Cormyr

Chapter 7: Alusair

Year of the Gauntlet (1369 DR)

Ash-blonde hair swirled as its dark-eyed owner looked up sharply. “Something’s wrong,” she murmured. “Take over, Beldred.”

The bearded nobleman in plate armor turned his head. “Of course, Lady Highness… are you unwell?”

His commander shook her head without replying and spurred her mount away to the left, across rising ground. Beidred watched her go with worried eyes, then said, “Brace… Threldryn? Follow her and see that she comes to no harm.”

“Aye,” they replied in unison, drawing blades and turning their mounts. Just before they sprang away in pursuit, Brace murmured, “But will you see that we come to no harm from her?”

“Aye,” Threldryn said, grasping for words. “What if she just wants to, uh, perform some, ah, private business?”

Beldred gave them both a tight, wordless smile in return and urged his mount onward.

They were deep in the Stonelands, on one of the high meadows north of Startop Crag, a score and four knights under the command of a lady. No common Purple Dragon knights were these, but the youngest sons of the proudest noble houses in the land, all with titles and wealth of their own. And they rode under no common commander, for the lady riding hard to the west under the watch of Brace Skatterhawk and Threldryn Imbranneth was Alusair Nacacia Obarskyr, Mithril Princess of Cormyr.

Beldred Truesilver could spare no more thought for her right now, however. Alusair’s knights were hot on the proverbial heels of an orc band. The twisted humanoids had been so bold as to raid a caravan on the road east of Eveningstar six days back, and they had almost caught the sweating, snorting beasts twice. Each time a handy ravine had allowed the swine-snouts to scramble free of fair battle and climb higher into the Stonelands hills. And so they chased the goblinoids deeper into this perilous region that Cormyr claimed but could not rule except by sword point.

Over dying fires of night, the folk of northern Cormyr traded fearsome tales of flying fanged things, wolves, trolls, and orcs, and even dragons and evil wizards slithering down out of the Stonelands to strike at honest folk. Beldred could well believe such tales now. He’d never seen a hydra before this venture, nor a fire lizard, but in the last few days he’d had a hand in slaying both, plus a trio of chimeras as well. He knew now why retired Purple Dragons stood proud when royals rode past, but wanted no part of present glory. Even slight wounds hurt too much for anyone to feel valorous.

Now the orcs were running for broken ground again, and Beldred Truesilver-like most of his fellows, he had no doubt-would be damned and blasted by all the battle gods before he’d let these bestial humanoids slip away again. Well ahead in the distance, over trampled grass, he saw a flash of armor as someone-Dagh Illance, probably, as hot and eager for blood as ever-threw a spear.

An inhuman wail arose, and Beldred smiled. They had found the orcs. This time they had them! The knights were going to be able to block the orcs from scurrying flight, forcing them against where the rocks rose ahead.

There was a bowl-shaped valley ahead, if Alusair’s description of the region was right. Then there would be no more riding. The orcs could climb out of the valley, but at least they’d also have to fight at last. Beldred thought of calling to the princess and the two men he left behind for her. Then he swallowed and frowned. They could watch out for themselves, and the rest of the company would not want to wait for the attack, princess or not. He touched the reassuringly hard, smooth pommel of his sword and spurred his mount on, shouting for the other horsemen to follow.

The vision-and Vangerdahast’s mind-touch-had been faint but unmistakable. Get to a place of privacy and wait for a falcon that looked-thus.

Alusair’s mouth tightened. Blasted matters of state again, no doubt. She rode around to the other side of a rise of rocks, watching warily for orcs. It must be something the Royal Magician needed kept secret, or he’d simply have farspoken to her. What would it be this time?

At least she’d not be kept waiting long, to be inwardly branded a shirking coward by the young brightblades riding with her for the first time. Already she could see a dot high in the blue skies, a darkness that fell like a bolt toward her. To spare the horse a fright, she dismounted, walked a little way across a dell, and stood waiting, the dagger from her left boot in one hand and her sword bare in the other-just in case. In the Stonelands, one could never be too careful.

The falcon was in her vision, and in its claws was a flat, circular silver plate, its heart a mirror, its edges crawling with running runes. A message plate.

