Cormyr Book Two: Beyond the High Road

 

Prologue

 

One man could not kill so many. It was not possible. The murderer's trail led down to a gnarled fir tree, where an entire company of Purple Dragons lay strewn across the landscape as still as stones. There were more than twenty of them, sprawled alongside their dead horses in every manner of impossible contortion. Arms and legs hooked away at unexpected angles, torsos lay doubled back against the spine, heads rested on shoulders staring in the wrong direction. Many had died with their shields still hanging from their saddles. A few had fallen even before they could draw their weapons.

 

Emperel Ruousk unsheathed his sword and eased his horse down the hill, keeping one eye on the surrounding terrain as he read his quarry's trail. There remained just one set of tracks, each print spaced nearly two yards apart. After a hundred miles, the murderer was still running-an incredible feat for any man, let alone one who had been roaring drunk when he fled.

 

The trail of the Purple Dragons paralleled the killer's at the regulation distance of one lance-length. The hoof prints ran in strict double file, with no stray marks to suggest the presence of outriders or point scouts. The commander had taken no precautions against ambush, no doubt thinking it a simple matter to capture a drunken killer. Emperel would not make the same mistake.

 

As he neared the site of the massacre, a murder of crows rose from among the bodies and took wing, scolding him raucously. He watched them go, then stopped to make certain the killer was not lying in ambush among the corpses. The area reeked of rotting flesh. Clouds of black flies hovered over the dead bodies, filling the air with an insane drone. The soldiers' breastplates were cratered and torn and streaked with sun-dried gore. Their basinets were either staved-in or split open. Some helmets were missing, along with the heads inside. Many shields had been smeared with the vilest sort of offal, completely obscuring the royal crest of the purple dragon, and several men had died with their own eyeballs in their mouths. One had been strangled with his own entrails.

 

Emperel began to feel nauseated. He had seen dozens of slaughters in the Stonelands, but never anything so sick and angry. He rode over to a headless corpse and dismounted, then kneeled to examine the stump of the neck. The wound was ragged and irregular and full of gristle strings, just like the stump of the tavern keeper's neck in Halfhap. According to witnesses, the murderer had simply grabbed the poor fellow beneath the jaw and torn off his head.

 

Emperel stood and circled through the dead bodies, taking care to keep his horse between himself and the gnarled fir at the heart of the massacre. With a twisted trunk large enough to hide ten murderers, the tree was a particularly huge and warped specimen of an otherwise regal species. Its bark was scaly and black, stained with runnels of crimson sap. Its needles were a sickly shade of yellow. The tangled boughs spiraled up to a cork-screwed crown nearly two hundred feet in the air, then withered off into a clawlike clump of barren sticks.

 

On the far side of the tree, Emperel discovered a large burrow leading down beneath the trunk. The soil heaped around the opening was lumpy and dark, with lengths of broken root jutting out at haphazard angles. A string of ancient glyphs spiraled up the trunk above the tunnel opening, the letters as sinuous as serpents. He did not recognize the language, but the shape of the characters struck him as both elegant and vaguely menacing.

 

Emperel studied the burrow for several minutes, then approached and tethered his horse to the tree. The hole itself was oval in shape and barely broad enough for a man to enter on his belly. There were several boot prints in the dirt outside, but the walls and floor of the tunnel had been dragged smooth by a passing body. Emperel lay down beside the entrance and peered into the darkness. The interior was as black as night. He could hear a muffled sound that might have been a man's snoring, and the musty air carried an undertone of rancid sweat.

 

Emperel scanned the massacre once again. Seeing nothing but flies and corpses, he withdrew a black weathercloak from his saddlebags and slipped it over his armor, closing the throat clasp to ready the cape's protective enchantments. As a confidential agent of King Azoun IV, he had access to all of the standard magic in the Royal Armory, and today he was glad for it. He clamped a pair of steel bracers on his wrists, slipped an amethyst ring onto his finger, traded his steel sword for a magic dagger, then dropped to his belly in front of the dank hole. The snoring became an erratic rumble, and the smell of sour sweat grew rife.

 

Emperel inhaled one last breath of fresh air, then crawled into the darkness, moving slowly and silently. The hole was musty, cramped, and lined with broken root stubs as thick as his wrist. Though there was little room to fight-or retreat, Emperel gave no thought to trying to outwait his quarry. Before beheading the tavern keeper, the murderer had been boasting about how he would ruin King Azoun, and such traitors received no respite from Emperel Ruousk. They received only justice, as quick and sure as an Agent of the Realm possessed of all the magic and might implied by that title could deal it out.

 

A few feet into the tunnel, the darkness grew so thick Emperel could no longer see the dagger in front of his nose. He paused and whispered, "King's sight."

 

The amethyst on his ring twinkled faintly, then Emperel began to perceive the passage walls in hues of blue and crimson. The warmth of his body made his flesh glow red, while the dagger in his hand shone silver with magic. A dozen feet ahead, the tunnel opened into a small, oblong chamber surrounded by dangling amber strands-the tips of shallow roots. Strangely, there was no sign of a taproot, an absence that did much to explain the fir's twisted form.

 

As Emperel neared the entrance to the little chamber, he saw the murderer lying on his back, glowing crimson against the violet pallor of a stone floor. If not for the crust of gore covering him from head to foot, Emperel would have sworn it was the wrong man. The man's eyes were closed in blissful sleep, his lips bowed in an angelic smile and his arms folded peacefully across his chest. He looked too emaciated to have slaughtered a whole company of dragoneers. His arms were as slender as spears, his shoulders gaunt and knobby, his cheeks hollow, his eyes sunken.

 

Suddenly, Emperel understood everything-where the man had found the strength to run so far, how he had slain an entire company of dragoneers, why he had defiled their bodies so wickedly. Sweat began to pour down Emperel's brow, and he considered returning to Halfhap for help-but what good would that do? The vampire had already shown that he could destroy superior numbers, and Emperel had the advantage now.

 

He continued forward to the end of the tunnel, the smell of his own perspiration overpowering the fetor of the musty lair. Though his stomach was queasy with fear, he reminded himself that safety was just a gesture away. All he need do was slip a hand into his weathercloak's escape pocket, and he would be standing beside his horse, outside in the brilliant sunlight where no vampire could follow. He crawled silently into the chamber and pulled his legs in after him.

 

As Emperel stood, something soft and wispy crackled in his ears. His heart skipped a beat, and he found himself biting his tongue, not quite sure whether he had let out a cry. He glanced down and found the murderer as motionless as before, hands folded across his haggard chest, mouth upturned in that angelic smile. Trying not to think of what dreams could make a vampire happy, Emperel raised a hand and felt a curtain of gossamer filament clinging to his face. It was stiff and sticky, like the web of a black widow spider.

 

Emperel experienced the sudden sensation of hundreds of little legs crawling down his tunic. Hoping the feeling was all in his mind, he stooped to get his head out of the web, then removed a gauntlet from his belt and slipped the steel glove onto his right hand. When presented palm outward, the glove became the holy symbol of his god, Torm the True, and it would keep any vampire at bay. Next, he drew his hand axe from its belt loop and, using the enchanted dagger, began to whittle the wooden butt into a sharp stake.

 

Though it seemed to Emperel that the sound of his breathing filled the chamber with a bellowslike rasp, the vampire continued to sleep. The silver-glowing dagger peeled the axe's seasoned handle away in shavings as thick as coins, and it was not long before Emperel had sharpened it to a point. He sheathed his dagger again, then kneeled beside the vampire and raised the stake. His arm was trembling.

 

"Torm, guide my hand," he whispered.

 

A bead of sweat dropped from his brow and landed on the vampire's shoulder. The monster's eyelids snapped open, its angry eyes shining white in Emperel's enchanted vision.

 

Emperel brought the stake down, ramming it deep into the vampire's ribcage. Blood, icy cold and as black as ink, seeped up around the shaft. An ear-piercing shriek filled the chamber, then something caught Emperel in the breastplate and sent him tumbling across the stone floor.

 

He passed through a curtain of gossamer filament and crashed into a dirt wall, his head spinning and chest aching. When he looked down, his mouth went dry. There was a fist-shaped depression in the center of his breastplate, and he had not even seen the murderer's hand move.

 

Emperel spun to his knees-he was too dizzy to stand-and struggled to gulp some air into his lungs. A few paces away, the vampire lay on its side, writhing in pain and slowly pulling the stake from its chest. Emperel's jaw fell. He had slain more than a dozen vampires, and not one had done such a thing. Had he missed the heart?

 

The vampire's white eyes swung toward the wall. Emperel raised a finger, pointed at its gaunt hands, and shouted, "King's bolts!"

 

Emperel's bracers grew as hot as embers and sent four golden bolts streaking across the crypt. The magic struck the vampire's hands with a brilliant golden flash, then sank into its flesh and spread up its arms in a pale saffron glow.

 

The vampire jerked the stake from its heart, then struggled to its feet and turned toward Emperel. Gouts of dark blood pumped from the hole in its chest, but it did not seem to care. It merely hefted the axe and stumbled forward.

 

Emperel jumped to his feet and stepped to meet the monster, drawing his magic dagger and boldly thrusting the palm of his steel gauntlet into its face.

 

"Back," he commanded, "in the name of Torm!"

 

The vampire slapped the offending arm down so forcefully that the steel gauntlet flew from Emperel's hand. "Do I look undead to you?"

 

Emperel's mouth went dry, and he brought his magic dagger up, driving the silver-shining blade into the thing's stomach and up toward the heart. The vampire-or whatever it was-closed its eyes and nearly collapsed, then reached down and clamped Emperel's hand.

 

"How... treacherous," it hissed.

 

Emperel tried to twist the blade, but found the thing's grasp too powerful to fight. Struggling against a rising tide of panic, he pulled away, then slammed an elbow into the side of its head.

 

The blow did not even rock the monster.

 

"By the Loyal Fury!" Emperel gasped. "What manner of devil are you?"

 

"The worst kind... an angry one."

 

The killer slammed Emperel into the wall, unleashing a cascade of pebbles and loose dirt, then pulled the dagger free. The silvery glow had all but faded from the enchanted blade, and as Emperel watched, the weapon grew cold and utterly black. The murderer tossed it aside and staggered forward, dark blood now pouring from two wounds.

 

Unable to believe what he was seeing, Emperel raised his ring finger and said, "King's light!"

 

The amethyst setting burst into light, filling the chamber with a blue-white glow. Caught by surprise, the murderer closed its eyes and turned away, momentarily blinded. Emperel, who had known what to expect, leaped forward, drawing his sword and slamming a foot into the back of his foe's knee. The murderer hit the floor rolling, tangling legs with Emperel and sweeping him off his feet.

 

Emperel landed hard, his head slamming against the stone floor. His vision narrowed and his ears began to ring, then his foe was on him, tearing at his throat and denting his helmet. He raised his arm to ward off the blows, and the murderer caught hold of his hand. His ring finger gave a sickening crack, then a terrible pain shot up his arm. Emperel cried out and brought his sword hand up, slamming the pommel into his attacker's head.

 

The killer went sprawling, ripping the weathercloak off Emperel's shoulders and pulling the magic ring off his finger-no, not off.

 

In the murderer's hand was something thin and bloody, with the white nub of a knucklebone protruding from the red stump. Emperel's ring was still attached, illuminating the killer's head in brilliant blue-white. Its face was mantislike and skeletal, with ovoid eyes as red as embers and an impossibly slender chin. Even in the light, the creature's complexion remained shadowy and dark-but not so dark Emperel failed to recognize something familiar in its arrow-shaped nose and upturned lip. He brought his sword around, placing the tip between himself and the man-thing.

 

"Do I ... I know you!"

 

The murderer's eyes narrowed to red slits and it hissed, "Not for long."

 

Emperel heaved his aching body to its feet and advanced a single step, bringing his sword to a high guard. The killer smirked and retreated the same distance, closing one fist around the stolen ring. A sigh of satisfaction slipped from its lips, and the amethyst's light began to flow into its hand, filling the tiny chamber with eerie fingers of light.

 

Emperel felt a chill between his shoulder blades. The murderer was absorbing the ring's magic-just as it had absorbed the magic bolts from his bracers and drained the magic from his dagger. The chamber began to dim rapidly. Realizing he would soon be trapped in total darkness without his weathercloak or any other means of escape, Emperel glanced at the exit passage. The murderer stepped over to block the tunnel mouth.

 

Perfect. Emperel sprang forward to attack, allowing himself a confident smile as the last light faded from the ring. His sword had no magic at all, and when the blade hit home, the murderer groaned and fell into the darkness. Emperel spun on his heel, bringing his sword down in a vicious backhand slash. Sparks flew as his blade clanged off the stone floor. He pivoted away, blindly weaving his weapon in a defensive pattern. A gentle thud sounded beside him, so soft he barely heard it over the whisper of his flying blade. He spun toward the noise, bringing his sword around in a hissing arc. The blade bit into the corner of the tunnel entrance, sending a spray of dirt and pebbles clattering down onto the stone floor.

 

A low moan sounded deep within the tunnel, followed by the scrape of leather on dirt. Emperel flung himself into the passage, blindly whipping his sword to and fro. He struck nothing but dirt and roots.

 

A moment later, his horse screamed, and the murderer was gone.

 

1

 

They sat swaying in unison, the four of them quietly watching each other as Princess Tanalasta's small carriage bounced across the High Heath toward Worg Pass. The shades were drawn tight against blowing dust, and the interior of the coach was dim, dry, and warm.

 

The Warden of the Eastern Marches sat at an angle across from Tanalasta, square and upright in his polished field armor, his steely eyes focused curiously on the wiry priest at her side. The priest, Harvestmaster Owden Foley of Monastery Huthduth, rested well back in the shadows, his slender head turned slightly to smirk at a portly mage whose moon-spangled silks touted him as one of Cormyr's more powerful war wizards. The mage, Merula the Marvelous, perched at the edge of his seat, bejeweled hands folded atop the silver pommel of his walking cane. He was staring at Tanalasta with a busby-browed glare that could only be described as rather too intense. Tanalasta sat studying the Warden of the Eastern Marches, a gangly, horse-faced man who was still somehow handsome in his scarlet cape and purple sash of office. She was thinking that a princess could marry worse than Dauneth Marliir.

 

Tanalasta did not love Dauneth, of course, but she liked him, and princesses could rarely marry for love. Even if he was five years her junior, Dauneth was loyal, brave, and good-looking enough for a noble, and that should have been enough. A year ago it would have been, but now she needed more. With her thirty-sixth year approaching and all of Cormyr waiting for her to produce an heir, suddenly she had to have bells and butterflies. Suddenly, she had to be in love.

 

It was enough to make her want to abdicate.

 

Seeming to feel the pressure of her gaze, Dauneth looked away from Owden. "My apologies, Princess. These mountain roads are difficult to keep in good repair."

 

"A little bumping and jarring won't hurt me, Dauneth." Tanalasta narrowed her eyes ever so slightly, a face-hardening device she had spent many hours practicing in the reflection of a forest pond. "I'm hardly the porcelain doll you knew a year ago."

 

Dauneth's face reddened. "Of course not. I didn't mean-"

 

"You should have seen me at Huthduth," the princess continued, her voice now light and cheerful. "Clearing stones out of fields, leading plow oxen, harvesting squash, picking raspberries, hunting wild mushrooms..."

 

Tanalasta paused, thinking it better not to add "swimming naked in mountain lakes."

 

Merula the Marvelous raised an eyebrow, and she felt a sudden swell of anger. Could the wizard be reading her thoughts?

 

"You were hunting wild mushrooms, milady?" asked Dauneth. "In the forest?"

 

"Of course." Tanalasta returned her gaze to Dauneth, still struggling to decide how she would deal with the wizard's intrusion. "Where else does one hunt for mushrooms?"

 

"You really shouldn't have," Dauneth said. "The mountains around Huthduth are orc country. If a foraging mob had come across you...."

 

"I wasn't aware that protecting me was your purview, Dauneth. Has the king told you something he has yet to share with me?"

 

Dauneth's eyes betrayed his surprise at the woman returning from Huthduth. "No, of course not. The king would hardly confide in me before his own daughter, but I do have a... a reason to be concerned with your safety."

