As soon as they winked out of existence, Rhespen jumped up and scrambled onward. Three more strides carried him into striking distance, and he swung his staff at Maldur's face.
Since the human couldn't see the threat, he made no effort to parry or evade, and as Rhespen had hoped, the scarlet aura provided scant protection against a purely physical attack. Metal rang, and Maldur's knees buckled. Blood started from his gashed forehead.
Visible once more-it was a limitation of the shrouding spell that making an attack dissolved it-Rhespen kept bashing. Maldur fell, curled into a ball, and tried to cover his most sensitive parts while gasping out a rhyme. Then, abruptly, he heaved himself onto his knees. A needle-toothed mouth gaped in the palm of each of his hands, and he snatched for Rhespen's body.
Rhespen jumped back, and the fangs in his adversary's left hand ripped his doublet and shirt but not the flesh beneath. He struck another blow with the staff. Maldur collapsed and lay twitching. Rhespen raised the rod high to drive the butt end down at the human's throat like a spear.
"Stop!" Orchtrien roared, the sudden bellow nearly as overpowering as the crash of Maldur's thunderclaps.
No! By all the powers of earth and sky, Rhespen had earned this consummation. It wasn't fair to balk him. Still, drawing a deep, quivering breath, he made himself lower his weapon and pivot toward the throne.
"Majesty?" he panted.
"You've avenged the affront to your charge's honor," said the wyrm, "and in the process, you and Maldur have provided a splendid entertainment." He gazed out across the hall. "Have they not?" So prompted, the company applauded.
"I'm grateful to have pleased you," Rhespen said, trying to hold resentment out of his voice. "Yet I thought you gave Lord Maldur and me leave to seek a final resolution to our quarrel."
"And so you have," Orchtrien said. "You've tested yourselves against one another, vented your ire, and from this night forward, you'll cease your bickering and work harmoniously together."
Rhespen inclined his head. "As the king commands."
Over the decades, Rhespen had stuffed his residence full of furniture and works of art produced by a dozen races with their diverse cultures and aesthetic sensibilities. Some articles had been presents from the king, some gifts from petitioners eager to curry favor with an influential royal official, and still others treasures he'd purchased for himself as his tastes grew increasingly cosmopolitan and eclectic.
In contrast, Winterflower's residence was purely elven, the furnishings sparse, forms and lines deceptively simple, yet every item beautifully conceived and flawlessly crafted. She'd evidently tossed out everything fashioned by any other sort of artisan, and as she conducted Rhespen onto one of the open platforms, he experienced an unexpected pang of nostalgia for the small forest settlement of his birth.
She led him to a bench that afforded a clear view of the stars through a gap in the branches overhead, poured him a cup of dry white wine, and they sat quietly for a while, savoring the vintage and the glories of the night sky.
Eventually she asked, "Why do you and Lord Maldur dislike each other?"
"Rivalries are common at a royal court. People vie for the king's favor and the most lucrative appointments. Maldur and I each possess the same skill, wizardry, so we have good reason to feel we're competing with one another in particular. Beyond that, each of us has always championed his own kind. He exhorts Orchtrien to rule in a way favorable to humans, while I push for policies that would benefit us." He smiled. "So despite your low opinion of me, perhaps I'm not such a dismal excuse for an elf after all."
"Elves shouldn't have to beg a wyrm's permission to live as we please."
"You've made it painfully clear that you think so. You actually did choose that song to insult Orchtrien, didn't you?"
"Of course. You knew it from the start." She hesitated. "Why, then, did you defend me?"
"As I explained at the time, it was a question of honor."
"I believe that, but I also suspect there was more to it."
He grinned. "You're shrewd. Had I allowed Maldur's accusation to stand unchallenged, it would have made me the lax, incompetent dolt who permitted one of my charges to malign the king, and he would have been the faithful deputy who disciplined you after I neglected the task. I couldn't permit the court to come away with such an opinion."
"But what if Orchtrien comprehends that I truly intended the mockery? Isn't it conceivable you've forfeited his trust by protecting me? Mightn't it have been more prudent to abandon me to my fate, even at the cost of some humiliation?"
He sipped his wine and looked at the stars. "Well, conceivably. I considered that, too. Perhaps what tipped the scale is that for some perverse reason, I like you, Milady, despite the way you curl your lip at me."
At the periphery of his vision, she lowered her eyes. He thought she colored, too, though in the dark, it was difficult to be certain. "I know I shouldn't take out all my frustrations on you. It's just that sometimes I feel as if they'll tear me apart if I don't express them somehow. I hate the way things are!"
"There are still lands left where elves hold supreme authority. I suppose that if you and your kin find Orchtrien's rule unbearable, you could emigrate."
"It would mean forsaking forests we cherish. Abandoning them to the woodsman's axe. And suppose we could establish a new home elsewhere. How long would it be before one dragon prince or another conceived an ambition to add it to his domain?"
Rhespen sighed. "Not long, perhaps. A century, if you're lucky? Faerun is changing. The dragons are bringing the entire continent under their sway, despite all that other races can do to resist. I daresay it would be happening even faster if the wyrms didn't so often contend with one another.
"The inevitability," he continued, "leaves us elves with a clear choice. We can aspire to an honorable estate as the dragons' vassals, or defy them and suffer. I infer that you, Milady, don't truly wish the latter, or you would have owned up to insulting the king."
"I should have. Any of my brothers or sisters would have. But after Maldur's magic struck me down, and he accused me, and that huge golden horror fixed me with his gaze, I knew I didn't want to die. I fear I'm a coward."
"No," said Rhespen. "You're wise. For why should you throw your life away on an empty gesture?"
She gazed out across the city with all its myriad lights. "Perhaps if we elves could set aside a measure of our pride, we'd recognize that our lives can still be fulfilling under Orchtrien's rule. Perhaps I could learn to be happy in this place, if some kind friend would teach me of its joys."
Rhespen felt his heartbeat quicken. "Milady, that's all I've ever wanted."
Orchtrien gave Rhespen a cheerful draconic grin, which, to the uninitiated, would have seemed a terrifying display of fangs as long as swords.
"We won!" the king declared.
"I know, Majesty," Rhespen said. He no longer followed the tidings of his master's various wars as avidly as he once had. But he was a royal deputy, and still needed to stay informed. "I'm told the warriors of the green cabal fell back in total disarray."
"They did indeed," Orchtrien said, "and afterward, their lords had no choice but to cede all their holdings east of the river."
"That's splendid." It occurred to Rhespen to wonder just how many men-at-arms the gold had lost to seize the territory in question, but he decided not to inquire as yet. Let the king savor his triumph. They'd have time to assess the current state of the army later on.
"We'll go back next year, or the year after, and push the greens out entirely," Orchtrien said. "Chromatic drakes treat their subjects like cattle! Compassion demands that we bring their poor thralls the enlightened rule of a metallic."