seventy paces of the wagons, a large swiner on the right began squealing commands and shoving his fellows toward the charging wizard. Ignoring the constant stream of death flying at them from the end of Vangerdahast’s staff, more than fifty orc warriors streamed forward to place themselves between the royal magician and the caravan.
Vangerdahast veered off to attack from another angle.
Wrong way! Tanalasta warned. The leader’s on the other side. If you can-
I know… what to do! Vangerdahast’s retort was labored.
I was winning… battles for Cormyr… before your father was king!
The royal magician reined his horse around, angling across the plain toward the opposite side of the caravan. A boisterous cheer rose from the orcs who had gathered to stop him, but Vangerdahast quickly demonstrated their error by lobbing a fireball into their midst. The wizard’s support riders cut the corner and finally caught up to their ward, taking positions to the rear and on both flanks.
The orc leader glared in Vangerdahast’s direction, then pushed more of its fellows forward and scurried off at an angle. When the wizard did not adjust his course, Tanalasta realized that either his view was blocked or he was having trouble separating the leader from the orcs around it.
A pie slice to the right, Tanalasta ordered.
A pie slice? Despite his mocking tone, the wizard reined his horse hard to the right.
I said a slice, not a whole quarter! Tanalasta corrected. The size of Vangerdahast’s belly should have given her a clearer idea as to what he considered a slice. The orc you want is larger than the rest, with a blocky head and pointed muzzle.
Got him!
A bolt of lightning crackled from the tip of Vangerdahast’s staff, blasting apart a simple warrior whom the leader happened to shove forward at that moment. The commander hurled himself to the ground and disappeared into the swirl around him. The wizard loosed another spell from his staff, engulfing the entire area in a huge fireball.
Vangerdahast and his companions reached the wall of swords and tusks the leader had been shoving forward to stop them. The wizard paid the swiners no attention at all, simply urging his mount onward as orcish steel shattered against his horse’s breast. His companions, lacking his magic shielding, had to rely upon more conventional defenses, pushing through the wall in a flurry of slashing blades and flashing hooves.
Once they were past, Vangerdahast wheeled around long enough to spray the orc wall with a stream of flame, then worked his way toward the wagons at a walk, scattering orcs before him with bolt and flame-and sometimes with a mere wave of the staff. The wizard’s escorts had nothing to do but sit on their horses and look mean. Their foes did not dare approach close enough to engage.
The caravan guards were just starting to drag a wagon aside to let Vangerdahast into the circle when Tanalasta noticed the orc commander crouching behind a small boulder, wetting the tips of several long spears in an earthenware vessel. A handful of orc warriors were peering over the top of the boulder, nervously watching Vangerdahast and holding the spears their leader had already dipped.
Vangey, the leader’s still alive, Tanalasta warned. Behind you about twenty paces, a little to the left.
The wizard stopped his horse and gestured for the merchants to close their perimeter. Small slice or a large one?
About an eighth of the pie, Tanalasta replied. Behind that boulder where they’re bunching up. Be careful. They’ve got spears, and they’re dipping the tips in something.
Vangerdahast’s only reply was a chuckle. He returned his war staff to its saddle holster, then took the shield from one of his support riders and passed his hand over it. Tanalasta could not see what he was sprinkling on it, but she did see his lips moving as he uttered the incantation.
The orcs began to regain their wits, forming a broad semi-circle around Vangerdahast and his three companions. Vangerdahast paid them no attention, continuing to pass his hand over the buckler and mouth arcane syllables. This seemed to distress his foes far more than his death-flinging staff, a fact Tanalasta suspected the wizard of intentionally playing up. While he undoubtedly knew many spells that took this long to cast, he was far too cunning to use one in the middle of a combat. A nervous squalling began to arise from the ranks of the orcs. Twice, a handful of brave warriors attempted to initiate a general charge, only to stop dead in their tracks the moment the royal magician looked in their direction.
At last, Vangerdahast pressed his hand to the face of the shield and fell silent. I take it Ryban and his company are ready?
Tanalasta glanced up the slope, where she could barely see the silhouettes of Ryban and his Purple Dragons. They were spread across the crest of the hill with their horse-bows in hand and their quivers hanging from their saddle horns. To a man, they were craning their necks toward the plain, peering through the stonemurk to track what little they could of the battle’s progress.
They’re ready, Tanalasta said. You might even say eager.
Vangerdahast nodded, then began to swing the shield back and forth, as though he were a water diviner seeking the best place to dig a well. Each time the shield swung past, the orcs in the semi-circle would mewl in alarm and cower on the ground. Then, once it had drifted past, they would leap to their feet and make a great show of shouting and waving their swords at the wizard.
Unfortunately, the rest of the tribe was experiencing no such reluctance. Axe-wielding warriors were slowly returning to the sections of perimeter Vangerdahast had cleared earlier, while the orcs at Tanalasta’s end of the caravan seemed to be hurling themselves at the wagons more ferociously than ever. Already, Tanalasta could see exhausted guards kneeling in wagon beds or bracing themselves against the wheels, using both hands to swing swords that even she could have wielded with one hand.
Tanalasta was about to urge Vangerdahast to get on with the attack when she glimpsed a large bird streaking out of the western sky. The creature was a mere blur in the stonemurk, and the princess could tell little about it, save that it appeared far larger than any eagle she had ever seen and flew faster than a falcon on the hunt. It descended in a steep dive, then suddenly circled away from the battle and vanished behind a sandy ridge.
“What was that thing?” Tanalasta asked.
“What thing?” asked one of her guards.
“Didn’t you see it?” She pointed in the direction the bird had vanished. “It was a huge bird, twice the size of an eagle-and fast. Very fast.”
“Probably just a vulture, Princess,” said the second guard. “They’re drawn to the smell of battle.”
“This was larger than any vulture,” Tanalasta retorted. “And vultures aren’t that fast.”
The guards exchanged knowing glances, then the first said, “The stonemurk has a way of playing tricks on your eyes, milady. It’s nothing to worry about.”
Though it angered her to be condescended to, especially when neither guard had seen what she was talking about, the princess saw no use in arguing. Whatever the thing was, it had apparently wanted no part of the battle. Tanalasta swallowed her irritation and returned her attention to Vangerdahast, who finally seemed to be tiring of theatrics. As the wizard swung his ensorcelled shield past the ore commander’s hiding place, he slowed, then swung the buckler back toward the boulder and stopped.
The orcs around the leader began to trill nervously. The leader sat up to peer over the top of the boulder. Vangerdahast set his heels to the flanks of his mount, and the big stallion sprang to a gallop so quickly the wizard was halfway to the boulder before his escorts urged their own mounts after him.
The orc commander rose and began to gesture wildly at Vangerdahast. The spearmen rushed out from behind the boulder and arrayed themselves before their leader, jamming the butts of their weapons into the ground and angling the tips toward the wizard’s charging horse.
In the name of the king! Vangerdahast started to haul back on the reins, then seemed to change his mind and dropped his shield, pressing himself close to the neck of his mount. You said spears, not pikes!
Before Tanalasta could reply, one of her guards cursed, “By the iron glove!”
“Is he trying to impale himself?” demanded the other.
Tanalasta cringed and started to look away-then recalled how the orcs’ brittle swords had snapped against the horse’s chest earlier.
“He’ll be fine,” she said, expecting the wizard to barrel straight through the barricade of poisoned tips.
