frightened fowl in a barnyard. Gaspar pawed at his ornate vest and pulled forth a large ruby, given to him days earlier by his friend Aunadar Bleth. Green and crimson flames erupted from the gem, spreading along his chest and arms as if they were coated with oil. Gaspar writhed in helpless, rising agony as the mystic fire consumed him.
The green flickering flames grew into a green snake of crackling magical force, a twisting, questing rope of radiance that climbed over the heads of the nobles and then descended, like a vengeful arrow, to strike the abraxus.
Strike-and be absorbed. The golden bull pulsed with green light, and the flames left the tottering, shriveled body of the stricken noble, infusing the abraxus with life energy. Gaspar Cormaeril fluttered like a dry leaf caught on grass in a high wind, and then collapsed into dust. Not even his bones survived to hit the floor.
The abraxus rattled, shook, and moved, raising its head and shifting its shoulders with a heavy clank. Its head began to turn, and Aunadar, fairly leaping with glee, pointed and shouted to direct the automaton at the king. This time there would be no mistake.
Forgotten on the dais, the Royal Magician of Cormyr quietly finished casting a spell and let his hands fall, a grim smile on his lips.
Suddenly the crown princess burst into motion in a swirl of robes, racing to stand in front of her father. “No! Aunadar, you must not do this!”
Aunadar’s intent, ruthless expression did not change. “Join me, my love,” he hissed between clenched teeth. “Throw off your heavy past and join me in a brighter future. I will comfort you, care for you, protect you, in a way that these others never will!”
Tanalasta recoiled from the look in Aunadar Bleth’s eyes, but her gaze did not leave him. She looked neither at Vangerdahast nor at her father, nor at the assembled trembling nobles. Instead, her mouth formed a smooth, thin line. “No,” she said simply. “I will not. Stop this madness now.”
His glittering eyes shifted from her in an instant, dismissing her, and turned back to his quarry, Azoun, who stood calmly and quietly, watching the metallic doom come down upon him.
Tanalasta raised her hands, as if she could stop the steadily advancing abraxus, and shouted, “Aunadar! Stop this! Don’t-“
Aunadar lifted his lips back from his teeth in a wolfish grin, and a hissing began. The poisonous breath of the abraxus rushed out, swirling like smoke, but did not reach the terrified princess. Instead, it struck something hard and hitherto unseen in the air before it-something large and curving. The smokelike breath of the beast stole outward along it, revealing the great curve of another barrier, this one a sphere that enclosed the abraxus-and with it, Aunadar Bleth.
On the steps below the throne, the wizard Vangerdahast’s smile tightened. Giogi looked at him. Just for an instant, he saw the glittering stare of the ruthless hunter in the old mage’s eyes, and from below them came the raw sound of Aunadar’s disbelieving scream.
The abraxus breathed again, and the sphere could be seen clearly now as deadly vapors swirled within it. It was moving with the clanking monster, proceeding slowly down the Hall of the Dragon Throne toward the king.
Tanalasta turned an instant before the magical shield would have touched her. She stepped backward one step, then a second, and rushed into her father’s embrace. Azoun’s arms went around her and held her firmly.
Behind her, Aunadar’s scream broke off into choking, frantic hacking sounds that went on and on as the smoky sphere advanced. Tanalasta turned in the king’s arms to stare at it in horrified fascination. Her treacherous fiance was going to die, but would he be the only one? Were they going to be able to stop this golden clanking horror?
Was it her imagination, or was the sphere growing smaller?
The abraxus hissed again, and through the rising smoke of its breath, she dimly saw Aunadar bend double and blindly stagger away, only to strike the far side of the sphere. He clawed weakly at it, and then slid down into the swirling smoke. The sphere was drawing in around the golden monster!
Up on the dais, Giogi and Dauneth both caught sight of sudden sweat bursting into being on Vangerdahast’s brow. They turned to the old wizard, opening their mouths in identical protests of concern. The sweat was running off his old nose and dripping from the Royal Magician’s beard.
