Beyond the High Road

18

The royal wizard’s bones were acting their age. After more than a tenday of ghazneth-chasing, his hips throbbed, his back hurt, and the last thing he wanted to do was crawl up a rocky hillside on his hands and knees to spy on a tribe of swiners. That was what Royal Scouts were for… but Vangerdahast was fresh out of Royal Scouts. Owden Foley had found the last one earlier that morning-a bloated, blotchy red corpse blanketed in stinging ants. There had been no question of touching the thing. They had simply poured a flask of torch oil over the body, commended the man’s soul to Helm, and set him alight. Now the royal magician had to do his own spying.

Vangerdahast crested the hill and found himself looking across the vast, fog-laced expanse of the Farsea Marsh. Stretching to the horizon, it was a sweep of golden-green tallgrass with channels of bronze water meandering past scattered copses of swamp poplar and bog spruce. The place teemed with cormorants and black egrets, all as raucous as a band of goblins, and swarms of black insects glided through the grass in hazy amorphous clouds.

On the near shore, several orc tribes were camped together on a rocky spur of land that jutted out into the marsh perhaps a thousand paces. The males had broken into four large companies and retreated to separate corners of the little peninsula for formation drills and weapons training. The females and children were clustered around tribal fires working, or wading through the shallows in search of fish and crustaceans. A two-story keep of dried mud stood at the end of the promontory, overlooking the marsh on three sides and guarded landward by a timber drawbridge. Its blocky construction and rounded arrow loops were evocative of ancient Cormyrean architecture. From the second-story windows oozed a strange aura of darkness that clung to the place like a death shroud.

The water around the keep gleamed silver with floating fish. Clouds of insects swirled through the orc camps, filling the air with a drone that was enough to drive Vangerdahast mad even a hundred and fifty paces inland. A strange network of tiny crevices stretched along the center of the peninsula, discharging thick curtains of yellow-gray smoke into the sky. Every plant within a hundred yards of the promontory had withered and died, and a carpet of gray mold was fanning outward from its base. The slope between Vangerdahast’s hiding place and the shore was strewn with deer carcasses, all so putrid that even orcs would not eat them.

The royal magician waved to his deputies, and he was joined presently by the acting commander of his Purple Dragons and the interim master of the company’s war wizards. Alaphondar and Owden followed the pair uninvited, but Vangerdahast did not object. The Royal Sage Most Learned would need to record what followed, while Harvestmaster Foley’s opinions were often worth the hearing-provided Vangerdahast did not put himself in the position of seeming to elicit them.

Vangerdahast pointed at the mud keep and said nothing.

“Tanalasta is inside?” asked Owden.

“I’ll know that when I get inside.”

Owden nodded. “I suppose that’s the only way to find out.”

Vangerdahast’s stomach sank. The truth was he could not even be sure the ghazneths were inside, and he had been hoping Owden would suggest an easy way to find out. Instead, it appeared they would have to storm the keep-and with less than half the company remaining.

Vangerdahast took a deep breath, then said, “Here’s my plan.” He quickly outlined what he wanted, making both commanders repeat their instructions. When they had done so, he turned to Owden, giving the priest one last opportunity to make him look like a fool. “I’m assuming the ghazneths are inside because orcs don’t normally practice drills.”

“Or share encampments, or build keeps fashioned in the style of ancient Cormyr,” added Owden, “and because we haven’t seen them in the last half-day. What are we waiting for?”

“Nothing, it would seem.” Vangerdahast nodded to his subcommanders, who retreated twenty paces down the hill to prepare their men.

As soon as they were gone, Alaphondar asked, “You two do realize there’s more to this than meets the eye?”

“Are you referring to the keep?” asked Owden. “Its significance hasn’t escaped me.”

“What significance?” asked Vangerdahast.

“What the keep means,” explained Alaphondar. “Historically, citadels built in such forlorn places are home to some embattled, ever-watchful spirit.”

“I’d call that a fair description of the ghazneths,” said Vangerdahast.

“And I would call it a description of their master,” said Owden. “We are entering the world of the phantom, my friend. You would do well to listen to your soul.”

