Death of the Dragon - Ed Greenwood [164]
"I understand," Filfaeril whispered. "Oh, gods, Vangey, keep Alusair safe and… and ease my Azoun's passing. If you have any magic, later, to show me what you saw and thought of his dying, I command you show me. I must see."
"Lady, you shall," Vangerdahast said gently. "Fare you well." He ended the spell with a weary wave of his hand, and turned to Alusair. "For the safety of the crown, I dared not bring her here," he said, sounding ashamed. "I want you to kn-"
Alusair whirled away, tearing free of his grasp, but not with the snarl of anger he'd feared and not to spurn him. Instead, she was crouching with drawn steel, like all the other war captains on that hilltop, awaiting fresh menace. The wizard peered around her.
The Steel Princess was facing a whirling chaos of growing radiance in the air a little way down one slope of the hill-the glow of manifesting magic.
"Translocational arrivals," Vangerdahast said loudly, to identify the magic for any who might not yet have recognized it. "Launch no attack until I bid y-"
"Be still, wizard!" one of the war captains snapped, eyes intent on the brightening glows. His voice sank to a mutter, Vangerdahast forgotten as he studied the flaring magic, and he added, "For once…"
Several heads snapped around to see how Vangerdahast would react to that outburst, but the royal magician's face was expressionless as he took a step sideways to place himself squarely between this burgeoning magic and the fallen king. Vangerdahast squinted into the flares of brilliance as they reached their heights, then sighed and stepped back, a sour expression flickering across his face so swiftly that Alusair, watching him, could not be quite sure she'd seen it there.
Some of the veteran war captains of Cormyr were not so discreet. Disgust and disdain were written large on their faces as Cormyrean high priests of various faiths appeared out of the roiling sparks and glows of their collective teleport. Loremaster Thaun Khelbor of Deneir, his face set with fear, glanced this way and that at the wrack of battle, and was promptly shouldered aside by the High Huntmaster of Vaunted Malar, who in turn found himself in the striding wake of Aldeth Ironsar, Faithful Hammer of Tyr. Evidently the war wizards who'd sent them hence had lacked magic enough to send the upperpriests of each church who customarily accompanied their superiors everywhere. Every arriving priest ruled the Cormyrean churches of his faith.
"Trust the vultures to come now," someone among the watching war captains said loudly, as many blades-but by no means all of the swords held ready on the hill-were sheathed.
"Aye," someone else said bitterly, "now that the bloody work's done."
The Lord High Priest Most Favored of the Luck Goddess turned his head and snapped, "Who said that?"
For a long, cold moment there came no reply, then the air grew more frosty still when more than a dozen of the blood-drenched men in armor said in flat, insolent unison, "I did."
Manarech Eskwuin blanched and quickly looked away, striding on, like all of his fellows, up the hill to where the king lay. As if the magic that had brought him was rolling along before him, fresh flames and radiance burst into being around Azoun's body, and he roared and twisted in pain, spasming on the bed of shields. The taint of the dragon's blood had returned.
"Make way!" commanded the high priest of Malar. "We are come in Cormyr's hour of need to heal the king."
"This is not a matter for straightforward healing," Vangerdahast said warningly, standing his ground. Behind him, something that hissed and coiled arose from Azoun's mouth, and small puffs of flame curled up from his drumming heels. Fell magic was raging and gnawing within him.
"I fear there is nothing you can do here, holy men," the royal magician said politely, "save to let King Azoun die with the dignity he has so valiantly earned."
Some of the war captains there drew in to stand beside the wizard, barring the high priests from reaching the king,