Beyond the High Road c-2

by Troy Denning

  Tanalasta’s jaw fell, and not only because she was not accustomed to having the affairs of her heart discussed in such a manner. “Now we are cutting to the core of the matter, I think.” She followed her sister down to the stream bank. “Are you really so frightened of me finding a man that you would subject your company to another tenday of fever just to keep us apart?”

  “If you’re talking about Rowen Cormaeril, I wouldn’t need to bother!” Alusair retorted. Her men quickly began to finish filling their waterskins and retreat onto the shore, where they stood staring at their feet or gazing into the woods. The princess ignored them and continued to address Tanalasta. “Vangerdahast won’t let that little dalliance go any further than it has already.”

  “It is not a dalliance!” Tanalasta spat. A wave of cold anger rose up inside her, and she decided the time had come to let Alusair know there were two stubborn princesses in the Obarskyr line. “Vangerdahast can’t do a damn thing about it.”

  Alusair’s lip rose. “Has the fever consumed your wits? If you keep pushing this, Vangerdahast will see to it that Rowen Cormaeril spends more time in Anauroch than a Bedine camel-milker.”

  “Vangerdahast no longer has that authority,” said Tanalasta. “At least not over Rowen.”

  “What are you talking about? Formal or not, Vangerdahast has that authority over everyone in Cormyr-except maybe the royal family.”

  “Exactly.” Tanalasta took a deep breath, then said, “I suppose the time has come to tell you.”

  “Tell me what?” Alusair narrowed her eyes. “What did you do?”

  “Come now, Alusair. Aren’t you the worldly one?” Not quite able to keep a smug smile off her face, Tanalasta turned to Alusair’s men. “Let it be known that the princess has married. Rowen Cormaeril is now a Husband Royal.” Alusair stepped in front of Tanalasta. “You may disregard my sister-and I’m sure you’re all wise enough to know what will happen if her words are ever repeated.”

  The men shut their gaping mouths and looked more uncomfortable than ever. Alusair eyed them a moment longer, then spun on her sister.

  “And you!” she demanded. “Eloping? With a Cormaeril? That marriage will last until about thirty seconds after Father hears of it-and then it will be too bad for poor Rowen. He doesn’t deserve to be banished.”

  “And he won’t,” said Tanalasta. “Not unless the king cares to inflict the same punishment on me-and that’s what it would take. I won’t renounce Rowen. I’m in love with him.”

  “Love?” Alusair’s face reddened with fear. “You’re the crown princess, you selfish witch! Think of the kingdom!”

  “Selfish?” An unexpected calm came over Tanalasta, and she spoke to her sister in a composed-even serene-voice. “Alusair, you really aren’t the one to be calling others selfish. The fear in your face is plain to see. Would you really sacrifice my happiness so you can keep gallivanting around the Stonelands and sleeping with any young noble who happens to catch your eye?”

  The alarm drained quickly from Alusair’s face. She managed an unexpected smile, then spoke in a softer voice. “Of course not. People expect that from me. I wouldn’t have to stop.” She slammed the toe of her boot into a horse apple, kicking it into the stream. “What scares me is that I won’t be any good. You’d make a far better queen.”

  “If that were true, why would you be trying to keep me away from Rowen? Wouldn’t you trust me to do what is right for myself-and Cormyr?”

  “It’s not Rowen,”Alusair said, meeting her sister’s gaze. “I’ve had a go at him myself-“

  “Alusair!”

  Alusair raised a silencing hand. “I know-he’s spoken for. All I’m saying is, he’s a fine fellow-but, Tanalasta, the politics of the thing. His cousin tried to overthrow the king, for heaven’s sake.”

  “Don’t you think I know the politics?”

  “Sure, if they’re in a book somewhere, but…” Alusair shrugged and let the sentence trail off. “Look, all I’m saying is I’m not going to be queen. If you can work this out with Vangerdahast and the king, I’m happy.”

  “But you won’t help me.”

  Alusair spread her hands in a gesture of helplessness, then took Tanalasta’s waterskin and kneeled down to fill it from the stream.

  “Fine.”

