Death of the Dragon

31

“Concentrate.”

The silver bud began to swing back and forth, and Tanalasta’s eyes followed it.

“Picture his face.”

Tanalasta tried to recall her husband’s face and found it anguishingly difficult. She had been with him barely a month, and now it had been fully seven times that long since she last saw him. She still possessed an almost tangible sense of him, but his face had become a nebulous thing with a cleft chin and dark eyes, surrounded by an even darker mane of unruly hair. How could she lose his face? A good wife knew what her husband looked like, but so much had happened in the last seven months. Their marriage seemed a lifetime ago, and she had good reason for wondering if she were even the same person.

Tanalasta had signed the execution order for Orvendel Rallyhorn just that morning. As she had promised, the boy’s death would be both quick and honorable. He was to be smothered in his sleep, then mourned across the land as the brave soul who had shown the Purple Dragons how to capture ghazneths. As badly as she had wanted to commute the sentence, she could not-not in Time of War. The boy’s treason had cost too many people their lives and had very nearly cost her father Cormyr itself. Some acts simply could not be forgiven.

“Can you see him?” Owden asked.

Tanalasta raised a finger. “One moment.” She glanced around the spacious dining room of the Crownsilver country manor, which the family matriarch had graciously consented to lend the crown for the expected battle. “Is everyone ready?”

As during the capture of Luthax, an entire company of Purple Dragons stood in ambush, with a dozen war wizards and several priests of Tempus in ready reserve. Her “coffin” stood open nearby, as did an iron prison box for each ghazneth. The princess did not expect all five phantoms to arrive at once-at least she hoped they would not-but only the gods knew what would happen when Owden cast his spell. Her magic ban had driven the ghazneths into such a frenzy they had begun to attack noble patrols in the hope of causing a panicked war wizard to fling a spell at them. The tactic worked just often enough to make the phantoms continue, which was as Tanalasta wished. Better to keep them in southern Cormyr and control the magic they received than to let them fly off and seek it elsewhere.

“Do you want to find Rowen or not, Princess?” asked Owden. “I didn’t spend half a tenday meditating on this new spell as a leisuretime activity.”

Tanalasta returned her attention to the harvestmaster. “I know.” She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “I’m having trouble remembering his face.”

Owden’s scowl softened. “Perhaps you’re afraid to know.”

“No.” Tanalasta shook her head harshly. “If he’s dead, I want to know. It’s better that than to think of him in some orc slave camp-or worse.”

Owden nodded, then reached across the small distance between them and tapped her brow. “You’re trying too hard. He’s still in there. Remember something you did together. Relax, and let his face come to you.”

Tanalasta thought of their first kiss. They had been in the shadow of Anauroch’s great dunes, about to distract a ghazneth that had Alusair’s company trapped in the ruins of an old goblin keep. Tanalasta started to step through the gate to attract the phantom’s attention but was seized by a sudden urge to kiss the handsome scout. She grabbed him by the lapels and pressed her lips to his, and he pressed back and wrapped her in his arms. Such a godsent hunger ran through her that she had nearly forgotten about her imperiled sister.

Owden began to swing Rowen’s holy symbol back and forth, and Tanalasta’s eyes followed it. She had begun to run her hands over Rowen’s body, and he had done the same to her, sliding his palm up to cup the softness of her breast..

His face returned her, handsome and swarthy and chiseled, with a gentle smile and brown eyes as deep as the forest. A rush of relief rose up inside her, and Tanalasta said, “I have him.”

“Good. Now keep watching his holy symbol. It is the trail that will lead you to him. Keep watching

Owden broke into the deep chant of his spell, calling upon Chauntea’s godly power to reforge the mystical link between Rowen and what Luthax had taken from him. Tanalasta continued to watch the swinging symbol, holding her husband’s face in mind and praying to the goddess to answer Owden’s plea. Rowen’s image melded into the silver bud and became one with it, and there was just her husband’s head, sweeping back and forth in front of her. The room vanished around Tanalasta. She had the sense of plunging down a dark tunnel into a blackness as vast as the Abyss itself.

An inky shadow fell across the face before her, and its features became gaunt and harsh. The brow grew heavy and sinister, hanging over a pair of luminous white eyes as round and lustrous as pearls, and the nose swelled into a brutish, hooked thing as sharp as a hawk’s beak. Only the chin remained the same, square, strong, and cleft.

“Rowen?” Tanalasta gasped.

The white eyes brightened and looked away, vanishing into a misty gray cloud. For a moment, Tanalasta did not understand what she was seeing, then a fork of lightning danced across her view and she realized it was rain.

“Rowen?” she called again.

A different face appeared, just as gaunt but bushybrowed and cob-nosed, with sunken gray eyes and a bushy black beard that covered it from the hollow cheeks down. An iron circlet ringed the figure’s filthy mop of hair, with bare patches of scalp and red scratches along the temples where the wearer had tried to tear off his crude crown.

There was something vaguely familiar in the impatient furrow of his brow and the harshness in his eyes, but Tanalasta could not think of how she might know the haggard old man.

“Who are you?” she demanded. “What happened to Rowen?”