 

Tanalasta said nothing, allowing Dauneth a chance to make himself sound less presumptuous by adding some comment about a noble's duty to safeguard a member of the royal family. When the Warden remained silent, she realized matters were worse than she had expected. With King Azoun turning sixty-three in two days and Tanalasta on the far side of thirty-five and still unmarried, people were starting to wonder if she would ever produce an heir. Certain individuals had even taken it on themselves to hurry things along-most notably the Royal Magician and State Pain-in-the-Princess's Arse, Vangerdahast. The crafty old wizard had no doubt arranged to celebrate the king's birthday at House Marliir for the purpose of advancing Dauneth's courtship.

 

That would have been fine with Tanalasta, who knew better than anyone that her time to produce an heir was fast running out. In the past year, the princess had grown more conscious than ever of her duty to Cormyr and Dauneth had proven himself both a loyal noble and a worthy suitor in the Abraxus Affair fifteen months before. Nothing would have made her happier than to summon the good Warden to the altar and get started on the unpleasant business of producing an heir and the princess had made up her mind to do exactly that when she received word of the celebration in Arabel.

 

Then the vision had come.

 

Tanalasta quickly chased from her thoughts all memory of the vision itself, instead picturing Merula the Marvelous trussed naked on a spit and roasting over a slow fire. If the wizard was spying on her thoughts, she wanted him to know what awaited if he dared report any particular one to the royal magician, Vangerdahast would hear of her vision soon enough, and Tanalasta needed to be the one to tell him.

 

Merula merely continued to glower. "Something wrong, milady?"

 

"I hope not."

 

Tanalasta drew back a window flap and turned to watch the High Heath glide by. It was a small plain of golden checkerboard fields divided into squares by rough stone walls and dotted with thatch-roofed huts. The simple folk who scratched their living from the place had come out to watch the royal procession trundle past, and it was not until the princess had waved at two dozen vacant-eyed children without receiving a response that she realized something was wrong.

 

She turned to the Harvestmaster beside her. "Owden, look out here and tell me what you think. Is there something wrong with those barley fields?"

 

The thin priest leaned in front of her and peered out the window. "There is, Princess. It's too early for such a color. There must be some sort of blight."

 

Tanalasta frowned. "Across the whole heath?"

 

"So it appears."

 

Tanalasta thrust her head out the window. "Stop the carriage!"

 

Merula scowled and reached for his own drape to countermand the order, but Tanalasta caught his arm.

 

"Do you really want to challenge the command of an Obarskyr, wizard?"

 

The wizard knitted his bushy eyebrows indignantly. "The royal magician's orders were clear. We are to stop for nothing until we have cleared the mountains."

 

"Then proceed on your own, by all means," Tanalasta retorted. "Vangerdahast does not command me. You may remind him of that, if he is listening."

 

The carriage rumbled to a stop, and a footman opened the door. Tanalasta held out her hand to Dauneth.

 

"Will you join me, Warden?"

 

Dauneth made no move to accept her hand. "Merula is right, milady. These mountains are no place-"

 

"No?" Tanalasta shrugged, then reached for the footman's hand. "If you are frightened...."

 

"Not at all." Dauneth was out the door in an instant, jostling the footman aside and offering his hand to Tanalasta. "I was only thinking of your safety."

 

"Yes, you did say you have reason to concern yourself with me."

 

Tanalasta gave the Warden a vinegary smile, then allowed him to help her out of the coach, prompting a handful of peasants to gasp and bow so low their faces scraped ground. Outside, it was a warm mountain afternoon with a sky the color of sapphires and air as dry as sand, and the princess was disappointed to note they had already crossed most of the heath. The foot of Worg Pass lay only a hundred paces ahead, where the barley fields abruptly gave way to a stand of withering pine trees.

 

Tanalasta motioned the peasants to their feet, then turned to Harvestmaster Owden, who was climbing out of the carriage behind her. "Do you think your assistants could do anything to save these fields, Harvestmaster?"

 

Owden glanced toward a large, ox-drawn wagon following a few paces behind the princess's carriage. A dozen monks in green woolen robes sat crammed into the cargo bed among shovels, harrows, and other implements of Chauntea's faith. They were eyeing the blighted fields and muttering quietly among themselves, no doubt as concerned as Tanalasta by what they saw.

 

Owden motioned his assistants out of the wagon. "It will take a few hours, Princess."

 

"A few hours!" Merula hoisted his considerable bulk through the carriage door with surprising ease. "We can't have that! The royal magician-"

 

"-need not know," Tanalasta finished for him. "Unless he is spying upon us even as we speak-in which case you may inform him that the Crown Princess will spend the afternoon walking."

 

Tanalasta eyed the Purple Dragons guarding her carriage, one company mounted on their snorting chargers ahead of the procession and the other bringing up the rear, lances posted and steel helmets gleaming in the sun. At the end of the official column followed a long line of merchant carts taking advantage of Tanalasta's escorts to ensure a safe passage through the mountains. Sighing at the futility of trying to find a little privacy with her suitor, Tanalasta turned to Dauneth.

 

"Will you join me, Warden?"

 

Dauneth nodded somewhat uncomfortably. "Whatever the princess wishes."

 

Trying not to grind her teeth in frustration, Tanalasta took Dauneth's arm and led him past the long file of riders to the front of the column. Though her shoulders were draped in a silken cape of royal purple, underneath she wore a sensible traveling smock and a pair of well-worn walking boots, and it was not long before they reached the foot of Worg Pass. She sent the company captain ahead with two scouts and instructed the rest of the company to follow twenty paces behind, but she could not quite make her getaway before Merula the Marvelous came puffing up from behind.

 

"I trust ... the princess will not object to... company," Merula panted.

 

"Of course not. Why should she?" asked Owden Foley, appearing from the other side of the horse column. The weatherworn priest winked a crinkled eye at the princess, then looped his hand through Merula's arm. "My friend, what an excellent idea to join them. We could all do with a nice, brisk walk. Nothing like a stroll to get the heart pumping and keep the fields in water, is there?"

 

Merula scowled and jerked his arm away. "I thought the princess asked you to attend to the peasants' fields."

 

"And so I am," Owden replied, digging a good-natured elbow into the wizard's well-padded ribs. "That's why one has monks, is it not?"

 

"I wouldn't know," grumbled Merula.

 

Owden merely grinned and continued to prattle on about the wholesome benefits of mountain sunlight and pine-fresh air. Tanalasta smiled and silently thanked the priest for coming to her rescue. With the Harvestmaster expounding about the benefits of mountain life, Merula would find it impossible to eavesdrop on her conversation-or her thoughts.

 

Tanalasta led the way up the road at a lively gait. The pass climbed steeply along the flank of a lightly forested mountain, and soon enough the sound of Merula's hulling breath faded from her hearing-though it was replaced by the somewhat lighter panting of the Warden of the Eastern Marches.

 

"If I may say so, Princess, you have changed much since..." Dauneth paused, no doubt as much to summon his tact as to catch his breath, then continued, "Since the last time I saw you."

 

Tanalasta eyed him levelly. "It's all right, Dauneth. You can say it."

 

"I beg your pardon?"

 

"You can say, 'since Aunadar Bleth made a fool of you,'" Tanalasta said lightly. She continued up the road. "The whole kingdom knows how he tried to marry me and steal the crown. Really, it's insulting to behave as if I'm the only one unaware of it."

 

Dauneth's face reddened. "You were under a terrible strain. With your father poisoned and-"

 

"I was a damned ninny. I nearly lost the kingdom, and it was nobody's fault but my own." Despite the steep climb, Tanalasta betrayed no sign of fatigue as she spoke. A year at Huthduth had conditioned her to harder work than hiking. "At least I learned that much from Vangerdahast. I swear, I don't know why he didn't tell Father to name Alusair crown princess."

 

Dauneth cocked an eyebrow. "Perhaps because he saw what you would make of the experience." The Warden grew thoughtful, then added, "Or, since we are speaking frankly, maybe it is because he knows your sister. Can you see Alusair as queen? No noble son would be safe. If she wasn't getting them killed in a war, she'd be entrapping them in her boudoir."

 

Tanalasta let her jaw drop. "Watch your tongue, sir!" Smiling, she cuffed Dauneth lightly on the back. "That's my baby sister you are maligning."

 

"So the crown princess wishes to acknowledge her own weaknesses and remain blind to those of everyone else?" Dauneth shook his head sagely. "This will never do. It runs contrary to the whole spirit of sovereign tradition. Perhaps I should have a talk with old Vangerdahast after all."

 

"That will hardly be necessary," Tanalasta lowered her voice and leaned closer. "All you need do is mention it in front of our companions. I've no doubt Vangey knows everything the moment Merula hears it."

 

"Really? Dauneth glanced back at the pudgy wizard, who looked almost as weary of climbing as he did of Owden's nature lecture. "I didn't realize the royal magician was such a voyeur."

 

"That's just one thing you'd need to accustom yourself to, if..."

 

Tanalasta let the sentence hang, as reluctant to reveal her condition for giving her hand to Dauneth as she was to commit herself to giving it.

 

The Warden was too good a military man not to press for an advantage when he saw the opportunity. "If what, milady?"

 

Tanalasta stopped climbing and turned to face Dauneth, bringing the whole procession of guards and merchants to a clamorous halt. Only Merula and Owden continued to climb, the wizard more eager than ever to eavesdrop, and the priest just as determined to fill his ear with valuable nature lore.

 

Trying to ignore the fact that she was being watched by a thousand eyes, Tanalasta took Dauneth's hand and answered his question. "If we are to do what my father and Vangerdahast want us to, but first we must trust each other enough to speak honestly and openly."

 

Dauneth's face grew serious. "I am sure the princess will find me a very honest fellow."

 

"Of course. No one can doubt that after the Abraxus Affair, but that's really not what I meant."

 

Noticing that Merula's huffing was growing audible again, Tanalasta turned up the road and started to climb. They were almost at the summit now. At any moment, she expected to crest Worg Pass and see the bulky towers of High Horn in the distance.

 

Dauneth clambered to keep up. "So what did you mean, Princess?"

 

"Tanalasta, please. If you can't even call me by name…"

 

"I didn't want to take liberties." Dauneth's voice had grown defensive. "You haven't invited me to."

 

"I am inviting you to now."

 

"Very well. Then what did you mean, Tanalasta?"

 

Tanalasta rolled her eyes, wondering how she could say what she meant without making it seem a command, and without sounding like the same ninny who had nearly let Aunadar Bleth steal a kingdom from beneath her nose. The princess had little doubt that Dauneth, raised in the fine tradition of noble families everywhere, would find her wish to marry for love as laughable as Vangerdahast found it. On the other hand, it was she who wanted to speak honestly and openly, and she could hardly demand such a thing of Dauneth if she was unwilling herself. Tanalasta took a deep breath and began.

 

"First, Dauneth, there must be trust and respect."

 

Dauneth's lips tightened, and Tanalasta saw that she had gotten off to a bad start.

 

"Oh no, Dauneth! I have the utmost trust and respect for you. Everybody does." Tanalasta paused, choosing her next words carefully. "What I mean to say is... well, it must be mutual."

 

Dauneth frowned. "I do trust you, Prin-er, Tanalasta. Of course I respect you."

 

"If that were true, you would not be lying to me now."

 

"Milady! I would never lie-"

 

"Truly?" Tanalasta allowed her voice to grow sharp. "You still respect my judgment after the Abraxus Affair? You would trust the kingdom to the care of someone so easily manipulated?"

 

Dauneth started to reply automatically, then his eyes lit with sudden comprehension. "I see your point."

 

Tanalasta felt a hollow ache in her stomach, which she quickly recognized as the pang of wounded pride-and evidence that Dauneth was listening well. She forced a smile, but could not quite bring herself to take Dauneth's arm.

 

"Now you're being honest. Thank you."

 

"I wish I could say it was my pleasure, but it really isn't. This is truly what you want from me?"

 

"It's a start."

 

"A start." Dauneth sounded somewhat dazed. He plucked at the fabric of her woolen traveling frock. "If I am being honest, would you also like me to tell you that gray really isn't your color?"

 

Tanalasta swatted his hand away. "I said honest, not brash!" she chuckled. "After all, I am still a princess, and I expect to be courted."

 

2

 

Tanalasta bustled down the Family Hall of House Marliir, one hand tugging at her gown's brandelle straps, the other holding her skirts off the floor. The corridor seemed a mile long, with an endless procession of white pillars supporting its corbeled arches and a hundred oaken doors lining its walls. On the way down from High Heath, she had stopped so often to restore blighted fields that the journey had taken an extra day, and she had arrived just that morning to discover that the ball gown she'd had sent up from Suzail was a size too large. There had been no chance to see to her father's birthday gift. She could only trust that Harvestmaster Foley had been able to arrange things on his own.

 

At last, Tanalasta came to a door with two Purple Dragon guards standing outside. They snapped to attention, clicking their feet and bringing their halberds to their shoulders. Tanalasta stopped and raised her arms over her head.

 

"Anything out of place, gentlemen?" she asked, executing a slow twirl. "Loose threads, anything showing that shouldn't?"

 

The guards glanced at each other nervously and said nothing.

 

"What's wrong?" Tanalasta looked down. The gown was an amethyst silk with a tapered bodice and a scooped neckline, and she could imagine something peeking out that a modest princess would prefer to keep hidden. "Tell me."

 

The youngest guard extended his arm, shifting his halberd to the stand ready position. "Nothing's wrong, Princess." The glimmer of a smile flashed across his lips. "You look... well, stunning. I'd be careful about, showing up the queen."

 

Tanalasta's jaw went slack. "What?"

 

The older guard shifted his halberd to the stand ready, then stammered, "B-beg your pardon, princess. Lundan meant no offense. It's just that we haven't seen you in Suzail for quite some time, and a lot has, er, changed."

 

"Truly?" Tanalasta broke into a broad smile, then kissed both men on their cheeks. "Chauntea bless you!"

 

She pulled the ribbon from her brown hair, setting her long tresses free to cascade down her back, then nodded.

 

The dazed guards opened the drawing room door, and she entered the chamber to find Dauneth Marliir standing at the marble fireplace with her father and Vangerdahast. The three men were deep in conversation, each sipping a glass of spirits and chuckling quietly at some joke that Tanalasta hoped did not concern her tardiness. Surprisingly, Vangerdahast had made a special effort to dress for the occasion. He had combed his long beard into a snowy white mass, and his ample girth was cloaked in an indigo robe with yellow comets' that actually seemed to streak across the silk. Dauneth wore a gold-trimmed doublet that was a perfect complement to Tanalasta's amethyst gown-a coincidence she felt certain had not been left to chance. King Azoun wore a linen tunic and velvet cape in the Royal Purple, with Symylazarr the royal Sword of Honor, hanging in its bejeweled scabbard at his side. With stony features and piercing brown eyes, her father looked as handsome as ever-even if the royal beard had a few more gray streaks than a year ago.

 

"By the Morninglord!" The gasp came not from the fireplace, but from the wall left of the door. "Can that be my Tanalasta?"

 

The princess turned to see her mother rising from an elegant chair with gold-leafed spindles. Despite the guard's warning, Tanalasta saw at once that she did not need to worry about upstaging the queen. Wearing a simple violet dress that only served to emphasize her exquisite carriage, Filfaeril was as stunning as ever. With ice-blue eyes, alabaster skin, and hair the color of honey, she always seemed to be the most beautiful woman in the room, even when she was not trying-and today she was trying.

 

The queen took Tanalasta by the shoulders and studied her. "The mountains agree with you, my dear. Dauneth said you had changed-but he didn't say how much!"

 

The princess feigned disappointment. "No? And I had so hoped to smite him with my dusty traveling clothes." Tanalasta hugged her mother, then whispered, "And speaking of the good warden-what is he doing here? I thought only the family was to gather in the drawing room."

 

"Vangerdahast's idea, I'm afraid." The queen's whisper was sympathetic, but she stepped back with a cocked brow. "Is that a problem?"

 

Tanalasta sighed. "Not really-but I had hoped to have a few words with you and the king. There's something I must tell-"

 

"Princess, you look absolutely bewitching!"

 

Tanalasta looked up to see Dauneth leading her father and Vangerdahast away from the fireplace. Giving up any hope of a private moment, she smiled and presented her hand.

 

"Thank you, Dauneth, but what did we say about my name?"

 

The warden blushed and kissed her band. "Forgive me, Tanalasta."

 

The approving glances that shot between Vangerdahast and Azoun did not escape Tanalasta's notice.

 

She curtsied to her father and said, "I apologize for being tardy, but we made a rather alarming discovery on the way from Huthduth."

