“There isn’t,” Tanalasta replied. She could tell by Hag’s tone that he had already deduced this was no ordinary company. “And you were with the…?”
“The Hullack Venomeers.” Hag’s eyes shifted pointedly to the badgeless capes worn by Owden’s priests, then he added, “Milady.”
Tanalasta sensed that she was missing some subtlety of military decorum, but she could hardly reveal the true nature of her company. Even had she known Hag’s loyalty to be beyond question, there was no need for him to know that the crown princess-or former crown princess-was riding about the realm protected only by a small escort of Purple Dragons. One simply did not reveal that sort of information casually.
Tanalasta gestured toward the far end of the man’s field. “We were passing by when we noticed orc tracks in the creek.”
“Orcs?” Hag’s eyes widened. “There are no orcs this side of the pass.”
“I know an orc track when I see one,” Tanalasta insisted. “Even underwater. They love to wade. It makes it harder for the hounds to stay on their trail.”
Hag raised his brow and studied her with a thoughtful air, and that was when Tanalasta realized her mistake. She turned to Owden and Vangerdahast.
“The orcs didn’t cause this,” she said, waving at the blighted field. “At least not the ones we’ve been following.”
Owden frowned, looking from the princess to the ruined field. “It must be. The coincidence is-“
“Just a coincidence-or related in some way we don’t understand,” she said. “Even in a slow current, the tracks in the stream couldn’t be more than a few hours old.”
“And my turnips started molding a tenday ago,” added Hag, clearly making the connection between Tanalasta’s inquiries and the condition of his field. “What are you looking for?”
“As a former sergeant in the Hullack Venomeers, you should know better than to ask such questions,” said Vangerdahast. While the rebuke failed to intimidate Hag, it did impress Tanalasta. It seemed impossible that even Vangerdahast could know the rank of every man who had served in the Purple Dragons. The wizard continued to glower at the man. “Had it been any of your concern, we would have explained the company’s lack of insignia.”
“And would you also have explained why your dragoneers carry maces where they should have swords? Whatever happened to my field, it’s happening to others, and old Bolt-and-Blow must be scared to death.”
Vangerdahast’s face darkened to deep burgundy. “Bolt-and-Blow, Sergeant Gordon?”
“The royal magician,” Hag explained.
Tanalasta had to bite her cheeks to keep from bursting into laughter, but Vangerdahast’s complexion only continued to darken. If the sergeant realized how perilous it was to anger this particular war wizard, he showed no sign.
“Everyone knows how old Ringfingers clutches the reins of power.” As he said this, Hag glanced at Vangerdahast’s bejeweled hands, then stepped even closer. “He’d never muster a whole company of priests if this thing didn’t scare him. If he’s scared, so am I. So what happened to my field… sir?”
Vangey turned to Tanalasta, eyes bulging like red-veined eggshells, and said nothing. He didn’t have to. One of her father’s many misgivings about establishing a royal temple had been causing a needless panic, and now she could see why.
“I wouldn’t read too much into the composition of the Badgeless Maces,” said Tanalasta. Again, a glimmer of a frown flashed across the free farmer’s face, and the princess could not help feeling that she was making some error of protocol that aroused the man’s suspicions. “But as a former dragoneer, you are obliged to serve at the crown’s recall. Must I invoke that obligation to secure your cooperation?”
Hag seemed no more intimidated by Tanalasta’s threat than he had by Vangerdahast’s blustering. “That duty is invoked by royal writ. If you can produce one, then I will gladly obey your command. Otherwise, I am entitled to as many answers as I give.”
“Royal writ!” Vangerdahast spewed, reaching into his robe. “I’ll writ you into a-!”
“The world has no need for more toads, Sir Wizard.” Tanalasta motioned for Vangerdahast to hold his attack, then turned back to the stubborn farmer. “While I’m sure we can trust a former dragoneer to hold his tongue, can the same be said for his children?”
Tanalasta glanced toward the hut, where the man’s family was peering through the cracked door. Hag’s eyes lit with sudden comprehension, and he nodded gravely-exactly as the princess had hoped he would. She had not lived nearly four decades in the Palace of the Purple Dragon without developing at least some talent for making people feel special.
Hag gestured toward the nearest corner of his field. “Come with me,” he said, “there’s something you’ll want to see.”
“Of course.” Tanalasta smiled and dismounted, thankful that at least some of her palace experience proved useful outside Suzail. She motioned to Owden and, somewhat reluctantly, Vangerdahast to follow. “Hag, since you have already deduced the true nature of our ‘Purple Dragons,’ would you care to have them do what they can to restore your field? I doubt they can save this year’s harvest, but perhaps they can keep the blight from ruining the soil.”
Hag’s dismay showed in his face, and Tanalasta could tell that it had not even occurred to him that the field might be ruined forever.
“I’d be grateful for whatever they can do,” he said. “It’ll be hard enough doing city work this year without knowing I have to clear another field before spring.”
Owden nodded to his priests. They dismounted and began to sort through the small assortment of tools piled in the farmer’s cart, having left their own shovels and hoes back in Arabel. Despite the offer of help, Hag still did not seem inclined to volunteer any information. He led Tanalasta and her two companions to the corner of his field, then stopped and looked at them expectantly.
Tanalasta put her hands into the pockets of her weathercloak. “You must swear on your honor as a Purple Dragon to hold what I tell you in the strictest confidence.” With a practiced motion, she slipped on two of the handful of magic rings that Vangerdahast had pressed on her before setting out from Arabel. “You may not tell even your wife.”
“I swear,” said Hag. “Not even my wife.”
“Good. Clearly, you have realized by now that I am no war wizard, and that many of those traveling with me are not normal Purple Dragons.”
Vangerdahast cleared his throat gruffly. “Milady, I hardly think this is wise-“
“But it is my decision, Lord Wizard.” Tanalasta removed her hand from her pocket, displaying to Hag the hardened gold band of a Commander’s Ring of the Purple Dragons. “I have no doubt that you also recognize this, and what it must mean for someone who wouldn’t know a troop from a tulip to be wearing it.”
“I know what it is, as you say,” said Hag, “but I can’t imagine why you’d be wearing one.”
“Of course you can.” Tanalasta motioned to the twelve priests already poking around at the edge of his field. “You’ve already guessed, and with little enough help from us. We’re trying to stop this blight before it becomes a serious problem for Cormyr. To do that, we need to find the orcs who are spreading it.”
Hag cocked an eyebrow and thought for a moment, then said, “I suppose it doesn’t really matter who you are.”
“Not if you value your tongue,” Vangerdahast threatened. The free farmer nodded reluctantly, then picked up a long stick. “You’ll be wanting to see this.” Talking as he worked, Hag began to scrape the mold away from the soft soil underneath. “He must have snuck up on us. The dogs didn’t start barking until he was already in the field, and by the time I saw him, he was halfway across.”
“Who?” asked Owden.
“Whoever left that.” Hag pointed to a track he had uncovered. It was shaped like a man’s bare foot, save that it was half-again too long, with the narrow line of a claw mark furrowing the ground in front of each toe.