What happened to Rowen? mocked an all-too-familiar voice, the sound of it echoing in her mind. Is that all you want to know? No “how are you, Old Snoop?” “Where have you been?” Not even “Are you dead or alive?”

“Vangerdahast?” Tanalasta gasped. “Are you dead?”

The wizard looked insulted. No!

“Then where are you?” Tanalasta grew faintly aware of warm bodies pressing close around in the Crownsilver dining room. She ignored them and kept her concentration focused on the swinging face before her eyes. “What happened to Rowen?”

The City of the Grodd, in answer to your first question, replied the wizard. And in reply to the one that will surely follow my answer, I have no idea. Suffice it to say I’ve been trying to get out for… well, a very long time.

“But you’re younger,” Tanalasta observed.

Vangerdahast cringed and touched the crown on his head. The benefits of rank, I suppose. How long will this spell last?

“Longer than we have. A ghazneth will be arriving any moment,” said Tanalasta. “I was looking for Rowen-“

Yes, so you’ve said, but that’ll have to wait. A giant red dragon appeared in Cormyr.

It was a statement, not a question, but Tanalasta confirmed it anyway.

“Yes-a dragon, and whole armies of orcs, and goblins, too,” she said. “The nobles and I are fighting the ghazneths in the south.”

The nobles? Vangerdahast raised an astonished brow.

“It’s too long a story to tell,” said Tanalasta. “I’ve figured out how to render the ghazneths powerless, but I can’t seem to kill them.”

Forgive them, Vangerdahast said.

“What?”

Call them by their proper names and forgive them, the wizard repeated. They’ve all betrayed Cormyr, and it’s that festering core of guilt that binds their power together. Absolve them of their crime, and the core crumbles.

“It’s that simple?” Tanalasta gasped.

You will have to survive long enough to say the words, Vangerdahast reminded her. And I suspect it must be you or the king himself who’ll have to do it. Only the absolution of a direct heir to the crown would have meaning to them.

Tanalasta furrowed her brow. “How do you know all this?”

There isn’t time to explain. Vangerdahast’s eyes shifted away. Now, what of the dragon? She is their master and your real trouble.

“Father and Alusair are in the north fighting… her, is it?-and her orcs and goblins as well.” A shout from upstairs announced the appearance of a ghazneth on the horizon. Tanalasta fought down a sudden panic and forced herself to concentrate on Vangerdahast. “We have only a few moments more, I fear.”

The wizard nodded his understanding. There should be no more goblins to trouble you.

“Nor the dragon for much longer, with a little luck,” Tanalasta replied. “The king seems to have her on the run.”

The wizard’s eyes grew wide. Stop him! That dragon is Lorelei Alavara.

“Lorelei Alavara?”

Vangerdahast’s voice grew dark. Your father will know who she is. He looked away for a moment, then lifted the top of a golden scepter into view. It was fashioned in the figure of a sapling oak, with an amethyst pommel carved into the shape of giant acorn. He needs this to kill her. The Scepter of Lords. Tell him.

Tanalasta nodded. She knew of the Scepter of Lords and was dying to learn how Vangerdahast had come into possession of it, but she had only a moment longer. The sentries were calling down a running account of the ghazneth’s approach, and the thing had already grown from a mere sky speck to a winged figure with two arms and two legs.

“How will you get it to him?” Tanalasta asked.

Vangerdahast closed his eyes and said, I can’t. He tried to slip a finger under his iron crown and succeeded only in scratching a new furrow into his skin. You found me…

The sentries yelled the final alarm, then a huge hand covered Vangerdahast’s face and Tanalasta suddenly found herself sitting in the Crownsilver dining room across from Owden Foley.

The harvestmaster slipped Rowen’s holy symbol around her neck and said, “It’s Melineth Turcasson.” He uttered a quick prayer, then touched his hand to the silver sunflower now hanging on her chest. “This will protect you and the child from disease.”

Tanalasta nodded, then allowed Owden to guide her into her iron hiding place.

They were still pulling the door closed when the oak window shutters exploded into splinters and Melineth Turcasson streaked into the room. He landed atop the great banquet table, his scabrous black wings smashing into the delicate chandeliers as they brought his flight to a halt. At once, the room filled with the clatter of firing crossbows, and the astonished ghazneth sprouted a coat of iron quarrels. He roared in anger, spewing his rancid black breath across the room, and tried to spin away from the barrage.

Another tempest of clacking filled the air, and Melineth began to resemble a porcupine with wings. He dropped to his knees and began to pluck the quarrels from his body, his wounds closing as fast as he emptied them. A dozen dragoneers leaped onto the table and started to flail at the ghazneth with iron swords. Roaring, he gave up on the quarrels and whirled to defend himself.

Two men died before they could scream, their heads merely swatted from their shoulders. Another pair perished when his powerful wings sent them flying across the room and their helmets split against the stone wall. One soldier fell when Melineth snapped his neck and hurled his limp body into three of his fellows, knocking them all from the table. The last four all managed to land blows before the ghazneth killed them in a flurry of smashing elbows and snapping jaws.

