Death of the Dragon - Ed Greenwood [117]
Before she could slip the ring onto his finger, Xanthon jerked free of her grasp. "Trollop!" he hissed. "You would sleep with any traitor among us. Rowen is one of-"
An iron halberd came down across his mouth, cleaving his jaw off and pinning his head to the floor. An armored foot secured his arm alongside it, then the tip of an iron sword unfurled the remaining two fingers.
"Perhaps the princess should try again," said a gruff voice.
"In a moment," Tanalasta said. "What is this about Rowen?"
Xanthon's jaw drew back toward the rest of his head, healing before the princess's eyes. He smiled and said, "He's a Cormaeril. Do you really need to ask?"
Again, the halberd came down across Xanthon's mouth, and the gruff voice said, "Pay him no attention, Princess. He's only trying to buy time to save himself."
Tanalasta nodded. "Of course." Though she did not quite believe the dragoneer, she knew better than to think Rowen would ever have betrayed Cormyr-or her. She grabbed Xanthon's black hand and shoved the signet ring onto his finger. "Xanthon Cormaeril, I name you royal cousin…
The shadow did not fade from Xanthon's body so much as simply vanish. In the next instant there was a man, horribly mutilated and screaming in agony, lying on the ground with Tanalasta's signet ring on his finger. Content to have him thrown in an iron box and left that way, she rose and turned away-only to find herself looking at Owden Foley.
"I believe you have forgotten something," the priest said. "The ghazneth cannot be destroyed until you forgive it."
"Absolve it," Tanalasta corrected. She turned and looked down at the screaming thing on the floor. Now that she had placed her ring on its finger, its wounds were no longer healing and it looked like no more than it was-a tormented traitor screaming for mercy. "He doesn't deserve it. You heard what he said about Rowen."
"What he said about Rowen does not matter." Owden tapped her over the heart, pushing his finger into the soft swell of her upper breast. "How you react does."
Tanalasta considered the priest's words, then kneeled at Xanthon's side. "I will give one more chance to clear your conscience, cousin. Tell me what became of Rowen."
"I… told… you," Xanthon gasped. "He's one of… us."
"Liar!" Tanalasta took a deep breath, then reluctantly clasped the ghazneth's wrist. "As an heir to the Obarskyr throne and daughter to King Azoun IV, I… absolve you of your crime."
"And forgive your betrayal," added Owden.
Tanalasta waited to see if Xanthon would perish. When he did not, she added, "And forgive your betrayal."
The pain seemed to leave Xanthon's face. "Now it is you who are lying." He closed his eyes and smiled. "Cousin."
34
"The last of the snortsnouts are down, my liege," the battlemaster growled through the protesting squeal of his visor being pushed up and open. "We've lost some good men, but fewer than I'd feared."
King Azoun nodded grimly, his eyes still fixed on the line of trees where the forest began, not far to the west. His mouth was set in a tight line, and a lone muscle twitched beside his mouth. It was a sign that few men there had ever had the misfortune to see before.
Battlemaster Ilnbright, however, was one of them, and knew well that it meant fear warred with anger in Azoun's thoughts. He did not need to follow the dark fire of the king's gaze to know the source of the royal fury. Every man gathered on the hill, and the many now cleaning their blades and finding places to rest weary backsides on the slopes below, knew the same dark truth. As Purple Dragons and growling orc warriors had met and the ringing din of blades had risen, Azoun had given the signal that should have brought the Steel Princess and her noblemen charging out of the trees to strike the orcs from the rear, long swords flashing. The blare of the signal horns had been as loud as any Haliver Ilnbright had heard, in tens of summers of riding under the Purple Dragon banner… but no one had come out of the forest.
Not a single blade. Outnumbered and exposed to