Cormyr c-1, page 33
part #1 of Cormyr Series
“And further risk the loss of the heir to the throne?” Jorunhast dismounted and put a firm hand on the young man’s shoulders. “I think not. Let them wear the beast down. By then Thanderahast and a real warrior, Lord Gerrin, will be-Oof!”
The crown prince moved more swiftly than the wizard had thought possible, elbowing him sharply in the gut. Jorunhast felt the air rush from his body as he fell to his knees, gasping helplessly. By the time the world stopped spinning around him, the young royal warrior was halfway to the battle.
The soldiers swarmed over the great dragon like ants, and with about the same effectiveness. They hacked at the great beast’s scales, and occasionally an armsman would loosen one sufficiently to strike at the meat beneath. For Thauglor, it was akin to being stung to death by gnats.
The great beast had its own bag of tricks. The one good wing swept a half-dozen attackers into dazed and bruised ruin. Its tail smashed another two. Its claws gutted a pair of warriors where they stood. And its huge jaws ran bloody as its head snaked out again and again to snuff out the life of another Cormyrean soldier.
And the only heir to the throne of Cormyr was charging into that maelstrom of death.
Jorunhast looked around. If Lord Gerrin was coming, he was taking his damned time about it. Thanderahast was wounded or dead. The mage raised the wand but saw that the crown prince was in the way. The insufferable, irritating, impulsive crown prince. A lance of flame would burn through him and into the dragon itself. Perhaps Cormyr would be a better place without him.
Jorunhast paused for a long moment, then cursed and ran down the hill after the prince. Even with all these warriors rushing about, you’d think less work would be needed to get a clear shot at something as large as the dragon. And as he ran, the mage swore to himself that, even under torture, he would never admit he was running to Azoun’s rescue.
The young prince reached the dragon and struck. His blade bit deep. The sword, supposedly crafted long ago by Amedahast herself, parted a scale as if it were jelly and slid into the creature’s haunch, striking to the bone.
It was as if the dragon had been struck by lightning. It heaved itself from the ground, shuddering, and tried to roll away from the attack, crushing a half-dozen soldiers and almost snatching the blade from Azoun’s hands.
But the scion of the Obarskyrs would not let up. He tore the blade free and cut another long, shallow wound along the dragon’s belly. It gave out a great scream and spat a huge gout of acid. Men screamed where the acid struck, but the dragon had little time to enjoy their deaths. Its serpentine neck snapped around, and its jaws closed on the small form of the crown prince.
Jorunhast shouted, but then he saw that Azoun had avoided the fanglike maw of the beast and was hanging by the loose wattles at the corner of the creature’s mouth. The dragon shook its head like a dog trying to dislodge a tick, but the young monarch held fast. The wizard saw a white flash of clenched teeth as he stared at Azoun’s blurred form.
Wildly, Jorunhast tore his gaze away and looked about. Half of the soldiers were dead, and there was still no sign of the elders. Where had they gone? The mage was close enough to use the wand of flame, but it might bounce back off the dragon’s scales to consume him as well. And if he missed and cooked a certain crown prince
The wizard ran to the gaping wound along the dragon’s belly, now seeping thick, deep purplish blood. He glanced up to see the young prince still clinging to the hide beside the dragon’s mouth. As he watched, Azoun drove his blade deep into the wyrm’s eye. Dark, gold-flecked fluid sprayed out.
Jorunhast hastily bent his head away from the bloody rain he knew would come and shoved the thin wand into the open wound and shouted the command word. The wand pulsed, and a jet of flame shot deep into the creature’s body.
The dragon spasmed, its body arching and flexing from the agony of the ravaging fire inside and the blade in its eye. A huge clawed paw swept Jorunhast off his feet. He lost his grip on the wand, and his last sight was of Azoun driving his blade deep into Thauglor’s reptilian brain with both bands.
Blackness overwhelmed the young mage when he struck the ground. It seemed to last for only a moment, but when he picked himself up, the dragon was sprawled dead on the floor of the wash. Priests moved among the fallen soldiers. A priestess of Lathander put her hand on Jorunhast’s shoulder, but he shrugged it off and stumbled back toward the dragon’s flank, where Gerrin and Thanderahast stood talking to Azoun.