 

"Yes, yes, Dauneth has told me all about the blighted fields." Azoun took his daughter's hand, then gave her a gently reproachful smile. "A princess really shouldn't trouble herself with such things. That's why we have wizards, you know."

 

"Oh?" Tanalasta looked to Vangerdahast, who was eyeing her up and down, appraising her as a man might a horse. "The royal magician has determined the nature of the problem?"

 

"The royal magician has more important things to do than watch barley grow," Vangerdahast replied, "but Merula the Marvelous has assured me that this 'blight' is not serious-certainly no reason to keep the king waiting."

 

"Merula? What does that wand waver know about farming?" Despite her tone, Tanalasta was secretly relieved. Had the royal magician already discovered the nature of the problem, the value of her gift would have been less apparent. She smiled at her father. "If you want to know what's happening, you must ask Harvestinaster Foley-"

 

"As I certainly will," Azoun interrupted, "if you will be good enough to introduce us-after the party."

 

"Of course," Tanalasta said, secretly delighted. Even for her, it was not easy to arrange an introduction without first winning the consent of the royal magician, and the king's willingness to meet Owden Foley without Vangerdahast's approval bode well for her gift.

 

"I doubt the blight will overrun Cormyr during the celebration," she conceded. "I do apologize for keeping you waiting."

 

The king's smile broadened. "Are we running late? I really hadn't noticed-and even if I had, the wait was well worth it." He turned to Vangerdahast, "Don't you think so, old wizard?"

 

The royal magician regarded Tanalasta sourly, then said, "She has lost weight, though I don't find it healthy for a woman to be so bony… especially not at Tanalasta's age."

 

Filfaeril slapped the wizard's shoulder. "Vangerdahast! Tanalasta was hardly large when she left."

 

"There's no need to defend me, Mother," Tanalasta said. She forced a smile and patted the wizard lightly on his ample belly. "Vangey and I understand each other, don't we, Your Portliness?"

 

Vangerdahast eyes widened. "I see you have gained in cheek what you have lost from other places. If you will excuse me, I have an important matter to attend to."

 

The wizard retreated across the room to sprawl on a burgundy settee, where he put his head back and closed his eyes. Filfaeril smiled approvingly, but the expression on Azoun's face was more pained.

 

"I wish you wouldn't antagonize him, Tanalasta. He is going to be your-"

 

"My Royal Magician… I know." Tanalasta took a deep breath, then launched into a prepared response. "While it would behoove us all to remember that it is the magician who serves the crown and not the reverse, there is no need to lecture me on Vangerdahast's virtues. My regard for him is as deep as your own-even if I no longer choose to quietly abide his slights."

 

The king raised his brow, but Tanalasta took heart from the surprised twinkle in her mother's eye and refused to back down. After the Abraxus Affair, she and Vangerdahast had spent a few months traveling together, and the ordeal had been enough to convince the princess she could no longer allow the royal magician to intimidate her. While he had helped her learn the ways of the world and forget her humiliation at the hands of Aunadar Bleth, he had also attempted to dampen her emerging interest in Chauntea and steer her down 'more appropriate' paths of inquiry. The trip had finally come to a bad end when the princess rebelled and declared her decision to enter the House of Huthduth. She could only imagine what Vangerdahast had told her parents about the decision, but she felt certain he had been less than candid about his own part in the events that caused it.

 

At last, the king laid a hand on Tanalasta's shoulder. "I see you have found some iron in those mountains," he said. "That is good, but if you wish to make a fist of it, you mustn't forget the velvet that covers it."

 

Tanalasta tipped her head, deciding it wiser not to put the king into a bad mood by protesting such a gentle rebuke. "I will bear your advice in mind, Father."

 

"Good." The king smiled, then led her toward the settee, where Vangerdahast still sat with his head back and eyes closed. "Now let's see if we can locate your sister and get this party underway."

 

The mage lifted his head. "We'll have to start without Alusair, I'm afraid."

 

"Start without her?" demanded Filfaeril. The queen narrowed her pale eyes. "Where is she?"

 

"I-er-I don't know, exactly." His face reddening, Vangerdahast hefted himself off the settee. "Still in the Stonelands, perhaps. I have just contacted her, but all she said was 'not now, Old Snoop.'"

 

"Then go get her! We decided to have the king's party in Arabel so-"Filfaeril caught herself and glanced in Dauneth's direction, then began again, "When we decided to accept Raynaar Marliir's kind invitation to host the celebration, it was to make it easier for both our daughters to attend."

 

"So it was, Majesty" Vangerdahast said, inclining his head, "but I am afraid Alusair has removed her ring again."

 

Tanalasta saw Dauneth's eyes flick to the signet rings on the hand of each royal.

 

"I have a thirst, Dauneth." She took the warden's arm and directed him toward the door. 'Would you fetch me a sherry?"

 

"You needn't send him away, Tanalasta." The king toyed briefly with his signet ring, then continued, "I think we can trust Dauneth with our little secret. Besides, the warden knows more about this situation than you do."

 

As if to prove the king correct, Dauneth turned to Tanalasta and said, "Emperel is missing."

 

"Missing?" Tanalasta asked, feeling slighted that the king had not seen fit to send word of this to her in Huthduth. Emperel was the confidential guardian of the "Sleeping Sword," a secret company of brave young lords put into magical hibernation as a precaution against an ancient prophecy forecasting Cormyr's destruction. That the king trusted Dauneth with this covert knowledge was a sign of his confidence in the man, and also of his faith that the good warden would one day be his son-in-law. "What happened?"

 

"That is what Alusair went to find out," said Azoun. He turned to Vangerdahast. "Should we be concerned about her?"

 

"Of course!" the wizard snapped. "The girl will never learn. You know how many times I have told her not to remove her ring. What if it was an important matter?"

 

"The matter is important," said Filfaeril. "This is Azoun's sixty-third birthday. Alusair's absence speaks volumes, and not only to us."

 

"Let us not overstate matters," said the king. "I'm sure she has a good reason for not being here."

 

Tanalasta bit her tongue, knowing it would only make her seem jealous to point out the double standard. It was perfectly fine for Alusair to vanish into the Stonelands and forgo his birthday celebration without so much as a word of apology yet it would not do for the crown princess to speak sharply to Vangerdahast. It was no wonder Tanalasta felt more at home in Huthduth's austerity than in the luxury of her family's palace.

 

The king offered his arm to Filfaeril, then turned toward the great double doors leading into the ballroom. "Vangerdahast, you will have to enter alone," the king said, "and do keep trying to reach Alusair. I'm sure she would contact you if she needed help, but with Emperel missing...."

 

Vangerdahast nodded. "I'll pass word when I reach her."

 

The royal magician extended his hand toward the door, producing several loud raps. From the other side came the barked command of a guard and the muffled blare of trumpets, then the doors swung open. The king and queen stepped through to a thunderous roar of applause.

 

Dauneth stepped to Tanalasta's side and offered her his arm. "If I may."

 

"Of course."

 

Tanalasta looped her hand through the crook of his elbow and stepped into House Marliir's famous Rhodes Room. The huge ballroom was so packed with nobles that she could see nothing of its renowned treasures, save the gold-leafed capitals of its marble columns and the luminescent vault of its alabaster cupola. Her parents were about ten steps ahead, strolling down a plush purple runner that demarcated the Aisle of Courtesy, a small lane to be kept clear for the royals alone. They were simply nodding and waving as they passed the lesser nobles in the rear of the room, but their progress would slow to a crawl as they stopped to exchange pleasantries with the important nobles waiting in the front of the chamber near the Royal Rostrum.

 

Tanalasta forced a smile and followed, acutely conscious of' the rising brows and appraising gazes that greeted her passage. She did not doubt that even the lowest baron present knew how Aunadar Bleth had tricked her into falling in love with him, then tried to seize the throne. Their applause was polite but subdued, a sure sign of the concern they felt over what would become of Cormyr when she took her father's place. The princess continued to smile and nod, calling upon memories of green mountain meadows to remain calm and composed. The first step to restoring her reputation was to appear confident in herself, and to do that she had to be relaxed inside.

 

As they progressed up the Aisle of Courtesy, the wool tabards and linen smocks of the lesser nobles gave way to embroidered capes and chiffon gowns. Brass closures and pewter brooches began to appear in strategic locations, often decorated with brilliant tiger eyes or ghostly moon crystals. Dauneth greeted these men and women by name, and Tanalasta would say what a pleasure it was to make their acquaintance. They never failed to return her smile with somewhat dazed expressions, a sign the princess took to mean she was making a better impression than expected.

 

Tanalasta and Dauneth reached the high nobles at the front of the room, where the air smelled of sweet lavender oil and lilac water. The chamber seemed lit by the twinkle of sparkling rubies and gleaming sapphires, and the low murmur of self-important voices reverberated in the pit of her stomach. The men wore feathered caps and doublets of brilliant silk, while the women had gowned themselves in veritable yards of lace and gossamer. Unlike the lower nobles standing farther back, the lords and ladies gathered here knew the royal family well, and they did not hesitate to compliment the queen's appearance or congratulate Azoun on another year. Tanalasta thought of mountain brooks and pushed her smile wider, then entered the gauntlet.

 

She turned first to the families of five young nobles who had tried to assassinate her late in the Abraxus Affair, both to show she held no grudges and to prove she did not fear them. The dukes managed to stammer out their compliments, but the duchesses were so stunned they could hardly return her greeting. Tanalasta took her leave graciously, then breathed a sigh of relief and led Dauneth down the aisle to more comfortable territory. Her friends the Wyvernspurs were next, Cat looking resplendent in pearl-white, Giogi as flamboyant and affable as always in gold-trimmed velvet.

 

"By the Lady, Princess!" Giogi embraced Tanalasta warmly, then stood back to admire her with a frankly lascivious gaze. "What happened? You've become a real beauty!"

 

"Giogi!" Cat slapped her mate on the shoulder, then stepped to the edge of the purple carpet to wrap her strong arms around Tanalasta. "Forgive my husband, Princess, you know what a clod he can be."

 

"I will take Giogi's compliments over a Bleth's flattery any day," Tanalasta laughed. She motioned to Dauneth. "You remember the good warden, I am sure."

 

Cat's eyes twinkled as she took in Dauneth's gold-trimmed doublet, noting how it complimented Tanalasta's amethyst gown-and how close its indigo fabric came to the royal purple.

 

"As handsome as ever." Cat squeezed Tanalasta's hand, then leaned close to whisper, "You're a lucky woman, my dear."

 

Tanalasta raised a brow, but said nothing about the hastiness of her friend's assumption. "We'll talk later, Cat."

 

"I'm looking forward to it." Cat released her hand and curtsied. "I want to hear all about your adventures in Huthduth."

 

"Adventures?" Giogi asked, looking confused. "Isn't Huthduth a monastery?"

 

"It is." Cat elbowed him in the ribs. "Take your leave, Giogi."

 

Giogi bowed. "Until later, Princess."

 

Tanalasta acknowledged the bow with a friendly nod, then continued up the Aisle of Courtesy. They had now closed to within a few paces of the Royal Rostrum, where Tanalasta was delighted to see the tall, white-haired figure of Alaphondar Emmarask standing slightly apart from the crowd. As the Sage Most Learned of the Royal Court, Alaphondar was Tanalasta's instructor in law, philosophy, history, and almost everything else. The two had become far more than friends over three decades of study, though never in the way sometimes whispered in the royal halls. Hoping to have a few words with him about the blight that had delayed her journey from Huthduth, she pulled Dauneth gently forward-only to have a stumpy little woman step onto the Aisle of Courtesy and block her way.

 

"Princess Tanalasta, your beauty exceeds even the wildest claims of my son."

 

So shocked was Tanalasta that she required a moment to comprehend what she was seeing. The woman was draped in organdy and pearls, with sapphires dangling from her earlobes and rubies glittering on every available digit-even her thumbs. Her powdered hair was piled into a spiraling tower and held in place by eight diamond hairpins arranged in a moonlike crescent. Clearly, the woman was a dame of the realm, yet she behaved as though she knew no better than to block a royal's path.

 

A pair of bodyguards slipped past the princess and took positions to both sides of the woman, awaiting some sign of how to handle the situation. Tanalasta glanced at Dauneth, whose reddening face confirmed the duchess's identity, then decided not to have the woman removed. The warden disengaged himself politely and went to his dauntless mother's side.

 

"Your Highness, may I present my mother, Lady Merelda Marfiir."

 

Tanalasta sensed a spreading circle of silence and knew that half the nobles of the realm were watching to see how she handled the delicate situation-and also to judge the progress of Dauneth's courtship. The princess did not gesture the duchess to rise, but neither did she insult the woman by signaling the guards to return her to her proper place.

 

"Lady Marliir, how kind of you to present yourself." As Tanalasta spoke, she glimpsed her parents at the base of the rostrum, watching in shock. "I have been looking for you. I wish to express my gratitude for hosting the king's birthday party."

 

Merelda flushed in delight. "Not at all. The pleasure is mine," she said, rising without invitation. If the woman heard the gasps that surrounded her, her fleshy smile did not betray it. "I am so happy to meet you, my dear. Dauneth has told me so much about you."

 

"Indeed?"

 

"Oh yes." Oblivious to the ice in Tanalasta's voice, Merelda glanced around to be certain her fellow noblewomen were watching, then took her son's hand and stepped forward. "He speaks of you all the time, and only in the fondest terms, I assure you."

 

Dauneth's face turned as red as the rubies on his mother's fingers. "Mother, please." He clasped her hand tightly and tried unsuccessfully to draw her toward the edge of the carpet, where Raynaar Marliir stood looking on in helpless mortification. "Are you trying to disadvantage me with the princess?"

 

The question drew a round of good natured chuckles from everyone but Tanalasta, who was fast losing patience with Lady Marliir Evidently, the woman believed she could bend Tanalasta to her will as easily as had the traitor Aunadar Bleth. The princess glanced in her parents' direction, silently signaling them to give her some help before she was forced to embarrass their hostess. The king started to turn toward the rostrum, which would trigger the trumpet blast calling the party to order, then glanced over Tanalasta's shoulder at Vangerdahast and suddenly stopped.

 

"I am so looking forward to-"

 

"Don't say it, please," Tanalasta warned. Her sharp tone was due as much to her ire at having her signal overridden by Vangerdahast as her impatience with Lady Marliir. "It would be embarrassing-"

 

"Embarrassing? My dear, Dauneth dances better than that." Merelda threw her head back and joined the other nobles in a round of laughter, then caught Tanalasta's hand between hers. "But if you don't approve of his footwork, you will have plenty of time to correct it-won't you?"

 

The silence grew as thick as smoke, and Tanalasta found it impossible to control her mounting anger. If the king insisted on allowing Vangerdahast to countermand his daughter's wishes, then it would be up to him to deal with the consequences. The princess jerked her hand from the woman's grasp, and put on her most guileless smile.

 

"I am sorry, Duchess Marliir. I cannot follow your meaning. Are you under the impression that Dauneth and I are betrothed?"

 

A quiet murmur filled the room, and Lady Marliir's smile stiffened into a cringe. Her jaw began to work fitfully, trying to string a series of disjointed syllables into some sort of explanation, but Tanalasta refused to give the woman a chance to push her further. She looked to the guards, but Dauneth was already pressing his mother into the grasp of her flabbergasted husband. Duke Marliir clamped onto his wife's elbow and turned toward the nearest exit.

 

As soon as King Azoun saw what was happening, he cast the briefest glance in his daughter's direction, so quick that only the most astute of observers would have noted the inherent reproach. Tanalasta returned the gesture with an innocent shrug. She had no wish to sour her father's mood, lest it affect how he received the birthday gift she had brought from Huthduth, but she had to stand up for herself. If that created a problem, it was Vangerdahast's doing and not hers.

 

Azoun pasted a stiff smile on his face, then disengaged himself from Filfaeril. "Lady Marliir, one moment if you please."

 

The Marliirs stopped and slowly turned, Raynaar's face flushed with embarrassment and his wife's white with mortification. Merelda curtsied deeply and did not rise.

 

"Y-yes, Majesty?"

 

The king came down the aisle and took her by the hands. "It has just occurred to me that I have done you a small injustice." He drew Merelda to her feet. "The royal protocol chamberlain should have invited you and Lord Marliir to walk the carpet with us."

 

The woman's eyes grew round with surprise, and another murmur, much louder than the last, filled the ballroom. "He should have?"

