Death of the Dragon - Ed Greenwood [134]
"More than that," Azoun added, a few moments later, sounding more than ever like the young prince Vangerdahast had once despaired of, "let it be done now. I'm ready-as ready as I'll ever be!"
With that, the King of Cormyr flung back the bedcovers and stood up, brandishing the Scepter of Lords like a long sword.
The royal magician was old and feeling older by the hour, yet he wasn't quite so decrepit as to be unable to move in great haste when he had to. Moreover, his hands were deft-and proved quite capable of plucking reeling rulers of the realm out of the air as they started to topple, and lowering both them and ancient elven scepters gently to resting places on handy beds.
"If this is your idea of ready," he muttered, as he took the gasping king under the arms and heaved him back up onto his pillows, "I tremble for the future of the realm."
A weak sputter of amusement and mock indignation told him that Azoun retained, at least, his senses.
"So you have served the realm as capably as ever, and we have the grand plan," the king gasped when he was strong enough to speak again. "We also have this… small problem of my being unable to stand. Somewhat of a handicap in facing down… dragons, you'll agree…"
"Your wounds are this bad," Vangerdahast replied gravely, "because some of the dragon's blood is in you- gnawing at your innards, melting away all of Azoun it can reach. Nalavara exists to destroy all of Obarskyr blood and is doing so all too well. I can purge you of the blood just as I delivered you from the Abraxus venom, but it will take magic, powerful magic."
"Which my dark-winged ancestor out there is waiting to pounce upon and drink… leaving me unhealed," Azoun concluded grimly.
"Indeed," Vangerdahast said, and shut his mouth like a slamming portcullis as the word left his lips.
Azoun regarded him in silence for a moment, then almost whispered, "I know you too well, old friend. You do see a solution and don't want to offer it. I know enough not to command you to speak… so I'll just lie here and wait as, eventually, the battle sweeps over us."
The royal magician gave him a dark look, then said, "There's no chance of healing you with Boldovar circling, just waiting for magic to be awakened. He must be lured elsewhere, with other magic, and held or trapped for long enough to restore you. It won't take me long, but it will take me much too long to manage if he's just soaring after a spell hurled from atop another hill, or a war wizard firing a wand-even a dozen war wizards, one after another."
The old wizard drew in a deep breath, then let it out in an unhappy sigh. "And I know of only one person in Cormyr skilled and experienced in the baiting and destruction of ghazneths."
"My daughter, Tanalasta," Azoun said quietly. "To save the king, we imperil his heir and the hope of the kingdom to come."
Vangerdahast nodded, his face dark with apprehension. "She has faced them and prevailed," he murmured, "but Boldovar is the strongest of them all-and no prince or princess, whatever their resolve or prowess, can be confident of handling such a madman. We may well be dooming her just as surely as we're thrusting you to the edge of your grave."
Azoun looked up at him, then lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "Cormyr has never been a carefree garden, ours by right and without striving. My daughters both know that now-and both are defenders of the realm every bit as worthy and as capable as their father. What service do we do to the next Obarskyrs, if we fight all their battles for them, and rob them of the chance-nay, the right, the privilege-of rescuing Cormyr for themselves?"
Vangerdahast nodded. "Yet, you're her father…" he murmured.
"And