Owden laid a hand on Vangerdahast’s arm. “If you are not averse to a little help from the goddess, I can help.”
“Later.” Vangerdahast started around the corner “Let’s get out-“
A frightened voice cried out from the next room, “Vangerdahast, help! Are you there?”
Owden withdrew his hand. “That sounded like-“
“Alaphondar!” Vangerdahast finished. Forgetting his headache for the moment, Vangerdahast flew around the corner and peered across the chamber through the breach in the keep wall, where he saw Alaphondar’s gaunt figure standing outside, silhouetted against the bright exterior light. The sage was swatting wasps away and turning in blind circles as he tried to shake off the afterdaze of using his weathercloak’s escape pocket. A few dozen paces beyond him, the last remnants of the Royal Excursionary Company lay on the ground writhing beneath black blankets of wasps-easy prey for the orcs and ghazneths rushing across the peninsula toward them.
Vangerdahast pushed Owden toward the breach. “Get him in here!”
As the priest flew to obey, Vangerdahast jammed his glowing wand into one pocket and fished a small square of iron from another. He rubbed the sheet between his palms and began a long incantation.
Owden entered the breach behind Alaphondar, and the wasps scattered instantly. The priest reached down and touched the sage’s shoulder. “Here we are, my friend.”
Alaphondar turned toward his savior. The sage’s venerable face was a mottled mass of wasp stings, already so red and distended that his eyes were swollen completely shut.
“Owden?” Alaphondar asked. Outside, the ghazneths sensed what was happening and launched themselves into the air. “Tell me Vangerdahast is with you!”
“He is, and he’s not the only one,” Owden answered.
This drew a puzzled frown from Alaphondar, but the expression quickly changed to astonishment as Owden plucked him off the ground and retreated into the keep. By the time Vangerdahast took their place in the breach, the ghazneths were streaking past the remnants of the Royal Excursionary Company and angling down toward the keep. Vangerdahast turned the iron sheet edge-down and dropped it, then spoke the last word of his spell.
The peninsula vanished behind an iron wall, then a series of deafening clangs reverberated through the chamber.
Vangerdahast retreated into the room with his ears still ringing and one eye fixed on the iron wall. The barrier was illuminated inside by a few stray light rays filtering down between its dark surface and the keep wall, but the space was far too tiny for a ghazneth-or so he hoped. When no more sounds came from the other side, he withdrew his glowing wand from his pocket and turned to the others.
“Could they have broken their necks?” Owden asked. “The wall was iron.”
“Do you really believe we’d be that lucky?” Tanalasta asked. “The wall is also magic. They are only drinking it.”
“Tanalasta?” Alaphondar gasped. “What are you doing here?”
“The idea was to rescue me.” Tanalasta’s tone was acid. “You do remember-or have you gone daft?”
Vangerdahast raised his brow. He had heard the princess address him in such a manner often enough, but never Alaphondar. The sage was like a father to her.
Alaphondar’s hurt showed even in his swollen face. His white eyebrows tilted inward, and he started to explain himself-then he hesitated.
“My mistake.” He looked around the room blindly. “I thought you were with Alusair for some reason. She just told me that she has learned the names of the ghazneths from the glyphs at the other crypts.”
“Really?” Vangerdahast asked. Being careful not to look in Tanalasta’s direction, he slipped a hand into his pocket and fished for a scrap of silk. “I didn’t know you had taught her to read elven glyphs.”
Alaphondar nodded. “Oh yes, of course. Post Thaugloraneous glyphs are a standard for well-bred princesses these days.”
Tanalasta’s red eyes flickered about the chamber, studying each man in turn. Vangerdahast was careful to keep a neutral expression. Alusair wouldn’t know a glyph from a rune, and he had a pretty good idea what Alaphondar was trying to tell him.
But Owden was not as quick to appreciate the situation. “Post-Thaugloraneous glyphs?” he asked, incredulous. “As in the dragon Thauglor?”
“A groundsplitter wouldn’t understand,” growled Vangerdahast. Continuing to look at Alaphondar, he casually drew the silk scrap from his pocket. “Did she say anything else?”
“She wanted to know the words of Alaundo’s prophecy.” The sage’s eyes shifted in Tanalasta’s direction. He hesitated a moment, giving Vangerdahast a somewhat more obvious cue than necessary, then said, “You know the one, don’t you, Xanthon? ‘Seven scourges, five that were, one of the day…’ “
“Xanthon!” Vangerdahast spun instantly, flinging the silken scrap in the direction of the ghazneth imposter.
Had he not been slowed by a pounding head and aching joints, he might have been quick enough to catch the phantom. As matters were, however, Xanthon was already gone. Vangerdahast’s magic web spattered across the floor and wall, encasing dozens of snakes and an untold number of insects.
Alaphondar shrieked in pain, and Vangerdahast swung his glowing wand around to see the imposter clinging to the sage from below, claws sunk deep into the old man’s flanks. The extra weight was slowly dragging both Alaphondar and Owden down toward the poisonous tangle on the floor, but Xanthon was not content to wait for his swarms to finish the job. He drew his head back and stretched up to bite Alaphondar’s neck.
Vangerdahast leveled his wand at Xanthon’s temple and uttered his command word. There was a deafening crack and a blinding flash, then the thud of a body slamming into a wall. Still blinking the blindness out of his eyes, the wizard reached out and caught Owden by the back of the cloak.
“Are you still flying?” he asked.
“For now,” came the reply.
As Vangerdahast’s vision cleared, he saw that his lightning bolt had knocked Xanthon into the morass of sticky filaments strewn across the far side the room. The imposter hung sideways on the wall, struggling against his bonds and spewing foul curses on Azoun’s name. He still bore a faint resemblance to Tanalasta, but the illusion was no longer strong. The ghazneth had suffered no damage, of course, and the sticky filaments of web were fast growing translucent, but he would remain trapped for at least a few moments.
Vangerdahast turned to check on Alaphondar. The old sage hung limp but breathing in Owden’s arms, the long gashes in his flank already puffy and red with purulence. The wizard laid a gentle hand on his friend’s arm.
“Tanalasta is safe?”
“For now,” Alaphondar replied. “She is with Alusair.”
“You are sure?”
When the sage nodded, Vangerdahast drew his iron dagger and looked back to Xanthon. The phantom’s eyes turned orange with fear, and he began to struggle even more fiercely than before. One arm came free, and he began to hack at the web with the sharp talons at the ends of his fingers.
“Not this time, traitor,” hissed Vangerdahast. “Now you pay.”
The royal magician uttered a quick incantation, then hurled his iron dagger across the room. The weapon took Xanthon square in the chest, splitting the sternum and sinking to the hilt. The ghazneth thrashed about madly, shrieking in anguish and trying to jerk free of the web. When the struggle continued for several moments with no sign of abating, Vangerdahast realized he would have to help matters along. Already, Xanthon had torn his back and one leg free.
The wizard passed his glowing wand to Owden, then reached for the priest’s weapon belt. “I need a hammer. Let me borrow your mace.”
That was enough for Xanthon. He plucked the iron dagger from his chest and began to slash, hacking at his own flesh in his haste to escape. Vangerdahast fumbled frantically with Owden’s mace, struggling to free the weapon and pull it past Alaphondar’s groaning form. By the time he had the head loose, Xanthon was standing upright on the floor, black blood pouring from the gaping hole in his chest.
The phantom hurled the iron dagger at Vangerdahast, then turned and fled through the door. Only the wizard’s magic shielding kept the knife from opening his skull.
Vangerdahast cursed, then caught Owden’s eye and glanced at Alaphondar. “Can you save him?”
