Death of the Dragon c-3

by Ed Greenwood

  The man scurried to obey, and it seemed like the space of only two long, goblin-surveying breaths before Feldon’s familiar ragged mustache was bobbing before him. “Your Majesty?”

  “Good Feldon,” he said, “I need the nearest royal forester of skill brought before me, well guarded and in a trice.”

  The swordcaptain’s weathered face split in a broad smile. “Would the Warden of the King’s Forest do, my liege? He’s staying at Ilduiph’s stead, not three bow shots west.”

  “With all his family? In the very teeth of all these goblins?”

  Feldon’s smile disappeared. “Well the way of it’s like this, your majesty,” he muttered. “Lord Huntsilver and Goodman Ilduiph are both of the mind that the royal writ is a shield for all loyal men. If the goblins aren’t there by the king’s will…”

  “Then before all the gods, the goblins just aren’t there,” Azoun completed the sentence calmly. “Or at least they dare not attack or despoil save by royal leave.”

  Feldon nodded, and Azoun smiled slowly and said, “Fetch them both.” Before Feldon could more than open his mouth to reply, something occurred to the king. “Bid the warden bring his family. Let the ladies be ready to march-without two warrior-loads of jewels and finery each.”

  As Warden, Maestoon Huntsilver saw to the state of all the game in the King’s Forest, and all of the royal foresters, too. He was one of the few Huntsilvers capable of doing the crown so useful a service as guiding the royal army through the heart of the forest. Moreover, he was one of the few who probably would want to.

  There had been many marriages between the Huntsilvers and the Obarskyrs down the years, but there were Huntsilvers who’d probably laugh to see Azoun IV laid in his grave. Maestoon’s last surviving son, Cordryn, was one of those nobles exiled and disinherited for conspiring with Gaspar Cormaeril in his plot to seize the throne.

  Maestoon himself, however-or so Vangerdahast had sworn, after a little covert magical spying-was genuinely ashamed of that, and anxious to return to the royal good graces. Soft-spoken and even effeminate, he was that rare thing: a forester who knew wildlife and how to encourage their breeding. He was also a courtier so skilled with his tongue and so watchful as to always say the right thing in any awkward situation at court.

  Maestoon had at least two more troubles than the tendency of his sons to get themselves killed or mired in treason. He had a wife and a daughter.

  His lady Elanna, much younger than her husband and a Dauntinghorn by birth, was an ash blonde of thin, sleek, devastating beauty whose dancing had been known to make watching men growl with lust-and who knew her powers only too well. She amused herself by toying with almost every noble she met, setting some against others and all to doing ridiculous tasks and pranks, purely in hopes of tasting her favors.

  Maestoon’s daughter Shalanna was a very different bad apple. She played her own pranks, knowing just enough magic to be malicious and dangerous to those she dared to turn it against. That one was fat and sullen, resenting her mother for being beautiful and the war wizards for not making fat Shalanna the beauty she deserved to be, and all young noblemen for courting her for her riches and standing when she knew she disgusted them… and every one else, Azoun supposed, for seeing her as she truly was, both inside and out. Azoun didn’t know which she-viper was worse.

  Half his kingdom was under the sway of folk worse than these-the kingdom he was fighting to preserve and would someday die fighting for. Yet it was the only realm he had, and his home, and Azoun knew he’d not trade it for another if his own queen and all the other women in it were Elannas and Shalannas.

  Right now, he wished Maestoon joy of them, and hoped he’d not have their blood on his hands a few days from now. He’d hate to give that sort of cold reward to so good and loyal a man.

  There came the warden now, smiling eagerly at his king and bustling in his haste to serve.

  Azoun watched him come and drew in a deep breath. Yes, there were a lot of good and loyal men in Cormyr he’d not want to hand the cold reward of death to, in the days ahead.

  And a few others who must be stone cold insane to want the Dragon Throne for themselves.

