long sword.
The royal magician was old and feeling older by the hour, yet he wasn’t quite so decrepit as to be unable to move in great haste when he had to. Moreover, his hands were deft-and proved quite capable of plucking reeling rulers of the realm out of the air as they started to topple, and lowering both them and ancient elven scepters gently to resting places on handy beds.
“If this is your idea of ready,” he muttered, as he took the gasping king under the arms and heaved him back up onto his pillows, “I tremble for the future of the realm.”
A weak sputter of amusement and mock indignation told him that Azoun retained, at least, his senses.
“So you have served the realm as capably as ever, and we have the grand plan,” the king gasped when he was strong enough to speak again. “We also have this… small problem of my being unable to stand. Somewhat of a handicap in facing down… dragons, you’ll agree…”
“Your wounds are this bad,” Vangerdahast replied gravely, “because some of the dragon’s blood is in you- gnawing at your innards, melting away all of Azoun it can reach. Nalavara exists to destroy all of Obarskyr blood and is doing so all too well. I can purge you of the blood just as I delivered you from the Abraxus venom, but it will take magic, powerful magic.”
“Which my darkwinged ancestor out there is waiting to pounce upon and drink… leaving me unhealed,” Azoun concluded grimly.
“Indeed,” Vangerdahast said, and shut his mouth like a slamming portcullis as the word left his lips.
Azoun regarded him in silence for a moment, then almost whispered, “I know you too well, old friend. You do see a solution and don’t want to offer it. I know enough not to command you to speak… so I’ll just lie here and wait as, eventually, the battle sweeps over us.”
The royal magician gave him a dark look, then said, “There’s no chance of healing you with Boldovar circling, just waiting for magic to be awakened. He must be lured elsewhere, with other magic, and held or trapped for long enough to restore you. It won’t take me long, but it will take me much too long to manage if he’s just soaring after a spell hurled from atop another hill, or a war wizard firing a wand-even a dozen war wizards, one after another.”
The old wizard drew in a deep breath, then let it out in an unhappy sigh. “And I know of only one person in Cormyr skilled and experienced in the baiting and destruction of ghazneths.”
“My daughter, Tanalasta,” Azoun said quietly. “To save the king, we imperil his heir and the hope of the kingdom to come.”
Vangerdahast nodded, his face dark with apprehension. “She has faced them and prevailed,” he murmured, “but Boldovar is the strongest of them all-and no prince or princess, whatever their resolve or prowess, can be confident of handling such a madman. We may well be dooming her just as surely as we’re thrusting you to the edge of your grave.”
Azoun looked up at him, then lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “Cormyr has never been a carefree garden, ours by right and without striving. My daughters both know that now-and both are defenders of the realm every bit as worthy and as capable as their father. What service do we do to the next Obarskyrs, if we fight all their battles for them, and rob them of the chance-nay, the right, the privilege-of rescuing Cormyr for themselves?”
Vangerdahast nodded. “Yet, you’re her father…” he murmured.
“And her king,” Azoun said, staring into the darkness. “They take turns being harder roles, Vangey. They always have.”
39
R hundred forks of lightning lanced upward from the palace ramparts, brightening the sky even in broad daylight. A long string of noisy crackles echoed across the city roofs. The still waters of Lake Azoun turned the color of a flashing silver mirror, and the air filled with a smell like fresh rain. The display was followed by an endless chain of fireballs. They arced out from the walls one after the other, trailing stubby tails of black smoke and roaring like dragons, then plummeting into the water to a sizzling, hissing end.
“That will attract his attention, don’t you think?” asked Tanalasta. She was standing beside Owden Foley, watching the display from Vangerdahast’s private tower outside the palace. “Even the Mad King cannot be so distracted he fails to notice that.”
“Or misses its purpose,” Owden added darkly.
“I think the ghazneths have known what we’re doing for some time now.” Tanalasta winced as the baby kicked her kidney, then continued, “Suzara didn’t come down until we made her think she could snatch Vangerdahast and run. We’ll use a different gambit on Boldovar.”
As Tanalasta spoke, a green aura of visible magic began to glow above the palace. Despite its appearance, it was actually a minor spell Sarmon the Spectacular had developed, designed to create a powerful ambience of magic with a minimum of mystic energy. Even if Boldovar absorbed the spell, he would find it about as satisfying as Vangerdahast would a glass of water, but of course Tanalasta did not expect the Mad King to fall for such an obvious ploy. Like every Cormyrean monarch since Embrus the Old, he had been a student of chess and would recognize a diversion when he saw it.
And when he saw the diversion, he would start looking for the thing they were trying to hide. Tanalasta stepped away from the window.
“Shall we get started, Harvestmaster?”
“If you insist,” Owden said, “but I still think you should take Vangerdahast at his word.”
“Only because you do not know him as well as I do.” Tanalasta crossed to the far side of Vangerdahast’s study, slipping through a dozen of Owden’s Chauntean priests, and dropped into a comfortable reading chair. “He knew Rowen and I were married.”
“Perhaps he knows you better than you think,” Owden said. “After you met Rowen, one of his first concerns was that you would end up marrying ‘a ground-splitting Cormaeril.’”
“Even if he were that perceptive, there is still the matter of Rowen’s holy symbol and the dark face.” Tanalasta propped her feet on a stool. Her legs ached almost constantly now, and she was looking forward to the day when there would be a little less weight for them to carry. “Instead of explaining, Vangerdahast shifted the onus to you. He’s a master of such tactics.”
“That doesn’t mean he was hiding something,” said Owden. “Perhaps he really thought I could explain.”
“Can you?”
When Owden shook his head, Tanalasta removed Rowen’s holy symbol from her neck and held it out. “Then let’s bring my husband home.”
Owden did not take the symbol. “And what if that wasn’t Rowen you saw? Why would Vangerdahast lie about a thing like that?”
Tanalasta gave a scornful look. “Why do you think?”
Owden shook his head. “He wouldn’t. Not even the old Vangerdahast would leave a man trapped alone back there.”
“I love Vangerdahast dearly, but he’s done far worse to ‘protect’ Cormyr,” Tanalasta said. “What better way to handle Rowen? If a Cormaeril must be Royal Husband, then at least let him be kept out of sight- permanently.”
Owden’s gaze dropped. “You can’t believe Vangerdahast would do such a thing, not after all he’s been through.”
“I find no other explanation of the facts before us,” said Tanalasta. It occurred to her that she was sidestepping Owden’s question as neatly as Vangerdahast had sidestepped hers, but it really did not matter. If the dark face was not Rowen’s, she was determined to know that as well. “When there is only one way to interpret a set of facts, then it must be the explanation-no matter how unpleasant.”
“And what if there is another explanation?” asked Owden. “Xanthon may have been telling the truth.”
“Rowen? A ghazneth?” Tanalasta rolled her eyes. “You never met Rowen. Even Vangerdahast said nothing could make him betray Cormyr.”
Owden shook his head, clearly uncomfortable with her doubts about Vangerdahast.
