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  Dragon 390
Forgotten Realms Fiction
Lord of the Darkways
By Ed Greenwood

A tall, slender, darkly handsome man sat alone at the head of a long,  polished table, his fingers clasped together under his chin. He was  thinking, behind the faint half smile on his face that betrayed nothing.

In order to truly rule Zhentil Keep—not just lord it over the  council—it would be necessary to break the power of the richest and  most inf luential city merchants. Not to mention the hired wizards  working for them.

The nobles he had already conquered, or could destroy at  will. He just needed them to refrain from mustering arms against him and  banding together while he dealt with the merchants.

The waylords. The sixteen men who could sway or cow all the  other merchants and shopkeepers of the keep. Sixteen citizens who could  quietly bring armies into the city without having to fight past the city  walls or disembark at the docks. They threatened the rule of anyone who  sat on a throne in Zhentil Keep by their very existence. So they must  die, and soon.

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