Chapter 14 - Part 11

The sun was almost at its zenith, bringing some warmth to those assembled. The first part of the day had light rain and drizzle, making it cold, but then not an hour ago the clouds had finally parted. In any other city one would have suspected that one of the hundreds or maybe even thousands of nature priests in the sprawling roll of tents beneath the sky would have been responsible for it, but not here. For that matter, one did not get such an assemblage of druids, rangers, and nature worshippers in any other city. This was Greenheart. Oalian the greatpine druid ruled here and no one – not even House Lyrandar – tampered with the weather without his leave.

“Do they have no buildings in this city, General?” Mazshi d’Deneith asked Brogan. Her recurved shortbow was out, but no arrows were drawn. She had originally desired to stay right behind Rahg the entire time that they were in Greenheart, but the large number of wolves, bears, and the like that were obviously awaiting their masters’ command to attack the ogre had caused the normally belligerent Rahg to become quite docile.

“We aren’t in the city yet,” Brogan told her simply. He was busy making eye contact with the druids that he saw and smiling at them. Behind him his soldiers rode ro marched in perfect formation, weapons sheathed. Several carried the goat, lion, and dragon banner of Deneith. Others carried flags of truce, and prominent ceremonial knots around their swords. Two men rode bearing a tapestry that showed a force of Blademarks turning back an Aundairian charge. That had occurred twenty-seven years ago, but it didn’t hurt.

“Why did our guide leave us then?” she frowned.

Brogan valued Mazshi for her loyalty, her bow, and her dragonmark, in that order. He did not rely on her intellect, as she was a fairly simple soul. Nonetheless she was blood, and he did not allow himself to be impatient with anyone who had even a trace of the Deneith bloodline.

“He did not seek to escort us all the way to the city proper,” Brogan explained. “He was monitoring us, and now he will make his report. No doubt he also seeks to see several friends.”

“So they do not live in these tents all year?” she asked.

“No,” he told her. “These are people here for a conclave. It is not a holiday as much as it is – well, it is kind of a strategy session.”

“To get their orders from Oalian,” she said.

“To get Oalian’s notice,” he told her. “Oalian rules, but rarely. He issues few commands, and he lets nature take its course. The only active things that he does that I have heard of may not even be his doing.”

“What things?” she asked.

“Odd storms, swarms of animals and elemental beings, things of that sort,” he told her. “They appear whenever the Aundairians or the Droaam monsters congregate on Eldeen soil in large numbers.” He paused, wondering how best to put it. “No one knows Oalian’s mind save Oalian, but many suspect that he is more concerned with the border on the Wastes, as it has preoccupied him for four millennia. In Oalian’s mind, this great war of ours is barely noticeable.”

“So they are here to seek an audience,” she said.

“Some yes,” he said. “Some just to see the others, to trade news, thoughts. Even House Sivis doesn’t reach very far into the interior of the Reaches. This is – well it’s kind of like a fair between villages. Normally Greenheart is barely a thousand residents. Now I suspect that there is ten times that. Maybe even twenty. I will be meeting with both the Thuranni and the Phiarlan agents here, I suspect that between the two of them I’ll get the best information that I can. Ho there!”

A burly shifter woman with graying hair, wearing armor made of wooden pieces, was laughing with some Wardens of the Wood while a viper that was easily longer than a horse relaxed at her feet. The shifter turned to see Brogan, and then broke out in a toothy grin. “Brogan, is that you?”

Brogan jumped down from his horse, and Mazshi held up her hand. Everyone in the column halted, and Mazshi took the reins of Brogan’s horse. The Blademarks general and the druid hugged each other so hard that their armor creaked. “Pudarn,” Brogan said. “I haven’t seen you in over a decade!”

“Might be because I live here now,” Pudarn said, showing even more teeth. “I moved to Greenheart almost seven years ago. Everyone was talking about a certain Deneith officer who got tossed out one step ahead of a moving wall of earth and fire.”

Brogan pushed the anger of his humiliation down. He was a professional. In war you win some and you lose some. And his enemy then had not been Pundarn or even Oalian, but rather an obnoxious half-orc that had grown up in a swamp. “What happened to your creed of nature as a battle?” he asked curiously. Pundarn was a veteran of many battles, and had the distinction of twice being the target of Aundairian assassination attempts due to her success at leading troops.