Vangerdahast regarded the priest sourly. “My soul tells me that an ancient spirit would not inhabit a keep built of mud. In this climate, such places tend to melt rather quickly.”

“Which is why we must consider the ghazneths’ reason for building beside a rainy marsh in the first place,” said Alaphondar. “Have you read Ali Binwar’s treatise, Of the Four Natures?”

Vangerdahast rolled his eyes. “Sadly, I have better things to do with my time than waste it on idle reading.”

“Gladly, I do not,” said Owden. “You are referring to the chapter on elemental amalgamation?”

A gleam came to Alaphondar’s eyes. “Exactly. In the marsh, we have the fusion of earth and water, but the absence of air or fire. The idle elements combined, the vigorous excluded.”

“Perfect conditions for spiritual decomposition,” agreed Owden. “We will have to be careful.”

“Indeed, but it’s not you I was thinking about.” Alaphondar waved a hand down the rocky hillside. “There are plenty of stones about. Why build the keep of mud?”

Owden’s eyes widened in alarm. “Because mud combines the nourishing power of earth with the dissolving properties of water.”

“Yes-the perfect medium for transformation.” Alaphondar pointed to the mud tower. “Give it a shape, add a little fire and some air, and a few days later you have a keep.”

“Or give it a spark of life, and you have a ghazneth,” said Owden.

Vangerdahast frowned. “What are you saying?” When no one replied, his imagination supplied its own answer. “That they are trying to make a ghazneth of Tanalasta?”

“That might explain why the ghazneths have been working so hard to keep us away from here,” said Alaphondar.

Vangerdahast felt a growing hollow in the pit of his stomach. “Don’t be ridiculous! Boldovar’s crypt wasn’t anywhere near a marsh.”

“Marshes have been known to dry up,” said the sage.

Vangerdahast started to counter that there had been no sign of a keep, but a thousand years was a longtime. So many seasons of spring rains would have destroyed any sign that the grave had ever been guarded by a mud fortress. Instead, be asked, “What about the tree? I doubt we’ll find any elven poets in an orc camp.”

“The thought does strike me as something of a self-contradiction,” said Owden, “but there are many things we don’t know-“

“Including the keep’s purpose.” Vangerdahast began to inch back down the hill. “I’ll hear no more of this philosophical nonsense. We could argue in circles all day, and it would make no difference. If Tanalasta is in there, we must rescue her.”

“And if she is not, we must make a ghazneth tell us where she is,” said Owden.

The priest started down the hill after Vangerdahast, and Alaphondar crawled toward his assigned hiding place in a jumble of boulders. No one suggested using a spell to locate the princess. If she was not a prisoner already, the magic would lead the ghazneths to her like an arrow.

As they parted ways, Alaphondar paused. “Good luck, my friends, and be careful.”

“We’ll be safe enough,”Vangerdahast assured him. “It’s you who is taking the risk, staying here alone. You remember my signal?”

Alaphondar nodded. “The shooting star.” He gestured toward his weathercloak’s escape pocket. “I’ll rejoin the company as soon as I see it.”

“Good. If we have the princess, we can’t wait around long,” said Vangerdahast. “If we don’t, there won’t be time to look for you.”

“And if matters go badly, Alaphondar, don’t even think of joining us,” added Owden. “You won’t be able to help, and someone will need to inform the king.”

“Preferably in person.” Vangerdahast tapped the throat clasp on Owden’s weathercloak. “So don’t use this unless you must. It would be nice if you lived long enough to chronicle what little we’ve learned about these things.”

Alaphondar nodded reluctantly. “I know, I know-my pen is my sword.”

He wished them luck again, then turned away. Vangerdahast and Owden returned to their horses and mounted.

What remained of the Royal Excursionary Company sat ready and waiting, an unclasped weathercloak draped over the shoulders of every rider. Though the cloaks were standard issue only for war wizards, the company had lost so many men they now had one for even the lowest-ranking dragoneer.

Vangerdahast nodded, and the company closed their throat clasps. The war wizards began to sprinkle powdered steel over everyone in the company, filling the air with magic incantations as they cast their spells of shielding. The royal magician did the same for himself and Owden, then looked toward the top of the hill. Alaphondar was kneeling in the midst of the boulder jumble, squinting down toward the keep and holding one arm up to signal.

