Lazybones
Adventurer
Book VII, Part 35
The army of the Zhentarim made an impressive spectacle as it wound its way through the Far Hills like an armored serpent. The men and women who bore arms for the Black Network were disciplined and skilled, and they bore the best equipment that its coffers and its craftsmen could provide. They marched through cold sunshine and driving rain with equal indifference, or at least appeared to, and the fortified camps that they created each night when the column stopped were always orderly and efficient. Hard-eyed officers were quick to pounce on a soldier with a rusted buckle or a dragging step, and any grumbles that might have been heard were kept carefully confined to the insides of camp tents.
The bulk of the column consisted of light foot, clad in shirts of scale mail with large shields and heavy spears that formed a wall of shafts above as they marched. They numbered over three hundred, and represented the main strength of Darkhold, men who had been drilled by the Pereghost into a mobile, effective fighting force. They were accompanied by a good hundred auxiliaries, men and women of mixed background and quality, armed with a variety of weapons that included bows of varying size, stout flat-bladed swords, axes and maces and just about anything else that could be used to wreck havoc upon another living being.
The foot soldiers were the arms and legs of this fighting force, but its brain, the intellect that guided their use, rode at the head of the column. There twenty bulky figures clad in plate rode horses equally massive, with wicked-headed flails at their saddles and long-bladed swords slung across their backs. And in the midst of those impressive warriors, surrounded by them like an aura, rode the fell cleric Pelara Dolorim, a rising star within the Zhentarim, clad in full plate, flanked by two similarly garbed underpriests of Bane. The three wore faces that seemed the same bleak mask of forbidding, and even the most grizzled campaigner among the regular troops was quick to lower their eyes when a stray glance from those three fell over them.
The column trudged on southward, following a track blazed by the army’s scouts. For a long tenday they had already been on the march, forcing their way through incredibly difficult terrain on short rations, making a long detour around the city of Hluthvar to avoid detection. Although few of the veterans, at least, were under any illusion that a force this large could avoid notice as they made their way further south. That thought, at least, added some speed to their tired steps. That and the looks fired by the clerics whenever the column did not move quite to their satisfaction.
A shadow briefly fell over the column. Pelara looked up, frowning at the dark shape that wheeled through the sky over them, twisting into a sharply banking turn before coming to land on a hill up ahead to their left.
“Lead the column onward, Celenth,” she said to one of her underlings. “Melgrane, come with me.” Without waiting for acknowledgement she spurred her mount ahead. The cavalry ahead barely had time to get out of her way before her mount cantered up the trail and then up a steep rise toward the summit where the skyrider scout was already dismounting from his saddle.
The skyrider bowed deeply and saluted her as she approached. Her horse shied somewhat as the hippogriff shifted, but she controlled it with an effort. At least it wasn’t Gratz himself come to report; the skymage’s griffon was well trained, but no horse would willingly approach within fifty yards of the creature. Gratz himself bore something of his mount’s feral air himself; while his airs did not impress Pelara, her need of the wizard’s skills required that she at least remain civil in the face of the man’s insufferable attitude of smug superiority.
The scout had remained frozen in his bow, holding the reins of his mount in one hand while keeping the other pressed up against his chest. “Report,” Pelara said.
“The enemy force has shifted slightly again, Great Lady, moving now almost directly northeast. Their numbers seem to have depleted slightly as well, with about half the slaves and a small number of warriors missing since yesterday. We have not yet detected what happened to this portion of the force, since your directive that our scouts remain unseen.”
Pelara nodded, though her mouth tightened at the scout’s attempt to shift blame for their failure to her. In truth, she cared little for the fate of the slaves—perhaps they had killed and eaten them, she thought—but the disposition of even a small number of warriors could be quite significant. The scout’s comment was a good reminder, however, that the wizard’s power was limited—while he could cloak a skyrider and his mount in magical invisibility, the effect only lasted a short while.
Perhaps unsettled by her silence, the scout went on unbidden. “Lord Gratz has sent two riders on broad sweeps to the south and east, Great Lady, to verify that no other threats lurk along our route. They have strict orders to avoid detection, and will report back by the end of tomorrow’s march.”
Pelara waved a hand dismissively. “Is your estimation still that the enemy is heading for Kolova Gorge?”
“Yes, Great Lady,” the scout replied.
The priestess shifted her gaze to look over the column that was now passing her vantage. They were still not moving as quickly as she would have liked, but they would get the job done, would complete this mission that would win her further attention from the leaders of the Network. Fzoul himself watched the west, monitoring the fate of whoever these fools were who would despoil the name of the Zhentarim.
