” Sarya Dlardrageth murmured, not bothering to conceal her disdain.
She glanced over at the shade of a nearby oak, where Lord Duncastle stood beneath the broad branches, consulting with the chief captains of his army.
The merchant prince Borstag Duncastle finished with his captains, and sauntered over to watch the army pass by with her and Teryani. Sarya wrinkled her nose, unable to ignore the stink of his human blood so close to her, but with an iron effort of will she smoothed her face. Like it or not, humans were allies she needed to entice and persuade. In her war against the High Forest and Evereska she had been able to simply intimidate and browbeat the wild orcs and ogres of the Nether Mountains into marching at her command, but humans required more subtlety. Until she managed to bring them to blows with Miritar’s army, she needed to consider her words and actions carefully. Long ago in ancient Siluvanede she had learned how to whisper a word in one ear, begin a rumor somewhere else, plot a skillful murder in another place, bringing one elven House after another into her growing web of influence. Her work among the human powers of Cormanthor was not very different, really… except in this case she regarded her tools as eminently disposable.
Duncastle glanced at her, let his gaze linger on Teryani’s slender form for a moment, and looked back to Sarya.
“Good afternoon, Lady Senda,” he said in his deep voice. “You will be pleased to know that I have come to value Lady Terian’s counsel quite highly in the last few tendays, especially in martial matters. For such a delicate creature, she has a mind of steel.”
Sarya forced a smile to her face. “She enjoys my full confidence, Lord Duncastle. And in turn I am pleased by Terian’s reports of your army’s progress. I did not expect you to assemble such a large force in so little time.”
“As they say, my lady, he who hesitates is lost.” He looked at Teryani again, and his eyes glittered. “While I am personally delighted by Lady Terian’s company, I must say, I am concerned that an army marching into battle is no place for a young lady of such high breeding. Are you certain that you wish her to accompany our army on this campaign?”
“I am confident that you can look after me, Lord Duncastle,” Terian said, inclining her head to the Sembian lord. “And I have my guards, as well. I will be safe, I think.”
Sarya couldn’t help but smile at Teryani’s winsome manner. In truth the Ealoeth noblewoman was a deadly swordmaster, skilled in the arts of stealth, subterfuge, and poisoning. Even if Duncastle was half the swordsman he might once have been, she wouldn’t have been surprised if Teryani Ealoeth could have carved him like a trussed pig in any kind of swordplay-or more likely, killed him in any of a dozen other ways that the human lord never would see coming.
She decided to change the subject before Teryani carried on her coquettish little act any further.
“You need to increase your pace, Lord Duncastle. Events are moving quickly in Battledale and Mistledale. I would not want you to miss out.”
“Do not fear, Lady Senda,” the Sembian lord said with a broad smile. “We’ve already got five full squadrons of cavalry in Essembra. We won’t miss our date in Mistledale.”
“The sooner your whole army reaches Essembra, the better,” Sarya answered. “We have to halt Miritar’s host and draw them into a fight in open ground. You are in a race, Lord Duncastle.”
In Essembra, the Sembian force would threaten Miritar’s right flank. If the elven army continued north from Mistledale’s borders toward Myth Drannor, Duncastle’s Sembians could move west on the Essembra-Ashabenford trail and cut Miritar off from his base in Semberholme, as well as any aid from his human allies in Mistledale and Deepingdale. In fact, Sembia’s army would be ideally positioned to crush those allies if Miritar chose not to meet Duncastle’s threat. Meanwhile, the Red Plume army from Hillsfar descending the Moonsea Ride could come in to block him from a move to the north. And Fzoul Chembryl’s Zhentish army was sweeping far to the west, marching from Voonlar toward Shadowdale to seal the western side of the trap as Duncastle’s Sembians sealed the eastern side.
Sarya had been absolutely enraged to find that the first lord of Hillsfar had presumed to allow yet another petty human tyrant to ally with him, but she had made herself wait one full day before attacking the First Lord’s Tower with a hundred devils and fiends and a thousand fey’ri. After considering exactly how to raze Maalthiir’s tower and execute the first lord of Hillsfar in an appropriately gruesome manner, a few hours for thought had helped her to see that Fzoul Chembryl’s grandiose ambitions and Maalthiir’s underhanded dealings played perfectly into her hands.
Maalthiir is too clever for his own good, she reflected. Either he is foolish enough to think that dealing with another power proves that he is not beholden to me, or he thinks himself prudent in providing himself with an ally whom he might turn against me if we should have a falling out. The question, of course, is who will betray whom first?
Sarya was an old and practiced hand at that particular game.
“Bane’s brazen throne,” Borstag Duncastle muttered, disturbing her from her ruminations. “What is he doing here?”
Sarya followed the direction of the Sembian lord’s glance, and spotted a small party of well-appointed horsemen riding over the bridge alongside the columns of Duncastle soldiers. The man at the head of the company was a handsome lord with hair of close-cut black ringlets, attired in a fine doublet of dove-gray under which mail glinted. A score of armored riders followed him, all wearing surcoats or doublets that featured at least a splash of the same dove-gray.
“Who is this?” she asked, intrigued by Lord Duncastle’s reaction.
“Miklos Selkirk and his accursed Silver Ravens,” Duncastle growled. “He is the overmaster’s son, and his chief agent and defender in any enterprise that catches his eye.” He looked at Sarya, and scowled. “He’ll be here to spy on our every move and carry tales back to his father, mark my words.”
“Does this overmaster have the power to recall your soldiers, Duncastle?” Sarya asked with icy calm.
“He can certainly call my actions into question, and perhaps persuade the Great Council to issue such an order.”
“Then I suggest you avoid giving this Selkirk offense.” Sarya folded her arms and watched the riders in gray approach.
Miklos Selkirk and his company passed abreast of the inn. The overmaster’s son caught sight of Borstag Duncastle and turned his horse aside. He dismounted with easy grace and handed his reins to one of his Silver Ravens.
“Ah, there you are, Duncastle!” he called. “I’ve been riding all up and down this column looking for you.”
“Selkirk,” Duncastle said. He made a shallow bow, never taking his eyes from the younger lord’s face. “I was not expecting you, or else I would have left word that you were to be brought up to me.”
“No matter. The ride gave me a good opportunity to size up your army.” Miklos Selkirk turned to Sarya and Teryani, and he offered a deep flourish and bow. “I am afraid I have not had the pleasure, dear ladies. I am Miklos Selkirk, of the House Selkirk.”
“Lady Senda Dereth,” Sarya answered. “This is my lady-in-waiting, Terian.”
Sarya offered her hand, and despite her deep-rooted loathing of humans and all their works, she had to admit that Miklos Selkirk was a handsome fellow, gifted with almost elven grace and self-possession. She looked into his eyes, and saw nothing but keen steel there.
Here is a worthy adversary, Sarya thought. She would have to amend Teryani’s instructions, if Selkirk was going to be near the head of the Sembian army for any time at all.
“A pleasure to meet you, Lady Senda,” the human said. A flicker of interest crossed his face-a moment’s