“Be ready!” Vangerdahast started Cadimus up the hill at a walk, motioning the company to follow. “Stragglers will pay dearly.”

They had nearly reached the hilltop before Alaphondar’s arm finally dropped. Vangerdahast slapped his heels into Cadimus’s flanks, urging the big stallion into a run. The air began to resonate with the drumming of hooves. The clamor of an alarm bell rang out across the marsh, followed by a tumult of grunting and squealing.

The royal magician crested the hill to see five hundred orcs scurrying toward the neck of the peninsula. Ahead of the swiners flew five streaks of darkness, their black wings mere blurs as they shot forward to meet the Royal Excursionary Company. Vangerdahast’s heart sank. They had never before seen more than three ghazneths at a time.

The charge started down the front of the hill and picked up speed. Vangerdahast’s old knees began to ache from squeezing Cadimus so hard. The ghazneths continued to climb higher as they approached, and they were a hundred feet in the air by the time the company crossed the neck of the peninsula. The royal magician slipped one hand inside his weathercloak and found the escape pocket, craning his neck to keep watch on the rising phantoms. At last, when he judged them to be two hundred feet above the ground, they wheeled around to fall on the company from behind.

Vangerdahast looked forward again and saw the orcs forming ranks along the neck of the peninsula, their officers pushing and shoving frightened warriors into short stretches of line. The swiners were armed with an odd assortment of spears, swords, and pikes-whatever they happened to be holding at the moment the alarm was sounded. Even without magic, it would have been an easy matter to break through their defenses, but the royal magician was in no mood to waste time in melee, especially with the ghazneths swooping down on them from behind.

Vangerdahast fixed his gaze on a tribal campsite about two hundred paces shy of the keep, looking past a long line of orcs streaming down the peninsula to meet the charge. He could barely make out the distant figures of females and children, turning to stare after their warriors and shake their arms in encouragement. They were in for a big surprise.

Vangerdahast thrust his hand into the escape pocket, and a large black square appeared directly ahead of him. Cadimus whinnied and tried to veer off, but there was no time. He hit the doorway at a full gallop, and Vangerdahast experienced that familiar feeling of dark, endless falling.

An instant later, he burst back into the light, head spinning and ears ringing with astonished squeals and grunts. Cadimus stumbled, something shrieked, and Vangerdahast took a blow across the shin. He looked down, but his vision was still a blur, and he could not imagine what might have happened. The sound of drumming hooves began to build around him, and the world erupted into a cacophony of shrieking and snorting. Cadimus ricocheted off something soft but sturdy, then bumped into something just as soft and sturdy on the other side, and the round shape of a horse’s rear end came into focus ahead of Vangerdahast.

The wizard shook his head clear, recalling that he was in the middle of a cavalry charge. He began to make out the shapes of dazed horses and glassy-eyed men all around, all galloping forward at a full sprint, all oblivious to the blocky keep standing at the end of the peninsula just fifty paces ahead.

“Halt!” Vangerdahast reined Cadimus in, being careful not to pull up so short that he caused a collision with the horse behind him. “Stop! Stop!”

Slowly, the rest of the company began to heed his orders. By the time Vangerdahast reached the keep, the charge had slowed to an amble, with horses stumbling about blindly and men struggling to shake their heads clear. The ground at this end of the peninsula was striped with hairline crevices, all spewing yellow fumes and fouling the air with the acrid stink of brimstone. Clouds of mosquitoes, wasps, and flies drifted back and forth through the smoke, biting, stinging, and filling Vangerdahast’s ears with their maddening drone.

He wheeled Cadimus around and found himself looking back at the remnant of an orc camp. There were hides and half-cooked food strewn everywhere, and the terrified females were herding their stunned young into the marsh. About two dozen grizzled males, and a like number of husky females, were scuttling forward with crooked hunting spears clutched in their hands.