Lord Wyvernspur was badly burned, the left side of his face and entire body raw and bleeding beneath the slimy ointments of the priests. Thanderahast was similarly burned and anointed, and in addition sported purplish ridges rising along the side of his head, bruises from some sudden impact.
Azoun seemed unharmed by his adventure. Jorunhast wondered at the luck of children, fools, and royalty.
“You are back with us, lad,” said the elder mage. “We could not return as soon as we’d hoped, but I see the pair of you were capable of handling things.”
“It was a good plan,” said the young mage, still lightheaded. He blinked hard in the sunlight, then added, “I lost your wand, I’m afraid.”
Thanderahast chuckled. “A small loss, easily forgiven. Azoun told me of your bravery in charging the dragon and in waiting for the right moment to strike with the wand. We were worried you had panicked.”
Jorunhast stared at the younger man. Hadn’t he told them the mage had frozen up when the dragon first attacked? That he had tried to stop Azoun from entering the battle?
Azoun cocked his head and said, “It’s good to see you back standing up. Want some help looking for that wand?”
Jorunhast gaped at the young prince for a moment, and then, slowly, nodded.
Gerrin and Thanderahast flagged down the priestess of Lathander for information about the wounded, leaving Azoun and Jorunhast alone. The two young men paced off to the trampled area near the dragon’s body. They made vague sweeps in the splayed grass with the sides of their feet, looking for little and finding less.
At length, Jorunhast said, “I only charged in after you because you were going to get yourself killed.”
“I know,” said the slender man. “And they probably think something like that, but they never have to know. Despite it all, you did pretty well today.”
Words burned in Jorunhast’s throat like the black dragon’s bile. Finally he spat them out. “So did you.” And then he added, “Sire.”
Azoun flashed a wide smile. “Mind you, I don’t trust you, and I still don’t like you. But with the beating old Thanderahast has taken, it’s likely you’ll be my wizard when my time comes. So I might as well get used to you.”
The young wizard sighed. “And I to you. But do me one favor, my lord: No more charging into combat.”
“Only when you’re behind me with your magic,” said the future king. “Only when you’re behind me.”
The young prince strode away, leaving Jorunhast to think that Azoun’s voice was not so tinny after all.
Chapter 23: Encounters and Expeditions
Year of the Gauntlet (1369 DR)
“I do believe, dear, that we can finally say that Arabel has become truly civilized,” Darlutheene Ambershields declared, opening her violet eyes very wide and waving a ring-encrusted hand. Gems flashed and sparkled in the light of near highsun for a dazzling instant before her hand dipped, rising again with a fresh glass of cordial.
“Why, Darlutheene-that outpost of uncultured bumpkins?” Blaerla Roaringhorn asked in disbelief, opening her own brown eyes very wide as well. “Whatever do you mean?”
“Well,” Darlutheene purred, “with the news this morning-of nobles found knifed in their beds, and the knives still buried in them, bearing the arms of rival noble houses-I do believe the intrigues of Mabel are finally approaching those of Suzail!”
“No!” Blaerla gasped, color flooding into her cheeks and eyes sparkling with fresh excitement. “Nobles? Knifed in their beds? Why?”
Darlutheene waved a languid, cordial-bearing hand and fluttered her long lashes. They were dusted with gold this morning. “They say that Princess Alusair led her band of noble young rapscallions into the city over the rooftops, to-” she lowered her voice dramatically-“work their deadly slaughter.”
“But why would she do that?” Blaerla asked, brown eyebrows furrowed in genuine puzzlement. Then she added cattily, “I thought she liked nobles in their beds-male nobles, and lots of them.”
Darlutheene gave a little crow of laughter that made her several chins shake heartily, then slapped at her confidante’s arm with perfumed fingertips. “Ah, shrewdly said, Blaerla! Shrewdly said!”
Blaerla flushed with genuine pleasure and held out her own glass for a refill. Darlutheene awarded her with a delicate pouring of her best ruby-hued Elixir du Vole and continued. “Why, dear, don’t you see? She’s removing nobles who’ve declared their loyalty to our dear court wizard-because certain noble houses, I’ve heard, are hiring mages in Sembia, Westgate, and farther afield to organize a raid on the palace! She needs to be sure that the families working for the wizard won’t foil them!”
