scribe scrambling to keep up.
The two burst from the trees to see that the two Crownsilvers were already down, and the king himself was locked in combat with a great metallic gorgon. The creature’s scaled flanks caught the moonlight and reflected it back in shattered shards. Its massive head was wreathed in clouds of greenish smoke.
Jorunhast turned to the scribe and shouted, “Get back to camp and bring every priest and every man who has a sword to swing!”
The young woman hesitated for a moment, her eyes locked on the great metallic creature. Then the wizard’s shouted curse at her mazed wits broke her transfixed state, and she went scrambling back up the path.
The king was fighting oddly, rushing forward to slash at the creature and then dancing back again, then dodging aside when the great bull charged. Time and again his blows skittered along the sides of the beast, and in the darkness, Jorunhast saw sparks fly as the steel struck against the scales.
The wizard knelt by one of the fallen Crownsilvers. The youth was unmarked, but his face was drawn and he was gasping for breath. Poison, then. Jorunhast laid the young noble’s head down-there was little to be done until the healers arrived-and turned back to the battle.
The king was tiring, and the monster seemed unscathed by his attacks. Again His Majesty danced forward, slashed without effect, and dodged back, clear of the creature’s horns and breath. Not a gorgon, but some relative, perhaps, thought the wizard. The monster looked as if it could continue the battle until dawn. The king, sweat already pouring down his face, obviously could not. Pryntaler favored the wizard with a short, desperate look, then dodged out of the way of the beast’s poisonous maw.
Jorunhast caught the pattern of the king’s attack. It would be tight, and he did not know if the magic he had would affect the beast. However, he could not wait, and the nobles and knights would arrive too late if he hesitated.
The Royal Magician raised his hand and started to craft the spell as Pryntaler dodged in once more to strike the beast. His blow had no more effect than the others. When the king jumped back, out of range of the poisons that engulfed the beast’s head, he hoped fervently, Jorunhast let loose his spell.
A bolt of lightning sprang from his fingertips and thundered into the beast. The blast of energy struck the side of the creature and spread along its scales, as if it were trying to slit the creature apart. The golden gorgon, or whatever it was, staggered forward for a moment, then halted in its tracks, as if turned to stone by the force of the blow.
Pryntaler’s shoulders sagged in exhaustion, and he nodded his thanks at the wizard, panting, “The monster was waiting for us here when-“
Jorunhast held up a hand, and the king fell silent, puzzled. The gorgon was clicking, as if it had swallowed a giant ratchet.
The magician of the realm approached the stone-still creature. Yes, it was making the low clicking noise. Now he could see in the moonlight the beast was not a living thing, but rather an automaton or golem in the shape of a great bull. Somewhere within it, something was attempting to repair the damage of the lightning bolt.
Wizard and king looked at each other, and Jorunhast raised his hand again, signaling Pryntaler to stay back. He approached the clockwork beast carefully, expecting it at any moment to spring back to life. Holding his breath, he ran his fingers along the thing’s head and shoulders. He found a small tray tucked beneath its chin. He pulled it forth, and a smoking, greenish pile of herbs tumbled out. The poison, obviously herbal in nature, that had felled the two Crownsilvers.
Jorunhast stepped back two swift paces and let the toxic fumes waft away in the night air. Then he returned to the creature’s side and resumed his inspection. The clicking became louder and more rapid. He ran his fingers along the ridge of the machine’s back. There was a small stud at the top of the spine, directly behind the nape of the creature’s massive neck.
Sweat gathered on the magician’s forehead. The latch might silence the clicking or reactivate the beast fully or might cause it to explode. Should he wait for the other nobles, the knights, and healers?
The creature began to slowly move its jaws, opening and closing them in a jerky rhythm. Within the metallic shell, Jorunhast heard bellows flex, and the mouth hissed to exhale the now removed poison.
Jorunhast cursed, offered a silent prayer to Mystra, and moved the control.
The wheeze of the bellows died with the clicking. The beast became inert once more. There were shouts from up the hill as the first of the rescuers reached the abandoned orchard.
King Pryntaler examined the creature. “A magical device?”
Jorunhast nodded. “One not normally found in the wilderness of Cormyr. Someone put this here to ambush you
“
The king snarled, “The Sembians! I swear this means war!”
“Yes and no,” said Jorunhast. “Yes, it probably was the Sembians, or at least one of the merchants. But, no, I don’t think it means war. They saw this creature as a tool to be used to solve the border dispute. Let us use it to the same purpose.”
The king looked hard and long at the wizard, then nodded. Now the would-be rescuers were spilling down along the shore. The king turned and barked orders for the healers to attend the fallen Crownsilvers and left Jorunhast to examine his prize.
The mage hummed to himself as be peered at the creature, exclaiming as he found small additional latches and hidden panels. He called for the four strongest of the knights to remove their armor and be ready for some heavy lifting.
In the morning, the Sembians were already gathered at the purple and black pavilion, waiting and asking in thirty-second intervals what the time was. The Cormyreans arrived late, to five scowling faces.
His Majesty King Pryntaler, by contrast, was all smiles. If he had spent the previous evening battling for his life, he did not show it.
“You are late,” said Kodlos gloomily, as if the king were a clerk sneaking past the noon bell. “Yesterday you spoke of our lack of respect to your claims, and now-“
“Not late… merely delayed,” said the king, beaming as he interrupted the leader of the Sembian merchants. Kodlos blinked twice, and Pryntaler waved back at the entrance.
Two of the noble knights of Cormyr were wrestling a low, wheeled cart into the pavilion. On the cart stood a large object shrouded in a great swath of fabric. At one side of the cart walked Jorunhast, a contented grin plastered on his face. The merchants exchanged curious glances.
Pryntaler continued, not giving the Sembians the opportunity to respond. “Last night I went for a walk, to consider your offers and viewpoints. While I was doing so, I came across this in an abandoned orchard not far from here.”
The king nodded. Jorunbast took hold of a corner of the fabric shroud and hauled it aside with a flourish, revealing the golden gorgon he’d first seen the night before.
Four Sembians leaned forward curiously at the sight of the golden bull. One, the ever quiet Jollitha Par leaned backward, his face turning an ashen gray.
Jorunhast called, “This is a wondrous creation, some sort of clockwork guard, apparently unaffected by the ages. But we do not know what it is. It-“
Old Bennesey, the scholar, interrupted just as rudely as he had for the last three days. “It is an abraxus, mage. These were automatons, created by Chondathan mages, but they could be used by anyone. They were usually activated by an unwilling human sacrifice and served as both guards and assassins…” Finally his brain caught up with his tongue and tripped up his flow of words. He stammered, looked at Jollitha Par, then stammered again.
Pryntaler broke in. “Chondathan, you say? Well, that would explain your knowing about it. I think this must have been an old guard for Sembia’s Chondathan borders. Jorunhast, have you found out how to operate the creature?”
The mage bowed low. “I believe that there is a latch along the spine here.”
Jollitha Par started as if he had been set on fire. “That will not be necessary!” he protested, his voice rising along the scale with every word spoken.
His Sembian fellows-or at least, Kodlos, Homfast and Lady Threnka-turned their heads slowly to stare at the spiderlike Jollitha. This was the first time the quiet merchant had spoken aloud, and it was as if the golden abraxus
