Death of the Dragon - Ed Greenwood [143]
Lancelord looked to lionar, then down at the dwindling figures of the king and the wizard, then at each other again. Helpless shrugs followed and the grim, bloody survivors began to descend the hill once more.
"King Azoun?" one of them called uncertainly.
"On! Our work's not done yet!" the king called back, rather grimly.
"What price glory?" Ilberd Crownsilver grunted wearily, as his slippery descent brought him down beside his ruler. "Haven't we slain goblins enough?"
"We're not here to win glory, lad," Azoun growled. "We're here because Cormyr needs us. Or at least that's why I'm here."
The young swordlord stared at him for a moment, face going pale, then suddenly ducked his head and went on down the hill.
As they came to the blood-choked stream, the king drew his sword again.
41
The knelling of the ghazneth bell barely registered in Tanalasta's mind. She sat crouched on the comfortable reading chair in Vangerdahast's study, staring at the empty space into which Owden and his priests had just vanished. Her head was whirling and her stomach churning, and she felt numb with shock. What had happened seemed unthinkable. It seemed unimaginable that her husband had become a ghazneth. It seemed impossible that Owden and the others had been drawn through the gate into Rowen's dark world.
Clagi turned from the window where he was standing watch and said, "Your plan worked, Princess. Boldovar ignored the palace and came here. He's circling the tower now."
The young priest paused for a response. When there was none, he asked, "Princess? What are we to do?"
Tanalasta felt hollow and sick inside. Had she listened to Owden, he and the others would be there now. Instead, she had chosen to ignore his warning, to trust her own selfish emotions and Vangerdahast's gentle lies and declare that Rowen could never become a ghazneth. What a fool she had been. Vangerdahast might be harsh and manipulative, but he did what was right for Cormyr. In second-guessing him, she had condemned Owden and his priests to some wet hell she could only imagine. Worse, she had lost a dozen loyal men and women when Cormyr needed them most.
"He's circling lower," Clagi reported diligently. He stepped back from the window and came to take Tanalasta's arm. "We must get you out of here."
Tanalasta jerked away. "No, I'm going to destroy that ghazneth." She pulled an iron short sword from its scabbard inside her hiding box, then snatched a pair of silver manacles from Vangerdahast's study table. "I won't run-not after what I did."
"This isn't about you, Highness." Clagi's tone was stern. Like most of Owden's priests, he spoke even to Tanalasta with no fear of recrimination. He pointed at her huge belly. "It's about your baby. You mustn't risk it so foolishly."
"This baby is hardly the most important thing in the realm," Tanalasta shot back, growing more furious by the moment. "No traitor's child will ever sit…"
Tanalasta let the sentence trail off when she saw the shock in Clagi's face and realized what she was saying. Her anger was at Rowen and herself, not the baby. It was not the child's doing that its father had betrayed her and Cormyr, and even if it never would sit on the Dragon Throne (Vangerdahast would see to that), she was still its mother. She still loved it. She still had to keep it safe and healthy.
The chamber grew dark. Tanalasta looked over to see Boldovar's black silhouette sweeping past the window, his fiery eyes shining crimson in a wild halo of black hair. A gaping crescent opened in the center of his unkempt beard, and a long red tongue shot past a pair of yellow fangs to wag at Tanalasta.
Clagi pulled the lapels of her weathercloak closed. "Use your escape pocket. I'll hold him."
The chamber brightened again as Boldovar cleared the window.