dark cloud hid the ghazneth that the priest had so grimly but insistently assured her was a friend and vital ally. The ghazneth had once been Rowen Cormaeril. Gods above, Alusair thought, what cruel joke are you playing on fair Cormyr now?
The cloud was trudging along with her as obediently as any war captain, and Alusair had curtly ordered him to be treated as such, ignoring the raised eyebrows and dark looks she’d received in return.
“Giving orders might not be easy or popular, but by crown and Tempus, they are my orders to give!” she’d snarled.
She could see a large, dark bulk on the hilltop ahead, now, accompanied by the canted, barbed ruin of a dragon’s wing. The Devil Dragon was down.
“Haste!” she snapped, pointing with her sword. “The crown lies in peril!”
She could see now that a smaller hill, off to her left and a little behind her, was crowned with the royal standard and what could only be a tent. They looked undamaged, and she could see the glint of a few-a very few- helms and shields there. Azoun’s own crown banner, though, wasn’t flapping on high. The king had not returned to his tent.
“Move, you oxen!” she snarled at the men around her, as they slipped and slid wearily in goblin gore. “I’ve seen bloated barons scuttle faster when their creditors came calling-or their wives to the brothel doors!” She lifted her blade like a scourge and smacked her own hip with it, as if flogging herself to greater speed. “Get up there!”
Someone among the grimly hastening knights made an insolent lowing sound, and someone else echoed it. There were chuckles, and a few tight smiles, and Alusair’s spirits suddenly rose. Gods, but she was proud to lead men such as these!
A goblin squirmed under her feet, among the dead, thrusting upward viciously at her crotch. Before she could do more than dance aside, three swords had met in its squalling body, her knights sprawling to reach it with no thought for their own safety.
“Loyal idiots,” Alusair cursed them fondly. “Get on!”
They were most of the way up the hill now, climbing over goblins heaped so high that the untidy piles were rolling and sliding downslope when disturbed, often carrying a cursing Purple Dragon with them. Ahead, on the summit, the living goblins were taking no notice of their advance but seemed locked in some sort of vigorous dispute involving something on the ground in front of the dead dragon.
Alusair licked suddenly dry lips, and murmured, “My father-it must be.”
Owden Foley, laboring up the hill to her right, gave her a sharp look, then glanced at the dark cloud moving beside him. Before he could speak, a sudden wind howled across the hilltop, bowling many goblins over and away, and forcing the rest to the ground. It was a gale that moaned as if it was alive, but it scoured only the summit. The climbing Cormyreans could barely feel a breeze on their faces.
The slope ended and they were atop the hill, with the ghastly bulk of the dragon rising like a wall across the crest, and goblins sprawled helplessly everywhere. There were no heaped dead here-only living goblins, now screaming out their rage and terror as they saw the armored humans looming up with bloody swords drawn-and something more.
Something dark, wet, and glistening lay in front of the dragon’s jaws. The dying wyrm’s ichor had spewed forth in a huge pool, drenching two sprawled men who lay there, one atop the other. Both of them wore crowns and looked more or less whole. One-the one feebly moving an arm-was King Azoun. The other was… Vangerdahast?
A secret king of Cormyr? Or had he crowned himself king of some new realm? Alusair thought. Had he been playing us all false after all and commanding the foes of Cormyr? Or was the circlet some ancient adornment passed on by Baerauble, with fell powers to be used only when the realm tottered?
No matter-or rather, no matter to be worried about now.
Alusair turned her head with difficulty. Where she stood was on the very edge of the storm, and its winds shoved against the movement like a solid stable door that had smacked her cheek long ago.
“Rowen!” she called, knowing the gale tore the name from her lips before anyone upwind could possibly hear it.
She could not see the ghazneth, shrouded in its cloud, but it must have been watching her. The wind died in an instant, and Alusair charged forward, running hard across squalling goblins, heading straight for the king. The thunder of booted feet and the mingled curses of men and goblins told her that her knights and dragoneers were right behind her.
