insects and more than a few snakes, but no more than normal in such a place, and none that appeared particularly dangerous.
Alusair’s men were everywhere, banging on walls and inspecting floors for secret passages.
Tanalasta started down the hallway to the right.
Alusair followed close behind, her armor clanking as she brushed against the stone walls. “There’s a common chamber and seven sleeping cells upstairs, and half a dozen storage rooms on this floor. We haven’t been able to find a dungeon entrance-but it would probably be flooded anyway.”
Tanalasta rounded the corner and peered into the first room. Warm afternoon light poured through a large, windowlike breach in the opposite wall. The edges were smooth with age and draped with moss. Not looking at her sister, and trying to keep her voice casual, Tanalasta asked, “Any sign of Rowen?”
“Rowen can take care of himself.” Though Alusair’s tone was neutral, she clapped Tanalasta’s shoulder briefly and said, “He’s probably waiting for us at Goblin Mountain with Vangerdahast and Alaphondar.”
“If Vangerdahast is there, I doubt Rowen still is,” Tanalasta remarked wryly.
As the princess turned away from the room, a sharp hiss sounded behind her.
“Tanalasta?” called a familiar voice.
Tanalasta spun back toward the room only to find her sister already charging through the door, sword in hand.
“Name yourself,” demanded Alusair.
Tanalasta rounded the corner to find her sister standing in the center of the room, reaching up to press the tip of her blade to a disembodied head protruding from a tiny circle of darkness near the ceiling. It was such an odd sight that it took a moment for Tanalasta to recognize the face as that of Owden Foley.
Owden’s eyes remained fixed on the tip of Alusair’s sword. “H-harvestmaster Owden F-foley, at your s- service.”
Tanalasta grabbed Alusair’s arm. “He’s a friend!”
Alusair lowered her sword, but continued to eye the priest suspiciously. Tanalasta stepped forward, placing herself between the two, and Owden finally exhaled in relief.
“Thank you, my dear.” He smiled at Tanalasta, then tipped his chin to Alusair. “I’m honored to make your acquaintance, Princess Alusair. Please consider me at your service.”
Owden pushed an arm out of the floating circle and turned his palm up. Alusair eyed the disembodied limb coldly and did not offer her hand.
“What, exactly, are you?” she demanded.
Owden flushed and looked down, then finally seemed to realize what he must look like. “Forgive me! Vangerdahast told us to wait inside until he returned.”
The black circle behind Owden’s head suddenly grew larger, revealing itself to be the interior of a large pocket floating in midair. The priest withdrew into the interior, then reappeared feet-first and dropped to the floor. He bowed again and turned to Tanalasta.
“By the seed, it is good to see you again!” He embraced her warmly, then looked past her into the hallway. “Where is the old grouch?”
“We were hoping you could tell us.”
Owden’s expression fell. “He went after Xanthon Cormaeril, to stop him from opening Alaundo’s door.”
“How long ago?” Alusair demanded.
Owden shrugged, gesturing vaguely at the dark pouch hanging above his head. “A few minutes after Alaphondar contacted Tanalasta.”
The two sisters exchanged worried glances, then Tanalasta said, “Two days ago.”
“What now?” asked Alusair.
“Assume he is lost, and hope that we are wrong,” said a familiar voice. A moment later, Alaphondar’s old head appeared in the mouth of the floating pouch. His eyes were sunken and weary, his skin as pale as alabaster.
“What other choice is there? You have read my note.”
“Note?” Tanalasta asked.
“In the tube.” He gestured at the spyglass. “Telling whoever found it to awaken the Sleeping Sword.”
“There was no note.” Tanalasta pulled the two pieces of the spyglass apart. “This was how we found it.”
Alusair took the two halves of the tube from Tanalasta and inspected them. “At least we know what happened to Rowen. This was hacked open with a sword.”
“And this Rowen knows where to find the Sleeping Sword?” asked Alaphondar.
Alusair cocked an eyebrow at Tanalasta, who shook her head. “I had no reason to mention it.”
“Then he will be on his way to inform your father,” sighed Alaphondar. “And with Vangerdahast lost, the delay could well mean Cormyr’s doom. We must inform the king.”
The sage’s withered hand appeared briefly, then reached for his throat clasp.
“Alaphondar, wait!” Tanalasta said, realizing her deception would be revealed if the sage conversed with the king. “I reported your fears to His Majesty two days ago.”
“And did he say he would awaken the Sleeping Sword?” asked Alaphondar.
Tanalasta’s stomach sank, for she knew what the sage would say when she answered-and also that there was too much at stake to try to talk him out of it. “No, not exactly.”
“Then we must make certain.”
Alusair barked a handful of commands out the door, ordering to company to prepare itself in case the sending drew a ghazneth, then looked back to Alaphondar.
“Contact the queen instead of the king,” Alusair said. “She’ll know his plans, and we don’t want to draw ghazneths to him if he’s already in the Stonelands. If he hasn’t left already, tell her I can take your horse and be there in a day.”
Tanalasta watched Alaphondar’s eyes close, then, cringing inwardly, turned to her sister. “Alusair, there is something I should tell you.”
Alusair waved her off. “Not now, Tanalasta. This is important.”
“So is this.” Tanalasta steeled herself for the coming storm. “I may have given you the wrong impression-“
“Later!”
Alusair stepped away, precluding any further attempts to admit the truth, and Alaphondar opened his eyes a moment later.
“The queen assures us that King Azoun will reach the Sleeping Sword first.” The sage turned to Alusair looking rather confused. “She was quite upset. She seemed to think you should be somewhere near Goblin Mountain by now.”
“Goblin Mountain? Why would she think that? The king himself told us to investigate…” Alusair let the sentence trail off and whirled on Tanalasta, her face turning white with anger. “I’ll cut out your tongue, you lying harlot!”
Vangerdahast snapped awake without the pleasure of even a moment’s confusion about his whereabouts. He knew the awful truth as soon as he heard the humming swarms and smelled the dank air. His emergency spellbook lay opened to the last spell he had been studying, a powerful wind enchantment he had been hoping to use to clear the insects away so he could sleep in peace. Apparently, it had been unnecessary.
The wizard had no way to tell how long he had slept, but judging by his stiff joints and the cold ache in his bones, it had been a good while. His stomach was growling with hunger and he was almost thirsty enough to drink the stagnant swill in the center of the plaza, but at least the sleep had rejuvenated him mentally. No longer did he feel as dispirited or confused as he had after attempting to return to Arabel, and he had even begun to develop a few theories about how to find his way home. He had either followed Xanthon into a separate plane or through some sort of magic-dampening barrier that prevented his teleport spell from folding space. All he had to do was figure out which, then he could start work on the problem of determining either where he was, or how to bypass the barrier.
And failing that, he always had his ring of wishes to call upon-but wishes were tricky spells to use, and he had learned through bitter experience that it was wiser to avoid them in all but the most controlled of
