Beyond the High Road c-2

by Troy Denning

  “Now you are troubled that they didn’t raze some shack?” Vangerdahast looked to the heavens for patience. “Aren’t you wasting enough of our time without fretting over such things? The king sent us north to find Alusair-“

  “And you are certain these farmers can’t help us?” Tanalasta stared at the old wizard evenly “I know why the king sent us north, and it has less to do with finding Alusair than getting me out of Arabel. I doubt he would object to our taking the time to determine if these orcs are the ones spreading the blight.”

  “Very well,” Vangerdahast sighed, giving up the argument far too easily, “but we won’t be going after them.”

  Tanalasta studied the wizard thoughtfully. She had spent the last two days alternately trying to puzzle out his game and feeling oddly pleased with herself. She did not know whether her father had been serious about naming a new heir, but she now realized she did not care. As they had ridden out of Arabel, an unexpected sense of relief came over her, and she took the feeling to mean she had never wanted to rule Cormyr at all.

  Later, as she grew accustomed to her new status, she began to experience vague sensations of loss and came to understand that what she felt was not relief, but pride. For the first time in her life, she had staked her whole future on her own conviction. The possibility that in the process she had thrown away a kingdom did not frighten her-it made her feel strong.

  Once Tanalasta came to that realization, it grew easier to focus on Vangerdahast’s strange behavior. Given his attitude toward her recently, she would have expected him to endorse her replacement as heir. Yet he seemed quite disturbed by the king’s pronouncement, and since then he had been almost civil to her. She would have to be careful. Vangerdahast was definitely plotting something, and he was at his most dangerous when cordial.

  After a time, Vangerdahast raised one of his bushy eyebrows and asked, “Well? Do we have a bargain, or must I slip you into a bag of holding for the rest of the trip?”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Tanalasta replied. “I’m no orc-hunter. I only want to find out what they did to this grange.”

  As Tanalasta and her company rounded the corner of the field, the farmer sent his family into the hut, then turned to curtly salute his visitors. Despite his tattered tunic and mane of untrimmed hair, the princess felt certain he had once been a soldier-probably an ex-Purple Dragon who had accepted a tract of frontier land in lieu of mustering out pay.

  As she approached the man, Tanalasta slipped her signet ring into her pocket, then returned his salute somewhat awkwardly. As a princess, she normally ignored military protocol, but her company was traveling disguised as a Purple Dragon patrol. Like Vangerdahast and Owden, Tanalasta wore the black weathercloak of a war wizard, while the twelve priests behind her were dressed in the capes and chain mail of common dragoneers.

  The farmer’s eyes seemed to absorb all this in an instant, then he returned his gaze to Tanalasta. “Hag Gordon at your service, Lady Wizard. Didn’t hear there was a new patrol assigned to Gnoll Pass.”

  “There isn’t,” Tanalasta replied. She could tell by Hag’s tone that he had already deduced this was no ordinary company. “And you were with the…?”

  “The Hullack Venomeers.” Hag’s eyes shifted pointedly to the badgeless capes worn by Owden’s priests, then he added, “Milady.”

  Tanalasta sensed that she was missing some subtlety of military decorum, but she could hardly reveal the true nature of her company. Even had she known Hag’s loyalty to be beyond question, there was no need for him to know that the crown princess-or former crown princess-was riding about the realm protected only by a small escort of Purple Dragons. One simply did not reveal that sort of information casually.

  Tanalasta gestured toward the far end of the man’s field. “We were passing by when we noticed orc tracks in the creek.”

  “Orcs?” Hag’s eyes widened. “There are no orcs this side of the pass.”

  “I know an orc track when I see one,” Tanalasta insisted. “Even underwater. They love to wade. It makes it harder for the hounds to stay on their trail.”

  Hag raised his brow and studied her with a thoughtful air, and that was when Tanalasta realized her mistake. She turned to Owden and Vangerdahast.

  “The orcs didn’t cause this,” she said, waving at the blighted field. “At least not the ones we’ve been following.”

  Owden frowned, looking from the princess to the ruined field. “It must be. The coincidence is-“

  “Just a coincidence-or related in some way we don’t understand,” she said. “Even in a slow current, the tracks in the stream couldn’t be more than a few hours old.”