 

"Quite right," Azoun said. "A hostess should be honored-especially the hostess of such a grand and lovely ball. I do hope you will pardon the oversight. The protocol chamberlain really is a most dutiful fellow, and it would be a shame for him to spend the rest of the tenday in a dungeon."

 

The joke drew the appropriate response from everyone near enough to hear it. Lady Marliir blushed and glanced around to make certain everyone had seen her reputation restored, then Azoun kissed her hand and returned to Filfaeril's side. The crown princess smiled diplomatically and tried not to show her seething anger. The party had been spared an unseemly scandal, but at no small cost to Tanalasta's prestige. She could only hope her father would seize the opportunity to undo the damage when she presented her birthday gift.

 

Dauneth returned to Tanalasta's side and rather stiffly offered her his arm. Feeling as ill at ease as he did, she slipped a hand through his elbow and followed her parents onto the Royal Rostrum. The trumpets blared, calling the party to order, and the ballroom quieted as they ascended the stairs.

 

Tanalasta's anger gave way to thoughtfulness, and she began to wonder if someone had suggested to the poor woman that she push matters along. Of course, her suspicions fell instantly upon Vangerdahast. The old wizard had never been above helping destiny along-especially when Cormyr's fate depended on it.

 

They reached the top of the rostrum and found four purple-cushioned thrones, flanked by a pair of simpler chairs for Dauneth and Vangerdahast. Azoun and Filfaeril sat in the middle thrones, and Tanalasta sat in the one to her father's right. The royal magician dismissed the extra throne with a half-muttered word and a flick of his wrist, then pulled his chair to the queen's side and dropped onto it heavily. He did not look in Tanalasta's direction.

 

Once they were all seated, Dauneth formally welcomed the guests to his family's home, glossing over the scene of a few moments earlier with an apt joke about the hearing of would-be grandmothers. The announcement that Princess Alusair would not be in attendance was greeted with a murmur of profound disappointment, but the warden quickly recaptured the crowd's enthusiasm by drawing them into a rousing cycle of sixty-three hoorays-one for each of Azoun's years. So thunderous were the cheers that they soon had Vangerdahast casting nervous glances at the ballroom's alabaster cupola.

 

Once the cheers were finished, Dauneth asked the high nobles to clear a space in front of the rostrum, then brought on a company of singing acrobats. Within minutes, everyone in the room, from the lowliest lord to the king himself, was crying in laughter. Though Tanalasta could not forget Lady Marliir's behavior, she did find herself able to forgive it-especially given that someone in the royal party had most likely put her up to it. By the time the show ended, the spectators were so exhausted from laughing that many had sunk to the floor holding their ribs.

 

As the performers cartwheeled and back-flipped out of the chamber, Dauneth invited the high nobles to ascend the rostrum in turn and present their gifts to the king. After the mirth of the acrobats, it was a welcome chance for the audience to relax and refresh themselves, and a pleasant drone descended over the chamber as Azoun opened the artfully wrapped packages. For the most part, the gifts reflected the families that had given them. From the seafaring Dauntinghorns there was an intricately modeled cog of pure gold, with silken sails that furled or unfurled at the tug of a tiny chain. The Hawklins presented an archaic sword crafted in forgotten Netheril, too ancient and brittle to wield in combat, but a valuable addition to the king's collection in Suzail. Cat and Giogi Wyvernspur produced a huge white stag captured in their Hullack Forest, tame enough to eat from a man's hand, yet so proud it allowed only the king to approach it.

 

Azoun thanked each giver profusely, displaying the offering and expressing his appreciation so sincerely that no one in the crowd could doubt how deeply the present had touched him. Tanalasta quickly lapsed into a performance of look, exclaim, and applause that required only a small fraction of her attention-a routine shared by many high nobles as they circulated through the front of the room, conversing quietly and congratulating each other on the genius of their gifts. At the base of the rostrum, Merelda was the center of much attention, even from the aloof Huntsilvers and the ever-envious Illances.

 

Once the process seemed well underway, Dauneth returned to his seat and leaned over to speak quietly with Tanalasta. "I apologize for my mother's eagerness. As you can see, she was quite taken with the idea of our marriage."

 

Despite her anger, Tanalasta forced herself to smile and speak in a teasing voice. "Of course you have said nothing to encourage her."

 

Dauneth withdrew slightly, apparently sensing the pique behind her tone. "I would never presume!"

 

"No?" Tanalasta pushed her lip out in a parody of a pout. "What of those 'wild claims' about my beauty? Are you telling me you said no such thing?"

 

Dauneth looked confused. "Of course, I find you ravishingly beautiful, but in truth-"

 

"Say no more, Dauneth. There are some things a princess should not hear." Tanalasta laughed lightly, then laid a hand on his arm. She glimpsed Lady Marliir drawing Alaslyn Rowanmantle's attention to the gesture, but did not draw back. If she wanted Dauneth to relax, she had to seem relaxed herself. "Besides, I do not think your mother was the only one eager to push us along."

 

Dauneth glanced uneasily toward her parents and Vangerdahast, then said cautiously, "I am sure everyone wants to see you happily wed."

 

"Truly? I was under the impression that Vangerdahast just wants to see me wed-happily or not." Tanalasta gave another laugh. "Really, his schemes are so transparent."

 

Dauneth avoided looking in the wizard's direction. "I am sure he is only thinking of the kingdom's welfare."

 

"So he is the one!"

 

"The one what?" Dauneth asked.

 

"The one who convinced your mother to behave as she did." Continuing to hold Dauneth's arm, Tanalasta smiled in Merelda's direction. "I know Lady Marliir's reputation, Dauneth. She is hardly the kind to blunder in such a matter."

 

Dauneth looked as relieved as he did surprised, and Tanalasta knew that in his eagerness to vindicate his mother, he would take her bait. She waited quietly and continued to look in Merelda's direction, nodding pleasantly when Lady Marliir flashed a puzzled smile.

 

Finally, Dauneth said, "Now that you mention it, I did see her talking to the royal magician earlier this morning. He must have told her to behave as though we were betrothed."

 

"And what did he tell you?" Tanalasta's tone was casual.

 

Dauneth turned in his seat. "I beg your pardon?"

 

"I thought we were going to be honest with each other, good warden." Tanalasta removed her hand from his arm, then said, "I know Vangey too well to think he would execute only half a plan. When were you to ask me?"

 

Dauneth closed his eyes for a moment, then sighed. "During our dance. I was to whisper the question in your ear. But I knew nothing about my mother. That surprised me as much as it did you."

 

"Which does nothing to excuse your own behavior." Tanalasta cast a furious glance across the rostrum at Vangerdahast, who remained oblivious to her anger and watched in weary amusement as the king set a silver clockwork cat after a golden mouse. "Why, Dauneth?"

 

"Why what?"

 

"Why would you do this?" Tanalasta was struggling to hold back tears of rage. "I know you didn't do it for the throne-not after the loyalty you showed during the Abraxus Affair. So why did you betray me?"

 

"I..." Dauneth looked away

 

Tanalasta noticed several nobles watching from the ballroom floor. She ignored them. "Tell me."

 

When Dauneth looked back to her, his face was stern. "I did not betray you. If anyone is a betrayer here, it is you."

 

Tanalasta raised her brow, shocked. "Me?"

 

"To your duty," Dauneth said. "If you do not produce an heir, the Abraxus Affair will be a mere game compared to what follows your father's passing."

 

"My reign will follow my father's passing," Tanalasta said.

 

"And without an heir of your own, your reign will be one of plots and intrigues, with every noble family maneuvering to claim the throne upon your death. Sooner or later, one of them will see an advantage in assassinating you, and Cormyr will have a usurper for a king-or a war to unseat him."

 

"And you think to prevent this travesty by getting a child on me? I think not. I will have a husband I can trust-or none at all."

 

The hurt showed in Dauneth's eyes. "I meant no offense, milady, nor do I say this for my own good, but you must take a husband, and soon. If you are angry with me, there are plenty to choose from." He pointed into the crowd below. "There is Amanthus Rowanmantle if you fancy someone handsome, or one of the Silversword boys if you like wit, and perhaps even Dier Emmarask if you prefer someone who shares your love of learning."

 

"Thank you for the suggestions," Tanalasta said, struck by the absurdity of Dauneth recommending his own rivals. "If I were to choose a husband I did not love, it would probably be you. Even if I cannot trust you, you are loyal to Cormyr and that counts for much."

 

"Thank you, milady." A hopeful light returned to Dauneth's eyes. "Do you really have time to think of love? We must think of Cormyr."

 

"I am thinking of Cormyr." Tanalasta started to rebuke the warden for trying to argue her into marrying him, then realized there was no point. She did not love Dauneth, and she was not going to marry him. "I am always thinking of Cormyr."

 

"If that is true, you will-"

 

"Dauneth, please don't presume to tell me what is good for Cormyr."

 

The warden flushed and looked away, clearly aware that he had been doing just that. Tanalasta wanted to explain to him, to tell Dauneth of the vision she had experienced at Huthduth, but how could she expect him to understand something she could barely put into words? The revelation had been one of those slippery things that a sharp mind could twist into a thousand meanings, but in which a true heart perceived only one. How could she trust Dauneth to trust her feelings, when he had already proven that she could not trust him?

 

"I'm sorry, Dauneth, but it must be love. I really cannot abide less."

 

A look of exasperation came over the warden, then he nodded and said, "Very well, milady. I shall fall in love with you on the morrow."

 

Tanalasta's jaw dropped, then she caught the note of self-mockery in his voice. "I wish it were that easy, good warden," she laughed. "I truly do." After a moment, she stopped laughing and gently took his hand. "But I fear your feelings would go unrequited. You don't respect me in your heart, and after Vangerdahast's meddling, I can never trust you as a woman should her husband. Forgive my bluntness in this matter, but you deserve to know. Your loyalty to Cormyr demands it."

 

Dauneth's face fell, and he sagged away from Tanalasta in shock. The nobles below did not seem to notice. They gasped in awe as Azoun displayed a four-foot dragon carved from a single crystal of amethyst, then applauded Ayesunder Truesilver as he descended the rostrum beaming with pride at the king's superlative words of royal gratitude.

 

Seeing that there were no more nobles waiting to ascend the stairs, Dauneth gathered himself together, then went forward to express his admiration for the many treasures strewn across the rostrum. After swearing that it would take a whole caravan of war wizards to return the hoard safely to Suzail, he invited Alaphondar Emmarask to present his gift. The Sage Most Learned ascended the rostrum and presented the king with a massive leather-bound volume entitled, The Dragon Rides: A Complete and Accurate Account of the Life of Azoun IV of Cormyr, Volume Sixty-Two.

 

Filfaeril drew a raucous round of chuckles by remarking that she hoped it was not "completely complete," then Vangerdahast stood to present his gift, pulling a simple switch of willow from the billowing sleeve of his robe. The king accepted the stick with a somewhat puzzled look.

 

"We thank you, Magician," said Azoun. "What kind of wand is it?"

 

"None, Majesty. It is a plain switch." Vangerdahast looked directly at Tanalasta, then added, "I think you shall soon have need of it."

 

Much to Tanalasta's dismay, the wizard's wry response sent the room into convulsions of laughter. She could do little except pretend to enjoy the joke and fume inwardly. If Vangerdahast could not bend her to his will through tricks and traps, then he seemed determined to undermine her prestige with outright mockery. The princess could imagine the campaign continuing until her father died, and no matter that it would weaken her own crown when she ascended the throne, The old staff swinger believed that only he knew what was good for Cormyr. Usually, he did, and if that had been so this time, Tanalasta would have married Dauneth on the morn. But this time the royal magician was wrong, this time, the future of Cormyr was not a matter of the mind, but of the heart, and she was not sure that Vangerdahast even had a heart.

 

Once the mirth faded, Dauneth turned to the princess and cocked a querying eyebrow. Though he was careful to maintain an expression of practiced congeniality, the rest of his face was at odds with his broad grin. Hoping the audience could not read his disappointment as clearly as she, Tanalasta smiled and nodded.

 

Dauneth extended an arm. "Lords and ladies, I give you the Princess Tanalasta Obarskyr."

 

Tanalasta took a deep breath, then rose to a polite ovation and stepped to the front of the rostrum. "Thank you."

 

The princess needed to say this only once to silence the applause.

 

"As you know, I have been in retreat at Huthduth for the last year. While the royal magician seems to fear that I have been somehow corrupted by Chauntea's humble monks-" Tanalasta was interrupted by a round of nervous laughter as she waved at the switch lying across her father's knees, then continued, "Let me assure you nothing could be further from the truth. The mountains were a place of great peace and harmony for me, and my gift is to bring some of that bounty to King Azoun IV, and through him, to all of Cormyr."

 

Tanalasta waved toward the entrance of the ballroom, where Owden Foley stood beneath the Grand Arch with a silk-wrapped gift box the size of a peasant hut. As the crowd turned to look, the Harvestmaster took up a golden rope and began to haul the gift across the floor. At first, his progress was labored and slow, for he seemed able to drag the huge box only a few paces before stopping to rest. Several minor nobles volunteered their help, which he gladly accepted.

 

The lords began to haul on the cord, and the box flew toward them so fast that they fell to the floor in a heap. A puzzled silence descended over the chamber, until Owden returned to take the golden rope. Claiming that earls and counts were too clumsy for such dangerous work, Owden shooed them away to a chorus of laughter, then resumed his labored trek toward the rostrum. This time, however, the box seemed to have a will of its own, sometimes flying toward him so fast that he barely kept from being run over, other times refusing to budge no matter how he pulled, cursed, or kicked at it. By the time he reached the rostrum and climbed the stairs to present the cord to Tanalasta, the ballroom was shaking with laughter.

 

Tanalasta beamed, for she and Owden had worked out the act together, spending much of her last tenday in Huthduth choreographing every move. She thanked the Harvestmaster for his hard work, then presented the rope to her chuckling father.

 

"You have but to pull the cord, Sire."

 

"If I dare!" Azoun chuckled. He stood as though bracing himself for an onslaught, then jerked the cord.

 

The walls of the box fell instantly away, revealing twelve guilty-looking monks on a small pedalcart crowded with large earthenware kettles. As the audience erupted into guffaws, two of the priests leaped off the cart and placed a pair of pots on the lowest step of the rostrum, then spoke a quick prayer to Chauntea. By the time they had finished, two more monks were placing another pair of pots on next step.

 

As this duo spoke their prayers, a pair of small trees sprouted from the first two kettles and began to grow before the eyes of the astonished crowd. Another team of priests ascended the rostrum and placed their pots on the third stair, and so it continued until a pair of pots had been placed on every step. The trees blossomed as they grew, drawing gasps of wonder and delight from everyone in the room save Vangerdahast, who regarded the whole display with an air of wary impatience.

 

The last blossoms had barely appeared before the limbs of the first trees began to grow heavy with fruit. Smiling in delight, the king descended three steps and plucked a pear from the branch, then bit into it with relish.

 

"The sweetest fruit I have ever tasted!" he announced. The king used his sleeve to wipe the juices from his beard, then climbed the stairs back to Tanalasta. "A most excellent gift, Princess. We thank you for this wondrous orchard of mountain fruit trees!"

 

Tanalasta smiled and curtsied. "You are very welcome, Majesty, but I fear the trees will fade as quickly as they grew. It is not the orchard I am giving you. It is the priests."

 

Azoun's smile grew confused. "The priests?" He looked from her to Harvestmaster Foley to the twelve monks waiting to collect the dying trees, then finally leaned close to Tanalasta's ear. "I don't understand, my dear. Surely, you don't mean to say that you have brought me slaves?"

 

"Hardly." Buoyed by the success of Owden's entrance, Tanalasta spoke loud enough for the crowd to hear, "I have persuaded Harvestmaster Foley and his priests to return home with us to establish the Royal Temple of Chauntea."

 

Azoun's expression changed from one of confusion to one of shock, and Vangerdahast stepped to the king's side at once.

 

"The Royal Temple of Chauntea?" the old wizard gasped. "She can't be serious!"

 

"I am quite serious." Tanalasta ignored the ire in Vangerdahast's voice and spoke directly to the nobles below. "The Royal Temple is established to ensure the health of all lands in Cormyr. We shall start with those blighted fields right here in the north."

 

3

 

The music of the final allemande still rippling through his mind, Vangerdahast sat hunched in one of the Marliirs' overstuffed wing chairs, frowning peevishly at the cold ache in his old joints. The clatter outside had all but died as the last of the guests' carriages departed the courtyard below, and still Azoun insisted on pacing back and forth between him and the warmth of the crackling fire.

