Vangerdahast shook his head. "Nay. Sworn to defend Cormyr I am, but in her defense I'll stand and fight those who come against her and me. I'll not lash out and become a tyrant over those who may menace her or rival me. I will never make Cormyr into the likes of Thay, or Zhentil Keep, or Mulmaster, just to keep its name on maps."
He started to pace, as if forgetting how close and powerful she was, and added, "I've far more to worry over than dragons—I've the usual treachery among nobles, traitors among the War Wizards, and more than one eager Red Wizard all seeking the downfall of the Forest Kingdom. Any of them is apt to do more harm to Cormyr just now than dragonkind of any sort."
He stopped and turned to face Joysil again. "I don't intend to bind any unwilling dragon—and now I must take steps to link the spells you so fear to my own life, so that if I'm slain they'll destroy themselves and leave no mage empowered to bind you or your ilk."
The dragon's turquoise eyes studied him thoughtfully. Joysil sprang into the air, swooped low and away behind some trees, and flew away, her wingbeats fast and furious.
Myrmeen and Vangerdahast stood in the sunlight watching her distant form dwindle, until the old wizard sighed, shook his head, and peered about to see if there still was a passage he could traverse ahead of him. At his shoulder, Myrmeen said softly, "You're either the greatest fool I've ever met—or the greatest man."
Vangerdahast looked at her. "The former, I fear—yet I'll cling to some pride in not trying to be the greatest villain, when the power to be so has come into my hands, time and time again. 'Tis why I admire Elminster, my sometime teacher, even though he infuriates me more often than not. Temptation snatches at him and finds him wanting, over and over."
Myrmeen nodded. "I've met Elminster . . . long enough to come to know him better than some high ladies of Cormyr know their husbands. A very great rogue. We parted with swords drawn on each other—respectful, but wary."
Vangerdahast lifted one bristling eyebrow. "That," he told her, "is a tale I must hear in full someday."
He spun around to stride briskly down another passage back to his spellchambers. "But not now. Now I must do as I promised Joysil and bind my spells to my life."
"How swiftly can that be done, and at what risk to you?"
The retired Mage Royal shrugged. "In the space of a grand fool's speech akin to the one I just uttered. The risk is no more than the one you both apprehend: Slaying me ends this danger to dragonkind."
"What do you expect the dragons and the other foes you mentioned to do now?"
"Come here with all speed and slay us," Vangerdahast replied gruffly, throwing wide the door to reveal a glimmer of lantern-light and walls cloaked in a latticework of full scroll-shelves. "So I must get you safely gone ere I must go down fighting. 'Twill be interesting to see who gets here first."
"My lord, I'll not leave you," Myrmeen said, lifting her sword.
Vangey chuckled. "Lass, I can have you deep in dreamslumber and halfway across Faerun before you can blink."
"But you won't," Myrmeen replied, diving forward to lie across a desk of spell-scrolls challengingly, clasping the lit lantern to her breast. "I've but to smash this, and let the flaming oil spill . . ."
Vangerdahast sighed. "All right, lass—what do you want?"
"To stand with you and die fighting at your side. I, too, am sworn to defend Cormyr."
"Right then, so you shall. Now put that damned lamp aside— carefully!—and get your distracting self up and off my writings so I can fulfill my promise!"
The binding took a long time, and Vangerdahast was trembling with weariness when he finished. They exchanged glances, and Myrmeen put a steadying hand on the mage's shoulder. "And now?"
The former Royal Magician shrugged. "And now we wait for someone to attack. My spells are ready, each set to unleash when certain conditions are met. We wait to die, I suppose."
Myrmeen gave him a dark-eyed look then set down her sword. "Well, then, I'm going to dare to bed the greatest man Cormyr has ever known," she said firmly, grasping at the front of his robe.
"I'm—Lady, I'm centuries too old for you," Vangerdahast protested, "and ugly, besides. I—"
Her lips found his.