Half the height of a man from the ground, the falcon pulled up, wings braking deftly, and began to swell. Feathers melted into rippling, expanding flesh that flowed and bulged in a sickening manner. This was the flowshift, which meant the being would take its own form only temporarily and had no desire to break the spell that made it a falcon. The transformation spun with blurring speed now, then coalesced suddenly into the robed, barefoot form of a sharp-nosed woman in a plain maroon robe, with fresh lines of care on her face. She was older now, Alusair noted, but was still as beautiful and as graceful as ever. The wizardess knelt, holding out the plate.

“Laspeera!” Alusair exclaimed in recognition, letting her weapons fall, shaking off her gauntlets, and striding forward with arms outstretched for an embrace.

The warden of the war wizards gave her a wan smile but said formally, “Well met, Lady Highness. I bring this in urgent haste.”

Alusair frowned. Laspeera’s formality could only mean bad news. She took the plate, set it carefully on the turf, swept the sorceress into her arms, and kissed her cheek. “I’m pleased to see you anyway, ‘Speera. What news of father?”

The mage returned her kiss but said nothing, nodding sadly at the plate.

Oh. Oh, damn, thought the warrior-princess. Blast and damn.

Alusair took up the plate and touched the runes meant for her with her bare fingertips. The runes shimmered, then faded away. It was a once-only message, grave news indeed, then.

A moment later, the familiar voice of her father came to her from the disk, quiet but unmistakable.

“Alusair, the realm is in dire peril. Bhereu is dead, and Thomdor and I may have joined him by the time you receive this. We do not know who is responsible. Stay in the Stonelands. Keep out of sight of those who may come to search for you. If you hear word of my death, trust it not unless it comes to you from those few we both trust. Take the crown if you feel it best, but follow your own heart-don’t rule just because you believe I wanted it so. Know, little one, that I love you. I have always loved you, and if the gods will, I shall always love you, watching over you and the realm even if you see and hear me no more. Gods keep you, Alusair.”

Alusair swallowed, forgotten, the plate almost fell from her hands. Laspeera took it and murmured, “The luck of all the gods be upon you, Lady Highness. I fear I have other matters to attend to now.”

The war wizard kissed the princess’s forehead, became a falcon again, and soared aloft, climbing hard into the sun.

Numbly the princess watched her go. Then she drew in a deep, trembling breath and shook her head, fighting back sudden tears.

Biting her lip, she stared out over the harsh grandeur of the Stonelands. She no more wanted to be queen than shy Tanalasta. And as long as Tanalasta lived, she would be spared that responsibility. Poor Tana!

Poor Father. Gods! She’d always know this day might come, but…

The gods. Yes, it was time-past time. There would be time for grieving later, but first, driven by duty, as always.

She went to her knees on the hard rocks in prayer, pouring out a silent supplication. When she was done, she did not open her eyes but concentrated instead on calling to mind the Royal Magician of the realm. She attempted to initiate the farspeaking that allowed the wizard to converse at great distances with the Obarskyr battle maiden.

She thought of Vangerdahast. Those dark brown eyes-red when he grew testy, which was often-around jowls and a close-trimmed beard… white, and his hair, too, though both still had a few reddish-brown hairs. Kindly, stern, a paunch beginning to show through those plain robes…

Her mental picture seemed to move for a moment and acquired flickering candelabra and an impression of hurried movement along a hall. A hall in the palace? Or…

“Lady Highness?” Brace’s voice was anxious. Alusair shook her head in exasperation as she knelt amid the stones, eyes closed. The contact, brief and hurried, was broken, the vision was slipping away.

“Lady Alusair?”

It was gone. She sighed and fought down a surge of grief-driven rage. Couldn’t these men see needed to be alone? No, they couldn’t. They did not know of her father, and Bhereu-poor Uncle Bhereu! Instead, she slowly rose, tossing her hair back over her shoulder again. She replied levelly to the interruption. “Yes, gentle sirs? Or should I say ‘trail hounds’?”

“Beldred sent us,” a deeper voice said sourly. “I thought you’d not want us…” He trailed off. Alusair was fairly certain the guards had not seen Laspeera, or her using the message plate.

“Beldred Truesilver’s orders are wise, Threldryn,” the princess replied, giving them both of them a quick smile as she vaulted a rock and plucked her reins from around the dead sapling where she’d wound them.