 

"See here, Majesty, you're going to have to quit that." Vangerdahast wagged a gnarled finger at his liege's feet. "An old man needs his fire."

 

Azoun stopped directly in front of the hearth and faced him. "What could she be thinking?"

 

"I wouldn't know," Vangerdahast said. "Perhaps His Highness forgets that he forbade me from reading her mind?"

 

"That doesn't mean you don't," said Filfaeril, rising from where she had been resting on the royal magician's bed.

 

Vangerdahast ignored the queen's remark and muttered a few arcane syllables, then made a series of quick gestures with his fingers. Azoun did not seem to notice as he floated away from the fireplace, then slipped around to stand beside the chair.

 

"I'm beginning to worry about what kind of queen Tanalasta is going to make," said Azoun. "First Bleth nearly tricks her into giving away the throne-"

 

"Tanalasta was not the only one fooled by Aunadar," said Filfaeril. Still dressed in the violet gown she had worn to the ball, she took a seat in the chair next to Vangerdahast. "As I recall, we were quite keen on the man ourselves. Had I not slipped him into the library at an opportune moment, nor had you invited him on the hunt that day, Tanalasta would never have given him a second look."

 

A pained look came to the king's eye. "Just because a man wants to know his daughter's suitors does not mean he is thrusting them on her."

 

"No more than we have been thrusting poor Dauneth on her." Filfaeril shot a glance at Vangerdahast, who pretended not to notice and continued to gaze into the fire. "It is no wonder his mother assumed more than she should have."

 

Azoun nodded. "Yes, I suppose that mess was my fault-but a father can encourage, can't he? I only want to see her happy."

 

"Happily married," Filfaeril said, "and pregnant with an heir."

 

Azoun shot his wife a rare frown. "Happy first."

 

"Regardless of the cost to Cormyr?" the queen asked.

 

Azoun thought for a moment, then said, "The price of the realm's good does not have to be Tanalasta's happiness. Perhaps it is time I realized her calling may not lie in being a ruler."

 

Vangerdahast was so surprised that he nearly choked on his own saliva. Of course, the same thought had been in the back of everyone's mind since Tanalasta's embarrassment in the Abraxus Affair, but this was the first time Azoun had voiced it aloud.

 

Filfaeril did not seem so shocked. She merely raised a brow, then spoke in an eerily neutral voice. "That would be a big decision."

 

"But not necessarily a hard one. Tanalasta is thirty-six years old. By the time you were her age, she was already fifteen, and Foril would have been..." Azoun did not finish, for neither he nor his queen liked to dwell on the loss of their young son. "Perhaps Tanalasta would be happier without the burden of producing an heir."

 

"Perhaps," Filfaeril allowed. "She is approaching the age when the choice may no longer be hers, and we must also think of the kingdom."

 

Vangerdahast's heart sank. Until now, the queen had always been Tanalasta's greatest supporter, maintaining that the princess would grow into her responsibilities when the time came. If even Filfaeril had lost faith in her eldest daughter, then what support could Tanalasta have left in the rest of the kingdom?

 

Azoun stepped over to the hearth and stared into the flames, blocking Vangerdahast's heat. "Tanalasta isn't the same. She may have been naive before that Bleth trouble, but she was hardly stupid. Now ..." The king let the sentence trail, shaking his head in dismay. "Embarrassing Lady Marliir like that was bad enough."

 

"Majesty, we must recall that Tanalasta had some-ah-help in that," Vangerdahast said. "I seem to recall shaking my head as you turned to start up the rostrum."

 

Azoun regarded Vangerdahast with a look of puzzlement. "I thought you were at odds with the crown princess."

 

"I do not always agree with you either."

 

"Nor do the two of you seek every opportunity to vex each other," said Filfaeril. "So why are you defending her now?"

 

"Because fairness demands it," said Vangerdahast. "She was merely standing up for herself in an unfair circumstance."

 

"Unfair?" Filfaeril's eyes narrowed to ice-blue slits. "What game are you playing at now, old trickster? You were the one who said we should give destiny a push and ask the Marliirs to host the king's party."

 

Vangerdahast felt the heat rising to his face, but it was impossible to disguise the reaction with both royals watching him so closely. In a voice as casual as possible, he said, "I may have pushed rather too hard, milady."

 

"'Rather too hard?'" Filfaeril demanded. "If you cast any spells on them-"

 

"Of course not!" Vangerdahast was truly indignant. "Would I use magic to manipulate the princess's emotions?"

 

"Only as a last resort," Azoun growled. "So tell us what you did do."

 

"It was but a little thing." Vangerdahast held up his hand, pressing together his thumb and forefinger to illustrate. "Merely a matter of a few words, really."

 

"Whispered into whose ear?" Filfaeril asked. "Lady Marliir's?"

 

"For one," Vangerdahast said. "But that really isn't important."

 

"No wonder Tanalasta has so little use for you!" The king shook his head in disbelief. "That doesn't excuse this royal temple nonsense. Half the nobles in the land will convert to Chauntea merely to win favor at court, and the other half will take up arms to defend their own faiths. How can she expect me to let this happen?"

 

"Because if you don't, her reputation will be ruined," Filfaeril said. She went over to stare into the flames, and now Vangerdahast was completely blocked off from the warmth of the fire. "Forgive me for saying so, Azoun, but I think we're the dense ones here. Our daughter knows exactly what she's doing."

 

Azoun furrowed his brow. "Let us assume that is so-but to what purpose?"

 

"To force our hand, of course," said Filfaeril. "Obviously, she does not wish to be queen."

 

Vangerdahast was up and standing between the royals in an instant. "Let us not leap to conclusions, milady! No one has heard Tanalasta say any such thing."

 

The queen whirled on him with a vehemence that, until that moment, had been reserved for poisoners and plotters. "What do you care, you old meddler? You've never wanted Tanalasta to be queen, not since the day she crawled onto Alaphondar's lap instead of yours."

 

Vangerdahast forced himself to stand fast in the face of her fury and in that moment he saw the first hint of frailty he had observed in the queen's character in more than forty years of knowing her. It was not the princess who had reservations about ascending the throne, but Filfaeril herself who wanted Tanalasta to rebuff the crown. The queen simply could not bear the thought of the grief and sacrifice her bookish daughter would suffer in having to become something so much larger than she was by her own nature.

 

Had the old wizard known her feelings a year earlier, before leaving on his journey with Tanalasta, perhaps he could have honored her wishes. Filfaeril was the closest thing he had to a sister or a wife or a mistress, and he would not have hurt her for all the treasure in the Thousand Worlds, but it was too late now. Screwing on his most enigmatic glower, the wizard met the queen's furious gaze with an angry conviction he did not quite feel.

 

"What you say simply is not true, milady. If I have been hard on the princess, it is only because you and the king have been too soft on her."

 

Filfaeril's eyes flashed white. "What are you saying, Magician?"

 

"That you spoiled your daughter, Majesty-a sin pardonable enough, except that she happened to be the crown princess of Cormyr."

 

"How dare you!"

 

Filfaeril's hand flew up so quickly that it would surely have sent Vangerdahast sprawling, had Azoun not caught her wrist.

 

"Not yet, my dear." Azoun's eyes were as angry as those of his wife. "First, I'd like him to explain himself."

 

Breathing an inward sigh of relief, Vangerdahast turned to the king and inclined his head. Azoun, at least, would not strike unless he meant to kill.

 

"It is simple enough, Highness," he said. "Between childhood and adulthood is rebellion. You and the queen have been loving parents but not stern, and so your daughters had no one to rebel against. I am privileged to be that person for Tanalasta."

 

"So you have been deliberately provoking her?" Filfaeril demanded.

 

"Quite," Vangerdahast said, almost proudly. "I would say I've done rather well, wouldn't you?"

 

Again, Azoun's quick hand was all that kept the queen's fist from knocking the old wizard off his feet. Vangerdahast's heart broke a little as he realized that the fury in her eyes would not soon fade. Still, one sometimes had to pay a steep price for always being right.

 

"I want it stopped," said Azoun. "It isn't working anyway."

 

"I'm afraid it can't be stopped." Vangerdahast did not relish saying that to the king. "Now that it has been stirred, Tanalasta's fury will not simply fade away-not when it has been corked up inside her for twenty years. This thing will have to run its course now, and it's better that she is angry at me than at you. That way, we avoid the possibility of treason."

 

"Have you lost your mind?" Filfaeril screeched. "Treason? From Tanalasta?"

 

"That won't happen," Vangerdahast assured her. "As I said, matters are well under control. Tanalasta will develop into a splendid queen."

 

"Like bloody hell she will!" Azoun said. "I suppose the next thing you'll tell me is that I should let her have this Royal Temple of Chauntea?"

 

"Of course not. I didn't expect that." Vangerdahast was struggling to keep hold of his own patience. "But I'll have to be the one to deal with it. If you start trying to deny her at this stage-"

 

"I am the king!" Azoun roared. "I'll do what's best for Cormyr, and if that means telling the crown princess she can't have a royal temple to play with, then I will!"

 

"To 'play with?'" Vangerdahast rolled his eyes. "That's what I'm talking about. She's not a little girl, Majesty. She's a thirty-six year old princess who needs a suitable husband-and fast."

 

"I don't like this, Azoun." Filfaeril turned from the fireplace and started across the room, toward the door that led to their suite of rooms. "What does a wizard know about raising children? I understand my daughter. She doesn't want to be queen, and I say we don't make her. Alusair is a year younger anyway."

 

"Alusair?" Vangerdahast gasped, finally losing control of himself. "And who is going to make her be queen? She doesn't want it at all, and I couldn't even begin to address her problems."

 

"Vangerdahast's right about that, I'm afraid." Azoun was speaking to his wife's departing back. "If we don't want to make Tanalasta do it, it's hardly fair to make Alusair do it either."

 

"Then perhaps you will have to father another heir, my husband, one that Vangerdahast can mold into a proper monarch." Filfaeril's voice was as icy as her glare. "But I fear you will need a younger queen for that. One a decade the junior of your daughters, so you can be certain of the matter."

 

Filfaeril turned and pulled the door shut behind her.

 

Azoun sighed and sank into the chair she had vacated, then tossed his crown onto the floor and began to rub his forehead.

 

"Vangerdahast, please tell me that you have some idea what you're doing here."

 

"Of course, Sire. You may recall that I helped guide you through-"

 

The wizard was interrupted by nervous rapping at the door, then Alaphondar Emmarask poked his head into the chamber. His long white hair was more disheveled than usual, and the expression on his face was atypically frazzled.

 

"Pray excuse my interruption, Sire, but a rather spontaneous flood of high priests seems to be, well, appearing in the Marliir courtyard."

 

"No doubt offering to establish Royal Temples of their own," Azoun surmised.

 

The Sage Most Learned glanced at the floor. "I would say they are doing rather more than offering."

 

"And so it starts." The king exhaled heavily, then snatched his crown off the floor. "Is there anything else?"

 

"Yes, sire. Merula the Marvelous begs leave to consult with Vangerdahast regarding the hazard that will be caused by a subversion of the War Wizards in favor of a religious-"

 

"Tell Merula I will speak with him later," interrupted Vangerdahast, "and assure him the War Wizards' influence is not threatened."

 

Azoun glanced at Vangerdahast from the corner of his eye. "Quite sure of ourselves, aren't we?"

 

"Quite," the wizard replied, voicing more conviction than he felt.

 

The Sage Most Learned still did not leave.

 

"Something else?" Azoun asked.

 

"I'm afraid so, Majesty. Duke Marliir is demanding an audience," said Alaphondar. "He's angry about being asked to host a party so Princess Tanalasta could announce she would not be marrying his son."

 

"Of course. Show him in." Azoun sighed heavily, twirling the crown on his fingers, then looked up at Vangerdahast. "Lord Magician, by the time we finish today, I am sure you will have a plan for untangling this brilliant mess you've made."

 

"Of course, Sire." Vangerdahast took the crown, then placed it on Azoun's head at an angle just jaunty enough to make it appear the king had been celebrating his birthday a little too hard. "Whatever you command."

 

* * * * *

 

The stables smelled of straw and leather and predawn dew, and of the many other joys of honest labor that had remained so carefully hidden from Tanalasta throughout much of her life. She would miss the odor of toil when she returned to Suzail, but at least she would know where to find it again when the palace's bouquet of perfume and prevarication grew overwhelming. Tanalasta slipped the breast collar over the mule's neck, then buckled it into place and passed the reins to Harvestmaster Foley, sitting above her on the driver's bench. The rest of the priests were kneeling in the wagon cargo bed with their tools and gear, eager for the day's work to begin.

 

The crunch of approaching feet sounded from the stable yard outside. Tanalasta turned to see her parents advancing through the early morning gloom, Vangerdahast and the usual entourage of guards in tow. Though the sun would he up in less than half an hour their eyelids remained heavy with sleep and their hair uncombed.

 

"The king and queen," Owden gasped, "and they don't look happy."

 

"I wouldn't read much into their appearance," Tanalasta said. "It's not the palace's custom to rise before the sun." Not so long ago, Tanalasta too would have regarded a predawn rising as an interruption of the choicest pillow time. "I'm sure Vangerdahast spent the night bending their ears about the royal temple."

 

A distressed look came to Owden's face, but Tanalasta gave him a reassuring smile and went outside to meet her parents.

 

"Your Majesties, I did not expect to see you up so early."

 

"No? Then you were hoping to sneak out under cover of darkness?"

 

The king made his query sound like a joke, but there was a bitter edge to the question, and Tanalasta could sense the schism between her parents and the royal magician. Though the trio was normally close-knit, Azoun and Vangey barely looked at each other, and her mother stood a little apart from both of them. Tanalasta curtsied, acknowledging the irritation in her father's tone.

 

"It is the custom of Chauntea's folk to start early." As Tanalasta spoke, the royal guards formed a small circle around the group, lest any of the Marliir stable boys scurrying through the gray morning pause to eavesdrop. "We have had disturbing news from Tyrluk. The blight has broken out in ten places around the village, and the crop was already half lost before the messenger left town."

 

Owden Foley stepped gingerly past a guard to come up beside Tanalasta. "At that rate, Majesty, every field between the High Road and the Storm Horns will be a total loss within the tenday."

 

"That is why we keep the royal granaries full." Azoun ignored the Harvestmaster and continued to focus on Tanalasta. "We have not seen the princess in over a year. I would really rather she didn't run off-"

 

"Within a tenday, you say?" Vangerdahast interrupted, stepping past Azoun toward Owden. "That is exceedingly fast, is it not?"

 

Owden nodded grimly. "The fastest I have ever seen. If we do not move quickly, the whole of Cormyr could lose its crop."

 

"Truly?" Vangerdahast ran his fingers through his long beard, then turned to the royal couple. "Majesties, we may have a situation here worthy of our closest attention."

 

Azoun frowned in confusion. "Just yesterday, you told me that Merula the Marvelous-"

 

"I fear Tanalasta may have been right about him," Vangerdahast said, again interrupting. "Unless you want a dragon blasted apart or a company of orcs put to sleep, Merula the Marvelous is a bit of a wand waver."

 

The king and queen exchanged perplexed glances, then Filfaeril asked, "I beg your pardon?"

 

"Merula wouldn't know a blight from a blotch," said Vangerdahast. "He assured me the disease would never escape the mountains, and the next day here it is in Tyrluk. When it comes to plants, we might be better to put our faith in the judgment of the good Harvestmaster."

 

Tanalasta wondered what trick Vangerdahast was working now, then frowned as the old pettifogger turned to address Owden.

 

"Harvestmaster Foley, what would you say is the origin of this blight?"

 

"It appeared first in the mountains, and it molds the roots just below the surface." Owden rubbed his chin thoughtfully, then said, "It may very well be some sort of cave fungus-carried by orcs, I imagine. The filthy creatures spend a lot of time crawling about in caverns, and a wandering band would explain why the disease seems to be jumping around."

 

"Excellent observation, Owden... if I may be so informal," said Vangerdahast.

 

"Of course, Lord Magician," said Owden.

 

"Vangerdahast, please, or Vangey if you prefer. We really don't stand on ceremony in private." The old wizard cast a sidelong glance at Tanalasta, then added, "As you may be aware, sometimes I am even referred to as 'that damned old staff-swinger.'"

