Death of the Dragon - Ed Greenwood [86]
Smoke hung heavy over the city. Perhaps it was keeping the dragon away. At least for this they owed some thanks to the stupidity of the orcs, who always seemed to feel the need to burn immediately after the joy of destruction and looting was spent. The orcs were coming on in waves.
"Gods," Dauneth groaned, coming up beside the king, "is there no end to them?"
"That's always the problem with goblinkin,"Azoun said with dark irony. "Your scribes are always too busy fighting-and dying-to get accurate counts. Afterward, of course, it no longer matters."
"I find this inspiring," Alusair said bitterly, gripping the stone balcony rail as if it was a squalling orc's throat. "It makes me want to get down there and kill!" She flung her head around to regard her father so sharply that her hair cascaded down over the rail, making her look momentarily like a young lass trying to be seductive, and asked, "So why exactly are we standing up here when we could be of more use down there?"
"Steady," Azoun said reprovingly, then threw back his head and drew in a deep breath. "Dauneth," he said to the dark, dripping ceiling formed by the balcony above, "do you concede that Arabel is lost?"
The High Warden of the Eastern Marches cast a regretful look down over the rail, then said firmly, "Majesty, I do."
"Then we must think on how to get our people out as safely as we can. That means south, one way or another, and I hate the thought of long columns of trudging folk going down the Way. Even if we could spare the men to guide, feed, shelter, and guard them, all my mind shows me is the dragon swooping down at will to pounce and rend and roll and… play, forcing us to fare forth and fight her in ones and twos… and die in ones and twos."
Dauneth nodded grimly. "And so?" he almost whispered.
"I've some measure now of just who we're defending," the king said, waving his hand at the floor to indicate the families who'd been gathered into the citadel all the day before and this morning, "and I think we can house them in the Citadel of the Purple Dragons in Suzail, and in the palace, if need be. The women and children, at least, each with a carry-chest of family valuables and our oldest warriors to guard them. The men and boys hungry for blood and glory can stay here and fight alongside the rest of us."
"You're thinking of some sort of magic, to whisk folk from here to there," Alusair murmured. "Might I remind you that any sorcery will swiftly bring down these magic-drinking ghazneths?"
Azoun's jaw set in a line like the blade of a drawn sword. "I'm thinking of the war wizards of the realm working their mightiest magic ever, because the realm has great need of it," he said curtly. "Standing in the face of charging foes like any warrior without a hope of ever casting a spell does leaping in to keep the magic working when a fellow mage falls on his face in exhaustion… there is no difference. A portal like the mages of old spun, a door in one citadel that opens into a door in the other, so that all of Arabel can step through it, is what we need. A single step that takes them from here to Suzail, spanning all the miles between, is all that might save them."
Dauneth's eyes widened, but the king's gaze never left the carnage below and his hand never unclenched from its ready grip on the hilt of his sword. "And if the ghazneths come," he added grimly, "we'll just have to deal with them. We'll crush them under iron ingots, dice them with iron blades… whatever it takes."
Dauneth's heart leaped at the king's resolve and stirring words, but he felt moved to ask, albeit tentatively, "What if we can't stop them?"
"Then," Azoun said softly, looking at him with something like fire leaping in his eyes, "the strongest Purple Dragons will stand in a human shield around the gate to keep ghazneths away while we get the women out. They are the future of the realm. Our war wizards will scatter, heading to Waterdeep and Shadowdale