When she looked up, two sets of concerned eyes were looking a silent question at her. Neither man was going to ask a princess of the realm if a need of nature was all that had brought her here, but they had already sensed it was something more.

Alusair sighed. They were riding into battle, this was something her men needed to know. “I had something of a… vision,” she said carefully, “from the Royal Magician. You know he laid tracing spells on both my sister and me when we were babes.”

“To prevent kidnappings,” Brace said, nodding.

“To let my mother find us when we wandered off,” she offered, quoting the official reason with derisive amusement clear in her tone.

“Aye. So we’ve heard,” Threldryn prompted.

She gave him a brief glare and continued. “Something of a link remains… unreliable, and weak, but… something. Through it, he contacted me-unintentionally, I believe.”

“And in this vision, you saw…?” Brace asked hesitantly.

“Something that might be a secret of the realm or might not. I’d know which right now if two overinquisitive noblemen hadn’t interrupted me at precisely the wrong moment!” she snapped.

“My apologies, Lady Highness,” the two men mumbled in unison, holding out her gauntlets and blades.

Their commander took them and waved a dismissive hand as she swung into her saddle. “I shan’t slap your wrists for doing your duty. You had your orders, and the one who gave them was thinking of the safety of Cormyr, no doubt. The fault’s not w-“

As she spoke they rounded the rocks, and the noise of the war cries reached them. She broke off speaking to stare, at first puzzled, then angry. Below the three riders, a small band of orcs was fleeing into a steep-valed wash, the cream of Cormyr’s young nobles pouring after them in a headlong rush, shouting enthusiastic cries. Alusair and her “trail hounds” could see movement along the sides of the vale. More orcs, waiting for the humans to come surging into their waiting and weapon-laden arms.

Alusair bellowed, “Beldred, you fool! It’s a trap!” and raked the flanks of her mount in frantic haste, screaming at it for speed.

The two noblemen, Threldryn and Brace, found themselves galloping hard after her, hearts in their throats, before they quite knew what had happened.

The trap was sprung before Alusair was halfway to the charging nobles. From the walls of valley magical lightning flashed, the thunderous boom rolling along the steep walls. Bright-armored figures danced in their saddles at the stroke of the bolt, their arms and legs jerking spasmodically, their weapons flying from hands that could no longer grip anything. Those men who survived the assault shouted in alarm and fought to control their rearing or bolting horses. The retreating orcs turned, practically under those flying hooves, and began to inflict vicious slaughter with their blades. More horses screamed and went down.

A furious Alusair snatched out her saddle horn and blew. The high, clear call rang back off the rocky heights: the retreat. Heads turned as the proud young knights of Cormyr heard their commander’s signal and pulled back on their reins in disbelief… or relief, depending on their wisdom. Those whose horses would respond turned and streamed back out of the valley, followed by the hoarse jeers of triumphant orcs.

Alusair roared like Azoun himself as she rode to meet them. “Is charging all you dolts know how to do? Beldred, couldn’t you tell the valley had all the makings of a trap?”

“I couldn’t have stopped them if I’d tried, Lady Highness,” the bloodied Beldred Truesilver replied wearily, “but I must admit, I did not try. Who could expect a few orcs to be able to hurl a lightning bolt?”

Alusair flung up her hands in exasperation. “No wonder they don’t let you handsome swashcloaks out unchaperoned! You all seem to keep your brains in your sword scabbards!”

Alusair looked at the valley mouth and muttered a curse. “I’d tell you to regroup back at those hillocks, but the orcs will slaughter anyone downed by the bolt if we do. We have to go after our fallen comrades. Form a wedge behind me, now!”

In a chaos of thudding hooves, snorting horses, and shouting men, she swiftly got the formation in place. “Is anyone known to be dead?” Alusair called, not taking her eyes from the mouth of the valley.

“Dagh Illance,” someone in scorched armor muttered. His helm was gone, and his hair was mostly ashes. He rode past her almost in a daze. “Perhaps one or two others that caught the brunt of the blast.”

“Good riddance to Illance, the idiot. Foolishness must run in the family,” Alusair replied, her voice low enough that none but she could hear. She drew a dagger from her left boot and reversed it, so that the large blue-green gem in its pommel pointed foremost, and called, “Go in fast, split up, and ride around each side of the valley, don’t trample our fallen comrades! Throw daggers and spears at orcs on the upper flanks of the vale, and knock them to our level-we can ride them down at that point! If there’s any cave or cleft at the back, keep clear of it! Ye hear? Right, then-ride!”

