Road of the Patriarch by Salvatore R. A

Author:Salvatore, R. A. [Salvatore, R.A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-7869-5263-2
Publisher: Random House Publisher Services
Published: 2008-10-07T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 13

A BET HEDGED

The half-orc city was on edge. And why not? Word had reached Jarlaxle, and so it had reached Palishchuk as well, that King Gareth was on the march, his formidable army rolling northward across the Vaasan bog to challenge the claim of King Artemis the First. The news had surprised Jarlaxle—who didn’t much like being surprised. He hadn’t thought Gareth would move so decisively, or so boldly. Winter was coming on, which alone could destroy an army in Vaasa, and Gareth was dealing with drow, after all. Gareth had no idea what Jarlaxle had arrayed against him—how could he? And yet he had marched out at once, and in force.

Jarlaxle’s respect for the man had multiplied with the news. Rarely had he encountered humans with such confidence and determination.

He made certain his boots clicked loudly even on the slick, rain-soaked stones on the side of the hill. He did not want a fight with Wingham, and did not want to startle any of the nervous sentries surrounding the half-orc.

Wingham stood near a small fire at the center of the hillock’s flat top, with another, larger half-orc—Olgerkhan, Jarlaxle realized—close beside him. They noticed Jarlaxle’s noisy approach and turned to greet him.

As he neared the pair, Jarlaxle recognized the anxiety in their expressions. A bit of fear, a bit of anger, all very clearly revealed in the way they, particularly Olgerkhan, kept glancing around them. Olgerkhan even had his burly arms crossed over his chest, as sure a sign of resistance as could be offered. The differences in racial habits occurred to Jarlaxle at that moment. In Menzoberranzan, when a drow male crossed his arms over his chest, it was a sign of obedience and respect. On the World Above, though, and as with the drow matrons, it was a signal of steadfast defiance, or at least defensiveness.

“Master Wingham,” he greeted sweetly. “I am honored that you answered my call.”

“You knew I would come out,” Wingham replied, his tone less diplomatic than usual. “How could I not, with the winds of war stirring about my beloved Palishchuk?”

“War?”

“You know that King Gareth has marched.”

“To celebrate the coronation of King Artemis the First, of course.”

Wingham put on a sour expression that seemed even more exaggerated in the dancing shadows of the small fire.

“Well, we shall learn of his intent soon enough,” Jarlaxle offered. “Let us both hope that King Gareth is as wise as his reputation indicates.”

“Why have you done this?”

“I serve the king.”

“You challenge the rightful king,” Olgerkhan interjected.

From under the great brow of his ostentatious hat, Jarlaxle narrowed his red-glowing eyes and thinned his lips, locking Olgerkhan in a stare that surely reminded the burly warrior of his recent adventure beside the drow. Olgerkhan’s crossed arms slipped down to his side and he even stepped back a bit, the aggressiveness melting from his posture. With that one look, Jarlaxle had reminded him of Canthan, to be sure.

“The Bloodstone Lands were opened to you and Artemis Entreri both,” Wingham said, forcing the drow to look back his way.

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