 

"Really? I hadn't heard that," said Owden, lying beautifully. Tanalasta had spent her first tenday or so at Huthduth complaining about the wizard and doing very little else, and she considered it a tribute to the harvestmaster's patience that she had not been asked to leave. "The princess always referred to you in a rather fatherly fashion."

 

"How kind of you to say so."

 

Suspicious of Vangerdahast's polite tone, Tanalasta studied her parents for hints as to why the royal magician was trying to befriend Owden. Even in the rosy dawn light now spilling across the stable yard gate, their expressions betrayed nothing beyond the same confusion she felt.

 

Vangerdahast turned to the king. "Majesty, perhaps we should send word to High Horn to triple their orc patrols and see to it that the beasts are kept far clear of Cormyr. If I may borrow a few scouts from the Purple Dragons, I'll also have the War Wizards send out teams to seal the mouths of any caverns the orcs have been inhabiting."

 

"And you'll claim it was the War Wizards who stopped the blight," Tanalasta surmised. "I see what you're doing, you old thief."

 

Vangerdahast turned to her with an innocent expression. "I am trying to stop the blight," he said. "I thought that was what you wanted."

 

"Of course," said Tanalasta, "but if you think you can use Owden's knowledge to steal the credit from the Royal Temple…"

 

"Vangerdahast isn't stealing the credit from anybody," said Azoun. "There isn't going to be any Royal Temple."

 

"What?" Tanalasta whirled on her father so fast that several bodyguards glanced reflexively over their shoulders. "You let Vangerdahast talk you out of it without hearing me first? That's hardly fair."

 

"Actually, Vangerdahast never said a word against the Royal Temple," said the king. "Your mother and I had barely retired from the ball before high priests began to fill the Marliir's foyer, all insisting that the palace establish royal temples to their own gods and goddesses."

 

"Why shouldn't we?" Tanalasta asked evenly. Owden stood at her side looking serene. They had decided earlier that their best strategy in an argument would be for Owden to maintain an air of patient confidence. "As long as each church pays its own costs, what harm can it do to curry the favor of the gods?"

 

Filfaeril regarded Tanalasta as though she were mad. "Curry favor from the Prince of Lies? Or the Maiden of Pain?" The queen shook her head in disbelief. "Perhaps you should be Loviatar's first royal acolyte. You're certainly causing your parents enough anguish."

 

Tanalasta fell silent, not because she had failed to anticipate the argument, but because she was surprised to hear the queen voicing it instead of Vangerdahast. Before, her mother had always supported her against the wizard, and it shook her confidence to see the normal order of things reversed. She smiled at a gawking stable boy stumbling past with two buckets of warm goat's milk, then returned her attention to the queen.

 

'The term 'royal' implies the sponsorship of an Obarskyr does it not?" Tanalasta did not put as much acid as she had planned into the question, for she could not quite bring herself to speak to the queen in such tones. "I have faith enough in our family to think that even Cyric's new Seraph of Lies could not arrange such a thing."

 

"And I share that faith," said Azoun. In contrast to Filfaeril, the king spoke in a patient, if firm, voice. "But other considerations take precedence. First, you know how the nobles make a vogue of anything we do."

 

"There are worse fads to start," Tanalasta said.

 

"Perhaps, but we must also think of the War Wizards. They will take it as a grave insult to their skill and loyalty if the crown suddenly finds it necessary to establish another corps of magic-users."

 

"And the crown princess should not need to be told of the War Wizards' importance to the realm," added the queen. The dawn had finally turned yellow, and in its golden light Filfaeril looked more like an angry celestial seraph than Tanalasta's mother. "Nor of the dangers of undermining their value by creating a divisive atmosphere. Already this morning, I have heard several wizards refer to your priests as 'spell-beggars' and 'mommy's boys.'"

 

Vangerdahast gave Owden an apologetic nod. "No offense, of course. I'll have a word with them about such epithets."

 

"Not necessary," said the harvestmaster, not quite managing to mask the indignity in his voice. "Their jealous-ah-resentment is understandable."

 

Vangerdahast only smiled at what everyone knew to be an intentional slip of the tongue, and Tanalasta began to fear that her mother's argument had merit. If Owden could not handle Vangerdahast on his best behavior, she shuddered to think of the enmity that would be unleashed when the old guttermouth gave himself free rein.

 

Tanalasta addressed herself to the queen. "If the crown must fear the consequences of the War Wizards' anger, then perhaps they are not as great an asset to the realm as we believe." She smiled in Vangerdahast's direction. "I am sure we may be confident of the royal magician's ability to keep them under control. Really, it would be a shame to let petty politics prevent us from doing what is best for the realm. Vangerdahast himself has pointed out that only the priests of Chauntea can deal with crises such as this."

 

Even on his best behavior, this was a bit too much for Vangerdahast. "That is not quite what I said, young lady. A small crop blight is hardly a crisis for a kingdom like Cormyr."

 

"Nor do we want to make it seem like one," said Azoun. "Creating a new organization to respond to it is bound to do just that. It could cause a general panic that would lead to hoarding, thievery and profiteering. I'm sorry Tanalasta. You'll have to announce that Chauntea called Owden and his priests back to Huthduth."

 

"But she hasn't," Tanalasta said. "The goddess wouldn't do such a thing."

 

"It's no reflection on Owden or Chauntea, or even on your decision to venerate the All Mother," said Filfaeril. "This simply isn't the time to establish a royal temple. You shouldn't have announced it without discussing it with us first, and I'm sure you know that. Trying to force this onus is unforgivable-as unforgivable as Vangey's attempt to embarrass you into taking a husband before it is too late."

 

"Too late?" Tanalasta fairly shrieked the words, for her mother had touched a tender chord. She turned to Vangerdahast. "So that's how it is. You would turn my own parents against me to get what you want."

 

Vangerdahast arched his bushy eyebrows, and something like sorrow seemed to flash in his dark eyes. "I am sorry, milady, but I have no idea what you mean."

 

"A marriage for a royal temple. Is that to be the agreement?" Tanalasta looked to her parents. "If a child is the only thing I am permitted to give the realm, then at least let me do that well. Trust me, it would be better to leave my field fallow than to plow it with a man I do not love."

 

Azoun paled and glanced around the stable yard, then, with a few quick nods, signaled the guards to clear it. Filfaeril's reaction was different. Though her eyes filled with tears, she flashed Tanalasta the same icy glare that had crushed razor-tongued duchesses and iron-willed army marshals.

 

"Your father's decision has nothing to do with anything Vangerdahast may have said." Filfaeril's voice cracked, but she stepped closer to her daughter and continued in an even harsher tone. "The king is thinking of Cormyr. It is time for you to stop being so selfish and do the same thing."

 

Vangerdahast's eyes grew wide. "Your Majesty, you mustn't."

 

A small wad of cotton appeared in the wizard's hand, but Filfaeril's hand was clamped on his wrist before he could speak his incantation.

 

"Vangerdahast!" Filfaeril's tone was threatening. "If you cast that silence spell, even Azoun will not have the power to keep your head on your shoulders."

 

The wad vanished into the wizard's sleeve. "Filfaeril, I beg you. You're making a mistake."

 

"Perhaps, but she has had twenty years to find a husband she likes." The queen turned back to Tanalasta. "Now she will settle for Dauneth Marliir."

 

Owden Foley stepped to the queen's side. "Your Majesty, if I may, there is something you should know."

 

"Owden, no!" Tanalasta grasped the harvestmaster's shoulder and shoved him toward a guard. "This man is dismissed."

 

"Not yet," said the king. He gestured to Owden. "Is there something we should know about Tanalasta's condition?"

 

"'Condition,' father?" Tanalasta said. "If there were something I thought you should-"

 

"I was talking to Owden," said Azoun.

 

Tanalasta glared at the priest furiously. "You heard the king's command."

 

Owden swallowed hard, then looked back to Azoun. "Sire, I think you should know that your daughter thinks of nothing but Cormyr. In fact, when Lady Marliir's invitation arrived at Huthduth, she told me that she would be returning to Cormyr to wed a man she did not love."

 

"Then why isn't she?" demanded Filfaeril.

 

"I'm afraid that is my fault." Owden looked at his feet. "I advised her that she would be a better queen for Cormyr if she waited until she found a man she loved."

 

Tanalasta had to struggle to keep her surprise hidden, for she had not realized quite how effective a liar the harvestmaster could be. The truth was that Owden had wished her well and said that by all accounts Dauneth Marliir was a fine man. Then she had sneaked out for one last hike and experienced her vision, and there had been no need for Owden Foley to convince the princess of anything.

 

Filfaeril narrowed her eyes at the harvestmaster's explanation. "Under the circumstances, your advice could be considered treason."

 

"Or sound advice." Azoun cast a stern eye in the direction of both Filfaeril and Vangerdahast. "That is for Tanalasta to determine, and Tanalasta alone. What is not for her to decide is the fate of the royal temple. She will announce that Chauntea's priests have been called back to Huthduth."

 

Vangerdahast shook his head vehemently. "But Your Majesty..."

 

Azoun raised his hand. "And we will trust our war wizards to deal with the blight. Even if they take somewhat longer to stop it, the people of Cormyr will take comfort from their presence."

 

Tanalasta's thoughts began to spin. Filfaeril's harsh words had left her so hurt and disoriented that she found it impossible to concentrate, and she could not help feeling she must have done something terrible to make the queen so angry with her. Nor could she take comfort from Vangerdahast's unexpected support. She had seen his cobra's smile charm too many foes to fall prey to its poison herself.

 

Azoun nodded to Owden. "We thank you for coming all this way, Harvestmaster, but you may take your priests and return to Huthduth. Tanalasta will see to an explanation."

 

Owden's face showed his disappointment, but he bowed deeply to show his obedience, then turned and grasped Tanalasta's hands in farewell. As the harvestmaster said his good-byes, his words barely registered, for she suddenly felt her mother's gaze and looked over to see Filfaeril's pale eyes glaring at her. The ice in the queen's expression caused her to recoil involuntarily, and Tanalasta's earlier fury returned tenfold. No matter what her mother believed, the princess was doing the best thing for Cormyr, and allowing anyone to tell her otherwise would bring disaster down on the kingdom.

 

When Owden started toward the stable, Tanalasta caught him by the arms. "Harvestmaster Foley, the king is wrong. I am not going to explain your departure."

 

Azoun's face grew instantly stormy. "You are defying me?"

 

Tanalasta glanced toward her mother and noticed the queen's lower lip beginning to quiver, then nodded. "I must follow my convictions, Sire."

 

Owden's face grew as pale as the king's was red. "Princess Tanalasta, there is no need to argue-"

 

"But there is, Harvestmaster," said Tanalasta. "Cormyr has need of you and your priests-now, and in the future."

 

"I am king," Azoun said in that even voice he used when he was angered almost beyond control. "My convictions determine what Cormyr needs."

 

"And what happens when you are gone, father? Am I to have Vangerdahast rouse you from your rest to see what is best for the realm?" Tanalasta shook her head. "I must do what I believe to be right-now, because I am certain of it, and in the future, because I will have no other choice."

 

Vangerdahast sighed heavily and muttered something indiscernible, and Filfaeril's hand rose to her mouth. The anger vanished from her eyes, only to return a moment later when she looked in Vangerdahast's direction. Azoun merely stared at Tanalasta, his eyes growing steadily darker as he tried to bring his temper under control.

 

Finally, he said, "Perhaps I can spare you that burden, Princess. I have two daughters."

 

Tanalasta struggled to keep from staggering back. "I know that."

 

"Good," said the king. "Vangerdahast has been unable to contact Alusair. You will take your priests and ride into the Stonelands to find her. You will tell her that I have something important to say to her. She is to return to Arabel in all possible haste, and she is to guard her life as carefully as that of any crown heir."

 

With that, Azoun spun on his heel and marched back toward the manor house, leaving Vangerdahast and Filfaeril standing gape-mouthed behind him. Tears began to trickle down the queen's face. She started to reach out for Tanalasta, then suddenly pulled her arms back and whirled on the royal magician.

 

"Damn you." Her voice was calm and even and all the more frightening. "Damn you for a lying child of Cyric!"

 

Vangerdahast's shoulders slumped, and he suddenly seemed as old as Cormyr itself. "I told you it was too late," he whispered. The rims of his baggy eyes grew red and wet, and he looked at his wrinkled old arms as though it took a conscious act of will not to grasp the queen's hands. "I'll go with her. I'll be there every step of the way."

 

"Should that comfort me?" The queen glanced again at Tanalasta, then turned and scurried after Azoun.

 

Tanalasta stood where she was, trying to puzzle out what had just happened, and felt Owden grasp her arm. She quickly shook him off. To her astonishment, she did not need his support.

 

She felt stronger than at any other time in her life.

 

4

 

There would be no turnips for LastRest this year.

 

A mat of ash-colored mold covered the field, filling the air with a smell of must and rot so foul that Tanalasta had to cover her mouth to keep from retching. Little mounds of gray marked where the stalks had pushed up through the earth, but nothing could be seen of the plants themselves. At the far edge of the field, a free farmer and his family were busy loading the contents of their hut into an ox-drawn cart.

 

"By the Sacred Harrow!" cursed Owden. "What an abomination!"

 

"It is a sad sight," agreed Tanalasta. She motioned the commander of her Purple Dragon escort to set a perimeter around the area, then urged her horse forward. "Strange we have seen no other sign of blight in the area."

 

"Strange indeed," said Owden, following her along the edge of the field. "Why would the orcs raid this grange, when it is so much closer to town than others we have passed?"

 

"Perhaps they had a taste for turnips," Vangerdahast said, riding up beside Tanalasta. "I doubt even orcs know why they raid one farm instead of another."

 

"I am not as interested in why as whether," said Tanalasta. She had noticed the orc track a mile earlier, in the bed of a rocky creek they had been crossing. Over Vangerdahast's rather feeble objections, the princess had led the company upstream, following a patchy trail of overturned stones and sandy hoof prints to within a few paces of the blighted field. Now that she saw the farmer's undamaged hut, however, she wondered if the place had been raided at all. She pointed at the little house. "It's not like orcs to spare such a defenseless target."

 

"Now you are troubled that they didn't raze some shack?" Vangerdahast looked to the heavens for patience. "Aren't you wasting enough of our time without fretting over such things? The king sent us north to find Alusair-"

 

"And you are certain these farmers can't help us?" Tanalasta stared at the old wizard evenly "I know why the king sent us north, and it has less to do with finding Alusair than getting me out of Arabel. I doubt he would object to our taking the time to determine if these orcs are the ones spreading the blight."

 

"Very well," Vangerdahast sighed, giving up the argument far too easily, "but we won't be going after them."

 

Tanalasta studied the wizard thoughtfully. She had spent the last two days alternately trying to puzzle out his game and feeling oddly pleased with herself. She did not know whether her father had been serious about naming a new heir, but she now realized she did not care. As they had ridden out of Arabel, an unexpected sense of relief came over her, and she took the feeling to mean she had never wanted to rule Cormyr at all.

 

Later, as she grew accustomed to her new status, she began to experience vague sensations of loss and came to understand that what she felt was not relief, but pride. For the first time in her life, she had staked her whole future on her own conviction. The possibility that in the process she had thrown away a kingdom did not frighten her-it made her feel strong.

 

Once Tanalasta came to that realization, it grew easier to focus on Vangerdahast's strange behavior. Given his attitude toward her recently, she would have expected him to endorse her replacement as heir. Yet he seemed quite disturbed by the king's pronouncement, and since then he had been almost civil to her. She would have to be careful. Vangerdahast was definitely plotting something, and he was at his most dangerous when cordial.

 

After a time, Vangerdahast raised one of his bushy eyebrows and asked, "Well? Do we have a bargain, or must I slip you into a bag of holding for the rest of the trip?"

 

"That won't be necessary," Tanalasta replied. "I'm no orc-hunter. I only want to find out what they did to this grange."

 

As Tanalasta and her company rounded the corner of the field, the farmer sent his family into the hut, then turned to curtly salute his visitors. Despite his tattered tunic and mane of untrimmed hair, the princess felt certain he had once been a soldier-probably an ex-Purple Dragon who had accepted a tract of frontier land in lieu of mustering out pay.

 

As she approached the man, Tanalasta slipped her signet ring into her pocket, then returned his salute somewhat awkwardly. As a princess, she normally ignored military protocol, but her company was traveling disguised as a Purple Dragon patrol. Like Vangerdahast and Owden, Tanalasta wore the black weathercloak of a war wizard, while the twelve priests behind her were dressed in the capes and chain mail of common dragoneers.

