Like all magic he cast in the city of the Grodd, his spell of invisibility was wearing off prematurely.
Vangerdahast started to reach for a fire wand, then had a terrible thought. If his magic was not lasting as long as it should (and it was not), perhaps that meant something was draining it. If that something was what he feared, the last thing he wanted was to start spraying magic bolts around like arrows. Deciding his brain was starting to work again now that he had something in his stomach, he shoved the wand back in its sleeve and scurried down the passage as fast as his hands and knees would carry him.
The goblins quickly began to close the gap. Given the choice of being spitted on an iron sword or using another small bit of magic, the wizard allowed himself a single wall of stone. The goblins hit the barrier at a sprint, then bounced away into the murky warrens to find another route to their quarry.
They must have known the labyrinth far better than Vangerdahast. It was all he could do to reach the front of the palace and crawl out onto a tiny balcony before the little warriors caught up. The first one rushed out after him, nearly piercing a kidney before the wizard hurled himself over the balustrade into the darkness.
Vangerdahast experienced a flash of pain as his weathercloak’s magic triggered itself, and he began to flutter toward the ground as slowly as a feather. The wizard allowed himself to descend slowly, secure in the knowledge that there had been no time for the goblins to fetch crossbows, then he felt his stomach rise as he began to fall faster.
He rubbed the commander’s ring on his finger and said, “King’s light.”
A sphere of purple light sprang up around Vangerdahast, revealing the startling fact that he was not only picking up speed, he was drifting away from the Grodd Palace. He twisted around to look toward the center plaza and was even more startled to find Nalavara’s huge eye rearing up before him, slowly blinking and still bearing a strong semblance to the dark basin it had been when Vangerdahast arrived in this strange city.
The spell failed entirely then. The wizard plummeted to the ground and hit hard, then rolled to his knees and found himself looking up at Nalavara’s reptilian jaw. As he shook his head clear, the dragon pulled another two neck scales out of the ground, and Vangerdahast knew he had guessed right about what was happening to his magic.
“Shrew!” he yelled, furious at being used in such a manner. “I’ll die in hell before I free you!”
“As you like.” Nalavara’s voice seethed from her throat like hissing steam. “But were I you, I would mind my wishes. Remember the ring.”
A terrific chittering broke out in the entrance to the Grodd Palace. Vangerdahast looked up and saw a company of goblins starting to spill down the stairs. He hoisted himself to his feet, but when he turned to run, his ribs were too sore and his legs too weary.
“Even strong and fresh, you are too old for that,” Nalavara chuckled. She raised her head far above, her horns gouging great tufts of spongy substance out of the city’s dark ceiling. “You have only the choices I give: die by the hands of my goblins, or take up their iron crown and rule in my name.”
Vangerdahast glanced up toward the palace and saw how right Nalavara was. The leading goblins were already halfway down the stairs, with more than a hundred of their fellows close behind. It would have been an easy matter for a wizard of his power to slay them all, of course-but only with a lot of magic, and he could see for himself what that would mean to Nalavara. The dragon’s head was already free, and every spell he cast only liberated more of her.
Better to die, then-save that the goblins would capture his magic and no doubt turn it over to Nalavara, all of the wands, rings, clasps, and amulets he carried hidden inside his secret pockets-not to mention the weathercloak itself, and even his tiny traveling spellbook, which relied on magic of its own to enlarge itself whenever he needed to read it. Dying would be worse than fighting. Dying would instantly give her all the magic she needed to free herself.
Vangerdahast did not even consider the iron crown, of course. Quite aside from any mystic powers Nalavara might have instilled into the circlet, to don the crown would be to declare himself a subject of the dragon herself, and he knew better than to think she would lack the means to enforce his liege duties. That left him with only one choice.
The goblins reached the bottom of the palace stairs and started across the plaza. Vangerdahast pulled a dove’s feather from his cloak and tossed it into the air.
“This is it,” he swore, spewing out the incantation of a flying spell. “This is the last magic you get from me!”
8
“Are you hurt, your majesty?” several warriors growled in rough unison, charging forward with swords raised.
Azoun gave them a mirthless smile and said, “Not unless my men refuse to follow me. Lass, have you chosen?”
“These who stand with me,” Alusair replied, spreading her hands to indicate a burly swordlord, a lancelord, a war wizard, a dozen or so noble blades and dragoneers, and the lords Braerwinter and Tolon.
“We’ve left a command here in the field?” the King of Cormyr asked, indicating the army spread out around them.
Alusair gave her father what some were wont to call a “dirty look.”
Azoun grinned openly before turning his head to watch the ghazneth who’d once been a lord among war wizards streak away into the sky. “Then let us be away,” he said calmly.
“You go to try to recapture the escaped darkwings?” a swordcaptain asked excitedly. “Take me!”
The king spun around. “No, loyal warrior. A few only are needed for this foray. The ghazneth did not escape-we let him go, that he might lead us to its lair.”
“But… he’s gone, beyond our sight.”
“The royal magician gifted me with a magical trick,” the king explained, raising his voice so that many could hear. “It’s a dust I used to taint that which the ghazneth snatched. I can trace it for some days-which I hope will not be needed. Expect our return forthwith, but do not hesitate to move on from here if battle demands it. We go!” Without further ado, the small force went, shaping itself around the king like a gigantic, wary shield. Azoun seemed sure of the ghazneth’s direction and led them without pause over a hill into a place of stony slopes.
“Think you there’re orcs ahead?” a Purple Dragon growled to his companion.
“Undoubtedly,” that veteran warrior replied, hefting his sword. “In fact, I’m counting on it.”
“Why is it,” Lancelord Raddlesar inquired of the world at large, “that so much of fighting consists of hurrying through the wilderlands, chasing something that’s well beyond the ends of our swords-and possibly beyond our powers to slay?”
“That’s not just fighting, warrior,” the war wizard told him quietly. “That’s life.”
Some stealthy things that might have been orcs scurried out from behind rocks and away as the king led his small strike force over several hills into an area where the land was riddled with breakneck gullies and rock outcrops, cloaked in stunted trees. They were probably only a few miles from the main army, but they might as well have been several kingdoms away, in land that-save for the occasional sheep’s skull-looked like men had never set foot on it.
A shrill cry rang out from a ridge ahead as they struggled up a thorny slope to a knife-edged crest.
“A sentinel,” Alusair said warningly. “Expect trouble ahead, and keep low-beware of arrows.”
Trouble was indeed waiting for them when they reached the ridge. A line of impassive, hulking orcs in black leather armor with well-used axes and swords in their hands stood ready.
“Strike, then withdraw at my horn call,” Alusair snapped. Men looked to the king for guidance. He merely nodded and indicated the Steel Princess, so they inclined their heads to her and made ready their swords.
The fray was brief and brutal, the king’s men keeping close together so that two or three of them could face-and swiftly fell-a single orc. With the safety of both the king and a royal heir at stake, there was no “fairness” to hold to. Two dragoneers fell before Alusair sounded her horn and the panting Cormyreans drew back, leaving behind twice their number of twitching or motionless orcs to the flies.
“Did you see-?” the lancelord gasped.
