Finding the battle well in hand, Vangerdahast turned to look for the ghazneth. After a lengthy search, he found it circling high overhead, a mere speck well beyond arrow range. The battle clamor faded as quickly as it started, and the phantom continued to circle. Reluctantly, Vangerdahast tore his eyes away from the dark speck and began to wade through the carnage.
“Down magic!” he commanded, trying to find one of the company clerics to fix his separated shoulder. “Odd troops, iron. Even troops, steel!”
The Royal Excursionary Company scrambled to obey, the war wizards canceling their protective spells, the dragoneers wiping their blades clean before exchanging them for weapons of the appropriate metal. Vangerdahast waited on the exchange with ill-concealed impatience. The wizard had been drilling them in his special maneuvers for the last two days-the length of time required for the smiths of Arabel to forge a full complement of iron arms for every man in the company-and he was still not satisfied with their performance. The ghazneths were vicious, quick creatures who would repay any fumbling with swift death, and the wizard had no idea how many of them there were-or how they would respond to the presence of the Royal Excursionary Company.
There had been no sign of phantoms yesterday, when he and his war wizards had scouted the canyon where Vangerdahast had last seen Tanalasta, but it seemed clear that at least one ghazneth had watched them select the sycamore tree as the Royal Excursionary Company’s assembly point. Vangerdahast doubted the thing had intended for them to teleport in on top of the swiners-no sensible commander would have risked the confusion of an enemy suddenly appearing within his ranks-but it had made known its feelings about the force’s presence. Finding the royal princesses was not going to be easy, even with two hundred and fifty of Cormyr’s mightiest warriors to help him.
Vangerdahast neared the front of the company, where a small cluster of men in mottled camouflage armor had dismounted and spread out through the carnage. They were dragging wounded swiners around by the tusks, growling and snarling in passable Orcish and threatening all manner of gruesome torture unless someone told them where to find “two humans riding one meal.” The terrified orcs pointed in every which direction, a sure sign they had no idea what had become of Rowen and Tanalasta.
“Scouts! You’re wasting your time.” Vangerdahast waved his good arm around the perimeter of the battlefield. “Find me a trail-and be quick about it!”
The Royal Scouts were quick to obey, pausing only long enough to put the captured orcs out of their misery before scattering in all directions. Owden Foley appeared, leading Vangerdahast’s horse and scowling at the rangers’ efficiency.
“This isn’t good,” he said, dismounting. “This needless killing will only bring harm to us.”
“These are not the lands of Chauntea,” growled the wizard. Having agreed to bring the priest along only at Azoun’s insistence, he was none too happy at being lectured on his men’s treatment of orcs. “These lands belong to Gruumsch and Maglibuyet, and they have a thirst for blood. Besides, killing them is the kindest thing. A wounded orc can look forward to one of two things: a slow death by starvation, or, if he’s lucky, being made a slave to his own tribe. Swiners don’t care for their wounded.”
“Then you are lucky we are not orcs.” Owden passed the reins in his hand to an assistant and took hold of the wizard’s limp arm. “But it was not the orcs I was thinking of. Did you not feel that lunatic bloodlust?”
Vangerdahast looked at the priest. “You felt it too?”
“Of course-I still do.” Owden lifted one foot and braced it against Vangerdahast’s ribs, then began hauling on the wizard’s arm. “It was caused by this ghazneth-just as the last one caused your insanity.”
Vangerdahast screamed until his arm popped into its socket, then dropped to his knees and tried not to groan.
“Battle-lust can make men foolish,” said Owden. “What do you suppose will happen when the ghazneths are ready for us?”
“I suppose you know the answer,” Vangerdahast growled. He struggled to his feet and tried to raise his arm. He could not lift it more than a few inches, and the effort made him hiss with pain. “I imagine you have a solution?”
“Chauntea does.” Owden laid a healing hand on the wizard’s aching shoulder. “Here, the goddess will help you with that.”
Vangerdahast jerked his arm away. “I don’t need her help.” The wizard fished a healing potion from inside his own cloak and downed it, then said, “And the Royal Excursionary Company does not need her protection.”
Owden pointed at the empty vial in Vangerdahast’s hand. “That elixir was blessed by aged. There is no difference between drinking it and accepting the All Mother’s help.”
“The difference is that the Royal Treasury paid good gold for this.” Vangerdahast could already feel the potion’s fiery magic driving the ache from his strained shoulder. He used his injured arm to hurl the empty vial into a rock. “And that is all Tempus expects of us in return.”
Owden shook his head. “I am not your adversary, Vangerdahast.”
“Then why did you persuade the king to send you along?”
“Because you may need my help.” Owden’s eyes betrayed the anger he was struggling to contain. “I’m not trying to take your place. I’m only thinking of Tanalasta.”
“You are not thinking of Tanalasta.” Vangerdahast snatched Cadimus’s reins from Owden’s assistant, then swung into his saddle. “If you were thinking of Tanalasta, you would be back in Huthduth by now.”
The wizard jerked Cadimus around toward the warped sycamore tree, leaving the priest to glare at his back. Despite the harsh words, Vangerdahast knew the harvestmaster to be a good and capable man-and that was the heart of the problem. Having cured both the king and the royal magician of insanity, Owden had risen high in the opinions of many influential people-including the Royal Sage Alaphondar Emmarask, many of the nobles who had at first opposed creating a Royal Temple, and most importantly Azoun himself. Not only had the king insisted on sending Owden along to help find his daughters, he had asked the rest of the harvestmaster’s priests to help him and Merula rescue the queen.
Given Azoun’s inherent decency, the king would certainly feel obliged to express his gratitude to the monks, perhaps by establishing Tanalasta’s Royal Temple-and that Vangerdahast simply could not allow. As trustworthy and capable as Owden might be, there could be no guarantee that his successor would prove as valuable to the realm, or that Chauntea would not use him to impose her own will on the kingdom. It had been more than thirteen hundred years since the ancient elves had charged Baerauble Etharr with serving the first Cormyrean king as advisor and Royal Wizard. Since then, it had been the sole duty of every Royal Magician to protect both the king and his realm by steering them down the safest path. Vangerdahast was not about to let that tradition end under his watch-not when it had proven the wisest and most effective guarantee of the realm’s safety for thirteen-and-a-half centuries.
When Vangerdahast reached the gnarled sycamore tree, he found old Alaphondar exactly where he had expected: stumbling absentmindedly around the trunk, squinting at the glyphs and painstakingly copying them into his journal. So absorbed was the Royal Sage Most Learned that he did not notice the wizard’s presence until Cadimus nuzzled his neck-then he hurled his pencil and journal into the air, letting out such a shriek that half the company started up the hill to see what was wrong.
Vangerdahast signaled the riders to stop, then asked, “Well, old friend? Was it worth the trip?”
Alaphondar pushed his spectacles up his nose, then lifted his chin to regard the royal magician. “It’s curious, Vangerdahast-really quite strange.”
If the sage was irritated at being startled, his voice did not betray it. He simply retrieved his journal and pencil off the ground, then turned back to the tree and continued to work.