And with her shrill bellow echoing in their ears, the noble knights broke into a gallop. The cheerful hooting and war cries of their earlier ride were absent now. They were injured and angry at their foe, and every man rode with the fresh, chill jolt of seeing comrades fall in death. If the princess had not been the warrior she was, half of them would be riding for the lowlands now, leaving the other half dying on the battlefield. As it was, they rode grimly, wondering what would prevent another lightning bolt from snapping down their throats as they rode into the valley.

They thundered on, fear rising in their mouths. They were close enough now to see orcs, looking up with tusked snarls as they went about the grisly business of slitting the throats of their fallen friends. The humanoids hadn’t expected the mage-blasted knights to return.

Then the Cormyrean knights were between the rocks and into the vale itself. There was a sudden flash of light near where Alusair’s unbound hair streamed back over her shoulders, followed by a roar of flame.

A huge burst of red, roiling fire blazed up in front of them, and someone in the wedge of horsemen gave a frightened shout, but Alusair did not hesitate. The fire flared, then melted away as if it were a wisp of illusion, parted by their commander as she rode. She still held the jewel-pommeled dagger out in front of her, and a few of the men saw smoke streaming away from the gem. Doubtless it was some enchantment to fight the magical power of the enemy and turn aside its energies.

Then there was no time for such thoughts, for orcs were everywhere, and there was something to strike out at, at last! The knights parted to ride along the sides of the vale, cutting down everything in their path.

Brace Skatterhawk caught a glimpse of a snarling, gray-green face. He slashed out with his blade, struck something thick and soft, and rode on, never knowing whether he’d felled his foe. Short grunts and screams rose all around them amid the thunder of the hooves, and then fresh fire blossomed ahead.

The princess had been right. There was a cavern at the back of the vale, and from it was rolling an angry red sphere of flames, cartwheeling toward them. Alusair barked a command directing the knights to move to either side of the rolling fire. Then she charged the rolling fireball. Again the ball of flame evaporated at the touch of Alusair’s bejeweled dagger.

With new respect, her warriors obeyed and reined in along both sides of the valley, watching a few surviving orcs cowering out in the open. Others of their goblinoid foes moaned and twisted feebly where they fell. The rest lay still and quiet. There was no further resistance save from the cavern itself.

“What’s in the cave, Princess?” Brace asked. Threldryn Imbranneth was close behind him.

Alusair was winded and gasping, and the noblemen, romantics both, thought they’d never seen her look more beautiful than now, helmless in her armor. She shot them a quick glance and then swung her gaze back to the cavern.

“A dark naga, unless I miss my guess,” she said. “Beldred’s over on the other side of the vale. Let’s hope he can convince the hotheads not to charge this time.”

“A naga?” Threldryn asked. “I mean no disrespect, Princess, but how can you-or anyone else-know that?”

Brown eyes blazed into his. “When you go to war, do you merely ride, Lord Imbranneth? Try thinking, just once-you may find things go much better!” Some of the fire in her gaze ebbed, and she added, “So far on this campaign, we’ve fought hydras and fire lizards and orcs bold enough to come down into our lowland farms not once, but thrice. Where are all these creatures coming from?”

“Well, uh-the-the Stonelands, Princess,” offered Threldryn, floundering. “Where else?”

“Don’t you think it just a trifle odd, my lord, that three chimeras would line up to do battle with us one after the other? Beasts that should be fighting each other when drawn so close together?”

“Zhentarim,” Brace murmured. “The Black Network. Using their magical gates and monstrous charms again!”

“Precisely,” Alusair said in fierce agreement. “And that suggests these orcs were fleeing to their master, in that cave, one of those dark nagas the Black Network set up as mentors to their bands of orcs. We took a lightning bolt, and then a fireball, my spellshield dagger took care of the latter. If it had been a mage in yonder cave, he’d have hit us with something more potent by now, or else fled. Instead, we got a flaming sphere!”

“Therefore, a naga, now mystically spent and down to its lesser spells!” Threldryn said triumphantly. Alusair allowed herself a smile. There was hope for the young nobles of Cormyr yet.