Vangerdahast maneuvered Cadimus through a tangle of afterdazed dragoneers and waved his hand across the width of the peninsula, uttering a long and complicated incantation. Unlike many spells, this one required no material components, but it required half a minute of tongue-twisting chanting. Before he finished, the swiner elders began hurling spears in his direction, and the ghazneths appeared in the sky over the promontory, streaking back toward the keep. Though he could not see the main body of the orc army, he felt sure it would be charging up the peninsula to defend the keep.

When Vangerdahast finished his spell, a wall of flashing color sprang up before him, stretching across the peninsula and well down into the water. It would not stop the flying ghazneths, of course, but the orc army would be forced down into the marsh to circumvent it. Any warrior foolish enough to try scaling it would be spit back at his fellows, mangled beyond recognition.

By the time Vangerdahast turned back to the mud keep, a steady drizzle of ore arrows was flying down from the arrow loops. The Royal Excursionary Company was beginning to recover from its afterdaze and return fire, but without much effect. The pall of darkness that seemed to cling to the place prevented them from seeing their targets, and so their arrows were about as effective against the swiners as those of the swiners were against their magically shielded armor.

Vangerdahast rode forward to his subcommanders, who stood together taking orders from Owden. Scowling at the priest’s presumption, the wizard dismounted, leaving Cadimus with a young dragoneer, and joined them.

“Stop wasting time with this groundsplitter!” Vangerdahast shoved the commander of the Purple Dragons toward the wall. “The ghazneths will be here in two minutes. Get your archers ready.”

The man paled. “As you command.”

He ran off to obey, shouting for the dragoneers to form their squares. Vangerdahast turned to the master of his war wizards and pointed at the keep’s gate. To his surprise, it was coated in black iron. He could not understand why he had failed to notice the dark metal from the hilltop.

“Can you tell me why that is still standing?”

The young wizard paled. “No. We’ve hit it with fire, lightning, and warping. Nothing works.”

“In fact, spells only make the gates stronger. The iron was not there until your wizards started their work,” added Owden.

“Then try the walls!” Vangerdahast stormed. ‘We’re in a hurry!”

As he spoke, the royal magician pulled his lodestone from his pocket and scraped a pinch of dust off Owden’s weathercloak. He rolled the lodestone in the dust, pointed to the base of the keep, and uttered his spell. A ray of shimmering translucence shot from his finger, blossoming against the building in a circle of rippling energy. The mud wall turned dark and smooth and seemed to melt as the wizard’s magic faded, finally coalescing into a smooth disc of black marble.

Vangerdahast cursed, then an orc’s arrow corkscrewed down to bounce harmlessly off his breast.

“The same as the gate,” said Owden. “I fear Alaphondar is more right about the nature of the keep than he knows. It seems to be using your magic against you.”

“Obviously,” Vangerdahast snarled.

Deciding to try the opposite tactic, he waved his hand at the wall and uttered a quick incantation to dispel the magic. The dark circle only grew larger.

A flurry of throbbing bowstrings proclaimed the arrival of the ghazneths. Vangerdahast glanced toward his prismatic wall and saw all five phantoms wheeling toward the marsh, their breasts and wings peppered with iron-tipped arrows. Two of the creatures seemed to be flying a little more slowly than usual, and one was trailing a syrupy string of black blood.

“If magic won’t work, hard work will,” said Owden.

The harvestmaster snatched an iron-tipped spear from a dragoneer and charged the keep, angling away from the dark circle that Vangerdahast had created.

A cloud of crooked shafts wobbled down from arrow loops to meet his charge. Most missed broadly, but even those that found him bounced off without causing harm. Vangerdahast scowled, then finally realized what the priest was doing and waved a troop of men after him.

“Get over there and help the fool! Tanalasta will have my ears if something happens to him!”

A dozen dragoneers grabbed their spears and rushed after Owden. They were joined by a handful of war wizards, who quickly raised a floating ceiling above their heads to deflect the annoying deluge of orc arrows. Vangerdahast remained a moment to watch the enemy response, but the aura of darkness clinging to the keep precluded any possibility of seeing inside. The only reaction was a slight slackening in the rain of crooked shafts as the swiners within realized the futility of their attacks.

