Death of the Dragon - Ed Greenwood [91]
"Y-you heard me," Guidrin mumbled, as Rathtar crashed to his knees on dead orcs and reached out for him. His lips twisted. "For once."
"Are you-?" Rathtar snapped, trying to lift him.
Guldrin nodded almost wearily. "Dying? Aye. You're… heir now. You with your looks and giggling lasses every night, and… and… oh, gods, have my blessings and make Father proud."
Much blood fountained from his mouth, and he groaned weakly before gasping, "T-tell him… tell him I died well."
"I will! Oh, gods keep you, Guld, I will!" Rathtar shouted, finding himself on the verge of tears. Somewhere inches but a world away, steel rang on steel and Alusair snarled at the orc she'd just slain and hurled aside, and at the one behind it who was fast losing enthusiasm for facing this warrior woman with the eyes of flame.
They stared into each other's eyes for a moment, the older brother and the younger, then… then Guldrin was simply gone from behind those staring eyes.
Rathtar let his head fall slowly among the dead, blinking back hot tears, and spat, "Death! Death! Death to all orcs!"
He thrust aside Alusair as if she was an inconvenient hanging tapestry and plunged into the orcs beyond her, stabbing and slashing like a madman. The Steel Princess raced after him, calling his name vainly and trying to guard his flanks, though she could only reach one.
It was only a few breaths before a black orc blade burst through the flank she was guarding, driven in from the other side, and Rathtar Hardcastle went down on his face without a sound. Alusair cut open the grinning face of his orc slayer as she spun around to race back to safety, reminding herself to stay alive to get to Suzail and personally tell Ildamoar Hardcastle how bravely both of his Sons had fallen in battle. Cormyr owed the loyal old nobleman that and more.
Someone stumbled over backward, arms windmilling in almost comical futility, two orc blades standing out of his back. Ilmreth Illance, another of the men that unpopular family had already lost in these last few years, and probably not the last. Alusair sighed. She didn't want men to die bravely-she wanted them to live on to ripe old ages and die in bed, happy and safe and prosperous in a Cormyr free of Obarskyr sins and armies marching because of them.
"Arabel may be burning," she heard a Purple Dragon grunt behind her, "but it's one big orc oven. I saw one street chest-deep in tusker bodies, their blood running in a river down into the sewers."
"You've caught up to us, Paraedro!" someone else called happily. "You must have run like the very wind."
"No," the dragoneer replied sourly, "I walked-butchering orcs every step of the way. Slow work, but if you lot were any slower at slaying orcs, I'd have passed you and been halfway to Immersea by now."
"Be our guest!" another voice bellowed, over the ringing clang of his sword shattering an orc blade. "We've saved plenty of tuskers for you!"
"Aye," Paraedro replied in dry tones. "I'd noticed."
27
The huge refectory doors swung open, and the first nobles filed into the sparse room looking confused and uneasy. Each was accompanied by two dragoneers, one to carry his scabbards, jewelry, purse, and anything else that might conceal a weapon, the other to stand guard over him with a bared sword. When they saw the four dining tables placed together in the center of the room and the unadorned benches upon which they were being asked to sit, their expressions changed from apprehension to irritation.
Tanalasta, seated opposite her mother at the center of the table, stood as the first lords drew near. Her purpose today was not to assert her authority but to win the hearts and minds of Cormyr's nobles, just as her efforts to care for the refugees had won the love of the common people. Queen Filfaeril remained seated in her throne, which was the only trapping of royal privilege in the room. The queen would be representing the crown, not to direct the proceeding but to bestow the royal blessing on whatever occurred