Death of the Dragon - Ed Greenwood [84]
As the Royal Magician of Cormyr, Vangerdahast was as accomplished in the art of politics as any man alive, which was to say that he had no doubt forgotten more about it than even the high consul of the Grodd had ever known. He was also well versed in the worth of a symbol, so when he decided that the time had come to eliminate his rival, he did not have to think twice about how to do it. He merely pulled a pinch of iron dust from his pocket and tossed it toward the ceiling above Otka's head, at the same time speaking the words of his iron wall spell.
Instead of the strange draining he had experienced earlier, Vangerdahast's head nearly burst as the crown released its store of magic. The energy shot through him in a searing flash and left his hand. A huge sheet of iron appeared beneath the ceiling, blasting the walls apart and filling the room with billowing clouds of dust.
Otka had barely enough time to look up before the slab dropped. It flattened not only her but the generals who had been moving forward alongside her.
Vangerdahast barely noticed, for it felt as though his skull had been chopped off from the iron crown up. Dizzy, blind, and sick, he collapsed screaming into the throne and tried to tear the burning circlet off his head.
It was too tight. He could not slip his fingers under the band, nor push it up, nor even twist it around beneath his pressed palms. The thing had melded itself to his skull, and nothing he did would loosen it.
Eventually, a gentle drizzle cooled his brow to a temperature less than feverish, and the pain subsided to the point that Vangerdahast could think of something beside his aching head.
"Vangerdahast?"
He looked up to see Rowen's dark face peering down at him from atop a four-foot slab of iron. Flanking the ghazneth were a dozen goblin generals, their greenish faces paled to sickish saffron. Their iron swords remained sheathed, and they took care to keep a reasonable distance between themselves and the Naked One.
"Not Vangerdahast, you fool!" Vangerdahast hissed, glaring up from beneath his new crown. "The Iron One." He reached down and picked the Scepter of Lords up from the foot of his throne, then used it to push himself to his feet. "King of the Goblins."
26
"It really doesn't matter what any of us want, Dauneth," Alusair snarled, bringing her fist down on the map-strewn table with a resounding crash.
"This city is going to fall!"
The High Warden cast an anxious glance over his shoulder at the closed doors, knowing two local born men-at-arms were standing guard on the other side of them. He cleared his throat, imploring her silence with his eyes.
The Steel Princess jerked her head at a tapestry on the other side of the room. "Myrmeen's spy's over there," she said in a dry voice. "Her ears are the ones you have to worry about."
Dauneth Marliir grimaced in frustration. "Your Highness," he hissed, "I'm trying to stop any more panic!"
"Our healing kept Myrmeen alive," Alusair snarled, "averting the worst cause for panic I can think of-except for the one we lack men enough to deal with: the orcs raging through the streets! Gods, Dauneth, how can you be so dense? And to think that my moth-"
"Daughter," Azoun said warningly, "enough."
The King of Cormyr laid a hand on Alusair's arm and added, "Dauneth is being as loyal and as helpful as he can. Whatever schemes the queen may have had regarding weddings and your sister are neither here nor there. For the record, I think he's worked wonders, with Myrmeen lying near death and half the old families of Arabel trying to flee with the best of our horses and wagons and mounted guardsmen, while the others snarl at him for not defending them well enough and at the same time try to wring concessions and funding from him as if this crisis was intended purely for their benefit and no officer of the crown could possibly have anything better to do than offer them his ear and