Pulsing volleys of bowfire began to sound from all directions. Vangerdahast glanced around the peninsula to find the dragoneers arrayed in single ranks along the shoreline, filling the air with arrows as the ghazneths came in low and fast. Behind each rank of Purple Dragons stood a war wizard, pointing over their heads and uttering the incantation of a wall spell.

As the sorcerers’ voices fell silent, rippling curtains of force sprang up around the edge of the peninsula, enclosing it in a castlelike perimeter of magic walls. A pair of ghazneths slammed into these barricades headlong, filling the air with blood-curdling shrieks and looking more surprised than hurt as they lay splayed against the invisible walls. The other three phantoms streaked across the shoreline just ahead of the spells, tearing through the single thin rank of dragoneers in a dark flash and sinking their talons into the wizards waiting behind.

One sorcerer got off a quick web spell, binding himself and his attacker together in a cocoon of sticky white filament. The other two wizards were jerked from their feet, screaming and flailing as the ghazneths arced into the sky. A cloud of arrows chased the phantoms over Vangerdahast’s prismatic wall, but that did not keep the creatures from dropping their victims into the heart of the orc army. After a brief tumult of crackling magic and screeching swiners, a round of raucous victory snorts announced the fall of the wizards to superior numbers.

On Vangerdahast’s side of the wall, a dozen dragoneers rushed over to the web-tangled ghazneth. The filaments were already beginning to lose their color, and the men seemed uncertain quite how to attack. Finally, one grabbed his sword with both hands and drove it into the cocoon with all his might. The attack drew a muffled bellow, but when the soldier tried to withdraw his weapon and attack again, it remained lodged in the sticky filaments. He began to work the hilt back and forth, hoping to enlarge the wound and cause as much damage as possible. When this evoked a long roar, several of the warrior’s fellows plunged their own blades into the web and imitated his tactic. The ghazneth howled in rage and pain, thrashing about so madly that the dragoneers had trouble holding their weapons.

Abruptly, the phantom stopped struggling. A tremendous boom knocked the dragoneers off their feet, then the ground opened under their feet, belching forth a column of stinking yellow fume that hurled them high into the sky. They swirled about in a strange airborne dance, shrieking and flailing at the phantom with blade and fist, bound to their foe by the web spell. Their voices grew raspy and broken from inhaling acrid fumes. A pair of warriors came free of the sticky tangle and crashed to the ground, and the smoke vanished as suddenly as it had appeared.

The cocoon plummeted into the abyss with its tangle of men and weapons, only to reappear a moment later when a pillar of flame hurled it back into the air. The web spell dissolved in a flash of crimson. The dragoneers disintegrated into lumps of scorched armor and howling ash and plunged back into the chasm. The ghazneth erupted into a flaming silhouette of itself and remained in the air, spreading its wings and letting out a long, spiteful cackle. It wheeled around trailing tongues of crimson fire and streaked down to catch the nearest war wizard in its burning talons, then disappeared over Vangerdahast’s prismatic wall.

The other ghazneths came swooping over the walls from four different directions, talons extended and trails of dark blood dribbling from their wounds. A flurry of spells and iron-tipped arrows drove them away almost instantly, then the ground started to tremble. Small curtains of flame sprouted along the spine of the peninsula. The stench of brimstone grew suffocating, and men began to cough and choke and clutch at their throats. The company’s panicked horses broke free of their holders and galloped madly along the shoreline, bouncing off the invisible walls and searching in vain for some way to escape the peninsula.

The war wizards cleared the air with a flurry of magic winds, but that did not prevent Vangerdahast from cursing.

Until now, the ghazneths had never used such powers against the Royal Excursionary Company, and he could not help wondering what other surprises they had in store. His whole strategy had been predicated on holding the creatures at bay long enough to enter the keep, but it was beginning to look like even that modest goal was not achievable.

Vangerdahast glimpsed a blazing ghazneth arcing over the prismatic wall and drove it back with a magic ice storm, then rushed forward to join Owden and the others at the keep. The harvestmaster and two other men were standing side-by-side, madly jabbing their spears into the dried mud and scraping loose small sprays of material. They had already managed to tunnel more than two feet into the base of the tower, and the wall flexed each time they struck. Determined that the first rescuer to enter the keep would not be a priest of Chauntea, Vangerdahast reached into the tunnel and pulled Owden back.

