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Authors: R. A. Salvatore
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and boldly pounded the gavel down.
The other spokesmen turned immediately to the halfling, blank expressions stamped upon their faces. Regis rarely spoke at the meetings, and then only when cornered with a direct question.
Cassius of Bryn Shander brought his heavy gavel down. “The council recognizes Spokesman…uh…the spokesman from Lonelywood,” he said, and from his uneven tone Regis could guess that he had struggled to address the halfling’s request for the floor seriously.
“Fellow spokesmen,” Regis began tentatively, his voice cracking into a squeak. “With all due respect to the seriousness of the debatebetween the spokesmen from Caer-Dineval and Caer-Konig, I believe that we have a more urgent problem to discuss.” Jensin Brent and Dorim Lugar were livid at being interrupted, but the others eyed the halfling curiously. Good start, Regis thought, I’ve got their full attention.
He cleared his throat, trying to steady his voice and sound a bit more impressive. “I have learned beyond doubt that the barbarian tribes are gathering for a united attack on Ten-Towns!” Though he tried to make the announcement dramatic, Regis found himself facing nine apathetic and confused men.
“Unless we form an alliance,” Regis continued in the same urgent tones, “the horde will overrun our communities one by one, slaughtering any who dare to oppose them!”
“Certainly, Spokesman Regis of Lonelywood,” said Cassius in a voice he meant to be calming but was, in effect, condescending, “we have weathered barbarian raids before. There is no need for—”
“Not like this one!” Regis cried. “All the tribes have come together. The raids before matched one tribe against one city, and usually we fared well. But how would Termalaine or Caer-Konig—or even Bryn Shander—stand against the combined tribes of Icewind Dale?” Some of the spokesmen settled back into their chairs to contemplate the halfling’s words; the rest began talking among themselves, some in distress, some in angry disbelief. Finally Cassius pounded his gavel again, calling the hall to silence.
Then, with familiar bravado, Kemp of Targos slowly rose from his seat. “May I speak, friend Cassius?” he asked with unnecessary politeness. “Perhaps I may be able to put this grave pronouncement in the proper light.”
Regis and Drizzt had made some assumptions about alliances when they had planned the halfling’s actions at this council. They knew that Easthaven, founded and thriving on the principle of brotherhood among the communities of Ten-Towns, would openly embrace the concept of a common defense against the barbarian horde. Likewise Termalaine and Lonelywood, the two most accessible and raided towns of the ten, would gladly accept any offers of help.
Yet even Spokesman Agorwal of Termalaine, who had so much to gain from a defensive alliance, would hedge and hold his silence if Kemp of Targos refused to accept the plan. Targos was the largest and mightiest of the nine fishing villages, with a fleet more than twice the size of the second largest.
“Fellow members of the council,” Kemp began, leaning forward over the table to loom larger in the eyes of his peers. “Let us learn more of the halfling’s tale before we begin to worry. We have fought off barbarian invaders and worse enough times to be confident that the defenses of even the smallest of our towns are adequate.”
Regis felt his tension growing as Kemp rolled into his speech, building on points designed to destroy the halfling’s credibility. Drizzt had decided early on in their planning that Kemp of Targos was the key, but Regis knew the spokesman better than the drow and knew that Kemp would not be easily manipulated. Kemp illustrated the tactics of the powerful town of Targos in his own mannerisms. He was large and bullying, often taking to sudden fits of violent rage that intimidated even Cassius. Regis had tried to steer Drizzt away from this part of their plan,
The other spokesmen turned immediately to the halfling, blank expressions stamped upon their faces. Regis rarely spoke at the meetings, and then only when cornered with a direct question.
Cassius of Bryn Shander brought his heavy gavel down. “The council recognizes Spokesman…uh…the spokesman from Lonelywood,” he said, and from his uneven tone Regis could guess that he had struggled to address the halfling’s request for the floor seriously.
“Fellow spokesmen,” Regis began tentatively, his voice cracking into a squeak. “With all due respect to the seriousness of the debatebetween the spokesmen from Caer-Dineval and Caer-Konig, I believe that we have a more urgent problem to discuss.” Jensin Brent and Dorim Lugar were livid at being interrupted, but the others eyed the halfling curiously. Good start, Regis thought, I’ve got their full attention.
He cleared his throat, trying to steady his voice and sound a bit more impressive. “I have learned beyond doubt that the barbarian tribes are gathering for a united attack on Ten-Towns!” Though he tried to make the announcement dramatic, Regis found himself facing nine apathetic and confused men.
“Unless we form an alliance,” Regis continued in the same urgent tones, “the horde will overrun our communities one by one, slaughtering any who dare to oppose them!”
“Certainly, Spokesman Regis of Lonelywood,” said Cassius in a voice he meant to be calming but was, in effect, condescending, “we have weathered barbarian raids before. There is no need for—”
“Not like this one!” Regis cried. “All the tribes have come together. The raids before matched one tribe against one city, and usually we fared well. But how would Termalaine or Caer-Konig—or even Bryn Shander—stand against the combined tribes of Icewind Dale?” Some of the spokesmen settled back into their chairs to contemplate the halfling’s words; the rest began talking among themselves, some in distress, some in angry disbelief. Finally Cassius pounded his gavel again, calling the hall to silence.
Then, with familiar bravado, Kemp of Targos slowly rose from his seat. “May I speak, friend Cassius?” he asked with unnecessary politeness. “Perhaps I may be able to put this grave pronouncement in the proper light.”
Regis and Drizzt had made some assumptions about alliances when they had planned the halfling’s actions at this council. They knew that Easthaven, founded and thriving on the principle of brotherhood among the communities of Ten-Towns, would openly embrace the concept of a common defense against the barbarian horde. Likewise Termalaine and Lonelywood, the two most accessible and raided towns of the ten, would gladly accept any offers of help.
Yet even Spokesman Agorwal of Termalaine, who had so much to gain from a defensive alliance, would hedge and hold his silence if Kemp of Targos refused to accept the plan. Targos was the largest and mightiest of the nine fishing villages, with a fleet more than twice the size of the second largest.
“Fellow members of the council,” Kemp began, leaning forward over the table to loom larger in the eyes of his peers. “Let us learn more of the halfling’s tale before we begin to worry. We have fought off barbarian invaders and worse enough times to be confident that the defenses of even the smallest of our towns are adequate.”
Regis felt his tension growing as Kemp rolled into his speech, building on points designed to destroy the halfling’s credibility. Drizzt had decided early on in their planning that Kemp of Targos was the key, but Regis knew the spokesman better than the drow and knew that Kemp would not be easily manipulated. Kemp illustrated the tactics of the powerful town of Targos in his own mannerisms. He was large and bullying, often taking to sudden fits of violent rage that intimidated even Cassius. Regis had tried to steer Drizzt away from this part of their plan,
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