Pathfinder Tales--The Crusader Road by Michael A. Stackpole

Author:Michael A. Stackpole [Stackpole, Michael A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates
Published: 2015-07-10T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nineteen

The Asp

Baron Anthorn Creelisk strolled through Silverlake’s gates as dusk trailed into night. He waved away the guard who would have followed him. “I shan’t be long.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Creelisk headed off along the path running to the north and then back east, outside the wall, and down toward the lake. He made his way casually, hands clasped at the small of his back, as if a man lost in thought. Most of the Silverlakers regarded him politely, but didn’t interact with him overmuch. Their loyalties lay with the Vishov family, so on one level or another, they regarded him as an enemy.

Tyressa Vishov had surprised him in her treating with the Kellids. He would have loved to know what she would have done had the girl said she didn’t want to go to the Kellids. The impasse he’d described would have then been in place. He had to allow that she might have been able to find a way to resolve the issue without bloodshed, but that he put down to a minimal chance of success. Most likely she would have had to fight, which would have killed people in the short term, and allowed Silverlake to wither.

That would have been an outcome that would not suit him. Not anymore. He had contingency plans in place to reinforce Silverlake if necessary, but he much preferred to remain in the background. If he were seen as having too much of a hand in Silverlake’s fate, it would put the whole of his plan in jeopardy.

He paused at the top of the hill overlooking the lake. The setting sun cast a long shadow out before him. The silhouette of his head touched the waters gently lapping at the shore. He watched red and silver lights dancing on the water.

Silvershade Lake had a certain beauty to it which Creelisk could recognize despite having spent his life in more settled and civilized lands. Echo Wood had an elegance and power that mocked the empires of men. Hundreds of settlements might well have been raised down through antiquity where Silverlake now stood, and when they fell, the wood simply reclaimed them. It hid the accomplishments of men, appearing innocent and inviting when the next company of settlers arrived.

The harsher bits of Ustalav allowed no one such illusions—places like Carrion Hill, for example. It existed at the southern edge of the Furrows, a desolate land scarred with trenches from a generations-old war, and often still sterile because of the destruction. Anthorn’s father had taken him there when he even younger than Jerrad Vishov. He’d pointed to the devastation and told Anthorn that it had all be caused by a civil war which pitted brother against brother.

The old man’s meaning was clear: were Anthorn to plot against his brother, only ruin would result. He told his father he understood.

I just didn’t tell him what I understood.

The lesson he’d taken from that landscape was simple: never engage in a war unless you’ve guaranteed the outcome before the first arrow flies.

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