Death of the Dragon - Ed Greenwood [133]
The king cradled it curiously on his palms, looking up and down its beauty. The thing looked elven, and old-and yet alive, almost glowing with power. It was a scepter of bright golden hue, longer than most, and fashioned into the likeness of a sapling oak with a small and delicate array of branches set seemingly at random. Its pommel was a giant amethyst cut into the shape of an acorn.
Azoun did not bother to utter his question but merely looked up at the old wizard.
"As far as I know," Vangerdahast told him gravely, "you hold in your hands the most powerful creation of the elf Iliphar, Lord of Scepters. You'll need it."
He straightened-only to feel something tugging at his robes, holding him half bent. It was one of Azoun's hands, clutching a fistful of material firmly, and its owner growled up at him, "To save the realm, no doubt. How?"
The Royal Magician sighed. "It has far more powers than either of us has years left to unravel or master, and it's the key to defeating the dragon and ending this war- if used correctly."
"And what, 0 most mighty of wizards, is 'correctly'?"
Vangerdahast's brows drew down. "I'm hardly as knowledgeable as you seem to think," he said reprovingly. "Misjudgements as to our own competence are a large part of this…"
"…dark tangle that presently imperils the realm," Azoun finished the hanging sentence smoothly, then drew down his own brows and growled, "Wizard, get on with it."
Vangerdahast was silent for long moments before the tiniest trace of what might have been a smile crawled along his lips and was gone.
"My king," he said at last, "the touch of this Scepter of Lords, in your hands, can wound the dragon more than any spellbolt or blade-but you must first atone aloud for the murder of Lorelei Alavara's betrothed, then strike with this, in heartfelt compassion for what she and all elves have lost with the rise of the realm of Cormyr."
Azoun's smile faded. "The murder of Lorelei Alavara's betrothed?" he echoed, raising an eyebrow.
It was hard for Vangerdahast to avoid lecturing the man he'd taught for so many years. "The dragon, known among dragonkind as Nalavarauthatoryl the Red-though the goblins she commands more often use the shorter form she herself employs, 'Nalavara'-was once Lorelei Alavara, a young elf maiden. Red-haired, skilled at magic, and prouder than most, I gather. She was betrothed to Thatoryl Elian…"
"The first elf to be slain by a human in what is now Cormyr-Andar Obarskyr," Azoun murmured. "I've not forgotten."
"Vengeance has kept her alive these fourteen centuries and more," Vangerdahast murmured, something akin to awe in his voice. "Satisfying that hunger may cost the fourth ruling Azoun his very life. To break what drives her on may mean willingly surrendering to her and offering her your life-perhaps even letting her take it."
Azoun looked up, a fire in his eyes that Vangerdahast had not seen there since the birth of Foril, dead now these many years. "Can you promise me, Vangey, that such a sacrifice will destroy the dragon and deliver Cormyr from all this ruin?"
"In matters of magic, nothing is ever certain," his old friend and tutor said quietly. "To claim otherwise would be wildest falsehood. Yet I believe this to be so. I know something of how elven oaths and blood-magic work-a very little, actually, but enough to say this: the Obarskyr ruler or heir alone can end the power of the dragon by such an offer. Your doom is not certain, but very likely. Likewise, the deliverance of the realm is uncertain, but very likely."
"Certain enough," Azoun said firmly. "If one must go into the darkness that awaits us all, let my road there be the high one. Let it be in one last service to Cormyr."
His last words seemed to echo, as if they rolled out across vast distances beyond the dark corners of the tent, and for just an instant, Vangerdahast thought he heard the distant toll of