  16

  Though the summit of Jhondyl’s Ridge stood well hidden beneath an ancient forest of giant hawthorn and oak, the west side fell away in a steep scarp that overlooked all Cormyr south of Gray Oaks. From her camp table beneath the spreading boughs of an old ironbark, Tanalasta could mark the location of each ghazneth by the particular devastation following in its wake. Luthax’s wildfires gushed smoke along the Starwater, Suzara’s blight browned the fields between Calantar’s Bridge and Marsember, and Xanthon’s locusts boiled northward along the Way of the Dragon. The ghazneths were easy enough to locate-but what could she do to stop them?

  So far, Tanalasta’s campaign to save the south had been little more than a meaningless string of hard rides and costly battles. After spying a ghazneth’s depredations, she and a company of handpicked soldiers would teleport to the scene to keep the phantom pinned in place until the rest of the army arrived to destroy it. Inevitably, they caused the area a lot of inadvertent damage, then finally suffered too many casualties to prevent their foe from escaping. That the creatures always seemed to appear a good half day’s ride from her army struck the princess as more than coincidence, especially since she was taking precautions to keep the force hidden, but she also knew that her suspicions might be little more than the frustration of trying to catch up to a winged enemy.

  A loud rustle sounded from the woods behind Tanalasta, and she turned to find Korvarr Rallyhorn leading Filfaeril, Alaphondar, and a small company of bodyguards toward her table. Hoping her black weathercloak would be enough to conceal her growing bulk from the queen’s discerning eye-Tanalasta still had not found the right occasion to mention her pregnancy-she spread her arms and went to embrace her mother.

  “You had a safe journey, Majesty?”

  “No journey is safe these days, Tanalasta, but it was without incident.” Filfaeril returned her daughter’s embrace, then stepped back and eyed her up and down. “I see the hardships of the trail have not affected your appetite.”

  Tanalasta launched instantly into the response she had planned. “We do a lot of waiting. Sometimes it seems there is nothing to do but eat.” She stepped away from her mother and embraced Alaphondar. “And how are you, old friend?”

  “As well as I hope you are.” The sage pressed his mouth to her ear. “Tell her soon, my dear. You are running out of time!”

  Tanalasta laughed lightly, as though at some jest. “Alaphondar, that is not a very nice thing to say to a princess!” She released him and glanced over to the war wizards in her mother’s party. “Sarmon the Spectacular could not attend?”

  “Still too old,” Alaphondar said. “The royal priests have not yet learned how to reverse the ghazneth’s aging effect.”

  “Pity,” said Tanalasta. “Perhaps Harvestmaster Foley will have some thoughts on the matter when we return.”

  She guided the pair to her camp table, where Owden Foley sat poring over maps and dispatches. As they approached, the priest stood and bowed to Filfaeril, who returned the gesture with a polite if unenthusiastic smile, then stepped away from his chair to embrace Alaphondar like the old friends they had become.

  Tanalasta waited while one of her bodyguards pulled a chair for the queen, then sat next to her. “What news from Alusair and the king, Majesty?” She did not ask about Vangerdahast. Nobody asked about Vangerdahast any more.

  “Still nothing about your friend, I’m afraid,” said Filfaeril. They both knew what the princess was really asking, for the question was always Tanalasta’s first on the infrequent occasions they spoke. “Alusair seems to be holding her own against the orcs. Your father is on his way south to help with the ghazneths.”

  “Of course.” Though Tanalasta’s heart sank, she tried not to show her disappointment. The mere presence of her father would draw the rest of the nobles into
the fray and spare Cormyr much suffering. That it would also undo what little progress she had made in winning their respect really did not matter. The destruction of the ghazneths was too important to let concerns about prestige interfere. “I am sure the king will bring the situation quickly under control.”

  Filfaeril took her daughter’s hand. “That’s what he’s best at, Tanalasta, and what he loves. You are to be commended for taking the field in his place, of course, but everyone knows that your strength lies… closer to the palace.”

  Tanalasta withdrew her hand. “Is that why you arranged this rendezvous? To fetch me home?”

  “Actually, I was the one who suggested a meeting.” Alaphondar took a seat across from Tanalasta, drawing her gaze away from the queen, and drew a roll of parchment from inside his robe. “I have made some progress in our research, and I thought it might be of use here in the field.”

  Tanalasta accepted the parchment but glanced back to her mother. “Then I’m not being recalled to the palace?”