“Tell Gratz that I will have him attend me in my tent in council this evening,” she told the scout. “It is time to make plans.”
The scout nodded, but he hesitated, and Pelara immediately recognized it. “What more?” she said.
“Lord Gratz—he would have me repeat his earlier suggestion, Great Lady. From studying the column, he believes that—”
“Tell Gratz that I have made my decision,” Pelara cut him off, regretting the anger that cut into her tone. She would not tolerate such open dissention—sending an underling to question her orders! Tonight, he would have to be taught a lesson in the rules of hierarchy and command.
She reined in her mount carefully, to avoid spooking it further as the scout hurriedly bowed again and leapt into his saddle. With a furious beating of its wings, the hippogriff leapt down the hill and lifted into the sky. Within a few minutes it had vanished among the hills to the south.
She spared a glance for her companion. Melgrane was older than she, weaker in her power of Bane, but grim and ruthless in her own way. A garish scar ruined what was already a plain face, the effect accentuated by the green and blue pigments she wore.
Melgrane met her gaze with a face like stone. She would throw herself into a battle with a thousand orc battleragers at a command from Pelara, and would expect like obedience from one under her command. The clergy of Bane ran a tight ship, as the saying went, a quality that set them apart from the chaotic rabble that followed rivals like Cyric or Talos.
“Gratz’s lust for glory clouds his judgment,” she told Melgrane. “He would assault the enemy force with just himself, we three, and the handful of soldiers that the flying mounts could bring.” He’d first made the proposal shortly after they’d detected the enemy force, even before they’d clearly identified the group’s numbers and composition.
“Only a fool underestimates her enemy,” the elder cleric said, her voice as cold as her expression.
Pelara nodded and kicked her mount ahead, returning down the hill back toward the head of the column. Gratz had power, but she did not share his optimistic evaluation of the enemy. These hobgoblins had power of their own, power beyond the physical might of the two hill giants in their company. While she did not fully credit the tales of summoned demons that her scouts had brought her, she did not dismiss the humanoid shamans as “untrained adepts” the way that Gratz did. She anticipated a brutal battle ahead.
Her face tightened. That would not stop them from completing her mission. Even lagging as they were, they would reach Kolova Gorge a full day before the hobgoblins.
An example would be made that would remind the West of the power of the Zhentarim.
The army of the Zhentarim made an impressive spectacle as it wound its way through the Far Hills like an armored serpent. The men and women who bore arms for the Black Network were disciplined and skilled, and they bore the best equipment that its coffers and its craftsmen could provide. They marched through cold sunshine and driving rain with equal indifference, or at least appeared to, and the fortified camps that they created each night when the column stopped were always orderly and efficient. Hard-eyed officers were quick to pounce on a soldier with a rusted buckle or a dragging step, and any grumbles that might have been heard were kept carefully confined to the insides of camp tents.
The bulk of the column consisted of light foot, clad in shirts of scale mail with large shields and heavy spears that formed a wall of shafts above as they marched. They numbered over three hundred, and represented the main strength of Darkhold, men who had been drilled by the Pereghost into a mobile, effective fighting force. They were accompanied by a good hundred auxiliaries, men and women of mixed background and quality, armed with a variety of weapons that included bows of varying size, stout flat-bladed swords, axes and maces and just about anything else that could be used to wreck havoc upon another living being.
The foot soldiers were the arms and legs of this fighting force, but its brain, the intellect that guided their use, rode at the head of the column. There twenty bulky figures clad in plate rode horses equally massive, with wicked-headed flails at their saddles and long-bladed swords slung across their backs. And in the midst of those impressive warriors, surrounded by them like an aura, rode the fell cleric Pelara Dolorim, a rising star within the Zhentarim, clad in full plate, flanked by two similarly garbed underpriests of Bane. The three wore faces that seemed the same bleak mask of forbidding, and even the most grizzled campaigner among the regular troops was quick to lower their eyes when a stray glance from those three fell over them.
The column trudged on southward, following a track blazed by the army’s scouts. For a long tenday they had already been on the march, forcing their way through incredibly difficult terrain on short rations, making a long detour around the city of Hluthvar to avoid detection. Although few of the veterans, at least, were under any illusion that a force this large could avoid notice as they made their way further south. That thought, at least, added some speed to their tired steps. That and the looks fired by the clerics whenever the column did not move quite to their satisfaction.
A shadow briefly fell over the column. Pelara looked up, frowning at the dark shape that wheeled through the sky over them, twisting into a sharply banking turn before coming to land on a hill up ahead to their left.
