Azoun forced a smile and turned to the duchess. “Lady Kraliqh, you are so bad at guessing ages that I am beginning to think your eyes have grown weak,” he joked, trying to guess what it would take to placate her. “Even with the many blessings of Daramos’s goddess, I doubt I will see another twenty years.”
“Which is all the more reason to answer my question now.” As Lady Kraliqh spoke, she stepped aside to make room in the conversation circle for Filfaeril, who was returning with a fresh platter of minted liverpaste. “Of late, Tanalasta has proven herself to be a most intelligent and strong-willed princess. I doubt very much that even you could bend her to your will from the grave. What do you intend to do about that?”
“Yes, Azoun,” said Filfaeril, offering the canape platter to Marliir and the others. “What will you do then?”
Azoun glanced around the little group and saw that despite the concessions he had made already, he would find no help from them. Tanalasta had returned from Huthduth stronger and full of her own ideas, and that scared them far more than the possibility of someone like Aunadar Bleth ruling from the shadow of her skirts. It scared him, too.
“While I am king, I’ll rule the way I think best-and that includes choosing a fit heir,” he said, waving off the canapes “Once I have chosen, it will be up to Cormyr to live with her queen.”
Filfaeril smiled, then thrust the platter into the Lady Kraliqh’s astonished hands. “Will you have someone take these away?” she said. “The king hates minted liverpaste.”
5
A searing wind full of grit and ash howled south out of the Stonelands, rolling up the northern face of the Storm Horns in throat-scorching clouds as thick as fog. Through the haze came the distant clang of sword-on-sword and voices cursing in guttural Orcish and civilized Common. Tanalasta could sometimes glimpse small gray figures scurrying about hacking and slashing at one another. She recognized the stooped postures of orcs pressing the attack and the more upright forms of men defending an egg-shaped ring of blocky shapes that could only be wagons.
The orcs had caught the caravan at the edge of the plain, where the Stonebolt Trail descended out of the mountains to start across the empty barrens toward Shadowdale. The location was a favorite place for such raids, as it was where the hot wind sweeping south out of the distant Anauroch Desert crashed into the Storm Horn Mountains and dropped its load of airborne sand. The result was a mile-wide band of boulder-strewn sandlands that slowed wagon travel to a crawl.
“A largely band of swiners,” observed Vangerdahast.
“Aye,” agreed Ryban Winter. A rugged-faced man of about Tanalasta’s age, Ryban was the lionar of her Purple Dragon bodyguard. He spit a mouthful of grit onto the ground, then added, “Though this stonemurk makes it hard to be certain.”
“There are at least two hundred of them,” Vangerdahast said. He pointed at the ring of wagons, the presence of which was the only visible indication of the Stonebolt Trail’s existence. “That is no small caravan. The orcs wouldn’t have attacked unless they outnumbered the guards.”
“Then the caravan must need help.” Tanalasta turned to the royal magician and added, “Are we going to do something? Or is this just another of your ruses, Vangerdahast?”
“What could I hope to gain by something like this?” Vangerdahast cast her a menacing glance, then turned to Ryban. “Take the princess and go around. I’ll scare the swiners off and join you in an hour.”
“Scare them off?” Tanalasta asked. “And let them attack some other caravan? I think not. We’ll destroy that orc band now-before it gets to be an army.”
Vangerdahast scowled. “That is easier for a princess to say than a wizard to do. Even I can’t kill that many orcs without getting the caravaneers, too.”
“You don’t have to,” said Tanalasta. “We have twenty-five Purple Dragons with us. Lionar Ryban will stay here on the mountain with twenty men while we ride around behind the orcs and drive them up the hill away from the caravan.”
Ryban looked doubtful. “Two hundred against twenty? In this murk?”
“The murk will be to your advantage. The orcs won’t know how many of you there are,” Tanalasta said. “You need only slow them long enough for Vangey to come up from behind, then you’ll want to ride fast and furious anyway. I really don’t see you sticking around to fire more than a volley or two of arrows.”
Ryban raised his brow and turned to Vangerdahast. “No,” said the wizard. “Too much can go wrong. We can’t take the risk-not with the princess here.”
A cry arose from the battlefield, and Tanalasta glimpsed a dozen orc silhouettes pushing a caravan dray onto its side. A trio of men jumped out from behind the toppled wagon and laid into their foes with sword and spell, then the scene vanished into the stonemurk.
“Would Alusair settle for just scaring them off?” Tanalasta asked.
“You are not Alusair.”
“And I am no longer the crown princess,” Tanalasta said, prompting a startled look from Ryban. “We could talk all day about what I am not, but that will not stop those orcs.” She turned to the lionar and held out her arm. “Give me a sword.”
Vangerdahast caught hold of her wrist. “The king did not say he had made a final decision. I’m sure he is eager to reconsider, if you’ll only accommodate some of his views.”
“Would those accommodations include relinquishing the Royal Temple?”
Vangerdahast nodded. “Of course, but the king has made it clear you must choose a husband of your own liking.”
“How very kind of the king, but I think we can take his decision as final. Unless he is willing to accommodate my views, I won’t be assuming the crown.” Tanalasta turned to Ryban, wondering if she were speaking too quickly. Her vision had foretold specifically only the consequences of marrying badly, but she felt now that it concerned her ability to stand behind all of her decisions. “You may give me that sword, lionar. Alusair is the one who will be needing special protection now.”
Ryban glanced at Vangerdahast.
“Why are you looking at him, Ryban?” Tanalasta demanded. “I am the royal here. You answer to me-as does Vangerdahast, when it suits him to recall it.”
Ryban clenched his jaw at the rebuke, but drew his sword from its scabbard. “As you command.”
He laid the blade across his forearm and offered the hilt to her. Tanalasta leaned across the space between their horses and took the heavy weapon from his hand, then traced a quick guarding pattern in the air. The balance was not quite as refined as the epees she used in the palace’s gymnasium, but it was a well-made officer’s blade that would serve her nicely.
When Ryban raised his brow, the princess laughed and said, “Don’t look so surprised, lionar. I may not be Alusair, but I am an Obarskyr. I’ve been fencing since I could stand.”
Ryban’s astonishment changed to concern. “This will be a little different, milady. Have you ever fought orcs before?”
“Not unless you count Aunadar Bleth.” Tanalasta chuckled at the lionar’s uncomfortable expression, then said, “Perhaps you care to offer a few suggestions.”
“That would be a waste of time,” growled Vangerdahast. He guided his horse around so that he was facing Tanalasta, then plucked the sword from her hand and returned it to Ryban. “She won’t be needing this.”
Tanalasta fixed him with her most commanding glare. “Then the king has changed his mind about the royal temple?”
“I doubt that very much, but if you insist on doing this, I won’t have you risking the lives of good men with this nonsense about swinging a sword yourself.” The wizard angled a gnarled finger down across the hillside, to where a high outcropping of granite overlooked the west side of the battlefield, and said, “You will wait down there with five of Ryban’s best men. if an orc comes within a hundred paces of you, the dragoneers will take you-by force, if necessary-and flee westward at a full gallop. Do you understand?”