 

The farmer's eyes seemed to absorb all this in an instant, then he returned his gaze to Tanalasta. "Hag Gordon at your service, Lady Wizard. Didn't hear there was a new patrol assigned to Gnoll Pass."

 

"There isn't," Tanalasta replied. She could tell by Hag's tone that he had already deduced this was no ordinary company. "And you were with the...?"

 

"The Hullack Venomeers." Hag's eyes shifted pointedly to the badgeless capes worn by Owden's priests, then he added, "Milady."

 

Tanalasta sensed that she was missing some subtlety of military decorum, but she could hardly reveal the true nature of her company. Even had she known Hag's loyalty to be beyond question, there was no need for him to know that the crown princess-or former crown princess-was riding about the realm protected only by a small escort of Purple Dragons. One simply did not reveal that sort of information casually.

 

Tanalasta gestured toward the far end of the man's field. "We were passing by when we noticed orc tracks in the creek."

 

"Orcs?" Hag's eyes widened. "There are no orcs this side of the pass."

 

"I know an orc track when I see one," Tanalasta insisted. "Even underwater. They love to wade. It makes it harder for the hounds to stay on their trail."

 

Hag raised his brow and studied her with a thoughtful air, and that was when Tanalasta realized her mistake. She turned to Owden and Vangerdahast.

 

"The orcs didn't cause this," she said, waving at the blighted field. "At least not the ones we've been following."

 

Owden frowned, looking from the princess to the ruined field. "It must be. The coincidence is-"

 

"Just a coincidence-or related in some way we don't understand," she said. "Even in a slow current, the tracks in the stream couldn't be more than a few hours old."

 

"And my turnips started molding a tenday ago," added Hag, clearly making the connection between Tanalasta's inquiries and the condition of his field. "What are you looking for?"

 

"As a former sergeant in the Hullack Venomeers, you should know better than to ask such questions," said Vangerdahast. While the rebuke failed to intimidate Hag, it did impress Tanalasta. It seemed impossible that even Vangerdahast could know the rank of every man who had served in the Purple Dragons. The wizard continued to glower at the man. "Had it been any of your concern, we would have explained the company's lack of insignia."

 

"And would you also have explained why your dragoneers carry maces where they should have swords? Whatever happened to my field, it's happening to others, and old Bolt-and-Blow must be scared to death."

 

Vangerdahast's face darkened to deep burgundy. "Bolt-and-Blow, Sergeant Gordon?"

 

"The royal magician," Hag explained.

 

Tanalasta had to bite her cheeks to keep from bursting into laughter, but Vangerdahast's complexion only continued to darken. If the sergeant realized how perilous it was to anger this particular war wizard, he showed no sign.

 

"Everyone knows how old Ringfingers clutches the reins of power." As he said this, Hag glanced at Vangerdahast's bejeweled hands, then stepped even closer. "He'd never muster a whole company of priests if this thing didn't scare him. If he's scared, so am I. So what happened to my field... sir?"

 

Vangey turned to Tanalasta, eyes bulging like red-veined eggshells, and said nothing. He didn't have to. One of her father's many misgivings about establishing a royal temple had been causing a needless panic, and now she could see why.

 

"I wouldn't read too much into the composition of the Badgeless Maces," said Tanalasta. Again, a glimmer of a frown flashed across the free farmer's face, and the princess could not help feeling that she was making some error of protocol that aroused the man's suspicions. "But as a former dragoneer, you are obliged to serve at the crown's recall. Must I invoke that obligation to secure your cooperation?"

 

Hag seemed no more intimidated by Tanalasta's threat than he had by Vangerdahast's blustering. "That duty is invoked by royal writ. If you can produce one, then I will gladly obey your command. Otherwise, I am entitled to as many answers as I give."

 

"Royal writ!" Vangerdahast spewed, reaching into his robe. "I'll writ you into a-!"

 

"The world has no need for more toads, Sir Wizard." Tanalasta motioned for Vangerdahast to hold his attack, then turned back to the stubborn farmer. "While I'm sure we can trust a former dragoneer to hold his tongue, can the same be said for his children?"

 

Tanalasta glanced toward the hut, where the man's family was peering through the cracked door. Hag's eyes lit with sudden comprehension, and he nodded gravely-exactly as the princess had hoped he would. She had not lived nearly four decades in the Palace of the Purple Dragon without developing at least some talent for making people feel special.

 

Hag gestured toward the nearest corner of his field. "Come with me," he said, "there's something you'll want to see."

 

"Of course." Tanalasta smiled and dismounted, thankful that at least some of her palace experience proved useful outside Suzail. She motioned to Owden and, somewhat reluctantly, Vangerdahast to follow. "Hag, since you have already deduced the true nature of our 'Purple Dragons,' would you care to have them do what they can to restore your field? I doubt they can save this year's harvest, but perhaps they can keep the blight from ruining the soil."

 

Hag's dismay showed in his face, and Tanalasta could tell that it had not even occurred to him that the field might be ruined forever.

 

"I'd be grateful for whatever they can do," he said. "It'll be hard enough doing city work this year without knowing I have to clear another field before spring."

 

Owden nodded to his priests. They dismounted and began to sort through the small assortment of tools piled in the farmer's cart, having left their own shovels and hoes back in Arabel. Despite the offer of help, Hag still did not seem inclined to volunteer any information. He led Tanalasta and her two companions to the corner of his field, then stopped and looked at them expectantly.

 

Tanalasta put her hands into the pockets of her weathercloak. "You must swear on your honor as a Purple Dragon to hold what I tell you in the strictest confidence." With a practiced motion, she slipped on two of the handful of magic rings that Vangerdahast had pressed on her before setting out from Arabel. "You may not tell even your wife."

 

"I swear," said Hag. "Not even my wife."

 

"Good. Clearly, you have realized by now that I am no war wizard, and that many of those traveling with me are not normal Purple Dragons."

 

Vangerdahast cleared his throat gruffly. "Milady, I hardly think this is wise-"

 

"But it is my decision, Lord Wizard." Tanalasta removed her hand from her pocket, displaying to Hag the hardened gold band of a Commander's Ring of the Purple Dragons. "I have no doubt that you also recognize this, and what it must mean for someone who wouldn't know a troop from a tulip to be wearing it."

 

"I know what it is, as you say," said Hag, "but I can't imagine why you'd be wearing one."

 

"Of course you can." Tanalasta motioned to the twelve priests already poking around at the edge of his field. "You've already guessed, and with little enough help from us. We're trying to stop this blight before it becomes a serious problem for Cormyr. To do that, we need to find the orcs who are spreading it."

 

Hag cocked an eyebrow and thought for a moment, then said, "I suppose it doesn't really matter who you are."

 

"Not if you value your tongue," Vangerdahast threatened. The free farmer nodded reluctantly, then picked up a long stick. "You'll be wanting to see this." Talking as he worked, Hag began to scrape the mold away from the soft soil underneath. "He must have snuck up on us. The dogs didn't start barking until he was already in the field, and by the time I saw him, he was halfway across."

 

"Who?" asked Owden.

 

"Whoever left that." Hag pointed to a track he had uncovered. It was shaped like a man's bare foot, save that it was half-again too long, with the narrow line of a claw mark furrowing the ground in front of each toe.

 

"No orc made that track," Tanalasta said.

 

"He looked more like a beggar," said Hag. "A tall beggar, with a huge ragged cape and some sort of tattered hood. I was going to invite him to sleep in the goat shed, until he turned and I saw his eyes."

 

"His eyes?" Tanalasta asked.

 

"They were full of blood." Hag hesitated, then added, "And they... well... they had to be shining."

 

"Had to be?" Vangerdahast demanded. "Be specific, sergeant."

 

Hag's bearing grew a touch more proud and upright. "It was dark, Lord Wizard. He was really only a shadow, but I could see his eyes. They weren't bright, it's just that they were the only thing I could really see."

 

"Did he do anything threatening?" asked Tanalasta.

 

Hag flushed. "Not really... but he frightened me all the same. I set my dogs on him. They chased him over to the corner by where you came in, and that was the last I saw of them alive."

 

"How were they killed?" Vangerdahast asked.

 

"I couldn't say. In the morning, my son found them sleeping on the stream bank. They wouldn't wake up."

 

"You sent your son to look for them?" Owden asked.

 

"To call them," Hag said, bristling at the note of disapproval in the harvestmaster's voice. "My wife and I were busy in the field."

 

"The blight?" Tanalasta asked.

 

"A diagonal stripe right where he walked. We pulled every turnip within two paces of his footsteps, but the whole crop had wilted by evening." Hag gestured at the field. "You know the rest."

 

Owden and Vangerdahast exchanged worried looks, then the harvestmaster said, "It appears I was wrong about the orcs. I'm sorry."

 

Vangerdahast laid a hand on the harvestmaster's shoulder. "I wouldn't be too hard on myself. It was only a working theory, and a good one at that." He turned to Hag. 'What else can you tell us about this vagabond?"

 

Hag shrugged. "Nothing. He came and went in the night, then everything just died."

 

"Came from where?" Vangerdahast demanded, scanning the rocky farmyard around them. "Went to whence?"

 

"It'll do no good to search for a trail now. There was a good wind two days ago," said Hag. "Besides, I looked after and found the dogs dead. The vagabond-or whatever he was-didn't leave any more tracks."

 

Tanalasta studied the surrounding area. The grange was located just a few hundred paces north of the tiny hamlet of LastRest, near where The Mountain Ride ascended the foothills of the Storm Horn Mountains into Gnoll Pass. The vegetation was alternately scrub willow and thin copses of beech, with plenty of boulders and stones to hint at the difficulty of clearing a pasture. It would have been hard for anyone to approach the field through so much brush without leaving some sign of his passage.

 

'Tm no scout, but I know how to look for a trail," said Hag, correctly interpreting Tanalasta's scrutiny of the area. "There were no broken twigs, no overturned stones-at least not that amounted to a trail."

 

Vangerdahast used his hand to trace a path from the far corner of the field to where they were standing, then turned to continue the line. He was pointing between two massive peaks just to the left of Gnoll Pass.

 

"The Stonelands," Tanalasta observed.

 

Vangerdahast nodded. "Well, I suppose that's no surprise. Nothing good has ever come from the Stonelands."

 

Owden turned to Hag. "Perhaps we can learn something about this stranger from the death of your dogs. Would you mind if I had a look at them?"

 

"If you want to dig them up." Hag pointed toward a mound on the far side of his goat shed.

 

Vangerdahast frowned and looked to Tanalasta. "I'm sure there is no need to remind you of our mission. We hardly have time to tarry here all afternoon while the good harvestmaster digs up those poor creatures."

 

"Of course not," Tanalasta said, starting for her horse, and motioning for the others to follow. "You and I will cross the Storm Horns with all due haste. The Harvestmaster and his priests will stay here to learn what they can from Hag's field, then set off after this vagabond."

 

Now Vangerdahast really scowled. "It's hardly necessary to send them back. Either one of us can report-"

 

"Those are my orders," Tanalasta said. "And if you care to argue them, I can simply release the Badgeless Maces from the king's service. Of course, then I would also have to confiscate their cloaks, leaving them to ride about the realm asking questions and chasing vagabonds without any disguise whatsoever."

 

"You wouldn't!"

 

"You think not?" Tanalasta reached her horse and took the reins from the young priest who had been holding it, then swung into the saddle. "Try me."

 

Vangerdahast did his best to warp his wrinkled face into a mask of outrage. "The king himself shall hear of this."

 

"I have no doubt. I suspect he might even be expecting it." Trying hard to suppress a smile, Tanalasta turned to Hag. "You have the thanks of the realm, and I hope the priests are able to save your field."

 

Hag bowed low. "And you have my thanks for trying. Rest assured that I shall keep your secrets-all of them."

 

"That is well for you," growled Vangerdahast, hoisting himself into his saddle. "You may be certain that I will be listening."

 

Hag bowed again, and this time his face had finally grown pale with intimidation. Tanalasta said her farewells to Owden, promising to meet him in Arabel within the space of two tendays, then signaled the real Purple Dragons to close the perimeter and resume their marching order.

 

As they rode down the creek toward the ford where Tanalasta had first noticed the orc tracks, Vangerdahast splashed up beside the princess and said, "You should know I'm serious about contacting your father. You can't keep flouting his wishes and expect him to forgive you."

 

"I'm more concerned about these orcs running around loose than my father's forgiveness." Tanalasta gestured at the stream bed. "Have you sent word to Castle Crag about them?"

 

"I ... uh... certainly."

 

"Really, Vangerdahast?"

 

Vangerdahast's cheeks reddened above his beard. "I'm confident Lord Commander Tallsword has already sent a patrol to track them down."

 

"I'm sure be has." Tanalasta smiled to herself, then asked, "Tell me, when did you hear about that field?"

 

Vangerdahast looked confused. "Milady?"

 

"Hag Gordon's former rank," Tanalasta said. "How could you have known it, if Bren Tallsword hadn't already told you about the blighted field? I only hope the good sergeant wasn't part of the deception. I'd hate to think Harveatmaster Foley will be running around smashing in vagabond heads for no good reason."

 

Vangerdahast sighed wearily. "Unfortunately, I fear the harvestmaster will find plenty of reason. Bren Tallsword told me about the Gordon field three days ago, but today was the first I had heard about the vagabond-and yes, I have already contacted the Lord Commander and told him to watch for the man." The old wizard smiled, then added, "I have also asked him to do his best to keep your priest friends out of the king's sight."

 

"It's not father's sight that I'm worried about," said Tanalasta. "He has ears in as many places as you do."

 

Vangerdahast regarded her doubtfully. "A princess shouldn't exaggerate."

 

"What makes you think I am?" Tanalasta laughed. She fell silent for a time, quietly appreciating the kind of moment that she had not experienced with Vangerdahast since before her twentieth birthday, then said, "It won't work, you know."

 

"Princess?" Vangerdahast's wrinkled brow rose in a parody of innocence. "I'm sure I have no idea what you mean."

 

"I'm sure you do, but you won't trick me into changing my mind. I'm old enough to know what I believe in and what I don't."

 

"Truly?" The expression that came to Vangerdahast's face was one of genuine envy. "How nice that must be."

 

* * * * *

 

Azoun eyed the plate of liver-smeared wafers in Filfaeril's hand and his mouth instantly filled with a taste that could only be described as minted cow dung. He and the queen were attending their fifth reception in as many days, this one at the overdone mansion of the powerful Misrim merchant family, and he had grown so weary of the local delicacy that he could not even look at it without his gorge rising.

 

Pretending to listen earnestly to young Count Bhela's suggestion that the crown establish a system of cobble-paved merchant roads across the realm, Azoun caught his wife's eye and turned his head ever so slightly, signaling her to be rid of the ghastly stuff.

 

Filfaeril grinned viciously and glided to his side without stumbling or tripping or finding some other excuse to let even one of the awful canapes slide off the tray. She managed to interrupt young Bhela's diatribe with a flash of pearly teeth, accomplishing with a single smile what the king had been attempting in vain for the last half-hour, then pushed the platter forward. The smell of minted grease filled Azoun's nose, and he suddenly felt so ill that it took an act of will to keep his wineglass in his hand.

 

"Liverpaste, my dear?" Filfaeril asked. "It's quail."

 

"Love one!" Azoun took a wafer and bit into it, then chewed three quick times and swallowed quickly in a futile attempt to keep his tongue from registering the taste. "Excellent. Won't you have one, Count Bhela?"

 

Bhela's eyes grew as round as coins. "Off your plate, Majesty?"

 

Azoun nodded enthusiastically. "I know your family well enough to trust you won't slip me any poison."

 

Bhela eyed the wafers with unconcealed longing and nearly reached for one, then caught himself and shook his head. "It wouldn't be right, Sire. I'm only a count."

 

"Please, I insist."

 

Bhela's expression grew nervous, and be glanced around the room at all the other nobles who had been glaring at him for the last quarter hour.

 

"I beg you, Majesty. The superior lords will consider me haughty," he said. "In fact, you really should allow me to take my leave. They'll think I have been monopolizing your time."

 

"Yes, yes, of course. How mindless of me." Azoun dismissed him with a hearty clap on the shoulder, then sighed wearily. "Do send me a study on that idea of yours, Count. Imagine, cobbling an entire highway!"

 

"Within a tenday, Your Majesty."

