Crusade - James Lowder [63]
The dwarven brew was very bitter. Vangerdahast drank little, but Azoun and Torg shared a few mugs as they discussed the arrangement of troops.
Messengers came and went, and scouts were sent to search for the Zhentish force. The afternoon passed, and still there was no sign of the Zhentish troops.
Torg left Azoun and Vangerdahast alone in the pavilion shortly after sunset, promising to return as soon as he'd located the missing patrol. Using a spell, Vangerdahast contacted Filfaeril, but she had heard little from the Zhentish of late.
"The only news is that Lythrana Dargor, that beautiful envoy who visited with us right before you left, might be assigned to Cormyr as a permanent ambassador," said the conjured, misty image of the queen. "She has nothing but praise for you, Your Highness. Don't you think she was quite attractive, Vangy?" she asked, though the question was more of a barb aimed at her husband.
"Ah, you've found me out, my love," sighed Azoun mockingly. "Who could have guessed that I'd throw you over for a Zhentish envoy."
With a slight grunt, Vangerdahast pushed himself to his feet. "This spell takes too much energy from me for you two to be spending it this way," he grumbled. "My apologies, Your Highnesses, but-unless there's some other matters of state to discuss-we must end this."
The laughter faded from Filfaeril's ice-blue eyes. "Things here are quiet.
Not a grumble from the trappers." After a pause, she added, "Take care, my husband, and do not worry about our kingdom."
"We'll speak again soon," the king replied. The misty image of the queen dissipated, and the pavilion grew quiet.
For more than an hour, the Cormyrian king sat at the long table, toying with an empty mug. Upon closer study, he noticed that the fine silver drinking cups were engraved with grisly scenes of war. Dwarves battled pig-snouted orcs and shorter creatures Azoun recognized as goblins. On another mug, dwarven warriors carried skulls into a vast cavern and stacked them in neat pyramids.
Without looking at his advisor, the king asked, "Is there some way for you to find the Zhentish troops with your magic?"
The wizard sat at the other end of the table, facing the king. His head lolled to one side in a fitful doze. He snorted awake at the king's question. "Eh?" he mumbled. "The troops from the Keep have arrived?"
Azoun smiled and, after a final glance at the strange engravings, set his mug down. "It's getting rather late," he said. "We should either help look for the missing dwarves or try to contact the Zhentish army."
Rubbing his eyes, Vangerdahast said, "You know that dwarves hate magic almost as much as they hate water. Allowing you to contact the queen was risky enough, thank you. Perhaps we should just return to the Welleran." The wizard stretched and motioned toward the pavilion's open door. "At least I could get a good night's-"
A strangled gasp escaped Vangerdahast's lips. The three lanterns that hung from the pavilion's supports cast enough light on his face to reveal that it had gone stark white. His mouth hung open a little in obvious astonishment, and his eyes were wide with surprise.
Azoun turned to see what had shocked the royal magician so. His hand slipped automatically to his sword, but when the king saw the armor-clad figure in the doorway, he felt his arm fall limp at his side. Unlike Vangerdahast, Azoun managed to whisper a single name: "Alusair."
A slight, devilish smile crept across the face of the woman in the doorway.
She nodded slightly and said, "Hello, Father. It's been quite a long time."
8
The Mithril Princess Princess Alusair of House Obarskyr smiled and held out her hands to her father. Still numb from the surprise meeting, King Azoun hurried to his daughter and embraced her tightly. After a moment, he pulled back and studied her face.
In the four years since she'd left Suzail, Alusair had changed quite a bit.
Now twenty-five, the princess was possessed of a mature beauty. A few wrinkles gathered at the corners of her oak-brown eyes, and her golden