“Let the Purple Dragons lead the way,” said the royal magician. “Tanalasta would never forgive me if something unfortunate befell you.”

“Indeed, that would be almost as unfortunate as letting it be known that someone else had freed her.” Owden pulled free of Vangerdahast’s grasp, but shrugged and made no move to return to his digging. “Play your games if you wish. They make no difference to the princess.”

Vangerdahast resisted a sharp reply, knowing that a stinging retort would only confirm how much he feared the priest was right. Tanalasta had always been a perceptive woman, now that she had become a stubborn one, it would take more than a simple rescue to make her reconsider her convictions.

The diggers broke through with a hollow clatter, opening a pair of head-sized holes into the swirling darkness inside. The musty scent of damp earth filled the air. A strange drone echoed out of the keep, then the dragoneers screamed and stumbled back, their heads lost under a cloud of black wasps.

Vangerdahast raised a hand and blew across his palm, scattering the wasps with a quick wind spell-standard defensive magic for any war wizard. The two dragoneers fell and lay on their backs, covering their eyes and screaming in agony. Owden and several dragoneers managed to pry their hands away from their faces, revealing a swollen mass of red boils. The priest called on Chauntea’s mercy and began to pray.

Vangerdahast caught him by the shoulder. “Save your spells for Tanalasta. As much as I hate to share her gratitude, the princess may have need of your healing more than these soldiers.”

Owden looked torn. Vangerdahast gave the priest no choice in the matter, pulling him to his feet and turning to face the keep, where a steady cloud of wasps was pouring from the two holes. A half-dozen dragoneers pulled their weathercloaks over their heads and charged into the swarm at a sprint, hurling their armored shoulders against the weakened wall.

The holes collapsed into a single windowlike portal nearly four feet across. Two warriors fell headlong into the darkness, their shins resting across the bottom edge of the breach. Wherever their legs touched the wall, little circles of dark marble began to fan outward as the keep absorbed the magic in their weathercloaks and shielding spells. The wasps descended on them, and the men began to scream and thrash about.

A war wizard directed a magic gale into the hole. The edges turned to black marble, but enough of the wind endured to drive the wasps into the depths of the tower. Several dragoneers rushed forward and grabbed their screaming comrades by the ankles.

A tempest of orcish arrows flew out of the darkness to meet them. The shafts clattered harmlessly off the rescuers, but the two victims cried out in pain as they suffered hits. When their comrades jerked them from the keep, one man had an arrow lodged in his shoulder, the other in his neck. Vangerdahast pulled a commander’s ring from his pocket and slipped it on long enough to activate its light magic, then removed it and tossed it inside.

The ring passed through the breach still glowing, then hit the stone floor and began to fade. The light lasted long enough for Vangerdahast to see a cloud of wasps swirling along the far wall and a dozen orc archers edging toward a door.

When Vangerdahast detected no sign of Tanalasta in the room, he commanded, “Fireballs!”

“Fireballs?” Owden gasped. “But that’s what they want! That kind of magic will turn the whole tower to stone.”

Vangerdahast shrugged. “What do we care? We’ve already breached it.”

As his war wizards prepared their spells, Vangerdahast saw that the battle on the peninsula was turning against him. A dense cloud of smoke, glowing in a hundred places with scarlet fire curtains, blanketed the battlefield. Dragoneers lay on the ground by the dozen, clutching at their throats or not moving at all. The few who remained on their feet could barely be seen through the flames and the fumes, standing along the shoreline in ragged lines, coughing and gagging on the poison air. There was no sign at all of the sorcerers assigned to support them, and the company horses were galloping along the shoreline more madly than ever. Cadimus, of course, was leading the charge. When Vangerdahast did not see any ghazneths swooping down from the sky, he dared wonder if the phantoms had finally fallen to his dragoneers’ iron weapons.

