Chapter 15 - Part 1

CHAPTER FIFTEEN – THE PREGAME SHOW
The 11th of Sypheros, 993 Y.K., just after midday in Greenheart

“The first thing to keep in mind is that there are barely a thousand of them scattered throughout the Reaches,” Zhuan’doh d’Thuranni was telling Brogan. “And maybe half of them can use real druid magic, the rest are wannabes, minor adepts, or magewrights with some kind of mental imbalance. Of that half barely a quarter can summon and control the types of vermin you’re talking about, and maybe only a dozen of those are at this conclave.”

“I see,” Brogan said. “I was given to understand that they are approachable, however.”

“Sometimes,” Zhuan’doh said, drinking a light wine while scratching at the empty eye socket behind his eyepatch. The Thuranni officer could afford to risk infection, he had some druidic powers of his own that he had picked up in the seas on the northeastern edge of Khorvaire that he could heal himself with. The elf was part wilderness scout, part druid, and all business. A few decades ago, not that long off in the way elves looked at things, those druidic abilities had made House Phiarlan choose him as its agent here. Zhuan’doh had chosen to ally himself with the breakaway faction of the House of Shadow, however, and he had lost his eye to a would-be assassin shortly thereafter. “Keep in mind that people hate them and don’t trust them, and they know it. That makes them wary. You also have to keep in mind that they are concerned with survival in the wild, so gold means very little to them. If you want them to follow your little band they have to have a reason. They’ll also need patience, which few of them have.”

“Then what do they want?” Brogan asked.

“What does he want, you mean,” Zhuan’doh said, pointing across the street. Brogan turned and saw a shifter in leather armor caressing a pet spider than was bigger than a wolfhound. Behind the shifter there were a dozen men and women, all human, that crouched and watched. All were filthy, with stained clothing and matted hair, and several had pet rats or bugs frolicking about them. “That’s Kurse. I told him that you wanted him. He’s curious, but I don’t know why. He’s thick in the head, but very, very intuitive, and charming in a lunatic sort of way. Nobody else was interested or had the power.”

Brogan stared hard at Kurse. The shifter druid stared back, some fifty feet away, and snorted. The Deneith officer deliberately turned his back on the shifter and looked at Zhuan’doh. “Tell me about him.”

“He’s thirty-seven years old, he normally lives in a place called The Gloaming, which is one of the unfriendliest places in the world, and I include the Demon Wastes in that calculation,” the Thuranni elf said, gesturing his servant for more wine. The servant was a halfling hireling of Ghallanda who never spoke, and drew away from the discussion when not actually providing drink. “He can turn himself into a great spider or centipede, he has been to Droaam, he hates harpies for a reason that I don’t know, he’s more feral than any shifter I’ve ever met – I’d almost say he’s a pure lycanthrope, and he seeks recognition. He’s been to see Oalian more times than any other Child of Winter I’ve heard of.”

“So he wants a name for himself, not money,” Brogan said, turning around to look again. Some Wardens of the Wood were engaged in a terse staring match with the Children of Winter.

“He wants a name for himself,” Zhuan’doh said. “But I don’t know that’s what he wants from you in particular.”

“If you have nothing else to tell me, maybe I’ll go find out,” Brogan said. Zhuan’doh grabbed the human’s wrist before he could get up.

“You’re paying me too much to let you do that,” the elf said with a chuckle. “He wants recognition. Make him hungry. Don’t talk to him yet. Get up and walk away. Go check on your troops at those grounds that you rented, go talk to the half-elf second of yours about food, or go to Vadalis and buy some horses. Make Kurse hungry and you’ll get him to come to your table faster.” He let Brogan go, and drained his winecup.

“Very well then,” Brogan said as he stood. A thought occurred to him. “Have you heard anything more about this Merylsward business?”

Zhuan’doh frowned in irritation. “I know you’ve seen Veliost,” he said. “And I know what that panhandler has been saying. He’s talking too fast, not verifying anything. Aundair attacked Merylsward with a lot of warforged, but that’s all anyone knows for sure right now. They came from the sea and killed a lot of people. Wait a day or so and the real news will come in, not the guesses. If it’s really as bad as some say, Oalian will talk about it.”

“Thank you,” Brogan said. “I think I’ll go look at some horses and chat up the Vadalis people.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a Kundarak bond, which Zhuan’doh accepted without comment. Brogan gave a quick bow and stepped down from Zhuan’doh’s porch.

So much more businesslike than the other elf, Brogan thought, rejoining the company of his two adamantine-plated warforged bodyguards. Each one carried a longsword, a shield, and a crossbow, and each one would kill in an instant. Brogan knew that they drew eyes. That was the point. He also knew that they were immune to any poison or disease that a Child of Winter might throw at them. It always helped to get a better price when you could show that the thing you were buying wasn’t as useful as the seller made it out to be.

He slowed his stride so that the bulky constructs could keep up, and headed to the Vadalis open-air ranch. Greenheart was not a big enough place that anything was too far away, but Vadalis owned a series of buildings and pastures that made up about a quarter of the settled real estate that was Greenheart.

“General Brogan, what birds are those?” asked one of the warforged, looking upwards.
Surprised that one of the warforged had noticed the wheeling creatures in the sky and not he, Brogan looked up to see three winged horses bearing passengers coming down to Vadalis.