  “And my turnips started molding a tenday ago,” added Hag, clearly making the connection between Tanalasta’s inquiries and the condition of his field. “What are you looking for?”

  “As a former sergeant in the Hullack Venomeers, you should know better than to ask such questions,” said Vangerdahast. While the rebuke failed to intimidate Hag, it did impress Tanalasta. It seemed impossible that even Vangerdahast could know the rank of every man who had served in the Purple Dragons. The wizard continued to glower at the man. “Had it been any of your concern, we would have explained the company’s lack of insignia.”

  “And would you also have explained why your dragoneers carry maces where they should have swords? Whatever happened to my field, it’s happening to others, and old Bolt-and-Blow must be scared to death.”

  Vangerdahast’s face darkened to deep burgundy. “Bolt-and-Blow, Sergeant Gordon?”

  “The royal magician,” Hag explained.

  Tanalasta had to bite her cheeks to keep from bursting into laughter, but Vangerdahast’s complexion only continued to darken. If the sergeant realized how perilous it was to anger this particular war wizard, he showed no sign.

  “Everyone knows how old Ringfingers clutches the reins of power.” As he said this, Hag glanced at Vangerdahast’s bejeweled hands, then stepped even closer. “He’d never muster a whole company of priests if this thing didn’t scare him. If he’s scared, so am I. So what happened to my field… sir?”

  Vangey turned to Tanalasta, eyes bulging like red-veined eggshells, and said nothing. He didn’t have to. One of her father’s many misgivings about establishing a royal temple had been causing a needless panic, and now she could see why.

  “I wouldn’t read too much into the composition of the Badgeless Maces,” said Tanalasta. Again, a glimmer of a frown flashed across the free farmer’s face, and the princess could not help feeling that she was making some error of protocol that aroused the man’s suspicions. “But as a former dragoneer, you are obliged to serve at the crown’s recall. Must I invoke that obligation to secure your cooperation?”

  Hag seemed no more intimidated by Tanalasta’s threat than he had by Vangerdahast’s blustering. “That duty is invoked by royal writ. If you can produce one, then I will gladly obey your command. Otherwise, I am entitled to as many answers as I give.”

  “Royal writ!” Vangerdahast spewed, reaching into his robe. “I’ll writ you into a-!”

  “The world has no need for more toads, Sir Wizard.” Tanalasta motioned for Vangerdahast to hold his attack, then turned back to the stubborn farmer. “While I’m sure we can trust a former dragoneer to hold his tongue, can the same be said for his children?”

  Tanalasta glanced toward the hut, where the man’s family was peering through the cracked door. Hag’s eyes lit with sudden comprehension, and he nodded gravely-exactly as the princess had hoped he would. She had not lived nearly four decades in the Palace of the Purple Dragon without developing at least some talent for making people feel special.

  Hag gestured toward the nearest corner of his field. “Come with me,” he said, “there’s something you’ll want to see.”

  “Of course.” Tanalasta smiled and dismounted, thankful that at least some of her palace experience proved useful outside Suzail. She motioned to Owden and, somewhat reluctantly, Vangerdah
ast to follow. “Hag, since you have already deduced the true nature of our ‘Purple Dragons,’ would you care to have them do what they can to restore your field? I doubt they can save this year’s harvest, but perhaps they can keep the blight from ruining the soil.”

  Hag’s dismay showed in his face, and Tanalasta could tell that it had not even occurred to him that the field might be ruined forever.

  “I’d be grateful for whatever they can do,” he said. “It’ll be hard enough doing city work this year without knowing I have to clear another field before spring.”

  Owden nodded to his priests. They dismounted and began to sort through the small assortment of tools piled in the farmer’s cart, having left their own shovels and hoes back in Arabel. Despite the offer of help, Hag still did not seem inclined to volunteer any information. He led Tanalasta and her two companions to the corner of his field, then stopped and looked at them expectantly.

  Tanalasta put her hands into the pockets of her weathercloak. “You must swear on your honor as a Purple Dragon to hold what I tell you in the strictest confidence.” With a practiced motion, she slipped on two of the handful of magic rings that Vangerdahast had pressed on her before setting out from Arabel. “You may not tell even your wife.”