That hope was shattered when he noticed the magic shimmer of a force wall beginning to fade. Though his own troops blocked his view of the other side, he felt certain that the ghazneths were pressing themselves against the wall, absorbing its magic into their own bodies. Behind them, there would be a horde of orcs milling about, waiting to wade ashore and slaughter what remained of the Royal Excursionary Company.

Vangerdahast did not think the swiners would find the battle difficult. There would be a moment of confusion as Cadimus and the other horses charged through the opening, then victory would come quickly for the orcs. There were not enough dragoneers left to hold longer than it would take the swiners to trample them.

The rumble of a tremendous fireball erupted from the keep. Vangerdahast looked back to see a long tongue of flame licking out of the portal. The mud walls were instantly transformed to black marble as high as the second story. He took a small scrap of parchment from his cloak, then rolled it into a small cone and held it to his lips. He whispered a quick incantation and turned toward the survivors of the battle.

“Retreat to the keep!”

Though even he could barely hear his voice over the battle rumble, the remaining dragoneers broke ranks and ran for the keep at their best sprints. Half a dozen fell almost immediately to tendrils of poison fume or curtains of leaping flame. Vangerdahast guessed that half their number, perhaps twenty soldiers, would survive long enough to reach the keep.

The royal magician grabbed the nearest war wizard. “When I enter the keep, you are to take command. Block the breach with an iron wall-not touching it, mind you, but only a hair’s breadth away-then take the survivors and teleport back to Arabel.”

The sorcerer’s relief was obvious. “As you command.”

“What about Alaphondar?” asked Owden. “You haven’t sent up the shooting star.”

Vangerdahast glanced at the carnage around him. “Alaphondar’s safer in his hiding place. We’ll teleport from Arabel and fetch him.”

Vangerdahast returned his attention to the keep, where the last flames of the fireball were just dying out. He pulled a crow feather from his cloak pocket and brushed the vane up and down his body, uttering a low incantation. A warm prickle crept up his arms. He started to feel very light, then his feet left the ground, and he was floating.

As Vangerdahast completed his spell, the first dragoneers staggered in from the shoreline, stinking of brimstone and coughing violently. To a soldier, their faces were swollen and red with insect bites, and many had the glassy-eyed expressions of men ill with the ague. Seeing Vangerdahast floating in the air, one warrior stumbled forward to clutch at his robes.

“Where are you going?” The man’s voice was shrill and unbalanced. “The Royal Excursionary Company doesn’t desert!”

“Coward!” accused another. “Come back and make your stand!”

Several more took up the cry and lunged forward, all reaching up to grab hold of the wizard’s cloak. Vangerdahast tore his arm free and flew out of their reach with a quick flick of his hands.

“Who are you calling a deserter?” Vangerdahast demanded, growing furious. He pulled a wand from inside his cloak. “How dare you!”

Owden stepped forward, raising his hands to stop the attack. “Vangerdahast, it’s ghazneth madness!” The priest waved at their swollen faces. “They’re wounded and sick, just as you were in Arabel.”

“Then get them under control!” Vangerdahast snapped, feeling foolish-and more than a little frightened by all he did not know about the ghazneths. “I’ll see you in Arabel.”

“Me?” Owden looked shocked. “What do you mean? You need someone to watch your back.”

“How?” Vangerdahast flapped his arms and floated toward the smoking breach in the keep’s black wall. “Unless you can fly, you’ll only slow me down-and lose your weathercloak’s magic to the keep.”

“Wait!” It was the wizard to whom Vangerdahast had given command. “I can help.”

The royal magician looked back to see the war wizard and Owden scurrying after him, the sorcerer brushing the vane of a pigeon feather over the harvestmaster’s arms. A handful of mad dragoneers were stumbling along behind them, cursing Vangerdahast for a coward and promising to take vengeance in the afterlife. Behind them, on the near shore of the peninsula, the ghazneths had finally drawn all of the magic out of the force wall. Cadimus charged through the gap, leading the rest of the horses along behind him and bowling the astonished ghazneths over backward.

Owden rose unsteadily into the air, blocking Vangerdahast’s view of Cadimus’s mad charge. “Ready!”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

Vangerdahast turned away and glided into the keep’s marble darkness.