Blaerla squealed with excitement, almost-but not quite-spilling her cordial in her bouncing breathlessness. Her low-cut gown briefly displayed movement akin to a ship breaking up in heavy, rolling waves. Darlutheene could only watch in fascination as the perfume wafted forth from her friend’s heavily gem-and-fine-chain-adorned front. Blaerla asked, “Raid the palace? Why? Oh, Darlutheene Ambershields, before all the gods, tell me why!”
“I have heard they’re coming for the king, of course,” Darlutheene said smugly. “To wrest him away-sickbed and all-from Vangerdahast’s clutches. Of course, with all the evil spells that have been laid on him by now, they’re probably too late. For all we know, Azoun could be a zombie under our dear Royal Magician’s control, even as we speak!”
“Oh!” Blaerla squealed, clutching her glass to her ample bosom, “this is all so exciting!” She felt the cold glass against her flesh, remembered what she was holding, and drained it in a single gulp.
Holding it out for more, she said triumphantly, “We are truly favored of the gods to dwell here in Suzail, with the eyes of all the world upon us, while all these… dramatic, important things are happening!”
Darlutheene patted her friend’s cheek fondly, seeming not to see the empty glass held out to her. “Yes, yes, dear,” she said fondly. “Of course we are.”
Had Blaerla not been quite so excited, the two fine-gowned ladies might have heard a brief commotion in the street below. The Purple Dragon sword captain Lareth Gulur, a veteran of the Tuigan War, had just nodded a wordless greeting to a war wizard he knew slightly-Ensibal Threen, a mild-mannered sort-when out of the crowd strode a noble in deep-blue velvet and white shimmersheen, his fingers bristling with rings. One of the Silverswords, Lareth thought, wrinkling his brow as he delved in his memories for the man’s name. He was rather chubby, with long blond hair and a wispy mustache of the same hue-gods, don’t these young fools know what they look like, with a few brave hairs sprouting from otherwise bare upper lips?
“Know, Vangerdahast-loving wizard, that it is I, Ammanadas Silversword, who brings down upon you forthwith your richly deserved doom!” the young fop snarled.
Ammanadas, that was it! Lareth almost smiled at the haughty little puppy for his helpfulness-until he saw the long, glittering skinning knife flash out of the noble’s sleeve.
The wizard Ensibal had turned at the sudden, ringing declaration, and in doing so presented his throat to the blade. The Silversword obligingly plunged the blade into the proffered throat. Blood fountained, and the war wizard collapsed like a toppled oak as screams went up on all sides and folk scurried about, either to get clear or to find a better view.
The Silversword noble made a disgusted sound and leapt back, almost into the Purple Dragon’s arms. Lareth had his own dagger drawn by then. The Purple Dragon used the dagger’s pommel with a heartiness driven by fury, clouting the young noble across the back of the head. Ammanadas Silversword fell limply to the cobbles, and Lareth stepped around him to see to the wizard.
Lareth Gulur did not need his battlefield memories to know that Ensibal Threen’s life was hanging by the most slender of threads. He sheathed his dagger and waved at people to keep clear, in case violent magic was triggered by the wizard’s death.
“Gulur? Gulur! For the throne’s sake, man, what happened here?” The shocked and angry voice behind him belonged to Hathlan, a senior officer of the Purple Dragons.
“Get a priest. A noble knifed this wizard because he supported our Lord High Wizard, or at least the young fool thought he did. I knocked out the noble, and he might have his wits scrambled a trifle, but he’ll live,” Lareth replied without turning. His eyes were on the gathering crowd, looking for nobles-or anyone else-trying to slip away.
“All of them have their wits scrambled a trifle,” Hathlan snorted. “There’ve been attacks like this all across the realm these last few days. The nobles are seizing their opportunities and settling scores, real and imagined.” Then he was off, bellowing for a healer.
Lareth looked at his superior, then at the fallen war wizard. “Cormyr is balanced on a sword edge,” he murmured, “with years of red war waiting on either hand should we fall.”
“Have you heard the news? Some noble just slaughtered a war wizard right out on the street!” The speaker, a new arrival to the Snout Room, was breathless with excitement, but not so breathless that he couldn’t gasp out news this good.
