Road of the Patriarch - Book 3 by R.A. Salvatore

Author:R.A. Salvatore [Unknown]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fantasy
Publisher: Wizards of the Coast

“A moment of duress.”

Wingham’s expression soured. “You have no claim.”

Jarlaxle shrugged, again as if it did not matter. “Perhaps you will be proven correct. Perhaps not. Ultimately, the claim goes to the strongest, does it not? In the final sort of things, I mean. He who

remains alive, remains alive to write the histories in a light favorable to him and his cause. Surely as worldly as you are, you know well

the histories of the world, Master Wingham. Surely you recognize that armies carrying banners are almost always thieves—until they

win.”

Wingham didn’t flinch, and Jarlaxle knew enough about him, about people in general, to understand that he clutched at the rather pitiful—from Jarlaxle’s perspective—ideal of a higher justice, of a universal truism of right and wrong. No man could be more broken, after all, than he who at last must face the truth that his king, his

living god, is flawed. “Look forward, good Wingham,” Jarlaxle offered. “The outcome

is not known to you, but the result after the battle is indeed. The victor will determine which king rules the land of Vaasa. One wave

will overtake the other, and will flatten all the water under its weight.

That is the truth facing Palishchuk, however we might feel about it. And in that light, I would caution you to withhold your judgment

about who rightfully—and more importantly, who practically—will

rule in Vaasa.”

Wingham seemed to blanch for just a moment, but he squared his shoulders and firmed his jaw, his round, flat face tightening with admirable determination. “Palishchuk will not battle against King Gareth,” he stated.

“Neutrality, then?” asked the drow, and he let his expression sour. “Rarely is the course of the coward rewarded, I fear. But perhaps King Artemis will forgive—”

“No,” Wingham interrupted. “You are right in one thing, Jarlaxle.

Palishchuk must not let the events around her bury her under their

weight. Not without a fight. We have survived by the sword for all

of our history, and so it will be again. Kill me now if you will. Kill us all if you are so thirsty for blood, but understand that if King

Gareth’s horn calls out for allegiance, the warriors of Palishchuk

will answer that call.”

Jarlaxle’s sudden smile took the half-orc off his guard, and the drow dipped a sincere and respectful bow. “I never said that you should not,” Jarlaxle offered, and he turned and walked off into the night.

He knew that the half-orc would misinterpret him, would think

that his carefree attitude regarding any alliance Palishchuk might

choose was a sign of supreme confidence. Jarlaxle loved irony.

“King Gareth has reached Palishchuk,” Kimmuriel informed Jarlaxle the following afternoon in large and airy foyer of the main keep of Castle D’aerthe. The room had become his audience chamber, in effect, though Artemis Entreri, the man Jarlaxle had named as king, hardly spent any time in the place. He was always out along the walls, in some odd corner with a stone wall sheltering him from the increasingly cold north wind. Jarlaxle understood that his human friend was trying to keep as far

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