  “As much as I would like to, the decision is not mine to make,” said Filfaeril. “It will be for your father to decide when he arrives. Until then, all I ask-no, commandis that you be careful.”

  “Command accepted.”

  Tanalasta smiled and unfurled the parchment. It was a catalog of the six ghazneths they had identified so far, along with notes on their demonstrated powers and speculations on their motivations for betraying Cormyr. It also included suggestions as to what might satisfy the desires that had caused them to become traitors in the first place.

  “This is good work, Alaphondar, they’re all here,” Tanalasta said, scanning the list. When she came to King Boldovar’s name, she could not help glancing at her mother, whom the ghazneth had kidnapped in the early days of the crisis.

  “‘King Boldovar, Scourge of Madness, master of darkness, deception, and illusion,’” the queen quoted, guessing which entry had caused Tanalasta to stop reading. “‘He loves the pain of others, and their fear. To win power over him, one must surrender.’”

  “Boldovar was the only one I could not figure out,” said Alaphondar. “Your mother’s experience was most useful on that account.”

  Tanalasta let the parchment furl itself into a roll. “Mother, I had no idea.”

  Filfaeril merely looked away. “When you faced the other ghazneths, I am sure your own distress was just as great.”

  Though Tanalasta suspected it had not been, she knew better than to argue the point. Her mother had avoided speaking of the experience before and showed little inclination to do so now.

  It was Alaphondar who filled the uncomfortable silence. “The list names the weaknesses of all the ghazneths, but it remains lacking.”

  “You have not discovered why Xanthon’s powers return?” asked Owden.

  “I fear not.” Alaphondar shook his head drearily. “Until we understand that, I fear we must assume that any advantage we gain over the others will also be temporary.”

  “Well, this is a good start,” said Tanalasta, tucking the scroll into her cloak. “At least it will help the advance company detain them until the rest of the army arrives.”

  “What will?” asked a young voice at the fringe of the tree boughs. “Have we discovered something good?”

  Tanalasta looked up to see Orvendel Rallyhorn, Korvarr’s guileless younger brother, approaching with a tray of drinks. A squinting youth of about seventeen, he was as pale and awkward as Tanalasta had been at that age, which no doubt accounted for the sisterly affection she bore him. When the queen’s bodyguards crossed their iron glaives in front of the boy, he cast a crestfallen look in Tanalasta’s direction.

  “I thought the Royal Sage Most Learned might like a refreshment.”

  Korvarr gasped at his brother’s slighting of the queen, and Filfaeril herself looked rather surprised, but Tanalasta could not help chuckling. It was just like the bookish youth to be taken with Alaphondar and oblivious to the royals. She nodded to the guards and motioned the youth forward.

  “Alaphondar Emmarask, may I present Orvendel Rallyhorn.” She waited for Orvendel to set the tray on the table and bow to the royal sage, then said, “If aptitude and ardor count for anything, he will be Master of the Royal Libraries one day.”

  Orvendel’s eyes grew wide. “When?”

  “One day, Orvendel,” growled Korvarr. Clearly embarrassed by the youth’s naivete, he stepped to his brother’s side and motioned to Filfaeril. “Perhaps you would like to bow to the queen, Orvendel?”

  If Orvendel realized his mistake, his face did not show it. He bowed quickly to the queen and turned back to Alaphondar. “What do you think of Luthax? Because I was thinking-“

  Noticing the horror-stricken look on her mother’s face, Tanalasta caught Orvendel by the sleeve. “Don’t you have some supplies to see to?”

  Orvendel merely shook his head. “That’s done.”

  “I think the princess is saying we would like some privacy,” said Alaphondar, gently shooing the youth toward Korvarr. “If you are going to be a sage, you must start paying as much attention to what people do not say as to what they do.”

  A cloud came over Orvendel’s face, but he finally seemed to realize that his presence was something of an intrusion and backed away. “That’s all right, I’ll come back later.” He reached the circle of bodyguards and turned, saying, “Maybe when the king gets here.”

  Tanalasta sent Korvarr after the boy with a flick of her eyes, then looked to her mother.

  Before she could apologize, Filfaeril asked, “That boy is part of your army?”