“They are not birds,” the Deneith officer said, with no small measure of awe in his voice. “They are pegasi. Gorgeous, wonderful creatures. Rarely seen and even more rarely tamed.” Brogan could see that the Vadalis people saw it now as well. Everyone from guards, to menial servants, to handlers were pointing and gesturing. “Come!” Brogan ordered. The warforged stepped quickly behind him.

The winged horses headed to the center of the Vadalis buildings, a barn cutting them off from Brogan’s view as they landed. A guard in with a Vadalis tabard over a chain shirt was holding a shortbow and gaping.

“Ahem,” Brogan said. The guard turned, then snapped to attention when he saw the Deneith standard.

“Yes!” the guard said, shouldering his bow and gripping a shortspear. “Your business with House Vadalis, sir?”

“I’d like to buy some horses,” Brogan said affably. He always tried to treat even the hired hands of other Houses with respect. It was good for business. “Ah, the conventional kind. I don’t think I could afford those flying ones. Do you have a full stable of them?”

“Oh those aren’t ours, sir,” the guard said. “Well, I mean they are Vadalis-trained, I could see it in how they flew in formation, but they weren’t raised here.”

“Really?” Brogan said. He didn’t push it. “Well, who do I speak to about getting a dozen or so mounts, battle-trained, and mountain-ready, hm?”

“Follow me, sir,” the guard said. “Right this way!”

A few more kind words and friendly smiles told Brogan that this fellow was a blood member of Vadalis, not a hired hand, doing his turn of duty, and that Vadalis did have a small cadre of pegasi. Brogan was glad that he had been pleasant to the young man, and he began to wonder if buying some of the fantastic horses might not be a good idea, expensive or not. The Droaam forces that he intended to face were formidable as ground troops, and a few aerial snipers, or even bombers with barrels of lamp oil and flasks of the right alchemical solution, would be a significant edge.

“Hello,” called out an older man with a short beard from under a gazebo. He wore a pocketed apron and was treating a superficial cut on a horse’s leg.

“Uncle, this is General Brogan d’Deneith,” the young guard said. “He wishes to discuss prices with you.”

“Sure, sure,” the man said. “You head back to the gate, and Brogan, your golems are going to have to stay back another twenty feet or so. They spook the horses.” The young man nodded and left.

“Of course,” Brogan said, waving the two warforged back. Once they were a bit more secluded, he tried a little more charm. “Your nephew is a good chap.”

“He’s not my nephew,” the man laughed. “My name is Unghil d’Vadalis, all the kids here call me ‘Uncle.’”

“That’s…familiar,” Brogan said.

“Vadalis is a family, not an army,” Unghil chuckled. “Let me guess, the Blademarks want to know how much light horse will cost them so they can decide how many swords to hire?”

“You know your customers like you know your horses,” Brogan said. “You’ve got my interest. So do those pegasi I saw. How much are they?”

“For that you’ll have to talk to Grandma,” Unghil said. “She handled the special deals.”

“So they are for sale? Those men I saw on them don’t own them?”

“That I don’t know, but I see someone coming who will know,” Unghil said. Brogan looked to where he was gesturing and saw a young girl, maybe eleven years old, running towards them, all her chores forgotten.

“Uncle!” she yelled. “Uncle! They’re from Merylsward! The town still stands! Merylsward still stands!” Other people around the area stopped work, farmhands came out from behind fences, and windows were thrown open.

“The town stands, praise Boldrei and Balinor!” shouted one woman.

“If Aundair has harmed Vadalis blood in this, there will be a Keeper’s payment taken!” roared an old man.

“What did they say about warforged?” asked another fellow, tossing an angry glance at Brogan’s two bodyguards.

“I say we go welcome the brave heroes of Merylsward,” Brogan yelled, sensing that it was the perfect thing to say. “Let us show them our appreciation in person!”

Everyone cheered, and the young girl waved them to come with her. Unghil grinned at Brogan. “Good suggestion,” he said, finishing tying a bandage on the horse. “Let’s go see them and then we can talk.”

Brogan cheered along with the others, but gestured for the two ‘forged to come with him. As his bodyguards rejoined him, he eyed the crowd carefully. They were more concerned than excited. Merylsward was a Vadalis company town, and from what he had seen, everyone here was taking word of deaths in Merylsward as the death of a near relative. The folk were surely interested in the pegasi, it was the business of their House after all, but they were focusing on their professional interest only to hold down feelings of panic.

“Praise the Sovereign Host for sending us news!” Brogan called out. “Praise be to the heroes of Merylsward! They will set our minds at ease, whether their news is good or bad! Praise them for bringing an end to our fears!”

“Aye!” called out several.

“Retribution if they say!” Brogan called out. “Jubilation if they say! Praise the word they bring!”

As he continued in this vein, the crowd gradually let him be the speaker, waiting for him to yell the next phrase so they could declare their affirmation. He repressed a smile. It was so easy. When emotions were running high, the most articulate person could become the leader.

Brogan continued praising and exhorting the people, repeating how wonderful, how great, and how profoundly heroic the riders from Merylsward were. It was then that he and the crowd came around the corner of one of the interior buildings to see that the leader of the trio was a half-orc that he was far too familiar with.

“Why Brogan, you flatterer you,” Delegado said with a terrific grin.