  Tanalasta was about to remark that Alusair would have to live with the consequences when an image of Alaphondar Emmarask appeared in her head. The old sage was staring downward and huffing for breath, and Tanalasta had the distinct impression he was frightened silly. The words of a sending began to hiss through her mind.

  Tanalasta, open no doors! Ghazneths are scourges. Devil making himself Vangerdahast and Owden inside, everyone else dead. Wait, or jump into marsh! Answer, please, please…

  “Tanalasta?”

  Now it was Alusair’s voice, and Tanalasta felt her sister holding her arm. She motioned Alusair to wait, then concentrated on Alaphondar’s voice and sent her reply.

  Alaphondar, safe with Alusair in mountains, two days from marsh. Understand ghazneths are scourges. Know four names: Suzara, Boldovar, Merendil, Melineth. Xanthon Cormaeril released them.

  “Tanalasta!”Alusair was not quite shaking her sister. “What is it?”

  “I think we’d better risk a few curing spells,” said Tanalasta. “That was a sending from Alaphondar.”

  “What?”

  “He seems to be at the Farsea Marsh with Vangerdahast and Owden Foley.” Tanalasta quickly repeated the message, then said, “He seemed to think Alaundo’s prophecy is coming to pass. You know, ‘Seven scourges…’”

  “‘Five long gone, one of the day, and one soon to come,’” Alusair finished. “Of course I know. I looked it up as soon as I heard we were looking for Emperel.”

  “We should inform the king,” Tanalasta said, closing her weathercloak’s throat clasp. “You’d better ready the men. It sounded like all the ghazneths were busy with Vangerdahast, but we’d better not take a chance.”

  Alusair nodded and turned to start barking out orders, then paused and looked back to Tanalasta. “See what he wants me to do. My company can probably follow Vangerdahast’s trail and reach the marsh in two days. That may be the best anyone can do.”

  “I’ll ask.”

  Tanalasta took a moment to compose as succinct and complete a message as she could in a few words, then closed her eyes and pictured her father’s face. When the image suddenly pulled off its crown and looked to one side, she sent her message.

  Father, Alaphondar reports seven scourges here. Vangerdahast’s company destroyed at Farsea Marsh, Vangey and Owden alive. Alusair and I two days away, going to aid.

  The king’s face betrayed first his relief at hearing his daughters were alive, then his shock at the unthinkable news. He shook his head urgently.

  No, can’t risk crown princess. War wizards and dragoneers will find battlefield soon enough. Return to Arabel at once. Your mother safe but shaken.

  The image faded, and Tanalasta found herself staring at her own feet.

  “Well?” Alusair demanded.

  Tanalasta ignored her, pretending she was still in contact with the king, and took a moment to plan out her next few actions. Alusair came and stood beside her impatiently.

  Tanalasta looked up. “He says mother is safe but shaken.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Tanalasta shrugged. “He seemed to think we would know.”

  Alusair considered this a moment, then shook her head helplessly. “Well, I suppose that’s good news. What were his orders for me?”

  Tanalasta answered quickly, not giving herself time to reconsider ” ‘The realm can’t afford to be without Vangerdahast and Alaphondar at this time of crisis.’ ” It was more of an opinion than a lie. ” ‘You must do what you can to save them.’ “

  Alusair closed her eyes for a moment, then nodded and looked to her sister. “And what am I to do with you?”

  Tanalasta spread her hands helplessly. “Take me al
ong, I suppose. He didn’t have time to say.”

  20

  The chamber was darker than a grave and so thick with orc stench it sickened Vangerdahast to breathe. Tangles of snakes slithered across the floor in wet, hissing snarls, while clouds of droning insects hovered just beyond the light, kept at bay by some magic Owden had worked. The corpses of charred swiners lay strewn along the walls, shrouded under blankets of clicking beetles and humming flies. Ribbons of yellow fume swirled through the air, hot, acrid, and moist with the smell of the swamp.

  When no more orcs presented themselves for execution, Vangerdahast fluttered his arms and led the way slowly forward. The darkness of the place seemed to compress the light around his glowing wand, squeezing what would normally be a twenty-foot sphere into a misshapen egg barely a quarter that size. A low, constant groan rumbled through the keep, as though the unnatural radiance were an affront to the building itself. The terrible heat made Vangerdahast sweat heavily, and a steady stream of perspiration dribbled from his old brow to the floor. The snakes hissed and struck at the salty beads.