  “Not really,” Tanalasta explained, “but he knows these woods better than the wolves do. He leads out the supply trains, and quietly keeps Korvarr in good ale.”

  A rare frown creased the queen’s brow, and she looked pensively after the boy.

  “Really, Mother,” said Tanalasta. “You can’t be thinking that Orvendel-“

  “How could I?” interrupted Filfaeril. “I didn’t know about him until now, but Korvarr is still on the list.”

  “Korvarr?” Tanalasta rolled her eyes. “That’s not possible. You saw what he did when Sarmon turned him into a hummingbird.”

  As Tanalasta finished, the ewer and mugs Orvendel had brought began to shake. Suddenly sharing in her mother’s suspicions, the princess leaped up and swept the tray off the table. The ewer shattered on a stone and spilled nothing but red wine onto the ground.

  The whole ridge started to shake and rumble, and an alarm horn sounded in the top of the oak-once, twice, then something crashed into the branches and it came to a strangled halt. The queen’s bodyguards and war wizards started forward, as did the princess’s, and something long and green dropped to the table between Tanalasta and her mother. The princess was still trying to identify it when the thing twined itself into a coil and raised its head to strike at the queen.

  “Ghazneths!” Tanalasta screamed.

  Tanalasta lashed out and caught the serpent by its coil, jerking the thing away from her mother even as it unfurled itself to strike. Filfaeril cried out and pushed away from the table, tumbling over backward in her chair. The snake’s head hung in the air above the queen, swinging back and forth for just an instant, then shot around in a half circle and planted its fangs high in Tanalasta’s breast.

  A torrent of liquid fire gushed through Tanalasta’s chest and spread slowly outward. The arm holding the snake grew weak and numb and dropped limp at her side. She croaked out a surprised cry and staggered back two steps and fell.

  The ridge was shaken by a tremendous eruption. Pieces of slope began to slough off the escarpment and crash into the valley below. Tanalasta barely heard the roar, for a terrible ringing had filled her ears. She looked toward the sound and saw a fissure of magma opening down the spine of the ridge, spewing clouds of sulfur-stinking smoke and curtains of churning fire high into the air. The great oak listed across the fiery gap, and its trunk burst instantly into flames.

  The
heat made Tanalasta feel queasy and confused. She tried to roll away and found herself too weak. She managed to turn her head, then saw a dark silhouette swooping down out of the smoking boughs above her. She recognized the wedge-shaped face of Xanthon Cormaeril-those red, ovoid eyes were hard to overlook, even with a head full of fog-then saw a flurry of crossbow bolts catch the ghazneth in the side, peppering him with so much iron that he veered over the escarpment and sank out of sight.

  A distant crackle came to Tanalasta above the ringing in her ears, then there was a red flash and the anguished voices of burning dragoneers. Her vision narrowed and began to darken, and somewhere far away Korvarr began to shout orders and curses.

  Owden Foley appeared above her, then she felt something rip free of her breast. It was a pair of fangs. How could she have forgotten the snake? Owden’s rough hand slipped under her weathercloak and ripped it free, exposing her from her collarbone to her swollen waist. He slashed the bite open with his dagger and began to squeeze the blood out, all the while calling upon Chauntea to neutralize the poison and protect her from its effects.

  A circle of war wizards rushed up and stood gaping down at her. At first Tanalasta could not imagine why they looked so surprised, then she recalled her enlarged breasts and swollen belly, and the dark line running down the center of her abdomen. Owden placed his hands over the snake bite and chanted his spell, and Chauntea’s healing magic began to warm her chest and surge through her veins behind the snake’s poison.

  A dozen dragoneers appeared next, gaping over the war wizards’ shoulders and gasping at the obvious signs of the princess’s pregnancy. Head clearing, Tanalasta reached for her torn robe, but found herself still too weak to pull it across her abdomen. Alaphondar appeared at her side and began to shove the circle back, chiding the gawkers for neglecting their fellows who were busy fighting the battle.

  As the chastened crowd backed away, Queen Filfaeril finally broke into the circle and saw Tanalasta lying on the ground. Her eyes grew as large as saucers. She looked from Tanalasta’s face to her belly, back to her face again, then to the thin pink blood dribbling out from beneath Owden’s hands.