“It’s beginning, then,” Rhauligan muttered. He looked as if one of the high-quality turrets he sold had crashed to the ground.
Dauneth Marliir, the young Arabellan noble, was gaping at the new arrival as the man bustled on down the Snout Room, bawling his news. The man’s words had distracted the young nobleman from the warm knee and rather revealing charms of the tavern dancer who sat drinking with them. She was an old friend of Rhauligan’s, the merchant had said heartily, but was lavishing her affections on Dauneth.
The dancer, Emthrara, kissed Dauneth on the cheek, seeking to restore his attentions. Dauneth blushed and hoped the hunger he felt for the young woman wasn’t showing too much. He swallowed. What was he doing, thinking about women when Cormyr was crumbling into war outside?
“They’re saying up at the palace that Princess Alusair fled deeper into the Stonelands,” Emthrara said in a low, husky voice. Dauneth felt smooth skin shift against his arm and swallowed hard a second time.
The turret merchant made a small chuckle. Rhauligan knew exactly what was going through Dauneth’s mind about the dancer and did not hide his amusement. Dauneth tried not to look at the merchant’s knowing smile across the table as Emthara said quietly, “I’ve heard more talk of Vangerdahast’s possible treachery too.”
But surprise had seized hold of Dauneth. He turned his head to look at Emthrara and discovered that his lips were mere inches away from hers. He could feel the soft touch of her breath on his face. He swallowed again, grimacing. Stop it, Dauneth. This is too important!
“You were inside the palace?” he asked, his voice louder than he’d intended. Emthrara gave him a smile and a nod. Dauneth tried not to feel the soft brush of her honey-blonde hair on his cheek.
“I’m often up at the palace, Dauneth,” she said, her voice deep and musical with soft mystery. “I-have work there.”
“Oh,” Dauneth said, and then realized what she meant. “Oh!” he hoped he wasn’t blushing too furiously and thanked all the gods that neither Rhauligan nor the dancer laughed at him then. He struggled to think about what seemed more and more important and found himself asking, almost calmly, “Can you get me into the palace-unseen?”
“Why?” Rhauligan leaned forward across the table to ask that very direct question almost in a whisper. Dauneth was startled by the sudden proximity of those bristling eyebrows and lined forehead and shrank back.
“Ah… um…” he began auspiciously, and then, irritated at his own discomfort, he brought a fist gently down on the table and said grimly, “Something dark and treacherous is going on in this realm, and I’m going to do something about it.”
The other two looked at him, and Dauneth felt a sudden swelling of pride. Again neither of them laughed at him, nor did they look anything other than serious as their eyes rested on him thoughtfully.
“I know of a way to get into the palace,” Emthrara said then, “where few folk should see our arrival. A way I know of for… professional reasons.”
“I’ve never been one for waiting overlong,” Dauneth told her firmly.
“Aye,” Rhauligan said dryly. “I’ve noticed.”
He did blush then, but Emthrara laid a hand on his arm and murmured, “Come on, then.”
Dauneth followed hard on the Harper’s heels. Nothing else seemed to matter anymore. Finally he was doing something that mattered, and his skin fairly crawled with eagerness. Finally, after all these years, he felt truly alive.
“Lie down here, beside me,” the tavern dancer said in his ear, and suddenly she went to her hands and knees and crawled in under the bushes. Dauneth cast a quick look around the royal gardens, noting the helms of some Purple Dragons not far away, and followed her. Patches of bare, hard-packed ground amid the moss told him that this was a way that had been traveled a time or two before. Emthrara was lying on her belly, stretched out along the wall. “Beside me,” she murmured again, and Dauneth hastily lay down as she bade him. Emthrara added, “Watch, and then follow me quickly,” and stretched out the toe of her boot to touch a certain small stone on the wall. It gave slightly. Holding it in, she reached out her arm until her fingertips touched another stone. It moved, just a trifle-and all the stones between them quietly folded down and inward, revealing a long, low slotlike opening. Without any hesitation, the dancer rolled sideways into it with a pale flash of exposed leg.
Dauneth propelled himself after her and promptly encountered soft flesh in the darkness as he rolled into her. Behind him, there was a faint grating sound and then suddenly complete darkness again as the stones rose back into place.
