together, Florin punching and kneeing, then stabbing and-being stabbed, that unseen dagger like icy flame punching into him, again and again.
“Down, Florin!” Vangerdahast roared. “Cover yourself!”
Trembling, sobbing in pain, Florin stabbed back at his foe, then clawed hold of unseen and blood-sticky cloth and hurled himself sideways, hitting the floor bruisingly hard but dragging the unseen, writhing man over on top of him. As he closed his eyes, a singing shriek heralded the shattering of all the crystals.
“Keep rolling!” Vangerdahast bellowed, right in Florin’s ear. “Away, to the wall, and then make for the door! Let go of the carrion!”
The ranger obeyed, scrambling faster than he’d ever moved in his life before, and through a red haze of pain was dimly aware of the shards racing across the room with eerie slowness, drifting-drifting “Don’t watch them, you backwoods thickneck idiot! Get out of there! ”
Vangerdahast sounded angrier than Florin had ever heard him be before, so the ranger did as he was told.
The aftermath of Ghoruld Applethorn’s last spell tore into him like a lightning storm, stabbing into his head and leaving his mind afire.
Vangerdahast went to his knees, gasping and clutching feebly at his skull-and was startled as firm hands pushed him upright and forced a potion vial to his lips.
Islif gave him a wry smile as he choked and coughed it down. Then she kissed him. “Thanks for saving our lives,” she said. “And the realm. Again.”
“Wench, have done!” Vangerdahast replied testily, trying to wave her away. “I’ve a spell to work!”
Islif rocked back on her heels to give him room, and the Royal Magician hastily worked an intricate magic that brought a blue haze down on the room.
When it lifted, long breaths later, he and the Knights were all lying or kneeling just as they had been-but in the center of Anglond’s Great Hall, with a blood-spattered, wild-eyed Florin in front of them and something bloody, butchered, and in robes lying sprawled beside him.
A collective gasp of horror rose across Anglond’s Great Hall. In the moment of awed silence that followed, the voice of the envoy of Silverymoon asked merrily, “And what does this celebrate?”
Epilogue
Above his scrying whorl, Beldos Margaster nodded grimly. So it was all going to end happily ever after. Except for war wizard traitors.
He might have only a few breaths more of life left to him, if he didn’t speedily “get hence.”
The portal to Halfhap-well, why not? Those Dragonfire swords…
Up on the balcony, Dauntless peered down at Florin, frowning, and then bellowed suddenly, “Hey! Hoy! My sword! Give my sword back, you confounded thief!”
Florin looked up and waved cheerfully. Dauntless exploded into a sputtering, wordless roar of fury and started to claw his way angrily along the rail toward a stair down.
Two hard-faced Purple Dragons closed hands on the furious ragtag warrior, one of them snapping, “That’s enough, saer! Abate thy temper, saer!”
“What?” Dauntless roared at them. “ Take your hands off me! I’m an ornrion of the Dragons, and-”
“Right, saer, and I’m the Princess Alusair!”
“Wrong, soldier! I’m the Princess Alusair,” said a crisp voice from behind the struggling Dragons.
Everyone turned in astonishment. The Princess Alusair was standing a few strides behind Dauntless and the soldiers grappling with him.
As they stared, she tore off her fine gown, to their gasps of amazement-literally ripping the fine silks and shimmerweave apart-to reveal, beneath, a leather bodice, mens’ breeches, and high boots.
“Ornrion,” the young princess snapped, “if I give you the finest blade you’ve ever owned-something with a spell or two on it, out of the royal armory-will you gift the one Florin Falconhand has to him, and forget all thoughts of arresting him?”
Dauntless blinked. “I… uh, yes, of course.”
“Good,” she said with a smile, and offered him her arm as if he was a grand noble rather than a dusty, sweaty soldier in tattered garb.
The Purple Dragons silently let go of him, and the ragtag ornrion came forward a little dazedly to take the proffered royal arm.
Its owner gave him a regal smile and said sweetly, “Now you may escort me down to meet Cormyr’s latest hero. He saved my life back in Arabel, and I never got the chance to properly thank him.”
Dauntless paled. “I-uh, your Highness, would that be wise? I’m no expert in matters of Court, but-”
“No, Ornrion, you’re not. Nor am I wise. I am sick unto death of doing what’s right and proper, and I’m going to stop. Here and now. So get me down there, without delay-and you’ve my full permission to draw your sword and carve up anyone who tries to stand in our way!”
Ornrion Taltar Dahauntul gulped. “Y-yes, your Royal Highness. At once.” He drew his sword, saluted her, made sure her arm was settled in his just so, and started for the stairs.
Everyone was crowding around, the gabbling of excited questions rising to a nigh-deafening din. The only clear space was a little more than the reach of a long arm around Lady Summerwood and her maids, and when Jhessail caught the eye of one maid and saw a flash of silver in the wink sent in her direction, she knew why. She smiled happily at the disguised Lady in Green through a rapidly closing gap in the sea of silks, pearls, cloth-of-gold, glittering gems, shimmerweave, and jostling shoulders and elbows.
When she turned to tell Florin, an instant later, he was lost in the heart of a forest of crowding-forward Cormyreans.
“A battle, hoy?” Lord Cormrlryn shouted enthusiastically in the heart of that tangle, his monacle steaming over. “Did you butcher the traitors, lad? Hey?”
“Well, yes, one of them,” Florin said mumbled politely, weaving his way to his feet. Aged and hairy noble hands were pounding him on the back, slapping at his shoulders, and waving in victorious fists in the air. Well, at least they weren’t all trying to sword him…
He had Vangerdahast to thank for that. The wizard’s bellow of, “Behold! The realm hath been saved! ” had rolled from end to end of Anglond’s Great Hall-magic, of course.
“Lord Bellarogar Rowanmantle,” a noble as tall as Florin boomed loudly, enfolding the ranger’s shoulder in a crushing grip. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance-”
“Dauntinghorn! Horntar Dauntinghorn! Lord Horntar Dauntinghorn!” another noble bellowed, bouncing his fist off Florin’s chest as if it was a castle door he needed hard-of-hearing servants to come and open.
“Well met, hero! Any friend of Cormyr is a friend of mine!” another noble called, from behind Dauntinghorn’s substantial shoulders. “I’m Lord Ildabray Indesm! I — oogh! — and this is my wife, the Lady Indesm!”
Florin tried not to grin at the evident sharpness of Lady Indesm’s elbows, and became aware, beyond his own ring of admirers, of Lord Elvarr Spurbright struggling through the crowd like a caravel slicing stormy seas to reach the edge of the little open area around the Lady Summerwood.
Her maids turned to form a serenely smiling, unbreachable wall against him. “Aerilee!” Spurbright called over it, almost desperately, and the Lady Summerwood swept forward from between two maids with a brightening smile on her face and the delighted words, “ Elvarr! Alustriel speaks of you often-and so do I!”
As the two embraced, kissing ardently before everyone in the hall, Florin saw Torsard standing behind his father, staring at the Lady Summerwood with helpless, brains-over-boots, smitten-quick love clear and deep on his face.
He had to turn his head away from that raw, swallowing longing-and found himself facing a tall, thin aging noble who nodded politely and said, “Well done, Sir Falconhand. Lord Rustryn Staglance offers his thanks and praise. If you’re ever-”
“Are you wed, Sir Falconhand?” a sharp-tongued woman asked, thrusting herself up between Staglance and Florin like a fish leaping out of the sea. She had snapping black eyes and a long flow of hair adorned with a fine net
