A ringing clamor echoed through the door behind them, and they turned to see a dozen dragoneers tumbling into the foyer beyond.
“That would be Xanthon now. Stall him.”
Tanalasta pushed Owden toward the steel tangle, then turned back to the dining room. A whirling knot of darkness and iron was slowly drifting away from her, moving toward an ancient throne at the far end of the room. Though the churning mass contained at least fifty knights, it almost looked as though they were loosing the battle. Plate-armored bodies came flying out at regular intervals, helmets staved in or breastplates cleaved open or truncated limbs flinging crimson arcs through the air. Had the ghazneth not been weak and slow with magic starvation, Tanalasta could not imagine what the battle would have been like.
A steel clamor sounded from the main stairwell, and Owden called, “Tanalasta, he’s coming!”
“When he reaches the bottom of the stairs-tell the wizards then!” Without waiting to see whether the harvestmaster understood, Tanalasta rushed into the steel tangle before her. “Stand aside! Let me at her!”
The knights, consumed as they were by bloodlust, paid her no attention. She barreled into the tangle from behind, forcing it toward the throne and tearing battle-crazed warriors out of her way. Several times, the princess was forced to duck the wild swing of a mailed hand or parry a low dagger, but she had practiced such drills often enough to understand the principle of redirection and always managed to steer these attacks toward others blocking her way. Furious knights began to spin off in groups of four and five, battering one another with their iron weapons and doing far more damage to each other than Lady Merendil had caused.
A fiery roar rumbled through the doorway as the war wizards unleashed their spells. Realizing she had no more than a minute before Xanthon recovered and began to convert the magic into a catastrophe for her, she grabbed a knight by the back of the helmet and shoved forward, using him like a battering ram to clear her path.
“Out of the way!” she screamed. “By royal command, stand aside!”
The tangle never parted, but she pushed into a region of hacking iron and flying black gore. The whole snarl seemed to lunge forward, and she found herself peering over an armored shoulder at a shadowy, mangled figure that could only be what remained of Lady Merendil. Tanalasta grabbed hold of the shoulder in front of her and raised her leg, thrusting her heel into the thing’s chest.
“Lady Ryndala Merendil, as a true Obarskyr and heir to the Dragon Throne, I grant you the thing you most desire, the thing for which you betrayed your liege duty and your loyalty to Cormyr, the throne of Azoun the First!” Tanalasta kicked outward, knocking Lady Merendil’s butchered form back into the burnished walnut throne behind her. “And as heir to the crown and a direct descendant of Azoun the First, I forgive your betrayal and absolve you of all crimes against Cormyr.”
Lady Merendil’s mouth opened in a black, silent shriek, but Tanalasta was already backing out of the crowd and rushing toward the door.
“Again!” she cried. “Hit him again!”
Tanalasta left the dining room to find the entire foyer filled with slashing iron blades. The blood-smeared floor was littered with naked rat tails, long-whiskered mouse snouts, and scaly-headed snake pieces.
Coughing, stumbling dragoneers ran in every direction, hacking at anything that moved on the floor. The ceiling was alive with spiders and the walls were crawling with scorpions. Men lay everywhere clutching twisted black hands and arms swollen to the size of thighs.
Tanalasta smacked a dragoneer in the side of the helmet. “Where’s the ghazneth?”
“There.” The warrior pointed to a mass of mangled flesh surrounded by chopping blades, then grabbed Tanalasta’s hand and shouldered his way forward. “Make way for the princess!”
The disciplined dragoneers immediately opened a path. By the time Tanalasta had pulled the signet off her finger, she was standing over Xanthon’s butchered figure, watching in horror as the wounds on his dark body closed faster than they could be opened.
Tanalasta kneeled at his side and grasped the flayed remains of a hand. There were only two fingers left, and she chose the largest.
“Xanthon Cormaeril, first cousin to my husband Rowen and second cousin to the next heir of the Dragon Throne, I give you the thing you desire most, the prestige and honor of the Obarskyr name.”
Before she could slip the ring onto his finger, Xanthon jerked free of her grasp. “Trollop!” he hissed. “You would sleep with any traitor among us. Rowen is one of-“
An iron halberd came down across his mouth, cleaving his jaw off and pinning his head to the floor. An armored foot secured his arm alongside it, then the tip of an iron sword unfurled the remaining two fingers.
“Perhaps the princess should try again,” said a gruff voice.
“In a moment,” Tanalasta said. “What is this about Rowen?”
Xanthon’s jaw drew back toward the rest of his head, healing before the princess’s eyes. He smiled and said, “He’s a Cormaeril. Do you really need to ask?”
Again, the halberd came down across Xanthon’s mouth, and the gruff voice said, “Pay him no attention, Princess. He’s only trying to buy time to save himself.”
Tanalasta nodded. “Of course.” Though she did not quite believe the dragoneer, she knew better than to think Rowen would ever have betrayed Cormyr-or her. She grabbed Xanthon’s black hand and shoved the signet ring onto his finger. “Xanthon Cormaeril, I name you royal cousin
The shadow did not fade from Xanthon’s body so much as simply vanish. In the next instant there was a man, horribly mutilated and screaming in agony, lying on the ground with Tanalasta’s signet ring on his finger. Content to have him thrown in an iron box and left that way, she rose and turned away-only to find herself looking at Owden Foley.
“I believe you have forgotten something,” the priest said. “The ghazneth cannot be destroyed until you forgive it.”
“Absolve it,” Tanalasta corrected. She turned and looked down at the screaming thing on the floor. Now that she had placed her ring on its finger, its wounds were no longer healing and it looked like no more than it was-a tormented traitor screaming for mercy. “He doesn’t deserve it. You heard what he said about Rowen.”
“What he said about Rowen does not matter.” Owden tapped her over the heart, pushing his finger into the soft swell of her upper breast. “How you react does.”
Tanalasta considered the priest’s words, then kneeled at Xanthon’s side. “I will give one more chance to clear your conscience, cousin. Tell me what became of Rowen.”
“I… told… you,” Xanthon gasped. “He’s one of… us.”
“Liar!” Tanalasta took a deep breath, then reluctantly clasped the ghazneth’s wrist. “As an heir to the Obarskyr throne and daughter to King Azoun IV, I… absolve you of your crime.”
“And forgive your betrayal,” added Owden.
Tanalasta waited to see if Xanthon would perish. When he did not, she added, “And forgive your betrayal.”
The pain seemed to leave Xanthon’s face. “Now it is you who are lying.” He closed his eyes and smiled. “Cousin.”
34
“The last of the snortsnouts are down, my liege,” the battlemaster growled through the protesting squeal of his visor being pushed up and open. “We’ve lost some good men, but fewer than I’d feared.”
King Azoun nodded grimly, his eyes still fixed on the line of trees where the forest began, not far to the west. His mouth was set in a tight line, and a lone muscle twitched beside his mouth. It was a sign that few men there had ever had the misfortune to see before.
Battlemaster Ilnbright, however, was one of them, and knew well that it meant fear warred with anger in Azoun’s thoughts. He did not need to follow the dark fire of the king’s gaze to know the source of the royal fury. Every man gathered on the hill, and the many now cleaning their blades and finding places to rest weary backsides on the slopes below, knew the same dark truth. As Purple Dragons and growling orc warriors had met and the ringing din of blades had risen, Azoun had given the signal that should have brought the Steel Princess and her