Beldred rode up now, and the princess said, “There’s a naga in there, and I’m going in after it. I want two volunteers to go with me-and only two. If I don’t come out by sundown, my orders are that you decide on the best attack you can think of and follow us in.”

Brace, Beldred, and Threldryn volunteered, of course. The princess left Beldred behind in command of the surviving nobles. The Truesilver captain immediately set out scouts to look for surviving orcs or other surprises of the Zhentarim.

Alusair took the other two nobles with her, striding steadily along the rocks on one side of the vale toward the dark cleft ahead. When some rocks provided a bit of cover close to their goal, the princess motioned them to halt behind her and took the time to glance back to see if her companions were ready.

Then she cast a long look at the rest of her company, pulled into defensive positions in case the cavern held any more surprises. This section of the Stonelands afforded a great view of the lands of the south, and Alusair could see at the horizon a thin line of green, the distant woods of Cormyr. Farther south would be Suzail, where Uncle Bhereu lay cold and Thomdor and her father lay dying.

Brace and Threldryn saw sudden tears glimmer in the princess’s eyes. She drew in a deep, shuddering breath and turned away from them, tossing her head in fresh resolve.

“Princess? What’s happened?” Brace asked hesitantly.

Ash-blonde hair danced as his commander’s head snapped around to face him again. “Nothing any Purple Dragon shouldn’t always be prepared for,” she said curtly, and slowly drew her blade, silently daring them to say more about her tears.

Silently they followed suit, and she seemed to almost smile.

“Now, gentle sirs,” she said crisply, “are you with me? For Cormyr?”

“For Cormyr!” they echoed, and this time she did smile. “Then let us take the battle to our foe.” And she eased toward the waiting darkness of the cave.

Brace Skatterhawk never forgot what followed. To his dying day, he could call to mind the frantic fight in the cavern with the serpentine naga, with spells blazing all around, and Alusair’s fearlessness through it all. Their foe coiled and hissed as they slashed and sprang and hacked at it again. Its venomous tail loomed above them repeatedly, stabbing down with frightening speed. Alusair was the one who braved its jaws to blind the beast, of course, crying, “For Azoun and Cormyr!”

All three warriors had a blade in the creature’s death, thrusting like madmen as the naga screamed and eventually died. It sounded chillingly like a woman sobbing as its lifeblood flowed out of it.

As the serpent-thing lay dying, thrashing about in oily, spreading black gore, Alusair leapt over it in frantic haste. Brace saw her snatch another gem, some last gewgaw of magic, from her belt as she leapt.

She threw the gem at what stood, flickering, behind the naga. Her target was an upright oval of blue magical fire cradled in the depths of the cavern. It was the magical gate she had spoken of, a door created by the Zhentarim. The gate collapsed with a roar, just as a red creature like a gigantic upright crab lurched through it. The magical radiance of the gate winked out as the gem struck it, and the crablike monster tumbled forward, cut in half.

Brace allowed himself to exhale, then heard a general roar of approval from behind them. The impatient nobles had flooded into the cavern. Apparently they had been unable to wait until sundown, particularly once they heard the naga’s screams.

“Hurrah! Our work’s done, then, Princess!” Ulnder Huntcrown, one of the young hotspurs, bellowed exultantly.

“No, Ulnder,” the warrior princess told him grimly, hands on her hips. “Our work is just beginning. We have to hunt down and close all the other gates like this one.”

“Huh,” the noble growled in exasperation. “Why are victories never so clear and final as when the minstrels sing?”

“Because singers don’t clean up after themselves. Warriors do,” Alusair told him tartly

“Or they soon die,” Harandil Thundersword murmured from nearby. The princess looked at the softspoken nobleman sharply, then nodded in agreement. The warrior princess regarded the others, and they, too, nodded, slightly embarrassed.

Alusair allowed a smile, teeth flashing white, and shouted, “That’s enough of great battles for today, lads! Let’s find a good guardable place to camp and get some rest. We’ll be in the saddle scouring the Stonelands on the morrow!”

There was a general sigh of breath let out as the nobles relaxed. A chorus of good-natured groans answered her words, but she saw more than one man raise his blade to his forehead in salute. She smiled in genuine pleasure. “That’s my bold band! Gods, I’m proud to think of Cormyr in the years ahead, with all of you sitting in your halls as the lords and barons of the realm!”

