Faerun they may be, when they show signs of settling down somewhere. If they split up or get involved in potential treason against the realm, you are to send some of the loyal Purple Dragons who will be accompanying you back to tell us, and redeploy your forces so as to lose track of not a single Knight. No Wizards of War shall be riding with you.'
Dauntless frowned. 'Lord Vang-'
'Neither of us has time for needless questions, Ornrion,'
Vangerdahast snapped. 'You are to depart the Palace immediately, speaking to no one but the five men under your command-not. even personages of the Blood Royal-about this task. You will find mounts and provisions ready, and these men will be riding with you-'
The tapestries behind the Royal Magician were drawn apart then by unseen hands to reveal five Purple Dragons who were all too familiar to Dauntless: First Sword Aubrus Norlen, Telsword Ebren Grathus, Blade Teln Orbrar, Blade Hanstel Harrow, and Blade Albaert Morkoun. Dauntless managed not to groan, but it was a struggle.
'— to make sure that you don't try to speak with, say, a princess before you depart.* 'Uh… yes, Lord,' Dauntless said, watching the five veteran Dragons-lazy dolts all and notorious even as far afield as Arabel for being so-march stiffly around the Royal Magician to form a careful row behind him.
'You are all dismissed,' Vangerdahast said. 'Get going.'
With a curt bow of his head, the ornrion grimly led the march, following the wizard's pointing arm. Vangerdahast was indicating the doors he'd come in by; rather sourly Dauntless flung them wide and strode out.
He was unsurprised to find a war wizard waiting in the passage outside. It was Tathanter Doarmund, whom he'd worked alongside a time or two before. Doarmund gave him a careful nod and gestured to Dauntless and the other Dragons that they should all follow him. Dauntless fell into step behind him, his five unwanted dolts at his heels.
His thoughts, as he went, were furious shouts in the burning silence of his mind.
One day, Royal Magician Vangerdahast, you will take a step too far, just one, and someone, someone, will pay you back in full for all your highhandedness, believe you me… and I will give much to be there and watch every bloody, broken moment of your fall. I and the jostling host of thousands who share the same hunger…
In the room behind the furious ornrion, the man he was silently cursing smiled at the marching men dwindling away down the passage.
A tapestry whispered aside, and a women stepped out from behind it, her stride as fluid as any dancer's. She was all sleek curves covered by supple oiled black leathers and crisscrossing weapon belts. There was a black metal gorget at her throat, and the black hilts of daggers bristled all over her body. Even above that gotget she looked dangerous; menace was awake and hungry in her large and dark eyes. Her sharp-featured face was bone white but framed with helm-bobbed hair of glossy jet black, and her smile was like the tip of a gently brandished sword blade.
Cormyr mustered few Highknights, and only a handful of them were women. The Lady Targrael was by far the most infamous of these, and for good reasons.
Gliding to a stop by Vangerdahast's shoulder, she said, 'Shall I tarry to defend you, when little Princess Alusair hears of this and storms in here to break things over your head?'
'Your offer tempts me,' Vangey said, 'but no. I Can't trust yon six departing Dragons to use chamber pots without guidance and instructions. See that the Knights get out of Cormyr-in particular, that none of our over-clever nobles manage to speak with any of them and arrange anything. Once they're off our soil, I care not what happens to them. So long as I am not implicated.'
Targrael smiled coldly, dark eyes glittering. 'I am not that careless. I have my own score to settle.'
Vangerdahast returned her less-than-lovely smile. 'Precisely why I need to know your orders, in every detail, have been clearly understood.'
'They are. In every detail.' She strode past him. 'I assume some of my garb has been enspelled so you can listen?'
'Of course. Yet it would be unwise to discard it, Ismra.'
'I try to keep my unwise moments to a minimum, and I rarely work bare-skinned. You'll see that Baerem-?'
'He will be looked after more than properly. Cormyr neither forgets nor abandons those who have served her faithfully.'
'So much, I know well,' the Highknight replied as she went out, very carefully keeping her voice utterly neutral.
There was a hard, cross-ribbed cot under Florin. By the smell around him, he was in a cool, damp room of stone walls. Still in his armor but without the weight of his sword and daggers, he was lying sprawled on his back, as the probing hands of an experienced healer squeezed and gently moved his limbs, seeking breaks.
Florin felt no wrenching pain, just the many strong, surging aches of remembered agony. Echoes of pain, rippling through him. So he'd been healed already.
Florin kept his eyes closed, feigning senselessness. The voices above him had been saying something interesting-and folk who spoke so had a habit of abruptly ending such converse when an interested audience became evident.
'… no longer our problem. Once they depart here, Dauntless will be waiting in the eastern gate towers to take over their shadowing and see them clear of the realm.'
The other, higher-voiced man chuckled. 'Dauntless who loves them so. Heh, they've probably seen more of scenic Halfhap, these Knights, to suit them all their lives!'
'Which may soon be ended, if they keep on like this,' the first and deeper voice responded. 'We can't go galloping along behind them, healing them wherever they wander in Faerun. Priest, are you about done? I'll lay odds this one lying here is awake and listening to us, right now.'
A gentle boot kicked one leg of Florin's cot, and he judged it the right time to groan and stir and seem to slowly come awake.
'You're fooling no one,' the deep-voiced man said from somewhere close above him.
Florin opened one bleary eye and mumbled, 'Wha-?' with a clumsiness he did not have to feign. His mouth and throat felt like someone had stuffed a dusty rag down them and left it there, and his aches were growing stronger. His fingertips ached.
A lantern was moved closer, to shed light on his face. The ranger Knight blinked, his eyes suddenly warering, and tried to stare past its glare at the dark stone vault of the ceiling. He could see at least four faces looking down at him, all belonging to men who looked like soldiers. 'What,' he asked them slowly, 'is this place?'
'One of the two western gate towers of Halfhap, gateway to everywhere,' the deep-voiced man said, a distinct touch of cynical amusement in his voice. Florin's answering groan required no acting, either. 'We Purple Dragons are trying to make sure you manage to travel on east from here, this time, and actually reach Shadowdale.'
'On the road,' Florin mumbled, trying to sound more dazed than he really was. 'Outlaws. Lots of them. Took an arrow. The others, my companions. How fared they?'
'They'll all live, thanks to our priests-and the queen's commands. Try not to play arrow-catchers, next time. It is fortunate that you entertained unfriendly archers right on the royal high road just as our largest patrol of the day came riding along. We routed those dark'swords and brought you all back here.'
'All? We numbered-'
'All. Or so your sharp-tongued little flamehair affirms. She doesn't much like being questioned.'
'Aye,' Florin agreed. 'That's… her.'
Above him, Purple Dragon officers chuckled in unison.
'Fortunate we were,' he added slowly, try to play innocent but fishing for a truth he already suspected, 'that you happened along then. 'Twas almost as if you were sent to follow the Knights of Myth Drannor and see them safely through your patrol area.'
The Dragons didn't disappoint him. 'We were assigned just that task,' the deep-voiced commander told him. 'If you know the truth, perhaps you'll succeed in swaying your companions-the ones called Pennae and Semoor in
