Beyond the High Road (11 page)

“Yes, Azoun,” said Filfaeril, offering the canapé platter to Marliir and the others. “What will you do then?”

Azoun glanced around the little group and saw that despite the concessions he had made already, he would find no help from them. Tanalasta had returned from Huthduth stronger and full of her own ideas, and that scared them far more than the possibility of someone like Aunadar Bleth ruling from the shadow of her skirts. It scared him, too.

“While I am king, I’ll rule the way I think best-and that includes choosing a fit heir,” he said, waving off the canapés “Once I have chosen, it will be up to Cormyr to live with her queen.”

Filfaeril smiled, then thrust the platter into the Lady Kraliqh’s astonished hands. “Will you have someone take these away?” she said. “The king hates minted liverpaste.”

A searing wind full of grit and ash howled south out of the Stonelands, rolling up the northern face of the Storm Horns in throat-scorching clouds as thick as fog. Through the haze came the distant clang of sword-on-sword and voices cursing in guttural Orcish and civilized Common. Tanalasta could sometimes glimpse small gray figures scurrying about hacking and slashing at one another. She recognized the stooped postures of orcs pressing the attack and the more upright forms of men defending an egg-shaped ring of blocky shapes that could only be wagons.

The orcs had caught the caravan at the edge of the plain, where the Stonebolt Trail descended out of the mountains to start across the empty barrens toward Shadowdale. The location was a favorite place for such raids, as it was where the hot wind sweeping south out of the distant Anauroch Desert crashed into the Storm Horn Mountains and dropped its load of airborne sand. The result was a mile-wide band of boulder-strewn sandlands that slowed wagon travel to a crawl.

“A largely band of swiners,” observed Vangerdahast.

“Aye,” agreed Ryban Winter. A rugged-faced man of about Tanalasta’s age, Ryban was the lionar of her Purple Dragon bodyguard. He spit a mouthful of grit onto the ground, then added, “Though this stonemurk makes it hard to be certain.”

“There are at least two hundred of them,” Vangerdahast said. He pointed at the ring of wagons, the presence of which was the only visible indication of the Stonebolt Trail’s existence. “That is no small caravan. The orcs wouldn’t have attacked unless they outnumbered the guards.”

“Then the caravan must need help.” Tanalasta turned to the royal magician and added, “Are we going to do something? Or is this just another of your ruses, Vangerdahast?”

“What could I hope to gain by something like this?” Vangerdahast cast her a menacing glance, then turned to Ryban. “Take the princess and go around. I’ll scare the swiners off and join you in an hour.”

“Scare them off?” Tanalasta asked. “And let them attack some other caravan? I think not. We’ll destroy that orc band now-before it gets to be an army.”

Vangerdahast scowled. “That is easier for a princess to say than a wizard to do. Even I can’t kill that many orcs without getting the caravaneers, too.”

“You don’t have to,” said Tanalasta. “We have twenty-five Purple Dragons with us. Lionar Ryban will stay here on the mountain with twenty men while we ride around behind the orcs and drive them up the hill away from the caravan.”

Ryban looked doubtful. “Two hundred against twenty? In this murk?”

“The murk will be to your advantage. The orcs won’t know how many of you there are,” Tanalasta said. “You need only slow them long enough for Vangey to come up from behind, then you’ll want to ride fast and furious anyway. I really don’t see you sticking around to fire more than a volley or two of arrows.”

Ryban raised his brow and turned to Vangerdahast. “No,” said the wizard. “Too much can go wrong. We can’t take the risk-not with the princess here.”

A cry arose from the battlefield, and Tanalasta glimpsed a dozen orc silhouettes pushing a caravan dray onto its side. A trio of men jumped out from behind the toppled wagon and laid into their foes with sword and spell, then the scene vanished into the stonemurk.

“Would Alusair settle for just scaring them off?” Tanalasta asked.

“You are not Alusair.”

“And I am no longer the crown princess,” Tanalasta said, prompting a startled look from Ryban. “We could talk all day about what I am not, but that will not stop those orcs.” She turned to the lionar and held out her arm. “Give me a sword.”

Vangerdahast caught hold of her wrist. “The king did not say he had made a final decision. I’m sure he is eager to reconsider, if you’ll only accommodate some of his views.”

