Cormyr_ a novel - Ed Greenwood [202]
"A murder is foiled," said the wizardess, "but a greater theft has been made." She put her hands on her hips and smiled at Vangerdahast. "Tell your king that Thay thanks him for his gift."
Vangerdahast pointed at the woman, and spears of blue fire lanced out at her. She shouted some brief words, then became a swirling, fading mist. The magical missiles scorched tent fabric or seared grass, and shouts arose from the guards.
Suddenly angry Purple Dragons with swords in their hands were running into the tent from all directions, shouting, "The king! The king!"
A sudden, silent flash of light made them halt and blink. Its source was the belt of the Royal Magician.
"Men of Cormyr!" he snapped. "I order you, in the name of Azoun, to stop trampling the king's gear and forthwith search the camp and the grounds around, moving out as far and as fast as your legs can carry you. Look for a sorceress in a red gown, bring her back alive if you can, but bring her back. A Thayvian-tall, barefoot, long black hair! Take custody of any woman in camp that you do not recognize as one of this company, bring all such to the pavilion. Go!"
They'd find nothing, Vangerdahast knew, but at least their departure would let him get a look at Azoun before it might be too late. Men in armor streamed around the wizard for a moment, and then he was alone with the king.
Azoun seemed unharmed, but mazed in his mind, not seeing the wizard bent over him and mumbling when shaken. The effects of a magical charm.
Vangerdahast touched the brow of his sovereign with his fingertips and muttered words that should unwind any spell in the Thayvian arsenal.
King Azoun IV grunted, grimaced, and grabbed at his forehead. The shattering of his thrall apparently bestowed a cranial punishment akin to a hangover.
"What-what happened?" the king muttered, blinking in the lantern light.
"A Thayvian assassin," Vangerdahast announced. "She's been driven off."
"She?" asked the king, frowning. Then, slowly, he nodded. "She. Yes! She appeared out of nowhere, all shimmering robes and soft scents. She had a name. Brandy? Brannon? I thought she was a dream."
"A nightmare," Vangerdahast replied softly.
The king shook his head firmly. "I hate assassins. Apparently clearing out the Fire Knives was not enough. When we are done here, we're going to have to outlaw assassins. And Red Wizards to boot!"
"But we're not done here," said the wizard softly, spreading a blanket over the tired monarch and calling to mind a spell of magical purification and another of shielding. "First Gondegal and Arabel. Then we'll take on Red Wizards and assassins. We'll take on anything that threatens the crown or Cormyr, whatever its origin. Trust me on this."
The king smiled sleepily. "Good old Vangey. Trust me…"
"Trust me on this," said the fat wizard, his voice carrying the strength of iron. "As always."
Chapter 33: At The Brink
Year of the Gauntlet
(1369 DR)
The Hall of the Dragon Throne was one of the oldest parts of the court, Obarskyrs had walked here for more than a thousand years. Tall, fluted pillars ran down both sides of the lofty chamber, supporting a wooden gallery added by Palaghard in one of many renovations performed on the site over the years.
Between the lines of columns, in the open area that was usually crowded with murmuring courtiers, stood the great sealed stone tomb of Baerauble the Mage, its surface worn smooth by the touch of a million hands over the countless years. Facing it was the lowest step of the short, curving flight that led to the high dais.
On that bright-polished height stood two arch-backed chairs of state for the princesses of Cormyr, and between them the filigreed Throne of the Dragon Queen and the taller, simpler, far older Dragon Throne itself. All of them were empty.
"Why are we here, love?" Crown Princess Tanalasta asked, nestling against Aunadar's shoulder. Something about their lovers' stroll felt wrong. They had never come near the throne room before.
"Some folk are going to meet us here, and if all goes well, something important