Death of the Dragon - Ed Greenwood [159]
Sardyn Wintersun, wearing more blood than she'd ever seen on him before, grimly gave the order to "Stand fast, blades out, and hold against all foes!"
She opened her mouth to snarl that she hadn't died and left him in charge just yet-then closed it again, the words unspoken, as he waved her into the dark area within the shield ring. Alusair looked at him for a moment, then nodded in curt and silent thanks, and turned into the dark, wet gore. It was a glistening black, sucking warmly at her boots, and ankle-deep. Strange singing sounds heralded the magic raging fitfully within it as she advanced. Flames surged up around her boots as she strode-strange yellow-green tongues that tickled her nose and throat like exotic spices-and Owden was moving along grimly at her side.
The dark, grotesque form of the ghazneth was with them, stepping to the fore, and the magics boiling up from the black, slimy blood seemed to stream into it and vanish.
Their journey was only a few paces, but it seemed as if they'd been walking for hours across a strange realm before they came to where the King of Cormyr lay twisting fitfully atop the scorched, motionless body of the Royal Magician. Alusair went to her knees heedless of what the blood-magic might do, and was almost hurled back by a tongue of flashing, tinkling radiance. A dark hand reached out to drink in the fell flood, and Alusair flashed Rowen a smile of thanks before she stretched out cautious fingers to trace along her father's jaw, took firm hold with her other hand of the blade he'd let fall, and asked hesitantly, "Father?"
For a moment it seemed as if the King of Cormyr had not heard. He turned his head slowly, almost idly, his eyes staring up unseeing at the low, streaming ceiling of gray clouds, and twisted his lips in a bitter-or was it rueful?-smile.
The princess was about to speak again when Azoun said slowly, "So they did get you, bravest of daughters. Twice the warrior most of my knights are. My little Alusair. My Steel Princess. I'd begun to permit myself the tiny, sneaking hope that you'd somehow escaped the dragon, and yet lived."
"Father," Alusair said, leaning close to kiss him, "I am alive… and so are you. You've slain the dragon."
"Such long sadness," the king murmured. "So deep, so fierce. Her love as strong as any Obarskyr, but for a different Cormyr…"
"Father? Are you hurt?" Alusair asked sharply, shaking him gently. It was a foolish question if she'd ever uttered one. Owden Foley was already deep in muttered incantations, laying his hairy-backed hands on Azoun's throat, brow, and palms with careful care.
The princess sat back to give him space to reach. Under his careful hands, the king murmured something unintelligible. A fleeting lacework of purple fire flashed into being across Azoun's body, then was gone. The king convulsed, gasping, and his eyes fell shut. Alusair's own eyes narrowed.
"What was that, Harvestmaster?" she snapped.
Owden Foley's face was grim as he met her angry gaze. "The best healing I'm capable of-or so it began as," he said. "What it became, I've no idea. We've got to get his majesty out of this dragon's blood. I don't know why, but it's twisting all magic awry-and worse."
"Worse how?"
Owden lowered his voice to a whisper and leaned close to the princess to murmur his next words, putting a hand to his mouth to shield his speech from the man lying beneath them. "It's eating away his flesh, Your Highness-right down to the bones, if we let it work long enough. We have to move him."
"His tent," Alusair snapped, inclining her head in the direction of the other hill. "There'll be water there to wash this ichor away." She lifted her hands, now tingling-no, burning slightly-under their coating of black slime. She regarded them thoughtfully for a moment before she turned her head the other way and called, "Sardyn!"
"My lady?"
"Are you finished felling goblins, or do some of the lads feel the need to add to their sword-totals yet?"
"The hill is clear and