“Would those accommodations include relinquishing the Royal Temple?”

Vangerdahast nodded. “Of course, but the king has made it clear you must choose a husband of your own liking.”

“How very kind of the king, but I think we can take his decision as final. Unless he is willing to accommodate my views, I won’t be assuming the crown.” Tanalasta turned to Ryban, wondering if she were speaking too quickly. Her vision had foretold specifically only the consequences of marrying badly, but she felt now that it concerned her ability to stand behind all of her decisions. “You may give me that sword, lionar. Alusair is the one who will be needing special protection now.”

Ryban glanced at Vangerdahast.

“Why are you looking at him, Ryban?” Tanalasta demanded. “I am the royal here. You answer to me-as does Vangerdahast, when it suits him to recall it.”

Ryban clenched his jaw at the rebuke, but drew his sword from its scabbard. “As you command.”

He laid the blade across his forearm and offered the hilt to her. Tanalasta leaned across the space between their horses and took the heavy weapon from his hand, then traced a quick guarding pattern in the air. The balance was not quite as refined as the epees she used in the palace’s gymnasium, but it was a well-made officer’s blade that would serve her nicely.

When Ryban raised his brow, the princess laughed and said, “Don’t look so surprised, lionar. I may not be Alusair, but I am an Obarskyr. I’ve been fencing since I could stand.”

Ryban’s astonishment changed to concern. “This will be a little different, milady. Have you ever fought orcs before?”

“Not unless you count Aunadar Bleth.” Tanalasta chuckled at the lionar’s uncomfortable expression, then said, “Perhaps you care to offer a few suggestions.”

“That would be a waste of time,” growled Vangerdahast. He guided his horse around so that he was facing Tanalasta, then plucked the sword from her hand and returned it to Ryban. “She won’t be needing this.”

Tanalasta fixed him with her most commanding glare. “Then the king has changed his mind about the royal temple?”

“I doubt that very much, but if you insist on doing this, I won’t have you risking the lives of good men with this nonsense about swinging a sword yourself.” The wizard angled a gnarled finger down across the hillside, to where a high outcropping of granite overlooked the west side of the battlefield, and said, “You will wait down there with five of Ryban’s best men. if an orc comes within a hundred paces of you, the dragoneers will take you-by force, if necessary-and flee westward at a full gallop. Do you understand?”

Tanalasta bristled at Vangerdahast’s tone, but one glimpse of the relief in Ryban’s eyes confirmed that the lionar shared the wizard’s concerns. Silently, she thanked the goddess for sparing her what she felt certain would have been more adventure than she really wanted. Though Tanalasta was determined to play the reckless princess and force Vangerdahast’s hand, she was also smart enough to realize that ten-to-one odds might be a bit ambitious for her first battle-even with the royal magician along to even things out.

Putting on a defiant air, Tanalasta turned to the lionar. “Is that your recommendation as well, Lionar?”

“It is,” he said. “No offense to your fencing skill, Princess, but swiners don’t play by the rules. Your presence would be a burden on us all.”

Tanalasta let her shoulders slump. “Very well.” Her disappointment was not entirely feigned, for she had often envied the marvelous combat tales her younger sister brought home from each journey into the Stonelands. “You may send two men to accompany me. If I am not to take part in the fighting, you will have greater need of the extra swords than I.”

Vangerdahast scowled at this reduction of guards, but reluctantly held his tongue and nodded toward her saddlebags. “You have the rod and bracers I gave you?” he asked. “And the rings as well?”

Tanalasta put her hand into her cloak pocket and found the rings in their special pouches, then slipped them on.

“Don’t worry. I’ll take every precaution.” She waved her fingers to display the rings. “I wouldn’t want anyone to trouble themselves about me. In fact, I can even recall that spell you taught me to keep bears at bay.”

Vangerdahast looked surprised. “And it is prepared to use?”

“If I must.” Tanalasta ran her hands through the necessary gestures. “You see? Our time together wasn’t altogether wasted.”

“Life never ceases to be a wonder-even at my age.” Vangerdahast shook his head in amazement. “Perhaps we’ll make a war wizard of you yet, if you remain determined not to be queen.”

