filling the air with a drone that was enough to drive Vangerdahast mad even a hundred and fifty paces inland. A strange network of tiny crevices stretched along the center of the peninsula, discharging thick curtains of yellow- gray smoke into the sky. Every plant within a hundred yards of the promontory had withered and died, and a carpet of gray mold was fanning outward from its base. The slope between Vangerdahast’s hiding place and the shore was strewn with deer carcasses, all so putrid that even orcs would not eat them.
The royal magician waved to his deputies, and he was joined presently by the acting commander of his Purple Dragons and the interim master of the company’s war wizards. Alaphondar and Owden followed the pair uninvited, but Vangerdahast did not object. The Royal Sage Most Learned would need to record what followed, while Harvestmaster Foley’s opinions were often worth the hearing-provided Vangerdahast did not put himself in the position of seeming to elicit them.
Vangerdahast pointed at the mud keep and said nothing.
“Tanalasta is inside?” asked Owden.
“I’ll know that when I get inside.”
Owden nodded. “I suppose that’s the only way to find out.”
Vangerdahast’s stomach sank. The truth was he could not even be sure the ghazneths were inside, and he had been hoping Owden would suggest an easy way to find out. Instead, it appeared they would have to storm the keep-and with less than half the company remaining.
Vangerdahast took a deep breath, then said, “Here’s my plan.” He quickly outlined what he wanted, making both commanders repeat their instructions. When they had done so, he turned to Owden, giving the priest one last opportunity to make him look like a fool. “I’m assuming the ghazneths are inside because orcs don’t normally practice drills.”
“Or share encampments, or build keeps fashioned in the style of ancient Cormyr,” added Owden, “and because we haven’t seen them in the last half-day. What are we waiting for?”
“Nothing, it would seem.” Vangerdahast nodded to his subcommanders, who retreated twenty paces down the hill to prepare their men.
As soon as they were gone, Alaphondar asked, “You two do realize there’s more to this than meets the eye?”
“Are you referring to the keep?” asked Owden. “Its significance hasn’t escaped me.”
“What significance?” asked Vangerdahast.
“What the keep means,” explained Alaphondar. “Historically, citadels built in such forlorn places are home to some embattled, ever-watchful spirit.”
“I’d call that a fair description of the ghazneths,” said Vangerdahast.
“And I would call it a description of their master,” said Owden. “We are entering the world of the phantom, my friend. You would do well to listen to your soul.”
Vangerdahast regarded the priest sourly. “My soul tells me that an ancient spirit would not inhabit a keep built of mud. In this climate, such places tend to melt rather quickly.”
“Which is why we must consider the ghazneths’ reason for building beside a rainy marsh in the first place,” said Alaphondar. “Have you read Ali Binwar’s treatise, Of the Four Natures?”
Vangerdahast rolled his eyes. “Sadly, I have better things to do with my time than waste it on idle reading.”
“Gladly, I do not,” said Owden. “You are referring to the chapter on elemental amalgamation?”
A gleam came to Alaphondar’s eyes. “Exactly. In the marsh, we have the fusion of earth and water, but the absence of air or fire. The idle elements combined, the vigorous excluded.”
“Perfect conditions for spiritual decomposition,” agreed Owden. “We will have to be careful.”
“Indeed, but it’s not you I was thinking about.” Alaphondar waved a hand down the rocky hillside. “There are plenty of stones about. Why build the keep of mud?”
Owden’s eyes widened in alarm. “Because mud combines the nourishing power of earth with the dissolving properties of water.”
“Yes-the perfect medium for transformation.” Alaphondar pointed to the mud tower. “Give it a shape, add a little fire and some air, and a few days later you have a keep.”
“Or give it a spark of life, and you have a ghazneth,” said Owden.
Vangerdahast frowned. “What are you saying?” When no one replied, his imagination supplied its own answer. “That they are trying to make a ghazneth of Tanalasta?”
“That might explain why the ghazneths have been working so hard to keep us away from here,” said Alaphondar.
Vangerdahast felt a growing hollow in the pit of his stomach. “Don’t be ridiculous! Boldovar’s crypt wasn’t anywhere near a marsh.”
“Marshes have been known to dry up,” said the sage.
Vangerdahast started to counter that there had been no sign of a keep, but a thousand years was a longtime. So many seasons of spring rains would have destroyed any sign that the grave had ever been guarded by a mud fortress. Instead, be asked, “What about the tree? I doubt we’ll find any elven poets in an orc camp.”
“The thought does strike me as something of a self-contradiction,” said Owden, “but there are many things we don’t know-“
“Including the keep’s purpose.” Vangerdahast began to inch back down the hill. “I’ll hear no more of this philosophical nonsense. We could argue in circles all day, and it would make no difference. If Tanalasta is in there, we must rescue her.”
“And if she is not, we must make a ghazneth tell us where she is,” said Owden.
The priest started down the hill after Vangerdahast, and Alaphondar crawled toward his assigned hiding place in a jumble of boulders. No one suggested using a spell to locate the princess. If she was not a prisoner already, the magic would lead the ghazneths to her like an arrow.
As they parted ways, Alaphondar paused. “Good luck, my friends, and be careful.”
“We’ll be safe enough,”Vangerdahast assured him. “It’s you who is taking the risk, staying here alone. You remember my signal?”
Alaphondar nodded. “The shooting star.” He gestured toward his weathercloak’s escape pocket. “I’ll rejoin the company as soon as I see it.”
“Good. If we have the princess, we can’t wait around long,” said Vangerdahast. “If we don’t, there won’t be time to look for you.”
“And if matters go badly, Alaphondar, don’t even think of joining us,” added Owden. “You won’t be able to help, and someone will need to inform the king.”
“Preferably in person.” Vangerdahast tapped the throat clasp on Owden’s weathercloak. “So don’t use this unless you must. It would be nice if you lived long enough to chronicle what little we’ve learned about these things.”
Alaphondar nodded reluctantly. “I know, I know-my pen is my sword.”
He wished them luck again, then turned away. Vangerdahast and Owden returned to their horses and mounted.
What remained of the Royal Excursionary Company sat ready and waiting, an unclasped weathercloak draped over the shoulders of every rider. Though the cloaks were standard issue only for war wizards, the company had lost so many men they now had one for even the lowest-ranking dragoneer.
Vangerdahast nodded, and the company closed their throat clasps. The war wizards began to sprinkle powdered steel over everyone in the company, filling the air with magic incantations as they cast their spells of shielding. The royal magician did the same for himself and Owden, then looked toward the top of the hill. Alaphondar was kneeling in the midst of the boulder jumble, squinting down toward the keep and holding one arm up to signal.
“Be ready!” Vangerdahast started Cadimus up the hill at a walk, motioning the company to follow. “Stragglers will pay dearly.”
They had nearly reached the hilltop before Alaphondar’s arm finally dropped. Vangerdahast slapped his heels into Cadimus’s flanks, urging the big stallion into a run. The air began to resonate with the drumming of hooves. The clamor of an alarm bell rang out across the marsh, followed by a tumult of grunting and squealing.
The royal magician crested the hill to see five hundred orcs scurrying toward the neck of the peninsula.
