clearly. “No, she did not. I can tell you she appreciated it, however.”
Ondeth nodded. “It was so-” he searched for the right word-“beautiful.”
The mage arched his eyebrows in surprise.
“Beautiful,” repeated the farmer. “The lights in the trees, the horns, the elves themselves.” He spread his hands out in the direction the elves had gone. “Beautiful.”
Ondeth turned to Baerauble. “This is a wondrous land a land of startling beauty. It is better even than Impiltur, and a palace compared to swampy Marsember or the other rough holds of men on these shores. If the elves seek to keep this as their hunting place, I will respect that and see to it that any who settle with me respect it as well… if they’ll allow us to remain.”
The wizard replied, “I think they will after your actions today. But you surprise me, Ondeth Obarskyr. I did not think you had such resolution and poetry in your heart.”
Ondeth smiled. “I’ve many surprises yet. I come from a family of many poets, heroes… and scoundrels as well. Come, we’ve been gone too long, and Suzara will be worried about me. You must come for dinner.”
The mage nodded and then paused. “I really should return you, then return to the Hunt.”
“Dinner!” said Ondeth, placing a hand on the mage’s shoulder. The wizard jumped slightly at the touch, but only slightly. “You’ve shown your hospitality, and I must show mine. Besides, you have a great task ahead of you this evening.”
Baerauble blinked. “Oh?”
“You have convinced me to live with your elves,” said Ondeth. “Now you must convince my dear Suzara to stay here with me. This shall be our home-forevermore.”
Chapter 7: Alusair
Year of the Gauntlet (1369 DR)
Ash-blonde hair swirled as its dark-eyed owner looked up sharply. “Something’s wrong,” she murmured. “Take over, Beldred.”
The bearded nobleman in plate armor turned his head. “Of course, Lady Highness… are you unwell?”
His commander shook her head without replying and spurred her mount away to the left, across rising ground. Beidred watched her go with worried eyes, then said, “Brace… Threldryn? Follow her and see that she comes to no harm.”
“Aye,” they replied in unison, drawing blades and turning their mounts. Just before they sprang away in pursuit, Brace murmured, “But will you see that we come to no harm from her?”
“Aye,” Threldryn said, grasping for words. “What if she just wants to, uh, perform some, ah, private business?”
Beldred gave them both a tight, wordless smile in return and urged his mount onward.
They were deep in the Stonelands, on one of the high meadows north of Startop Crag, a score and four knights under the command of a lady. No common Purple Dragon knights were these, but the youngest sons of the proudest noble houses in the land, all with titles and wealth of their own. And they rode under no common commander, for the lady riding hard to the west under the watch of Brace Skatterhawk and Threldryn Imbranneth was Alusair Nacacia Obarskyr, Mithril Princess of Cormyr.
Beldred Truesilver could spare no more thought for her right now, however. Alusair’s knights were hot on the proverbial heels of an orc band. The twisted humanoids had been so bold as to raid a caravan on the road east of Eveningstar six days back, and they had almost caught the sweating, snorting beasts twice. Each time a handy ravine had allowed the swine-snouts to scramble free of fair battle and climb higher into the Stonelands hills. And so they chased the goblinoids deeper into this perilous region that Cormyr claimed but could not rule except by sword point.
Over dying fires of night, the folk of northern Cormyr traded fearsome tales of flying fanged things, wolves, trolls, and orcs, and even dragons and evil wizards slithering down out of the Stonelands to strike at honest folk. Beldred could well believe such tales now. He’d never seen a hydra before this venture, nor a fire lizard, but in the last few days he’d had a hand in slaying both, plus a trio of chimeras as well. He knew now why retired Purple Dragons stood proud when royals rode past, but wanted no part of present glory. Even slight wounds hurt too much for anyone to feel valorous.
Now the orcs were running for broken ground again, and Beldred Truesilver-like most of his fellows, he had no doubt-would be damned and blasted by all the battle gods before he’d let these bestial humanoids slip away again. Well ahead in the distance, over trampled grass, he saw a flash of armor as someone-Dagh Illance, probably, as hot and eager for blood as ever-threw a spear.
An inhuman wail arose, and Beldred smiled. They had found the orcs. This time they had them! The knights were going to be able to block the orcs from scurrying flight, forcing them against where the rocks rose ahead.
There was a bowl-shaped valley ahead, if Alusair’s description of the region was right. Then there would be no more riding. The orcs could climb out of the valley, but at least they’d also have to fight at last. Beldred thought of calling to the princess and the two men he left behind for her. Then he swallowed and frowned. They could watch out for themselves, and the rest of the company would not want to wait for the attack, princess or not. He touched the reassuringly hard, smooth pommel of his sword and spurred his mount on, shouting for the other horsemen to follow.
The vision-and Vangerdahast’s mind-touch-had been faint but unmistakable. Get to a place of privacy and wait for a falcon that looked-thus.
Alusair’s mouth tightened. Blasted matters of state again, no doubt. She rode around to the other side of a rise of rocks, watching warily for orcs. It must be something the Royal Magician needed kept secret, or he’d simply have farspoken to her. What would it be this time?
At least she’d not be kept waiting long, to be inwardly branded a shirking coward by the young brightblades riding with her for the first time. Already she could see a dot high in the blue skies, a darkness that fell like a bolt toward her. To spare the horse a fright, she dismounted, walked a little way across a dell, and stood waiting, the dagger from her left boot in one hand and her sword bare in the other-just in case. In the Stonelands, one could never be too careful.
The falcon was in her vision, and in its claws was a flat, circular silver plate, its heart a mirror, its edges crawling with running runes. A message plate.
Half the height of a man from the ground, the falcon pulled up, wings braking deftly, and began to swell. Feathers melted into rippling, expanding flesh that flowed and bulged in a sickening manner. This was the flowshift, which meant the being would take its own form only temporarily and had no desire to break the spell that made it a falcon. The transformation spun with blurring speed now, then coalesced suddenly into the robed, barefoot form of a sharp-nosed woman in a plain maroon robe, with fresh lines of care on her face. She was older now, Alusair noted, but was still as beautiful and as graceful as ever. The wizardess knelt, holding out the plate.
“Laspeera!” Alusair exclaimed in recognition, letting her weapons fall, shaking off her gauntlets, and striding forward with arms outstretched for an embrace.
The warden of the war wizards gave her a wan smile but said formally, “Well met, Lady Highness. I bring this in urgent haste.”
Alusair frowned. Laspeera’s formality could only mean bad news. She took the plate, set it carefully on the turf, swept the sorceress into her arms, and kissed her cheek. “I’m pleased to see you anyway, ‘Speera. What news of father?”
The mage returned her kiss but said nothing, nodding sadly at the plate.
Oh. Oh, damn, thought the warrior-princess. Blast and damn.
Alusair took up the plate and touched the runes meant for her with her bare fingertips. The runes shimmered, then faded away. It was a once-only message, grave news indeed, then.
A moment later, the familiar voice of her father came to her from the disk, quiet but unmistakable.
“Alusair, the realm is in dire peril. Bhereu is dead, and Thomdor and I may have joined him by the time you receive this. We do not know who is responsible. Stay in the Stonelands. Keep out of sight of those who may come to search for you. If you hear word of my death, trust it not unless it comes to you from those few we both trust.