The watch fires crackled and spat sparks as their flames reached orange fingers for the stars. As Alusair walked softly among them, a dark night cloak thrown around her shoulders, she could hear laughter and even some less than tuneful singing. The men were happy this night. The deaths of Dagh Illance and the others had already become tales of renown and heroics, in which each survivor had a story of his own legendary ability in the face of the orcish hordes.

The six men at the southernmost watch fire didn’t see the warrior princess approach, or they’d surely never have said what they did.

“Damn you, Brace Skatterhawk, you always take the other man’s side in any argument! How many sides d’you want?”

“Just like the king at that, he is!”

“And why not? He’s a son of Azoun, after all. Haven’t you heard the tales?”

Threldryn spoke up now. “We all have, Kortyl, but most of us have the wits not to say such things when we’re riding with Azoun’s daughter!”

“Aye, Kortyl. What if she heard you?”

“Bah! I don’t fear her! Why, if I…” Kortyl’s voice trailed away suddenly, and the others around the fire looked up, feeling a sudden tension. The princess stood over them like some dark shadow of the night, the firelight gleaming in her eyes.

“Yes, Kortyl?” she asked softly. “What would you do?”

“Uh… well, I… that is, I…” The young knight looked away.

She knelt down by the suddenly abashed nobleman, took hold of his ear, and said into it, “Well, if I were you, Kortyl Rowanmantle, I’d have the basic wits to look all around to see if someone’s listening before I talked about them!”

The princess playfully shoved the kneeling Kortyl backward onto a pile of kindling. Whatever apology the youth tried to stammer was lost in the general roar of mirth.

The roar was cut off abruptly by Alusair’s next, soft words: “Brace Skatterhawk, I’ll see you at my fire, once you’ve eaten. Don’t forget.”

Overhead, the stars were bright tonight, there were few clouds to dim their sparkling beauty. Alusair lay on her back, her own personal fire warm at her feet, and stared up at them, remembering the many tales she’d overheard of her father’s… excesses. Nay, lass, she thought, call it what it was: philandering. Most such tales stemmed from before he was even married, and some were mere boasts, to be sure, but…

She closed her eyes and was back in the Grand Chamber on a bright morning when she was still in her teens, when many young noblemen who’d come of age together were being presented at court. One after another came in to kneel-and one after another resembled Azoun. Finally old Vangey murmured from behind the throne, “Moderation, my liege?”

She remembered her father’s solemn frown and her mother’s tight, amused smile, and she remembered pestering Uncle Bhereu about it until the kindly warrior, red-faced and stammering, explained the situation in gentle terms.

“You and your sister are the heirs to the Obarskyr throne,” he had said, finally surrendering to the inevitable task of explaining the complex nature of life to the young. “Yet there are others who share your bloodline, though not officially noted as such. Unrecognized, these half-siblings stand no more chance at the throne than a chimney sweep, yet they are there and cannot be ignored.”

She sighed and opened her eyes to the stars again, wondering with a sudden chill just how many of these half-siblings shared Bhereu’s assessment. How many thought they were justified, by their unrecognized blood, to rule Cormyr? How many of those men with something of her father in their faces would she have to fight, should her father perish?

She sat up and drew her sword. So it was that Brace Skatterhawk found her, still in full armor all misted with night dew, her naked sword across her knees. His eyes widened, but he said merely, “I am here, Lady Highness. You sent for me.”

Alusair turned her head and wordlessly beckoned him nearer.

When he stood over her, she looked up at him and asked softly, “So, are you my brother… as they say?”

“Princess!” he said reproachfully, “Does it matter? Should it matter?” He raised a hand to wave away his own irritation at the question, only to find her sword tip at his throat. His commander had come to her feet faster than any night-hunting hill cat.

“As I grow older and more and more of a hag,” Alusair murmured, looking into his eyes, “I grow less and less patient. It may have something to do with the ever-decreasing time left to me before that last step into the waiting grave.”

She let out a deep, ragged breath, and Brace realized she was a good deal less calm than she was pretending to be.

“I am also, as I grow older,” Alusair continued, “falling more and more in love… with the truth. So let me have some of thine, young Skatterhawk. By your oath upon the Crown: Is my father Azoun also your father?”