“Lead the column onward, Celenth,” she said to one of her underlings. “Melgrane, come with me.” Without waiting for acknowledgement she spurred her mount ahead. The cavalry ahead barely had time to get out of her way before her mount cantered up the trail and then up a steep rise toward the summit where the skyrider scout was already dismounting from his saddle.
The skyrider bowed deeply and saluted her as she approached. Her horse shied somewhat as the hippogriff shifted, but she controlled it with an effort. At least it wasn’t Gratz himself come to report; the skymage’s griffon was well trained, but no horse would willingly approach within fifty yards of the creature. Gratz himself bore something of his mount’s feral air himself; while his airs did not impress Pelara, her need of the wizard’s skills required that she at least remain civil in the face of the man’s insufferable attitude of smug superiority.
The scout had remained frozen in his bow, holding the reins of his mount in one hand while keeping the other pressed up against his chest. “Report,” Pelara said.
“The enemy force has shifted slightly again, Great Lady, moving now almost directly northeast. Their numbers seem to have depleted slightly as well, with about half the slaves and a small number of warriors missing since yesterday. We have not yet detected what happened to this portion of the force, since your directive that our scouts remain unseen.”
Pelara nodded, though her mouth tightened at the scout’s attempt to shift blame for their failure to her. In truth, she cared little for the fate of the slaves—perhaps they had killed and eaten them, she thought—but the disposition of even a small number of warriors could be quite significant. The scout’s comment was a good reminder, however, that the wizard’s power was limited—while he could cloak a skyrider and his mount in magical invisibility, the effect only lasted a short while.
Perhaps unsettled by her silence, the scout went on unbidden. “Lord Gratz has sent two riders on broad sweeps to the south and east, Great Lady, to verify that no other threats lurk along our route. They have strict orders to avoid detection, and will report back by the end of tomorrow’s march.”
Pelara waved a hand dismissively. “Is your estimation still that the enemy is heading for Kolova Gorge?”
“Yes, Great Lady,” the scout replied.
The priestess shifted her gaze to look over the column that was now passing her vantage. They were still not moving as quickly as she would have liked, but they would get the job done, would complete this mission that would win her further attention from the leaders of the Network. Fzoul himself watched the west, monitoring the fate of whoever these fools were who would despoil the name of the Zhentarim.
“Tell Gratz that I will have him attend me in my tent in council this evening,” she told the scout. “It is time to make plans.”
The scout nodded, but he hesitated, and Pelara immediately recognized it. “What more?” she said.
“Lord Gratz—he would have me repeat his earlier suggestion, Great Lady. From studying the column, he believes that—”
“Tell Gratz that I have made my decision,” Pelara cut him off, regretting the anger that cut into her tone. She would not tolerate such open dissention—sending an underling to question her orders! Tonight, he would have to be taught a lesson in the rules of hierarchy and command.
She reined in her mount carefully, to avoid spooking it further as the scout hurriedly bowed again and leapt into his saddle. With a furious beating of its wings, the hippogriff leapt down the hill and lifted into the sky. Within a few minutes it had vanished among the hills to the south.
She spared a glance for her companion. Melgrane was older than she, weaker in her power of Bane, but grim and ruthless in her own way. A garish scar ruined what was already a plain face, the effect accentuated by the green and blue pigments she wore.
Melgrane met her gaze with a face like stone. She would throw herself into a battle with a thousand orc battleragers at a command from Pelara, and would expect like obedience from one under her command. The clergy of Bane ran a tight ship, as the saying went, a quality that set them apart from the chaotic rabble that followed rivals like Cyric or Talos.
“Gratz’s lust for glory clouds his judgment,” she told Melgrane. “He would assault the enemy force with just himself, we three, and the handful of soldiers that the flying mounts could bring.” He’d first made the proposal shortly after they’d detected the enemy force, even before they’d clearly identified the group’s numbers and composition.
“Only a fool underestimates her enemy,” the elder cleric said, her voice as cold as her expression.
Pelara nodded and kicked her mount ahead, returning down the hill back toward the head of the column. Gratz had power, but she did not share his optimistic evaluation of the enemy. These hobgoblins had power of their own, power beyond the physical might of the two hill giants in their company. While she did not fully credit the tales of summoned demons that her scouts had brought her, she did not dismiss the humanoid shamans as “untrained adepts” the way that Gratz did. She anticipated a brutal battle ahead.
Her face tightened. That would not stop them from completing her mission. Even lagging as they were, they would reach Kolova Gorge a full day before the hobgoblins.
An example would be made that would remind the West of the power of the Zhentarim.
