Death of the Dragon - Ed Greenwood [3]
He eyed the amethyst dragon and its white gold mounting for a moment, then hissed a curse in the name of Tempus. "Where did you come by this?"
"My father gave it to me for my fourteenth birthday." Tanalasta craned her neck back so she could glare into the soldier's eyes. "According to Lord Bhereu's Manual of Standards and Procedure, part the fourth, item two, I believe the proper procedure now is for the sentry to demand the royal code word."
The sergeant's face paled, for Tanalasta's command of anything written in a book was well known throughout the kingdom. "M-may I have the code word please?"
Tanalasta snatched her signet back and said, "Damask Dragon."
The dragoneer paled, then stooped down to take Tanalasta's arm. "Highness, forgive me!" He pulled her to her feet without awaiting permission, then remembered himself and turned the color of rubies. "Your face… er, I, uh, didn't recognize you. I beg your forgiveness."
Tanalasta grimaced at the thought of what she must look like. She had been traveling hard for nearly two months now, and the last few hours had been the most difficult by far.
"No offense taken, Sergeant," she said. "I must look a fright."
Along with her companions, she had crawled the last mile with her face pressed into the mud to avoid being stung by wasps.
"Now fetch those ropes, and some strong fellows to man them. My company is in a dire state, and there's a ghazneth close on our heels."
At the mention of a ghazneth, the dragoneer's face went from pale to white. He spat a series of orders to his subordinates, then all three men rushed off to do the princess's bidding.
The orcs continued to batter the portcullis, and an iron bar finally gave way with a deep clang. The sound was answered by an astonishing flurry of crackles and sizzles from the war wizards in the small gatehouse. The tempo of the pounding slackened.
Tanalasta stepped over to battlements and peered through an embrasure into the valley behind the castle. Below was a vast wooded glen with a broad, meandering river and precipitous granite walls. The princess needed several moments to locate the line of figures scrambling through the trees toward the citadel. She could glimpse no more than two or three men at a time, some limping and some struggling to carry wounded fellows, but her heart fell. No matter how patiently she watched, she never counted more than ten forms, and there should have been fifteen.
The jangle of approaching soldiers rang along the rampart, and Tanalasta turned to find a sturdy officer of about forty winters leading a dozen dragoneers toward her. Four of the warriors carried a large iron box. The rest were armed with crossbows and iron swords. A pair of anxious war wizards accompanied the group, one at each end of the iron box.
The officer stopped before Tanalasta and bowed deeply. "If I may present myself, Highness," he said. "I am Filmore, Lionar of the Goblin Mountain Outpost." He motioned to the eldest wizard. "And this is Sarmon the Spectacular, master of the war wizards King Azoun sent to meet you."
Sarmon stepped forward and also bowed. Though his weathered face looked far older than the lionar's, his hair and long beard remained as dark as that of a youth of twenty. "At your service, Highness. We have been expecting you for the past several days." He extended a hand to her and said, "The king has commanded that we teleport you to Arabel the instant of your arrival."
"When my friends are safe." Tanalasta ignored the wizard's hand and pointed into the valley, where her companions were now struggling up the wooded hillside below the citadel. Several hundred paces behind them, a hazy cloud of insects was drifting across the river after them. "Alaphondar Emmarask and High Harvestmaster Foley are still out there, and the ghazneth is close upon them, as you can see."
Sarmon and Filmore peered over the wall, then arched their brows in concern. The wizard turned back to Tanalasta and said, "Truly, Princess, the citadel is in enough peril from the orcs alone." He reached