Brace swallowed, feeling the sharp point of her war blade at his throat and the even sharper points of her eyes, gleaming at him in the gloom. He breathed deeply and said, “So-so I’ve been told, Lady Highness.”

And the blade was gone, bouncing on the turf, as Alusair flung her arms around him and said, “Damn! That means I can’t rightly do more than this!” And she grabbed the startled Skatterhawk by the forehead and placed a solid, sisterly kiss upon it. Such was the force of her action, however, that her breastplate bruised Brace’s ribs.

Then she spun away, to kneel by the fire and draw forth from it her other blade, the slim court sword she kept at her saddle. Brown things were shriveling on its smoking blade. “Care for some fried mushrooms, Brother?”

He stared at her for a moment in amazement, then burst into shouts of helpless laughter.

“You find mushrooms funny?” she asked in mock aggrieved tones and slid the hot blade between his lips. Hastily he took a toasted mushroom, moaning at its heat as he gabbled and chewed. He managed to get it down at last, tears coming to his eyes from the burning. A glass was steered into his hand, and he downed its contents in one long, thankful swallow. Then he nearly choked in fresh amazement.

“Elverquisst! Gods, Lady Highness, but this is a gift fit for… kings.” His voice trailed off slowly, his eyes on hers.

Alusair shrugged. “I like you. I must admit I want you. You fight well, better than most of the citified nobles I’ve had to command. And if I can’t have you as husband-or openly, as brother-well, I need a friend at the moment.”

“Aye,” Brace said softly. “I have noticed that.” He gently took her arms and looked steadily into her eyes. “Do you mean this?” he asked. “I mean, needing a friend? The gulf between noble and royal is as deep at times as that between noble and farmer. You and your elder sister Tanalasta have always occupied another sphere of existence, removed from even the rarefied intrigues of the nobility. Can Alusair the Firetongue trust a mere member of the nobility?”

Oak-brown eyes blazed into his with a leaping, amber fury like a brushfire for a moment, and the arms in his grasp trembled. “You dare?” she gasped.

Brace held her gaze steadily and said, “I do.”

They held gazes for a long time, during which neither drew breath, and then he added softly, “Forgive my blunt words, High Lady, but it had to be said. I have been raised to respect the Obarskyr line, and though I have been told my heritage, I and… others like me have been taught not to dream of the crown. That belongs only to one truly Obarskyr born and Obarskyr raised. Yet, even given all this, can you trust me-or anyone-enough?”

She looked down and away for a moment, biting at her lip. Then her head came up again, proudly, and she met his eyes again with all the fire gone. She nodded. “It was fairly asked,” she murmured, “and-I can trust. I will trust. For you. And as a friend, I will tell you we will be on patrol out here longer than we had planned, until we have found all of those Black Network gates.”

Brace Skatterhawk let go of her arms and trailed his left hand down to her right hand. He grasped her hand and raised it slowly to his lips. “Then I should be honored to be your friend.”

Then he reached for the buckles that held her armor along one shapely flank. “I can think of one way to celebrate this friendship. Brothers daren’t do such things, or people talk. And lovers are always in too much of a hurry to get toother matters. But friends, now…”

“Keep your hands on the buckles, ‘Friend’ Brace,” Alusair said warningly, turning to let the firelight fall on her side so that he could see what he was undoing. He gently laid aside the plates that covered her torso and gestured to her to sit. She obeyed.

“As I was saying,” Brace continued in dignified tones, “friends have the only hands suitable for the removal of chafing armor… and the rubbing of tired feet.”

“Ahhh,” Alusair moaned, lying back and closing her eyes in genuine ecstasy. “I’ve made the correct choice! I should have surmised you were as good with your hands as you were with your blade. It’s good to have a championship foot rub, particularly when the realm is in dire peril.” An errant thought crossed her mind as she spoke, and she stiffened involuntarily.

“Princess?” he asked anxiously.

She waved a dismissive hand. “No… I just remembered something, that’s all…”

“A secret, or something to share?” he asked, and she shook her head absently.

“A secret,” was all she said, but the thought was blazing through her brain over and over again. She knew she was right. In all her life, she’d never heard her father say, “the realm is in dire peril,” but it had always been one of Vangerdahast’s favorite phrases. She frowned and thought of the message plate. Why would the old wizard be impersonating her father?

What was Vangerdahast up to now?