When he could speak again, it was to cough, shake his head, and whisper, "Lass? Would you?"
* * * * *
The fang dragon hissed in rage and fear when no less than a dozen wyrms suddenly alighted on the edge of the great rock-cauldron mountaintop that was its lair—but the song dragon that approached from among them did so murmuring words of polite supplication in a soft thunder that held no malice.
In truth, the fang dragon was gigantic among its kind and bore the scars of many battles won, including a vast, rainbow-hued swath of scales on one flank where a great old wound had healed imperfectly. Had the song dragon been alone, it would have pounced and torn apart the overbold intruder very swiftly.
"I need you," Joysil said gently. It had been a very long time since Aeglyl Dreadclaw had heard such a sentiment. He laid aside his wild schemes of escape and revenge in an instant to listen . . . and when she was done speaking and laid bare the bald truth of her words with a spell that Aeglyl had last seen cast in his youth an age ago, the great fang dragon drew itself up and hissed, "Lead me, and I shall fight wing to wing with you. This peril must be swept away for all our sakes."
The song dragon turned, flapped her wings, and all of the wyrms took wing, climbing and drawing apart to let her and the newly recruited Dreadclaw soar into their midst.
"We must hasten," Joysil called and hurled herself through the air toward Cormyr—with a dozen dragons in her wake, a scaled host going to war.
Twenty-One
NO SWORD SHARPER THAN HER TONGUE
The din of battle can be deafening, even to dying ears—but give me twenty such deafenings over one bitter dispute with my wife.
Sarseth Thald, Merchant of Amn
Musings On Being A Merchant Prince
Year of the Turret
"B'gads, Surth! How much longer must we sit here in the dark starving, eh?" Aumun Bezrar wiped his sweating brow with one plump and hairy forearm, and waved at the window with his knife. "The rest of Marsember grows richer by the passing hour, while here we sit!"
The tall, lean figure leaning on the windowframe straightened and said icily, "We're not starving, Bezrar. You've sliced open a good dozen cheeses since I started keeping count—and emptied an entire hand-keg of Sembian jack, too! I chose this warehouse for two good reasons and the plentiful supply of food was one of them. Mind you don't 'starve' too much or you won't fit through the door when the time comes to go!"
"When will that be? Stop me vitals, Surth, they can't care enough to spell-hunt us forever—just as I can't eat cheese forever!"
"I know," Surth said darkly. "The other reason I chose this place, dolt, is that crate you're sitting on. Tis full of Selgauntan glowstones, and their enchantments—duly registered and duty-paid—should hide us from any seeking spell that's not cast from right inside this building. I hope."
"Odd's fish, Surth—don't you know? For sure? We could be cowering here for nothing?"
"Stop waving that fish-gutter of yours and sputtering at me, Master Importer Aumun Bezrar, and—"
Malakar Surth fell silent in mid-sarcasm and threw up a hand for silence. With a warning hiss, he slapped a finger to his lips and took two swift steps toward his fat, sweating business-partner to drive home the urgency of his warning. With his other hand, he pointed repeatedly at the floorboards below. Someone had entered the vast, cavernous ground floor of their warehouse.
"You're sure this place is safe?" a cultured male voice asked doubtfully, bringing a whiff of strong musk with it. Surth bared his teeth in a silent sneer. A noble, for all the coins in Marsember.
"As safe as anywhere in this rotting fishgrave of a city," another man replied in amused tones. "The rogues who own this cargo-barn haven't been seen for some days—and small wonder, with the Watch looking everywhere for them!"
"All the better reason to be wary," the perfumed noble said angrily. "Who's to say there isn't a purple-noses patrol in here now or heading here for a regular peer-about?"
A sudden glow flared below, shining up through gaps in the floorboards to show Bezrar and Surth each other's tense faces.
"Behold," the amused noble said, "my glowstone. We can take a good look about as we talk and be gone before anyone's the wiser.