“For Cormyr and victory!” a thousand throats shouted in unison.
“Death to all orcs!” a swordcaptain called back, and the reply rolled out deafeningly, “For CORMYR AND VICTORY!”
And as the royal army raced forward with renewed vigor to hew down orcs, slipping and sliding in the black blood of the tuskers who’d already fallen, not a man there spared a glance into the sky for a ghazneth. There were orcs to kill, and too little daylight left to down them all.
“For Cormyr,” Azoun shouted happily, shouldering his way past a startled lancelord to lay open the face of a snarling orc, “forever!”
“Gods, yes,” Alusair murmured, from somewhere near his left shoulder, “let it be forever.”
12
Tanalasta stood on the Amethyst Dais of the Royal Audience Hall, feeling small and lost in the soaring grandeur of the golden chamber, yet also very glad for the concealing bulk of her Purple Robe of State. She was beginning to thicken around the middle, and it wouldn’t do to have this particular pack of wolves speculating over the cause. There were nearly two hundred of them clustered at the base of the stairs, droning quietly in their little cliques even as Lord Emlar Goldsword addressed the crown.
“These ghazneths are proving a nuisance, Highness. Already, a rather stubborn blight has taken hold in my vineyard, the flies have made a maggot barn of my stables, and I have had to dismiss several servants who spoke harshly to Lady Radalard.”
The complaints differed only in detail from the litany of grievances to which Tanalasta had been listening all morning. A fissure of molten rock had run down the middle of the Huntcrown country estate, swallowing the mansion, Lord Tabart’s favorite stallion, and a dozen good gardeners. A quarter of the ships in the Dauntinghorn merchant fleet had developed sudden cases of dry rot, forcing the family to leave whole shiploads of foodstuffs moldering on the docks. For no reason anyone could name, the young men of the prolific Silverhorn family had developed a sudden hatred of the Hornholds and initiated a deadly blood feud that had already cost both families their firstborn heirs.
Most of the speakers were united in implying that Tanalasta had brought this plague of calamities with her when she came down from the north, and in suggesting that had she had the foresight to seek refuge elsewhere, perhaps they would not have been so inconvenienced. She listened to each lord politely, interrupting only to clarify a point or to ask a description in the rare event that the speaker had actually joined his guards and gone out to do battle when the ghazneth came. What the princess heard convinced her that all six of the creatures were now plaguing southern Cormyr.
It also convinced her that most of the nobles before her were not worthy of the name. Why was it, she wondered, that the highborn of a family so often turned out to be selfish cowards, while the lesser cousins proved true and brave? That had certainly been so among the Cormaerils. She could easily picture Gaspar or Xanthon there before her, complaining about the inconvenience of having the kingdom assaulted by the scourges of Alaundo’s prophecy while their lesser cousin Rowen was off actually trying to do something about it.
Tanalasta forced herself to focus on Lord Goldsword. She did not know whether it was her condition or her growing concern about Rowen’s long absence, but she found her attention wandering to her husband at increasing intervals. It had been three months since King Azoun had found the ranger’s mount riderless and alone in the Stonelands, and she had heard about the blood on the saddle and the likelihood it had come from a festering wound. The conclusion was obvious, but Tanalasta could not bring herself to believe it without a body, especially not when she had heard nothing from Rowen himself. He had been wearing a royal ranger’s cloak, which had the same magic throat clasp as a war wizard’s weathercloak. Had he lain slowly dying somewhere, Tanalasta knew his last act would have been a sending to say good-bye. He would never be cruel enough to simply die and leave her in doubt-not Rowen Cormaeril.
“Highness?” asked Lord Goldsword.
Tanalasta found herself looking past the pate of Emlar’s shiny bald head and realized she had been staring off into space again. With much-practiced poise, she kept her gaze fixed on the ivory dragon at which she had been staring and did not allow her face to betray any shock.
“You were saying that some of your servants had gone mad and insulted Lady Radalard,” Tanalasta said. “Was there anything else?”
“Only the matter of the hounds, Highness,” he said.
“Ah yes, the hounds.” Tanalasta let her gaze drop to the lord’s face. This time she did not try to disguise the irritation she felt at being petitioned about vineyards and hunting dogs while the ancient prophecy of Cormyr’s doom came true before their eyes. “What do you intend to do about it, milord?”
Goldsword looked taken aback, and the drone of the half-whispered conversations around him fell suddenly silent. “Do, Majesty?”
“Yes, Emlar,” said Tanalasta. “What do you intend to do about the ghazneths? They are the cause of all these troubles-or haven’t you heard?”
Emlar’s eyes flashed with irritation. “Of course I have heard, Highness.” His voice assumed that silky tone nobles liked to use when they tried to manipulate some fact or half truth to their own advantage. “Everyone knows how you brought them-“
“The princess did not bring them, Lord Goldsword,” said Queen Filfaeril. She rose from her throne, where she had been quietly working on a silken needlepoint depicting her rescue from Mad King Boldovar. “If you will recall, they were waiting when we arrived. The princess was very nearly killed-and I, for one, would like to know how that came to be.”
The color drained from Emlar’s jowly face, as it did from so many faces when the queen spoke in that icy tone. “I beg the princess’s pardon.” He continued to look at Filfaeril and bowed more deeply than he had to Tanalasta. “I meant only to say that these ghazneths are a matter for the crown. The nobles can hardly be expected to muster their household guards-“
“And why not?” demanded Tanalasta, glaring at the lord even more harshly than he deserved. Though her mother had been careful to stop a pace behind her, the princess would rather the queen had remained in her throne. Even the mere demonstration of support for Tanalasta’s leadership implied that it was needed and weakened her in the eyes of the nobles. To regain their respect, she would need to be more stern than before. “While I was in Huthduth, did the king release the nobles of their liege duties and neglect to inform me?”
“Of course not,” replied the lord, “but the king is not here.”
“The king is always here,” Filfaeril began.
Tanalasta raised her hand ever so slightly. As subtle as the movement was, such things seldom went unnoticed in the cagey world of lordly politics, and the gesture drew an astonished gasp. Lord Goldsword looked to the queen, clearly expecting her to put Tanalasta in her place and take over the audience. Instead, Filfaeril merely inclined her head and retreated to her throne, leaving the nobles to ponder the new structure of royal power.
Tanalasta stepped to the top of the stairs. “The king is in the north fighting orcs, as are most of Cormyr’s armies.” She looked away from Goldsword and ran her gaze over the other nobles. “If the south is to be defended, it will not be by Purple Dragons.”
The expected murmur had barely begun when a husky voice called out from the back of the crowd, “Perhaps I may be of some service in that regard, Majesty.”
Tanalasta looked toward the speaker and saw a broad-shouldered man with dark hair and darker eyes stepping out of a small circle of Rowanmantles, Longthumbs, and other merchant families. The fellow’s foppish feathered hat prevented the princess from seeing his face clearly, but as he bowed she caught a glimpse of swarthy cheekbone and a proud cleft chin. Her heart began to pound so violently that she feared the nobles could hear it down on the chamber floor. Though she could not imagine what Rowen would be doing in the garish silks of a Sembian merchant, the similarity of their appearance was too great to overlook.