A goblin swung a wickedly hooked bill at her. Alusair caught its blade with her own and kicked out, as hard as she could, skidding on trampled grass as she came down. Yelling, the goblin tumbled through the air and away. The Steel Princess found herself teetering on the edge of the dragon’s spew. Sudden balls of flame rolled up from it, coalescing out of nowhere, and a brief crackle of blue-green lightning played over it.
“Wild magic!” one of the priests gasped. “Thank Chauntea!”
“Chauntea?”Alusair snapped, bewildered, even as they wheeled around in unison to form a defensive wall around the darkened area. Snarling goblins surged forward against them, hacking and stabbing.
“He has to thank someone,” a dragoneer panted. “Being a priest, he calls on his god.”
“Thank you, sir wit,” Alusair said sarcastically between pants of effort, as she spitted a goblin who’d run in behind one of his fellows, then lunged forward to hack at the dragoneer’s ankles. “That much I managed. What I want to know-” she growled as her blade burst through a chink in a rusty forest of salvaged plates worn by the tallest goblin she’d ever seen, and her blade sank hilt-deep into it, the point running into the goblin behind, “-is why wild magic is such cause for thanks.”
She had to kick with all of her strength to get the bodies back off her blade, and out of habit swung them sideways as a ram against others trying to swarm past. Spitting, snarling goblins were all around her now.
The dragoneer swung his sword like a scythe, raking goblins aside. One of them fell into the dragon’s blood with a shriek of terror, rolled, and raced back out of it, limbs pumping frantically, as fresh fires arose around them.
Alusair stabbed down viciously with her dagger, slashed open a goblin face on her backstroke, and danced aside from two lunging spears. She booted the goblin she’d blinded right into the faces of the two spear-wielders, and followed it with two quick sword thrusts. Was there no end to goblins? What did they all eat, anyway?
“Livestock and the fair farmers of Cormyr who tend them,” the dragoneer told her sourly, and Alusair stared at him in bewilderment for a moment before she realized she’d asked those questions aloud.
Lightning cracked across the hilltop then-blinding, ravening bolts that raked through the goblins surging forward to strike at the Cormyrean shield ring. Lightning lashed shrieking goblins as if it was a giant whip wielded with deft skill by some unseen giant, striking down this squalling earfang then that. When the fury died away, leaving behind a seaside tang in the air and the unlovely stink of cooked goblin flesh, only a handful of living goblins were left, almost cowering against the blades of the humans they fought. Some died immediately, and others fled, squeaking and gibbering in utter terror. Alusair did not have to snap an order for her warriors to let them go. They knew all too well what they were here for.
Sardyn Wintersun, wearing more blood than she’d ever seen on him before, grimly gave the order to “Stand fast, blades out, and hold against all foes!”
She opened her mouth to snarl that she hadn’t died and left him in charge just yet-then closed it again, the words unspoken, as he waved her into the dark area within the shield ring. Alusair looked at him for a moment, then nodded in curt and silent thanks, and turned into the dark, wet gore. It was a glistening black, sucking warmly at her boots, and ankle-deep. Strange singing sounds heralded the magic raging fitfully within it as she advanced. Flames surged up around her boots as she strode-strange yellow-green tongues that tickled her nose and throat like exotic spices-and Owden was moving along grimly at her side.
The dark, grotesque form of the ghazneth was with them, stepping to the fore, and the magics boiling up from the black, slimy blood seemed to stream into it and vanish.
Their journey was only a few paces, but it seemed as if they’d been walking for hours across a strange realm before they came to where the King of Cormyr lay twisting fitfully atop the scorched, motionless body of the Royal Magician. Alusair went to her knees heedless of what the blood-magic might do, and was almost hurled back by a tongue of flashing, tinkling radiance. A dark hand reached out to drink in the fell flood, and Alusair flashed Rowen a smile of thanks before she stretched out cautious fingers to trace along her father’s jaw, took firm hold with her
