Cormyr_ a novel - Ed Greenwood [95]
No, not kidnappers. There was the tiniest flash of silver blades and steel-tipped crossbow bolts. They were intent on sending a message, but the message was to be a stronger one than she had been told.
Azoun was going on about the various factions lined up for and against the Marsember question. "So the Silver families are straight-ahead on this, but need the support of the Dracohorns, Bleths, and Turcassans, who don't want to see them get any stronger. And then the newer houses, like the Cormaerils, are in the-Hey!"
Amedahast leapt at the first sight of a weapon being raised, springing forward with frantic haste.
She was much lighter than Azoun, but the prince wasn't expecting an attack, and the pair of them went sprawling off the bench. A crossbow quarrel buried itself in the wood where Azoun's head had been a moment before. Another marked Amedahast's last position.
The young mage came up shouting, bellowing the incantation she had searched for the previous evening. Her fingers lit with eldritch fire at the tips, and then the dancing flames arched forward into ravening streams that roared through the quiet garden air as they transversed the grounds. Each found the face of a different target. They did not even have time to scream.
As they fell, the assassins' cloaks peeled away, drifting from the bodies, to reveal prostrate forms on the flower beds.
She had not felled them all, her first warning of that was when the last two assassins tore away their cloaks and charged the stairs of the gazebo. She readied another spell, but by this time, Azoun was on his feet, with his short blade drawn.
He ducked under the first assassin's vicious slash and planted his sword deep in the attacker's chest. The man gasped out blood and fell backward, taking the blade with him.
The other assassin tried to take advantage while the prince was engaged with his fellow attacker. His cutting blade was swung too fast, too short, and missed. He snarled-and caught an oversized riding boot in the face. The man's head jerked back, and he crumpled like a sack of potatoes.
Amedahast looked around for other targets. Nothing else moved. Then the far gates of the garden and the doors of the castle flew open, and two units of the king's guards poured into the tranquil space. The flames on her fingertips ebbed, flickered, and died.
Azoun was shouting orders to the men, gathering up the dead and healing the wounded to be questioned later. Baerauble appeared, moving slowly and leaning heavily on his staff.
"My lord," began Amedahast firmly, "Lady Merendil…"
"… is probably halfway to the Chondathan colonies of Sembia by now to rejoin her daughters," the mage said smoothly, old and knowing eyes on hers, "but we'll send a message ahead on the off chance we can snare her. That was foolish, trusting that you could take them on by yourself, but I suppose you wanted to prove you could do it."
Amedahast started to explain, then shut her mouth. "Yes, sir," she said at last. "I will be more cautious in the future."
Azoun came up to the two wizards and threw an arm around Amedahast's shoulder. "They would have gotten us both if not for your student, Lord Baerauble. She's going to be a great High Mage!"
Amedahast delicately grasped Azoun's wrist with her still-tingling fingertips and gently removed it from her shoulder. She looked at the young prince stonily and spat, "Remember this, Sire. If I become High Mage, I will pledge to serve the crown. Not you, but the crown itself, regardless of whether the head beneath it is hollow as a gourd or not!"
Amedahast wheeled and stomped back to the royal court. Azoun watched her slim form diminish in the distance for a time, then turned to the High Mage, his face a question.
Baerauble merely shrugged.
Chapter 15: The Common Room
Year of the Gauntlet
(1369 DR)
"It's best not to ask what's in the sausage rolls, lad, but by the gods, they're good!"
"Oh?" Dauneth tried to sound unconcerned and cosmopolitan, as befitted