The sphere grew smaller, and the wizard began to tremble. The two men caught hold of Vangerdabast’s shoulders and elbows gently and held him up, even when his body began to shudder and spasm, folding up in violent, wrenching contortions.
“What can we do, sir wizard?” Dauneth hissed, but Vangerdahast set his teeth and made no reply. His eyes were steady on the sphere below him, the sphere that was dwindling rapidly now. It reached the edges of the abraxus itself, which stood hard and golden against it, though only for a moment. Then the golden automaton bent over sideways with a deafening crack of shattered metal. Tortured golden plates shrieked in protest as the sphere closed inward steadily. There was a splash of crimson as the body of Aunadar Bleth was broken along with the golden creature. Then there was another scream, the inhuman scream of crumpling metal.
Something tugged at Tanalasta’s hands. It was Cat, placing the oval talisman into them. She closed the fingers of the crown princess around it, gave Tanalasta an encouraging smile, and stepped a pace away, raising her hands in a quick, deft spell-weaving.
On the dais, between Wyvernspur and Marliir, Tanalasta noticed Vangerdahast sagging like a man gravely wounded. Cat lifted her hands in shaping gestures, and Vangerdahast shouted a single tortured, almost unintelligible word.
The sphere vanished, consumed in a sudden ball of flames. Tanalasta flung a hand over her eyes an instant before the fire became blindingly bright.
Then the Hall of the Dragon Throne rocked under the force of a blast that hurled flames up in a roaring column to scorch the ceiling, but touched nothing else.
Cat Wyvernspur, whose spell had directed the flames harmlessly upward, reeled back into the Obarskyrs, father and daughter. Azoun’s other arm found its way around her as well. The spent sorceress sagged against the king’s shoulder briefly, then immediately disengaged. The ragged panting of the magess was suddenly loud in a chamber that had grown silent again. All within the Hall of the Dragon-royals, spellcasters, Purple Dragons, and nobles-were silent for a moment.
The sphere was gone, leaving only a scorched circle on the marble tiles. Aunadar Bleth was gone. The abraxus was gone.
And on the steps beside the throne, the old wizard rose unsteadily, his hands on the shoulders of two faithful nobles. Vangerdahast cleared his throat and roared, “The king is restored to us! Long live the king!” The ceiling echoed back the Royal Magician’s words, and they rolled out and down the room.
Someone in the crowd of nobles cried, “Long live the king!”
Other voices joined in an instant later: “The king! The king! Long live the king!”
“Azoun!” roared the Purple Dragons, their swords flashing straight up in salute. “Azoun!”
“Long live the king!” The chant was spreading beyond the room now, resounding through the palace as wondering people flooded toward the Hall of the Dragon Throne.
“Long Live the king!” The roar echoed around the Hall like thunder, and then an old noble burst into tears and went to his knees. “Azoun-lead us!”
“Long live the king!” the chant came again, but it seemed to be coming almost entirely from outside the chamber now. Inside the Hall, man after man after highborn lady were going to their knees-another, and then another-until only the king, Tanalasta, and Vangerdahast remained on their feet. Dauneth dropped to one knee, but kept his sword ready and his wits sharp for one last attack.
Dauneth let his gaze drift to the face of Azoun-who was smiling quietly, and nodding to noble after noble, and to faces in the line of Purple Dragons-and then to the smiling face of the crown princess.
The heir to House Marliir looked at that face thoughtfully for a long time. He knew that both Lord Wyvernspur and Vangerdahast had noticed his intent gaze and followed it to its destination, and he did not care.
Gods, but she was fair. He could kneel to a woman like that. Dauneth drew in a deep breath, noting that Tanalasta had not wept for her lost love, Aunadar. Perhaps there was hope yet.
Dauneth Marliir, heir to a stained family name, sprang to his feet. “Long live the king!” he roared like a lion, raising his blade in flashing salute.
Azoun’s head turned in time to see Giogi’s blade flash up to join Dauneth’s, and then the old man between