  As they drew nearer to the doorway, Vangerdahast saw that the lintel and hinge post were rotting apart, while the surrounding walls were covered with the ashen residue of some foul-smelling fungus. The door itself hung open into the next room, dangling by the tattered remnant of a single leather hinge. Vangerdahast motioned for Owden to be ready, then floated through the doorway.

  He found himself in the corner of a narrow corridor, one branch turning left toward a marble stairwell and the other leading straight ahead toward a closed door. The walls were coated with the same white moss he had seen in the blighted fields of northern Cormyr. A steady flow of sweltering yellow fume poured down the stairs to swirl around the corner and disappear down the dark hall, and the air was even warmer and more fetid than in the previous room.

  Vangerdahast drifted down the passage and tried the door. The latch came off in his hand, tearing a gaping hole in the rotten wood. Brown scorpions began to swarm through the cavity and drop onto the floor.

  Vangerdahast discarded the latch. “Perhaps we’ll try upstairs first.”

  “It would seem more likely,” agreed Owden.

  Neither of them mentioned the obvious fate of anyone trapped in a room full of scorpions. The royal magician drifted around the corner into the stairwell. It was cramped and narrow and just as slime-caked as the keep’s lower level, and so filled with hot fume that Vangerdahast heard Owden gag on its rotten smell. The wizard covered his own mouth and floated up the stairs without breathing. Even then the stench made him feverish and dizzy.

  As Vangerdahast neared the top, a pair of crude arrows hissed out of the darkness to ricochet off his magic shielding and thud into the moldy walls. A guttural voice barked a command, and bone-tipped spears began to poke their way through a dozen fungus-choked murder holes hidden along the inner wall. Though the points snapped off against the wizard’s weathercloak, the attacks did threaten to shove him into the stairwell wall and drain his magic.

  Vangerdahast touched his wand to the nearest spear and sent a fork of lightning crackling into the murder hole. The thunderbolt ricocheted down the ambush passage, filling the stairwell with blue flashes and muffled squeals as it danced from orc to orc. The air grew thick with a smell like scorched bacon, and the offending spears clattered harmlessly out of sight. If any swiners survived the wizard’s reprisal, they were wise enough to fall silent and conceal the fact.

  “Watch above!” Owden cried.

  Vangerdahast looked up to find the last two swiners leaping down the stairs into the light. He kicked himself closer to the ceiling and let them stumble past below, dispatching one with a quick dip of his wand. The other fell to a crushing blow from Owden’s iron-flanged mace.

  “This seems a little more promising,” said Vangerdahast. “At least they’re trying to stop us.”

  He led the way upstairs and found himself in a large chamber, floating above a square table strewn with moldering drawfish, eels, and whatever else the orcs could dredge from the swamp. The place hummed with the sound of untold insects, giving rise to a maddening din that made Vangerdahast’s head throb. The radius of his light spell was too small to illuminate all the walls, but next to the stairwell, the iron door of a small cell hung open. Motioning Owden up behind him, the royal magician floated over to inspect the interior.

  Along one side lay a straw sleeping pallet and a dozen miscellaneous rings, chalices, and weapons. Though all were of exquisite craftsmanship, their condition was now dull and lusterless. Opposite the sleeping pallet, the acrid smoke of charred flesh was wafting out of a small trap door opening down into the ambush passage. The far wall of the tiny chamber was occupied by the splayed recess of an arrow loop, through which Vangerdahast could see the company horses beginning their mad charge into the astonished orc horde out in the marsh. The ghazneths were nowhere in sight.

  Vangerdahast backed out of the door and inspected the rest of the room. On the two flanking walls, they found four more open cells, each with a sleeping pallet and an assortment of leaden treasures that had once been enchanted with magic. At the opposite end, only one of the iron doors hung ajar. The other was closed fast. The royal magician readied a web spell, then gestured for Owden to open the closed door.

  Owden pushed the latch, and it did not budge. He tried pulling. The door still did not open, but a muffled clatter sounded inside the cell.