  “I swear,” said Hag. “Not even my wife.”

  “Good. Clearly, you have realized by now that I am no war wizard, and that many of those traveling with me are not normal Purple Dragons.”

  Vangerdahast cleared his throat gruffly. “Milady, I hardly think this is wise-“

  “But it is my decision, Lord Wizard.” Tanalasta removed her hand from her pocket, displaying to Hag the hardened gold band of a Commander’s Ring of the Purple Dragons. “I have no doubt that you also recognize this, and what it must mean for someone who wouldn’t know a troop from a tulip to be wearing it.”

  “I know what it is, as you say,” said Hag, “but I can’t imagine why you’d be wearing one.”

  “Of course you can.” Tanalasta motioned to the twelve priests already poking around at the edge of his field. “You’ve already guessed, and with little enough help from us. We’re trying to stop this blight before it becomes a serious problem for Cormyr. To do that, we need to find the orcs who are spreading it.”

  Hag cocked an eyebrow and thought for a moment, then said, “I suppose it doesn’t really matter who you are.”

  “Not if you value your tongue,” Vangerdahast threatened. The free farmer nodded reluctantly, then picked up a long stick. “You’ll be wanting to see this.” Talking as he worked, Hag began to scrape the mold away from the soft soil underneath. “He must have snuck up on us. The dogs didn’t start barking until he was already in the field, and by the time I saw him, he was halfway across.”

  “Who?” asked Owden.

  “Whoever left that.” Hag pointed to a track he had uncovered. It was shaped like a man’s bare foot, save that it was half-again too long, with the narrow line of a claw mark furrowing the ground in front of each toe.

  “No orc made that track,” Tanalasta said.

  “He looked more like a beggar,” said Hag. “A tall beggar, with a huge ragged cape and some sort of tattered hood. I was going to invite him to sleep in the goat shed, until he turned and I saw his eyes.”

  “His eyes?” Tanalasta asked.

  “They were full of blood.” Hag hesitated, then added, “And they… well… they had to be shining.”

  “Had to be?” Vangerdahast demanded. “Be specific, sergeant.”

  Hag’s bearing grew a touch more proud and upright. “It was dark, Lord Wizard. He was really only a shadow, but I could see his eyes. They weren’t bright, it’s just that they were the only thing I could really see.”

  “Did he do anything threatening?” asked Tanalasta.

  Hag flushed. “Not really… but he frightened me all the same. I set my dogs on him. They chased him over to the corner by where you came in, and that was the last I saw of them alive.”

  “How were they killed?” Vangerdahast asked.

  “I couldn’t say. In the morning, my son found them sleeping on the stream bank. They wouldn’t wake up.”

  “You sent your son to look for them?” Owden asked.

  “To call them,” Hag said, bristling at the note of disapproval in the harvestmaster’s voice. “My wife and I were busy in the field.”

  “The blight?” Tanalasta asked.

  “A diagonal stripe right where he walked. We pulled every turnip within two paces of his footsteps, but the whole crop had wilted by evening.” Hag gestured at the field. “You know the rest.”

  Owden and Vangerdahast exchanged worried looks, then the harvestmaster said, “It appears I was wrong about the orcs. I’m sorry.”

  Vangerdahast laid a hand on the harvestmaster’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t be too hard on myself. It was only a working theory, and a good one at that.” He turned to Hag. ‘What else can you tell us about this vagabond?”

  Hag shrugged. “Nothing. He came and went in the night, then everything just died.”

  “Came from where?” Vangerdahast demanded, scanning the rocky farmyard around them. “Went to whence?”

  “It’ll do no good to search for a trail now. There was a good wind two days ago,” said Hag. “Besides, I looked after and found the dogs dead. The vagabond-or whatever he was-didn’t leave any more tracks.”

  Tanalasta studied the surrounding area. The grange was located just a few hundred paces north of the tiny hamlet of LastRest, near where The Mountain Ride ascended the foothills of the Storm Horn Mountains into Gnoll Pass. The vegetation was alternately scrub willow and thin copses of beech, with plenty of boulders and stones to hint at the difficulty of clearing a pasture. It would have been hard for anyone to approach the field through so much brush without leaving some sign of his passage.