“I got old,” she said. “And Aundair had more problems with Thrane, so I decided I should start working on mentoring students. I have a small group here, I try to preach my message.”

“Any luck?” he asked.

“None who will sign with you,” she told him, divining his meaning. “They all have oaths elsewhere, and they come to me only for an additional edge.” She laughed at the frown on his face. “Come, your soldiers are waiting, and we can talk while I hold onto your armor.”

“I don’t think my horse wants to carry your snake,” he told her wryly. The viper in question flicked its tongue at him.

“Let me take care of that,” she said with a laugh.

Two spells of charm animal later, she was pressing against his back as he rode. Mazshi frowned at her forwardness, but said nothing. For his part, Brogan hoped that the earthy and open druid did not casually mention that she and Brogan had been lovers once. Mazshi had enough hero worship issues.

“So,” he began.

“Regular population twelve hundred or so,” she told him. “Ambassadors from Breland are very active lately. Thrane has a secret ambassador here, and they’ve actually attracted some Silver Flame followers, some shifters. Disgusting, no? Now with the conclave, no one is sure, but at least twelve thousand are here, easily a thousand with druidic abilities, maybe more. As for other nations, no overt representation, but I suspect that a certain Child of Winter who travels alone may have some allegiance to Karrnath.”

“You guess my questions easily,” he told her.

“You always think the same way,” she chided him. “And I know you very well, no?” She gave him a playful squeeze, and he was grateful for his armor. “I also know something that has been spreading, a rumor that is true.”

“What?” he asked her.

“Watch people watch your warforged,” she told him.

He did so, and it took him a good minute or two. They attracted stares of course, that was the point. They were recruiting. The ogre certainly got his share of hard stares, the Valenar a few, and…

He suddenly realized that maybe one face in every ten was staring at the warforged with undisguised hate. “Why the animosity towards the golems?” he asked her.

“Who?” she asked, unfamiliar with that term.

“The warforged. Why are some so angry with them?” He was worried now, he had thought that this mix of troops would impress.

“A whisper,” she told him. “A rumor that a bird hears from another bird who heard it from House Sivis who heard it from a Warden who heard it from a merchant who heard it from a druid, who heard it through the earth. Or something like that.” She paused for dramatic effect.

He waited. He would not be baited.

Finally she laughed. “Ah, but I cannot make you itch, I can only scratch your itch, eh?” Brogan winced. Mazshi was slow, but she was not an idiot. “Merylsward.”

“What about it?” he asked.

“It’s gone.”

He turned around to look at her and he very nearly jerked on his reins. “What do you mean gone?”

“Warforged from the sea. A great slaughter. Young and old, women and children. A handful of survivors cut down even as they fled from untiring murder machines. A whole town dead.”

“This is true?” he asked, shocked.

“Somewhat true,” she said. “House Vadalis is angry, very angry. They speak with Oalian all day. Merylsward was their charter. Some think Aundair had a wizard in the mix as well.”

“Why?” he asked. “Merylsward is hardly important. I cannot think of a less significant military target.”

She shrugged. “Someone thought it was important. And if it was warforged, someone with money thought it was important. Expensive killing machines, no?”

“Very,” Brogan muttered. He wondered if it was the Gatekeeper thing that the half-orc was involved in.

“My house is up ahead,” she told him as regular stone-and-mortar buildings came into view. “I’ll get off here.” She and her viper dismounted before he could even slow down. “Come by tonight!” she called to him.

Mazshi gave Pudarn a disgusted look, but he did not have time to worry about her. He had to act quickly, and turn a potential disadvantage into an advantage. He had to show people that warforged were things to be directed.

He sent back hand signals for Marlal to join him in planning. They would approach the Gatekeepers first. The Warden who had escorted him had mentioned in passing that some day’s travel through the thick forest to the east there had been some mysterious disappearances. If it was some unnatural thing – and the Warden had said that it left no track that those who had visited the area recognized – then bringing its head back after killing it with a company of warforged should bring the Blademarks much good will.