Either the halls were going to be crowded wirh angry, wand-waving Wizards of War in the next few breaths, or the Royal Magician was to blame, and evetything would remain still and tensely silent until morning.
Well, not this time. She could find and pull on her boots by feel, if her eyes didn't stop streaming, and probably find her way to the Palace, too.
She had to reach the Princess Alusair. That blinding flash had thrust a vision into her mind, fleeting and vivid and tluining alarming: Knights of Myth Drannor, fighting hard against some unknown foes in a deep, wild forest somewhere, with Dauntless- Alusair's champion, that Dauntless-fighting alongside them.
Now, the Royal Magician was… the Royal Magician. Very much a law unto himself, who said and did as he pleased and somehow seemed to escape consequences that would kill-not merely discomfit or career-shatter-others. She, Tsantress, was not the Royal Magician and would be before-all-the-gods damned if she behaved anything like the Royal tluining Magician.
She kept her word, once given. And she'd sworn to the Princess Alusair-an Obarskyr who just might end up on the Dragon Throne if bad things befell her family-that she'd inform the princess immediately if Vangerdahast ordered Ornrion Taltar Dahauntul into danger again.
Which meant the moment she had her boots on and had found and buckled her wand belt on over her nightgown, she was going to hurry to the tunnel that linked the Royal Court with the Royal Palace just as fast as she could sttide.
Then, blindness or no blindness, royal slumber or no royal slumber, she was getting to the Princess Alusair just as fast as she could, spitting out the pass phrase that meant doom was coming down on Cormyr, so the guards barring her way at door after guarded door would be frightened as they hurried to fling open their doors for her.
Because if Dauntless died because of Vangerdahast's orders, and the Princess Alusair found out about it, doom would be coming down on Cormyr.
Chapter 24
Anger a wizard and die Aye, I have learned a thing or three Thus far in a life well heaped in deceit And treachery. There's keeping pacts And knowing when to run And this: Anger a wizard, and die.
I've never seen a skeleton like that before!" the Harper said. "Keep back!"
"I've never seen a skeleton like that before, either," Dauntless said. "But never mind that. Look you past it at the creeping things!"
"Hargaunts," Dalonder Ree said, as he, Dauntless, and Florin backed away from Brorn and tried to peer past the sword-wielding skeleton. "They're called hargaunts."
"That's nice," Dauntless said. "It's always the height of urbane courtesy to know the name of what's trying to kill you."
Beyond the advancing skeleton, the hacked-apart pieces of hatgaunts were flowing together like worms mindlessly converging on something dead and beginning to rise up into a vaguely humanlike figure.
"Saers!" Florin called to Dauntless and the Harper as he stepped to the left and waved at them to move to the right. He was motioning them to move so the three of them could strike at the skeleton from its front and from both of its sides, all at once. Ree and the ornrion nodded back and moved as the ranger had directed.
"Tluin," the skeleton said.
He felt much better with the shielding around him.
Two wardings and a lesser ironguard woven into the result, to turn back most magics and make him untouchable by the swords and daggers of Knights of Myth Drannor-or anyone else, unless those blades bore strong magics.
Yet there was room for something more. A simple deception for simple adventurers. He'd not face the Knights as Onsler Ruldroun or as some crone in a dirty dress-but as the ornrion Dauntless, in the shreds of a failed disguise, out here stalking them under Crown orders.
That, they'd believe in a trice. Letting him walk among them, rather than spending his days skulking out in forests, straining to get close enough without being noticed.
The hargaunt was alteady stirring approvingly, even before he really concentrated on the remembered face of-the ornrion.
A few moments of creeping and flowing, and he'd be hurrying on again to the battle.
The Lion Room was warm and richly paneled, and the firesparkle in their goblets was good. They were almost past the sneering and elbowing each other stage, carried along on their own rising excitement into being fellow conspirators. And that was saying something, considering how fervently these young noble rivals had hated each other before this night.
Royal Sage Alaphondar knew how to defer to nobility. He knew their strengths and had praised them, saying nothing of their pride and pratfalls and indiscretions. Wherefore Lharak Huntcrown, Doront Rowanmantle, Beliard Emmarask, Cadeln Hawklin, Faerandor Crownsilver, Garen Truesilver, and Talask Dauntinghorn were all secretly thrilled to be sitting in this ptivate chamber of the Royal Palace.
Youngbloods of most of the foremost titled families of the realm, they had all been recruited for some mysterious "special missions for the Crown." That meant something. Just being born into the families whose names they bore was enough to puff them up with their own importance when dealing with lesser folk. But every last one of them knew that they themselves had as yet done nothing to merit any personal respect. Or earn one thin coin of any minting.
It did not take more brains than those of the nearesr dolt to suspect that if they performed these missions well, important Crown posts-and salaries, to boot-would be theirs. That would make their fathers sit up and take notice.
Wherefore they were now sitting, several-times-refilled goblets in hand, conferring with Alaphondar over a map-strewn table in the richly paneled Lion Room, as the doors opened and a few aging senior servants in splendid livery brought in a light repast. Platters of fried, breaded, and sugar-dusted soft-shelled crabs.
"That bastard!"
The hiss that came through the open doors in the wake of the steaming food was furious, unexpected, and feminine. Every head around the table snapped up in unison ro regard the open doors.
In time to witness the Princess Alusair in her nightgown, striding furiously past the Lion Room without a glance and on down the passage, with a similarly garbed female war wizard half a step behind her.
With one accord, the young noblemen set down their goblets and reached for the hilts of cetemonial swords that no longer rode in their scabbards.
Then they sighed or cursed, recalling that they'd had to surrender their blades earlier. They boiled out into the passage in the wake of the princess to see what was afoot.
The forgotten Royal Sage smiled fondly at their backs and strode silently after, them.
A dozen chambers and passages along, he murmured the brief incantation that silently restored seven courtsabers to as many rightful scabbards. It was interesting to watch just how many strides it took most of the youngbloods to notice the reappearance of their weapons. Truly, the Forest Kingdom stood not unguarded.
Alaphondar snorred at another thought. There would be trouble over this, but it would be well worth it to see Vangerdahast's face.
Finally, his chance!
Drathar wasted not an instant on a triumphant smile. There'd be time enough for that later. He was too busy weaving the strongest foeblasting spell he had left.
One long, hissing incantation later, it was done.
And the Harper Dalonder Ree exploded, flattening his fellows as his shredded limbs were hurled everywhere.
Drathar's spell cut the walking skeleton in half, too, and collapsed the hargaunts back into scattered, blazing scraps.