  ‘Tm no scout, but I know how to look for a trail,” said Hag, correctly interpreting Tanalasta’s scrutiny of the area. “There were no broken twigs, no overturned stones-at least not that amounted to a trail.”

  Vangerdahast used his hand to trace a path from the far corner of the field to where they were standing, then turned to continue the line. He was pointing between two massive peaks just to the left of Gnoll Pass.

  “The Stonelands,” Tanalasta observed.

  Vangerdahast nodded. “Well, I suppose that’s no surprise. Nothing good has ever come from the Stonelands.”

  Owden turned to Hag. “Perhaps we can learn something about this stranger from the death of your dogs. Would you mind if I had a look at them?”

  “If you want to dig them up.” Hag pointed toward a mound on the far side of his goat shed.

  Vangerdahast frowned and looked to Tanalasta. “I’m sure there is no need to remind you of our mission. We hardly have time to tarry here all afternoon while the good harvestmaster digs up those poor creatures.”

  “Of course not,” Tanalasta said, starting for her horse, and motioning for the others to follow. “You and I will cross the Storm Horns with all due haste. The Harvestmaster and his priests will stay here to learn what they can from Hag’s field, then set off after this vagabond.”

  Now Vangerdahast really scowled. “It’s hardly necessary to send them back. Either one of us can report-“

  “Those are my orders,” Tanalasta said. “And if you care to argue them, I can simply release the Badgeless Maces from the king’s service. Of course, then I would also have to confiscate their cloaks, leaving them to ride about the realm asking questions and chasing vagabonds without any disguise whatsoever.”

  “You wouldn’t!”

  “You think not?” Tanalasta reached her horse and took the reins from the young priest who had been holding it, then swung into the saddle. “Try me.”

  Vangerdahast did his best to warp his wrinkled face into a mask of outrage. “The king himself shall hear of this.”

  “I have no doubt. I suspect he might even be expecting it.” Trying hard to suppress a smile, Tanalasta
turned to Hag. “You have the thanks of the realm, and I hope the priests are able to save your field.”

  Hag bowed low. “And you have my thanks for trying. Rest assured that I shall keep your secrets-all of them.”

  “That is well for you,” growled Vangerdahast, hoisting himself into his saddle. “You may be certain that I will be listening.”

  Hag bowed again, and this time his face had finally grown pale with intimidation. Tanalasta said her farewells to Owden, promising to meet him in Arabel within the space of two tendays, then signaled the real Purple Dragons to close the perimeter and resume their marching order.

  As they rode down the creek toward the ford where Tanalasta had first noticed the orc tracks, Vangerdahast splashed up beside the princess and said, “You should know I’m serious about contacting your father. You can’t keep flouting his wishes and expect him to forgive you.”

  “I’m more concerned about these orcs running around loose than my father’s forgiveness.” Tanalasta gestured at the stream bed. “Have you sent word to Castle Crag about them?”

  “I… uh… certainly.”

  “Really, Vangerdahast?”

  Vangerdahast’s cheeks reddened above his beard. “I’m confident Lord Commander Tallsword has already sent a patrol to track them down.”

  “I’m sure be has.” Tanalasta smiled to herself, then asked, “Tell me, when did you hear about that field?”

  Vangerdahast looked confused. “Milady?”

  “Hag Gordon’s former rank,” Tanalasta said. “How could you have known it, if Bren Tallsword hadn’t already told you about the blighted field? I only hope the good sergeant wasn’t part of the deception. I’d hate to think Harveatmaster Foley will be running around smashing in vagabond heads for no good reason.”

  Vangerdahast sighed wearily. “Unfortunately, I fear the harvestmaster will find plenty of reason. Bren Tallsword told me about the Gordon field three days ago, but today was the first I had heard about the vagabond-and yes, I have already contacted the Lord Commander and told him to watch for the man.” The old wizard smiled, then added, “I have also asked him to do his best to keep your priest friends out of the king’s sight.”