Death of the Dragon - Ed Greenwood [79]
A different horn call suddenly floated up from the ridge ahead, and Azoun forgot all about the death and doom to come. It was the signal that friendly forces had been sighted. That could only be Alusair and whatever she'd managed to salvage of her noble blades.
Another, more distant horn replied, ringing out bright and clear. This was Alusair herself, telling all that she was coming in haste, with foes on her tail. All around the king, men drew weapons or checked on the readiness of daggers with a sort of satisfaction. The Steel Princess always brought either battle or revelry with her, and these men were at home with either.
The pursuing enemy would be orcs, no doubt, perhaps accompanied by the dragon. It was time to save Cormyr again.
"You'd think that after all these years I'd be good at it," Azoun remarked to the empty air, causing more than one nearby helmed head to turn in curiosity then carefully look away again. Madness in one's king is neither to be admitted nor encouraged, unless desperation descends. "I wonder if I am. While, we shall see. Aye, we shall see…"
In the next moment he saw her, cresting the ridge. Alusair's armor was glinting in the sunlight and her hair streamed around her shoulders in the usual tangled mess, with her helm-also as usual-off or lost. The Steel Princess was waving her sword just as Azoun's swordlords were wont to, commanding, directing, and cajoling like any growling swordcaptain.
Prudence counseled a forewarned army to take up a strong position and await the foe, but all around Azoun men were running forward and shouting, excitement lifting their voices. The Steel Princess had that effect on the men of Cormyr who went to war. It was as if the gods touched her into flame, a beacon for men to look to and take comfort in-a beacon that was running up to him now, arms spread wide to embrace him, and with a brightness in her eyes that could only be tears. Azoun thought he'd never to be alive to see those tears again.
"Father!" she cried as she came. "Gods, but it's good to see you."
"Old bones and all, eh?" Azoun replied, sweeping her into his arms in a clamor of clashing breastplates.
Her arms were strong, and they rocked back and forth like two bears locked in some sort of shuffling dance for a moment before a laughing Alusair broke away, crying, "Enough! You can still break my ribs. I'll grant you that without requiring hard proof."
"While you, lass," Azoun murmured, sweeping her face close to his with one long and insistent arm, "can still lift the hearts of an entire army. This one of mine will follow you in an instant!"
"That's good to know," she said with sudden, quiet seriousness, "because I seem to have lost most of mine."
"That weight never goes away," Azoun replied just as quietly. "You just have to know you always spent lives in pursuit of good purpose, and cling to that. Lives used to guard Cormyr are never wasted… though I can't say the same for those who fall because of royal folly."
"Am I guilty of that now?" Alusair asked, looking at her father sidelong through the worst tangle in her hair. The words might have been uttered with a defiant toss of her head, but the Steel Princess was listening very intently for his answer.
Azoun did not pause to weigh his words, knowing that to have done so would have been to hand Alusair a silence more damning than any words could undo. "The only royal folly either of us has been guilty of since the present peril fell upon the realm," he said firmly, "is trying to raise armies to meet our foes in bright and ordered array-when those foes either swoop from the sky to tear bloody