With that, the royal magician turned his horse away and galloped off to circle around behind the battle. Ryban quickly sent three Purple Dragons along to offer hand-to-hand support, then assigned a pair of riders to escort Tanalasta.

Tanalasta and her companions dismounted and led their horses across the slope on foot. The foothills were as barren as the sandlands below, save that the ground here was as jagged and rocky as the heart of the Stonelands, and any orc who happened to glance up at a clear moment would see a trio of riders crossing the hillside. Proceeding on foot hardly guaranteed that this would not happen, but at least they would be harder to notice with a lower profile. The princess did not worry at all about the clatter their horses made on the rocky ground. Even she could barely hear it above all the clanging and shouting below.

As Tanalasta approached her assigned station, the stonemurk grew steadily thinner, and she realized Vangerdahast had not chosen her post solely to keep her out of harm’s way. While the outcropping dropped away in a sheer cliff on its three downhill sides, it was also close enough to the fighting to offer a good view of the battle. She guessed there were close to two hundred and fifty stoop-backed figures trying to clamber over an irregular oval of toppled and burning wagons. Inside this defensive barrier stood no more than fifty caravan guards, hacking at their attackers with swords, axes, and the occasional lightning bolt or flame tongue, struggling to defend a small knot of women, children, and cursing merchants huddled together in the center of the circle.

Several women and most of the merchants were clutching wooden spears, ready to charge any swiners that broke through the guards’ perimeter. Judging by the number of bodies both human and orc that lay scattered across the tiny circle, they had been called upon several times already. The princess saw no signs of dray beasts. The creatures had either been cut free or dragged away by the orcs.

The trio tethered their horses out of sight behind the rim of the cliff. Tanalasta opened her saddlebags, slipped her bracers onto her wrists, and grabbed her little black baton, then led the way forward on hands and knees. Though she had never had occasion to use either the bracers or the baton before, she had practiced with them a few times and knew how to use their magic. She considered it a testament to the danger of the Stonelands that before leaving Arabel, Vangerdahast had made a point of requisitioning so much magic for her from the armory of the Purple Dragons. When he had dropped her off in Huthduth, he had given her nothing more than a magic dagger-no doubt because he had expected her to contact him within a tenday and demand to be instantly teleported home. Only the determination to prove him wrong had given her the strength to abide that first month of boredom, before she had discovered the joy of hard, honest work.

The princess reached the rim of the cliff to find a stream of orcs pouring between two toppled wagons, stampeding over the fallen bodies of four burly caravan guards. A quavering battle yell rose from the women and merchants huddled together in the center of the circle, and they edged forward to meet their foes.

Tanalasta fingered her signet ring, then pictured the royal magician’s face inside her mind. “Vangerdahast?”

He came into view, a faint gray silhouette two hundred paces beyond the caravan, rising from behind a sandy ridge, swinging a wooden staff over his head and flinging a ball of fire into the air. The sphere arced over the wagons and crashed down in the heart of the orcs’ charge, licking out around their crooked legs and curling skyward in a flash of scarlet. The swiners disintegrated into columns of sooty black smoke and writhing heaps of ash, and on the wind came the anguished squeals of the dying.

A trio of blackened swiners stumbled from the conflagration haloed in fumes and flame. A swarm of women and merchants were on them instantly, thrusting and jabbing with their spears until the orcs collapsed in burning heaps.

Yes? Vangerdahast’s voice came to Tanalasta inside her head. I’m rather busy now, if it isn’t important.

The wizard leveled his staff, and half a dozen forks of lightning struck down a mob of orcs trying to overturn a heavy wagon. On the opposite side of the circle, Tanalasta noticed another throng about to overpower a trio of weary caravan guards.

Trouble on the righter, your left. Tanalasta spoke the words within her head. About half way down. I can see everything from up here.

Of course. Did you think I only meant to rob you of the fun?

Vangerdahast thrust his staff into its saddle holster, then pulled something from the sleeve pocket of his robe and flicked his fingers in the indicated direction. A yellowish mist appeared over the orc throng and settled groundward. Any warrior touched by the haze let the weapon slip from his grasp and collapsed in an unmoving heap. For the sake of the caravan guards, Tanalasta hoped the cloud had been sleep magic and not a death spell.