"That we're thinking of importing some new sort of shingles from—from Alaghon, and had to see if the barracks roofs would ever be a market for us," his partner Surth hissed. "If you shut up for once, perhaps they won't find us here!"
They both froze, there on the roof of the largest Purple Dragon barracks in Marsember, as at least a dozen dragons—each larger than any barracks, and far more impressive—swooped past, in a mighty hurry to get to somewhere in the city!
The great wyrms passed over the barracks so low that Malakar Surth, the taller of the two swindlers, could almost have touched one of those vast and scaled underbellies by standing tall and leaping upward.
He chose not to do so. It seemed more sensible to faint instead.
Twenty-Two
A LITTLE VICTORY
Sometimes, all you can do is take what little victory you can.
Sorbraun Swordmantle
Seventy Summers A Purple Dragon:
One Loyal Warrior's Tale
Year of the Prince
"Stand easy," Laspeera murmured. "Whatever happens, we've War Wizards enough to keep you both safe."
Filfaeril and Alusair gave her identical sighs. "Speera, it's not that," the Steel Regent exclaimed, armor gleaming. "It's how many loyal folk this will cost us—and how many noble families who lose their young hotheads here will turn against us. When will Cormyr stop bleeding?"
"Here they come," Caladnei muttered, stepping back, as many men stalked into the dimly lit hall, drawn swords glittering in the light of her conjured light.
"Hail, Ladies Obarskyr," one of them called in a grand and cultured voice. "Your attendance—even with so many of your mages—gratifies us. We desire to discuss the future of our fair real—"
The noble staggered forward to fall on his face with a cough and lie still, sword ringing on the tiles. His fellows whirled around with shouts of anger.
Many men in robes were fading into visibility out of empty air—Thayans! Harnrim Starangh glared coldly around Thundae-rlyn Hall and commanded his fellow Red Wizards, "Kill them all—yon women first. Let no one leave alive!"
* * * * *
Bezrar and Surth came back to Marsember at about the same time, with damp and misty air singing past their ears as a grand rooftop—all spires and skylights—rushed up to meet them. They were . . . oh, gods ... in the grip of great talons.
Talons that were attached to a huge and iridescent silver-blue dragon. Turquoise eyes burned into theirs with force enough to keep them blinkingly, tremblingly awake. When both Surth and Bezrar would quite happily have fainted again great jaws hissed in a soft thunder, "Open those skylights so we can see and hear who's within. I've no desire to provoke all the War Wizards and whatever other mages happen to be in Marsember by tearing apart a few buildings at random and slaughtering folk heedlessly."
"B-b-but—" Bezrar managed to splutter.
"However," Joysil told him, "I can make a few exceptions when it comes to slaughtering if you provoke me. Yes, this is the roof of Thundaerlyn Hall, and yes, I'm a dragon, just as you are Aumun Tholant Bezrar and you are Malakar Surth. Get those open!"
The two smugglers leaped to the panes with frantic eagerness, fumbling at catches that hadn't been oiled or thrown open in decades—decades of sea-mists and incontinent birds and nesting fowl that . . . that. . .
"Oh, gods!" Surth hissed, his fingers trembling helplessly. "We'll never—"
Beside him, Bezrar drew his longknife, puffing like a walrus and sweating a river, and brought its pommel down firmly through the dirty pane in front of him.
There was a shout from within, and a roaring gout of flame burst up out of the shattered skylight. A dragon banked sharply overhead, thrust out its neck, and breathed something back.
Bezrar emitted a sort of frightened mew as he tumbled over backward. Spells were bursting out of skylights up and down the roof now, shards of glass tumbling in all directions, and dragons were diving down and breathing death of their own.
It was, yes, a luminescent time to faint, Bezrar and Surth decided in unison—and did so.
* * * * *
Caladnei and Laspeera did nothing but hold up shimmering shielding-spells around Alusair and Filfaeril as they all rushed together to the east end of the hall—which saved them, even as Red Wizards by the dozens vanished in dragon-spew.
The very floor-tiles of the central open hall exploded, heaved, and melted where the full fury of dragon-magic struck, and the roof started to come down in great crashing chunks.
The two highest-ranking War Wizards reeled, moaning in pain and clutching their heads, as their shieldings were torn asunder. Somewhere down there, the Obarskyrs were on their own, now . . .
Doors burst open in the darkness all over the hall as Rhauligan and the other Highknights decided that with War Wizards screaming and fainting and igniting like torches all around them they might already be too late to rush forth and perform a rescue.
The Red Wizards Starangh had been able to assemble were the youngest and most ambitious Thayans handy in Sembia, but they neither trusted each other nor had much experience in working carefully together in spell-battle ... so in the flashing, bursting confusion of swooping dragons and men running about with swords, they soon started hurling death at anyone and everyone they saw, including each other.
Harnrim Darkspells looked around from a high balcony in disbelief as War Wizards and his fellow Thayans hurled spells, chairs, and knives at each other with equally blind fury. This was a swiftly unfolding disaster! He had to—
Something made him duck and turn, and the point of Rhau-ligan's thrusting blade flashed harmlessly past his arm. With a curse, Starangh teleported away, leaving the Highknight slashing empty air and airing a few curses of his own.
Down below, terrified nobles were swording everyone in their haste to escape what they correctly saw as a deathtrap. The ring and clang of sword-steel rose deafeningly in the hall.
Rhauligan whirled around and raced down the nearest stair. He had to get to Alusair and Filfaeril and keep them safe, whatever happened.
* * * * *
"Get down, Mother!" Alusair snarled, hacking a man to the floor viciously and stamping on his throat. "That gown won't stop a child's knife! I've got to set aside having to defend and worry about you! Too many of these dogs are getting away!"
"Look—unnh!—to your own back, dear!" Filfaeril called, whirling her overgown around a man's head and rushing past him to drag him off-balance. Wildly slashing nothing, he went down, and she leaped in to land knees-together on his chest, and drive her little jeweled dagger into a face she couldn't see. "I'm Cormyr's past, daughter—you're its future!"
Alusair laughed bitterly as two swords reached for her. "Yes, but for how long?"
* * * * *
"Gala, we've got to get back to Luse and Fee," Laspeera panted. "They'll get butchered!"
"If we don't drive off these dragons," the Mage Royal of Cormyr spat back, "we'll all wind up fried, crushed, and entombed before six-toll!"
"They're drawing off!" Laspeera gasped, pointing. "Look! They're flying away!"
* * * * *
"ENOUGH!" Joysil roared, in a voice that shook every spire in Marsember. "We can do no more without destroying every human down there! Come—to the sanctum!"
'To the dragonbinder!" dragon voices thundered in chorus, and wings flapped and wheeled in the sky.
* * * * *