Death of the Dragon - Ed Greenwood [138]
"You see another choice?" Azoun asked calmly in return. "If we retreat to Suzail or Marsember, we abandon our farmers-and their crops-to the goblins. We'd be left to fight the dragon on our own rooftops, with all the war-ruin on the heads of our wives and children. If we retreat beyond our cities, Cormyr is lost. If we cannot stand against these foes here, let us fall as dearly as we can, so those who come to the gates of Suzail and Marsember are as few and as wounded as we can leave them."
"That's all that's left to us?"
Azoun shrugged. "A ruler does what he can and tries to find or make new roads, new chances… but my time for that is past. Now I must bar and guard the gate on the road I've built. It's the task left to me."
Eldroon's reply was a wordless snarl as he spurred his stallion back along the ridge to where his troops stood in a knot, still not fallen into formation.
"There's trouble waiting to happen," Battlemaster Ilnbright growled, glaring after the dwindling noble. The veteran Purple Dragon commander looked like the hewn and hardened warrior he was-a chopping block as wide as he was tall, as massive as a cask in his deliberately dulled armor.
Azoun shrugged. "No time to right it now. If any man here sees aught amiss with our friend Eldroon's deeds on this field, and lives to see the end of it, take word to either of these two men."
Men looked where he pointed. The king's gauntlet was extended at a grim-looking Dauneth Marliir, High Warden of the Eastern Marches, and a nervous-looking Lord Giogi Wyvernspur. They sat on horses-swift errand-mounts, not war-horses-behind the crest of the hill.
" 'Take word'?" Haliver Ilnbright growled. "Where're they going, then?"
"To Jester's Green, to command the last hope of the realm," the king said, loudly enough for all of the war captains gathered around him to hear. "If we fall, and our foe goes on to threaten Suzail, these two lords have the duty to lead our eldest veterans and youngest reserves in the field. Their task will be to guard the walls of Suzail as long as possible, and get as many Cormyreans-your wives and children-away safe from our shores if need be. There are already coins from our vaults, hidden away safe, in certain cities elsewhere. If Cormyr falls, its royal treasury goes to its citizens, a hundred gold each, and thrice that for heads of families."
A lone voice cut through the general murmur that followed. "Gods bless you, my liege," one of the older war captains growled, bowing his head. "That's one care gone from me, right there. If I fall, I'd not want my king to go unthanked for such service to me and mine."
"Aye! Well said," and the like came from a dozen throats. Amid their thunder, Azoun gestured to Dauneth and Giogi. They saluted and turned their mounts away, down the slope that led to the next hill closer to Suzail-a height where the king's tent had been erected, and a few hostlers stood holding nobles' war-horses.
"What about Marsember?" a lone voice asked softly, as the war captains turned grimly to face the foe again.
"We've not swords enough to spare to guard both," Azoun said bleakly. "The navy holds Marsember with the aid of some hired adventurers. If a thousand thousand goblins appear at its gates, there're boats enough."
"But…" the voice began, then fell silent.
Battlemaster Ilnbright's broad and hairy hand fell on the Marsembian's shoulder. "That's the hard part of being king, lad," he growled in a whisper that was audible half the hill away. "There's never enough to do anything proper, or please all the folk. Ye do what ye can, and yer subjects hope ye've a heart and honor to be their shields. This one does-be thankful ye