  “Tanalasta?” Vangerdahast could barely hear his voice over the sound of his drumming heart. “It’s Vangerdahast.”

  Owden glowered, then turned back to the door. “And Owden.”

  There was no reply. The two men exchanged worried glances.

  “Tanalasta, we must open this door,” said Vangerdahast. “If you’re unable to answer, give the royal knock. Otherwise, I fear Owden may be somewhat overanxious.”

  “I can answer.” The voice was somewhat lower and rougher than Tanalasta’s.

  Vangerdahast narrowed his eyes and whispered, “That doesn’t sound like her.”

  Before Owden could reply, Tanalasta answered, “And I doubt Owden is the overanxious one.”

  Owden shot Vangerdahast a smug smile. “That’s her!”

  Vangerdahast scowled, then motioned for the priest to wait above the door with his mace. “Better to be safe.”

  “So it will look like I’m the suspicious one?” Owden shook his head. “She has been their captive for how long? Of course she sounds a little hoarse.”

  Vangerdahast continued to point toward the ceiling. “It is no insult to be cautious.”

  Owden rolled his eyes and reluctantly floated up to hover above the door. Vangerdahast pointed at the latch, then uttered a single magic word. The door creaked open, but Tanalasta did not emerge.

  “Tanalasta?” Owden called, negating any possible surprise bestowed by his position. “Come along-we don’t have much time.”

  “No.”

  “What?” Owden dropped down from the ceiling and started to push the door open Vangerdahast caught him by the arm and pulled him back. “Princess? Is something wrong?”

  “I don’t want you to see me like this,” came the reply.

  “You can’t help me, so leave me alone. I command it.”

  “You know I can’t do that.”

  Vangerdahast pushed the door open and saw a dark figure crouching in the darkness, staring up at him with red-tinged eyes and a slender face framed by a cascade of jet-black hair. So harsh were the features-the sharp cheeks, the dagger-blade nose, the beestung mouth-that it took the wizard a moment to recognize them as Tanalasta’s. Even then, he could not help bringing his wand up between them.

  The princess spun away, revealing a pair of small, fanlike wings running alongside her spine. “I warned you! Now leave me to the fate I deserve.”

  Owden was far faster to recover than Vangerdahast. He pushed the wand aside and floated into the cell.

  “You don’t deserve this.” The priest
spread his arms and reached to embrace the princess. “What makes you think that?”

  “Don’t touch me!”

  Tanalasta leaped away as quickly as a striking snake, then was suddenly squatting in the arrow loop at the back of her cell, naked, trembling, and glaring at them with wild red eyes. Her figure was a gaunt, heinous mockery of the one Vangerdahast had glimpsed at Orc’s Pool, and he could not help feeling sick. She crossed her arms in front of herself and looked down.

  “If you touch me, I’ll absorb your enchantments.” She pointed her chin at the slithering floor. “You know what will happen then.”

  “Yes, we do.” Vangerdahast started to unclasp his weathercloak, then recalled what would become of all the magic stored in its pockets and thought better of it.

  “We can’t leave you here. Come what may, you’re coming with us.”

  He jerked the weathercloak off Owden’s shoulders and held it out for the princess, but she made no move to accept it.

  “Tanalasta Obarskyr! I did not lose an entire company of the king’s soldiers to let you become a ghazneth.”

  Vangerdahast threw the cloak at her. “Now put that on and come along. Whatever becomes of you, it will become of you in Cormyr-even if I must teleport you back to Arabel in a web.”

  Tanalasta’s eyes flared red. “I doubt you are that fast, old man.” Despite her words, she slipped the cloak over her nakedness and closed the throat clasp. The sheen immediately faded from the brass clasp, and she stepped down to the floor. The insects and snakes paid her little attention, save to scurry aside or slither across her bare foot. “Lead on, Snoop.”

  So relieved was the royal magician to have Tanalasta back-in any condition-that he would have liked to grab her and teleport back to Arabel that instant. Attempting such a thing from inside the keep did not seem wise, however. Given the building’s magic-absorbing nature, they might well end up trapped inside its walls. Vangerdahast returned to the main room and floated up toward the murky ceiling.