Melineth turned toward Tanalasta’s hiding place. He was a powerful-looking figure with hulking shoulders, gangling arms, and a blocky, almost handsome face.

“Too clever, my dear,” he said, spewing more of his rancid breath into the air. Dragoneers began to cough and retch, filling the chamber with a vortex of loathsome sounds and smells. Melineth kicked a body off the table, then started toward Tanalasta. “Too clever by far.”

A handful of dragoneers raised their crossbows and fired, but they were coughing too violently to fire accurately. The bolts ricocheted off the walls, thumped into the shutters, and tinkled through the remains of the chandelier. Three trembling soldiers moved to block Melineth’s path. They were sweating profusely and so weak they could barely lift their halberds, much less use them.

“Time to go!” Owden hissed, starting to pull the coffin door shut.

Tanalasta stopped him. “No-we can do this.” She pointed to the three soldiers who had moved to defend her. “Give them strength.”

The ghazneth grabbed two of the men by their arms and, staring in Tanalasta’s direction, squeezed. The pair screamed in agony, and their arms withered into black, rotten sticks.

The third soldier drove the tip of his halberd through the bottom of the phantom’s jaw, pinning it closed.

Tanalasta did not even see Melineth’s leg move. The man simply flew across the room, a foot-shaped dent in the center of his breastplate and blood pouring from his mouth. The ghazneth released his other two victims and stumbled back to the edge of the banquet table, struggling to pull the halberd from his jaw.

“Now!” Tanalasta shoved the coffin open and pushed Owden into the room. “Use your magic.”

The priest raised his arms and stepped forward, calling upon Chauntea to dispel the ghazneth’s evil and strengthen Cormyr’s brave soldiers. Tanalasta followed him and snatched a halberd from the hands of a retching soldier. She was doing something she had promised her mother she would not do-risking her own life and that of her child-but the time had come to win the war or lose it. If she fled now, every soldier in southern Cormyr woul doubt her ability to stop the ghazneths. If she destroyed Melineth, no one in the kingdom would question her eventual victory.

Giving up on the halberd in his jaw, Melineth snapped the weapon off below the head and launched himself at Owden. Tanalasta stepped past the priest and tipped the weapon forward to catch the ghazneth’s charge. She did not get the butt braced before the phantom’s powerful chest struck the blade.

The impact drove her back toward her coffin, but the iron blade opened the ghazneth’s chest and sank deep into the yellow bone of his sternum. She wrapped her arms around the shaft and braced her feet on the floor. Roaring in anger, Melineth leaned forward and lashed out with his gangling arms. The princess ducked and was driven another step backward. The butt of the weapon struck her coffin and stopped.

Melineth tried to strike again, still driving forward in his fury. Tanalasta’s face erupted into stinging pain as two long claws slashed across her cheek. A tremendous crack reverberated through the dining room. The ghazneth’s chest opened before her eyes, spilling all manner of black, stinking offal onto the floor.

Melineth’s eyes widened. He tried to open his mouth to scream, but found it still pinned shut and could not. He stumbled back, dragging Tanalasta’s halberd from her hands and snorting black fume from his nostrils. He tried to pull the weapon from his chest, failed, and dropped to his knees.

The dragoneers were on him, hacking and slashing with their iron blades until the ghazneth was little more than a bloody pulp. Exhausted and trembling, Tanalasta fell back against the wall. She felt feverish and achy and queasy from her wound, but she managed to remain conscious.

A dozen war wizards rushed up with the ghazneth’s iron box, and Owden yelled, “Get him in! Bring the coins!”

Half a dozen dragoneers grabbed the ghazneth and instantly began to cough and retch. Still, they managed to pitch the ghazneth into the box before collapsing to the floor. They were quickly dragged away, and six more men stepped forward to take their place. They hacked the shaft off the halberd Tanalasta had planted into creature’s breast, then began to pour golden coins over him.

Owden took Tanalasta by the arm. “I know you feel ill…”

“I can do it.” She allowed Owden to help her to the prison box, then grabbed a handful of coins and dumped them onto Melineth’s forehead. “Melineth Turcasson, father of Queen Daverna and Lord Mayor of Suzail and the Southern Shore, as a true Obarskyr and heir to the Dragon Throne, I grant you the thing you most desire, the thing for which you betrayed your daughter and the sacred trust of your king. I grant you gold.”

The strength left Melineth all at once, and the foul blackness bubbling up from his chest became frothy red blood. The shadow lifted from his body, then his face screwed into a mask of horrid pain. He began to scream and flail about in his gold-filled coffin, flinging coins in every direction.

Then, recalling what Vangerdahast had told her only a few moments earlier, Tanalasta touched her hand to the ghazneth’s brow and spoke again. “As heir to the crown and a direct descendant of King Duar, I forgive your betrayal of Cormyr, Melineth Turcasson. I absolve you of all crimes against the crown.”

Tanalasta had hardly spoken the last word before Melineth’s flailing arms fell motionless. His eyes rolled up to meet hers. She thought for a moment that he would speak, but his eyes merely filled with black fume and dissolved into nothingness.