 

Beaming with pride, Bhela bowed deeply to both the king and queen, then turned and strutted off to bask in the glow of his lengthy audience with the king. Filfaeril took another minted liverpaste off the plate and offered it to Azoun. He accepted the wafer with a smile, but held it between two fingers and allowed himself a generous swig of wine, trying to wash the lingering taste of the last one from his mouth.

 

"Eat up, my dear," urged Filfaeril. "You wouldn't want our hosts to think you fear poison."

 

Azoun lowered his glass, then concentrated on maintaining a pleasant smile as he spoke to his wife. "Show some mercy. I'll never get through this without your help."

 

"I am helping. If we are to repair the damage done by Tanalasta, we must be accessible to our nobles." Filfaeril looked across the chamber toward a boorish man in yellow stockings and crossed garters. "Isn't that Earl Hioar? He has a wonderful plan for clear-cutting the Dragon Wood. I'll fetch him."

 

Azoun stuffed the minted liverpaste into his mouth whole, then caught Filfaeril by the elbow and said, "Not yet." Somehow, he managed to mumble the words without spewing wafer over her damask gown. He chewed half a dozen times and gagged the canapé down. "Tanalasta gave me no choice."

 

"You always have a choice. You're the king."

 

Azoun allowed himself a quick scowl. "You know better. And why are you angry with me, anyway? From the way you were inciting her, I thought you wanted a new heir."

 

"I want what is best for Tanalasta," Filfaeril countered. "Instead, you allowed Vangey to manipulate her into defying you."

 

"You helped."

 

"Not knowingly." Without taking her eyes off Azoun, the queen held out her free hand. A waiter scurried forward and placed a glass of wine in it, which she sipped until he had retreated out of earshot. "Vangey used me. Had I known how much she had changed, I would never have... I just didn't know how much she had changed."

 

"After the Abraxus Affair I should think you would consider that a good thing," said Azoun. "She certainly does. So do I, and so does Vangerdahast."

 

"It will make her a stronger queen, yes," said Filfaeril, "but will it make her happy?"

 

A pang of sorrow shot through Azoun's breast, and he had to look away. He loved Tanalasta like any father loves a daughter, but the truth of the matter was that he could not concern himself with her happiness. The good of the realm demanded that he think only of making her a strong ruler. That was a steep price indeed to demand of any parent.

 

After a moment, he said, "Tanalasta was my favorite, you know. Always so eager to learn. You had only to tell her a thing once, and a year later she would repeat it back to you word for word. And so sweet. How her guileless smile would light the room...."

 

"I remember." The queen's voice remained cold. "I fear what we loved best in her is what Vangey destroyed."

 

Azoun grew stoic. "The royal magician did what is best for the realm." He forced himself to meet Filfaeril's gaze, then said, "We were wrong to shelter the crown princess from the harsher side of royal life. Even had Aunadar Bleth never set foot in Suzail, Tanalasta's innocence would have served her poorly on the throne."

 

Filfaeril lowered her voice to an angry hiss. "And now that Vangerdahast has stolen her innocence, you do not like the result? Now you deny her the throne?"

 

"She has not lost the throne yet," said Azoun. "Tanalasta may still make a fine queen someday-provided she finds a man she can abide as a husband and stops being so headstrong about this business with Chauntea."

 

Filfaeril's pale eyes grew as hard as ice. "You and Vangey are the ones who made her. If you do not like what she has become, then it is your fault and not hers." The queen finished her wine in a gulp, then held the empty glass out for a servant. "Besides, how can you be sure she isn't right? The blight is spreading, you know."

 

"Yes, I know," said Azoun, "and Tanalasta is defying me in that, as well. There are reports from the Immerflow to the Starwater of Purple Dragons using Chauntea's magic to save blighted fields."

 

"Good." Filfaeril gave her glass to a waiter and waved him away, then thrust another liverpaste under Azoun's chin. "Enjoy."

 

Azoun had no choice but to accept the loathsome thing. As he began to nibble at it, the queen flashed a smile to Raynaar Marliir, signaling him to come forward. The king groaned inwardly, though he knew there was no avoiding this moment. He had heard that Marliir had put together an odd coalition of nobles, War Wizards, and high priests who wished to discuss "the destiny of the realm." Though he suspected they were less interested in discussing destiny than dictating it-specifically that of the crown princess-he would have to listen politely. The loyalty of the Marliir family was his strongest bulwark against Arabel's disagreeable habit of rebelling at the kingdom's most trying moments.

 

Azoun ran his tongue over his teeth to cleanse them of liverpaste, then smiled as broadly as he could. "Duke Marliir, how good to see you again. I trust Lady Marliir is feeling better."

 

"Sadly no," Raynaar answered curtly. "She is still bedridden with ague, or else she would certainly be in attendance today."

 

They had exchanged similar greetings on each of the previous four days. After Tanalasta's rejection of Dauneth, Merelda Marliir had fallen ghastly ill and asked the royal party to depart her home for the sake of its own health. Knowing he might well have to return to crush a revolt if he left so soon after the stir Tanalasta had caused, Azoun had seized on the northern blight as an excuse to remain another tenday, imposing on his Lord Governor, Myrmeen Lhal, to house the royal party in the city palace. He had then invited all the local notables to an extravagant state dinner. They had responded with a chain of increasingly exotic liverpaste receptions that would, he was quite certain, be the end of him. Of course, Lady Marliir had been too ill to attend any of the events, and Azoun was quite certain she would continue to be ill until a day or two after he left.

 

Azoun allowed Marliir's response to hang in the air long enough for everyone present to be certain he knew the truth, then said, "Tell her that I certainly hope she feels better soon."

 

Marliir cocked an eyebrow at the lack of a "please," then turned to gesture at his odd gathering of supporters. "I am sure Your Majesty knows these good people: Lady Kraliqh, Merula the Marvelous, and Daramos the High, of the Lady's House here in Arabel."

 

"Of course."

 

Azoun smiled at each in turn: the grave-looking Lady Kraliqh, the rotund Merula, and the zealot-eyed Daramos. Of the three, he knew the most about Daramos Lauthyr. The man was a fanatic, almost as dedicated to the glory of his goddess Tymora as he was to establishing a central church in Arabel, with himself as its divinely-ordained patriarch.

 

Azoun took the platter from his wife's hand, then held it out to Marliir's odd coalition. "Liverpaste, anyone? They're quail."

 

The offer seemed to disarm the four. They exchanged a flurry of startled frowns, then Duke Marliir snatched a wafer off the plate, and the other three followed suit. Unfortunately, there was one left. Azoun pushed it toward Filfaeril.

 

"Canape, my dear?"

 

She smiled at him adoringly, then took the plate from his hand and passed him the wafer. "No, you can have it, my dear. I'll go and fetch more."

 

Azoun accepted the wafer and tried not to make a sour face as he bit into it. "Lovely, aren't they?"

 

"Quite," said Duke Marliir. "Your Majesty, there is something of great import we must discuss."

 

"Really?" Azoun swallowed, then asked, "What can that be? If you are worried about this blight, I assure you the War Wizards have the matter well in hand."

 

"The blight is only a part of it," said Lady Kraliqh. According to Azoun's spies, her dealings with Duke Marliir were seldom limited to matters of business. "We are concerned more with the future of the crown."

 

"The future of the crown?" Azoun feigned a surprised look, but took note of the lady's no-nonsense tone. She would not be put off easily with platitudes or vague promises, and he decided not to try. "You are speaking of Tanalasta, then."

 

"We are concerned about her refusal to take a husband," said Marliir. "Matters between her and Dauneth seemed to be progressing nicely. There must be some reason she chose to dismiss him so out of hand. It was embarrassing, really."

 

"I am the cause of that confusion, Lord Marliir," said Azoun. "I am so fond of Dauneth myself that others may have misinterpreted my affection when I asked him to escort Tanalasta to the party. I apologize for any embarrassment it caused, and I want everyone in Arabel to know I hold him in the highest regard. In fact, I was thinking of naming him Lord High Warden of the North." Azoun turned to Duke Marliir. "Do you think he would have time for the extra duties?"

 

Marliir's jaw dropped. "Of-of course."

 

"Good." Azoun could see by the man's astonished expression that he had won back the loyalty of the entire Marliir clan. "Have him stop by the Arabellan Palace tomorrow, and we shall discuss the arrangements."

 

"That is very nice for Dauneth," said Lady Kraliqh, "but it still does not address our concerns about the future of the crown. After all, I know that when a woman reaches a certain age, it grows difficult for her to bear children."

 

"Truly? Then you must look very young for your age-and Tanalasta is even younger than you appear. I doubt there is any need to worry about her ability to provide an heir when she has not even tried yet... or if she has, she has not seen fit to tell her father about it!"

 

Azoun winked as he said this last, drawing a raucous chuckle from everyone but Lady Kraliqh. He looked away, trying to catch the eye of some other notable before his growing irritation with the woman got the best of him.

 

"If that is all you are worried about," the king continued, "I believe I see-"

 

"There is another matter, Majesty," interrupted Merula. The wizard did not wait for an acknowledgement before continuing. "This unfortunate business of the Royal Temple. Perhaps the princess has not given thought to the question of where the loyalties of her royal priests might lie. A servant with two masters cannot help having divided loyalties."

 

"And yet the realm might benefit immensely by courting the blessing of the gods," said Daramos. "Tymora has always shown great favor to Cormyr. Had she not taken refuge here during the Time of Troubles, surely the realm would have suffered more than it did."

 

"No one can argue that her presence proved a blessing," agreed Azoun, "but I hardly think that calls for a royal temple."

 

The veins in Daramos's eyes grew as wide as string, and before Azoun could finish what he had been about to say, the high priest burst into a fit of righteous indignation.

 

"After the kindness Tymora showed your kingdom, you would insult her by establishing a royal temple to Chauntea instead?" Daramos backed away, his face trembling and turning crimson with a zealot's rage. "Do not anger the Lady, little king! Fortune has two faces, and only one is pretty."

 

The threat silenced the reception almost instantly, and a trio of bodyguards stepped forward to flank the high priest.

 

"This is what I was talking about, Majesty," said Merula. As the wizard spoke, he was returning a small glass rod to the sleeve pocket inside his cloak. Apparently, he had feared for a moment that Daramos was actually deranged enough to attack the king. "Priests cannot be trusted. They must beg their spells from their gods, and so they always serve at the pleasure of those fields masters."

 

"We thank you for your opinion, Merula." Silently, Azoun cursed Daramos's outburst, and wondered just how obsessed the man was. Because of the goddess Tymora's stay during the Time of Troubles, the Lady's House had almost as much power in Arabel as did his own governing lord, and it simply would not do to have Daramos Lauthyr angry-not unless Azoun wanted to crush another Arabellan revolt. He waved the guards back, then said, "The Lord High Priest's point is well taken. Though the princess and I have had little time to discuss the matter, there will be no royal temple in Cormyr-to Chauntea or anyone else."

 

The redness began to drain from Daramos's face, but the man looked far from calm. "Of course you are right about the other gods, Majesty, but Tymora has blessed the Obarskyrs for more than a thousand years."

 

"Which is why I would never dishonor her by establishing a royal temple," said Azoun.

 

Daramos looked confused. "Dishonor her?"

 

"Tymora took refuge here in Arabel during the Time of Troubles, but the capital of Cormyr is Suzail," Azoun said. "I cannot help but think it would offend her to establish a greater temple in the South. I was under the impression that she wished your own temple to be the center of her faith."

 

Daramos's eyes lit in alarm. "I see what you mean, Majesty."

 

Azoun shrugged sadly, then turned to Merula. "I am afraid you are right, Merula. Cormyr will have to do without a royal temple after all."

 

A wry smile came to the wizard's lips, and he said, "Then I guess you have only the War Wizards to rely upon for your magic."

 

"It would appear so," Azoun replied. "It is a good thing for the realm that they have proven themselves so many times through the ages. I would hate to think what might become of Cormyr without them."

 

"It would be a travesty, undoubtedly," said Lady Kraliqh. "Which brings us back to the question of Tanalasta. There will be no Royal Temple while you reign, Majesty, but what of when you are gone-may that be a hundred years from now?"

 

Azoun forced a smile and turned to the duchess. "Lady Kraliqh, you are so bad at guessing ages that I am beginning to think your eyes have grown weak," he joked, trying to guess what it would take to placate her. "Even with the many blessings of Daramos's goddess, I doubt I will see another twenty years."

 

"Which is all the more reason to answer my question now." As Lady Kraliqh spoke, she stepped aside to make room in the conversation circle for Filfaeril, who was returning with a fresh platter of minted liverpaste. "Of late, Tanalasta has proven herself to be a most intelligent and strong-willed princess. I doubt very much that even you could bend her to your will from the grave. What do you intend to do about that?"

 

"Yes, Azoun," said Filfaeril, offering the canapé platter to Marliir and the others. "What will you do then?"

 

Azoun glanced around the little group and saw that despite the concessions he had made already, he would find no help from them. Tanalasta had returned from Huthduth stronger and full of her own ideas, and that scared them far more than the possibility of someone like Aunadar Bleth ruling from the shadow of her skirts. It scared him, too.

 

"While I am king, I'll rule the way I think best-and that includes choosing a fit heir," he said, waving off the canapés "Once I have chosen, it will be up to Cormyr to live with her queen."

 

Filfaeril smiled, then thrust the platter into the Lady Kraliqh's astonished hands. "Will you have someone take these away?" she said. "The king hates minted liverpaste."

 

5

 

A searing wind full of grit and ash howled south out of the Stonelands, rolling up the northern face of the Storm Horns in throat-scorching clouds as thick as fog. Through the haze came the distant clang of sword-on-sword and voices cursing in guttural Orcish and civilized Common. Tanalasta could sometimes glimpse small gray figures scurrying about hacking and slashing at one another. She recognized the stooped postures of orcs pressing the attack and the more upright forms of men defending an egg-shaped ring of blocky shapes that could only be wagons.

 

The orcs had caught the caravan at the edge of the plain, where the Stonebolt Trail descended out of the mountains to start across the empty barrens toward Shadowdale. The location was a favorite place for such raids, as it was where the hot wind sweeping south out of the distant Anauroch Desert crashed into the Storm Horn Mountains and dropped its load of airborne sand. The result was a mile-wide band of boulder-strewn sandlands that slowed wagon travel to a crawl.

 

"A largely band of swiners," observed Vangerdahast.

 

"Aye," agreed Ryban Winter. A rugged-faced man of about Tanalasta's age, Ryban was the lionar of her Purple Dragon bodyguard. He spit a mouthful of grit onto the ground, then added, "Though this stonemurk makes it hard to be certain."

 

"There are at least two hundred of them," Vangerdahast said. He pointed at the ring of wagons, the presence of which was the only visible indication of the Stonebolt Trail's existence. "That is no small caravan. The orcs wouldn't have attacked unless they outnumbered the guards."

 

"Then the caravan must need help." Tanalasta turned to the royal magician and added, "Are we going to do something? Or is this just another of your ruses, Vangerdahast?"

 

"What could I hope to gain by something like this?" Vangerdahast cast her a menacing glance, then turned to Ryban. "Take the princess and go around. I'll scare the swiners off and join you in an hour."

 

"Scare them off?" Tanalasta asked. "And let them attack some other caravan? I think not. We'll destroy that orc band now-before it gets to be an army."

 

Vangerdahast scowled. "That is easier for a princess to say than a wizard to do. Even I can't kill that many orcs without getting the caravaneers, too."

 

"You don't have to," said Tanalasta. "We have twenty-five Purple Dragons with us. Lionar Ryban will stay here on the mountain with twenty men while we ride around behind the orcs and drive them up the hill away from the caravan."

 

Ryban looked doubtful. "Two hundred against twenty? In this murk?"

 

"The murk will be to your advantage. The orcs won't know how many of you there are," Tanalasta said. "You need only slow them long enough for Vangey to come up from behind, then you'll want to ride fast and furious anyway. I really don't see you sticking around to fire more than a volley or two of arrows."

 

Ryban raised his brow and turned to Vangerdahast. "No," said the wizard. "Too much can go wrong. We can't take the risk-not with the princess here."

 

A cry arose from the battlefield, and Tanalasta glimpsed a dozen orc silhouettes pushing a caravan dray onto its side. A trio of men jumped out from behind the toppled wagon and laid into their foes with sword and spell, then the scene vanished into the stonemurk.

 

"Would Alusair settle for just scaring them off?" Tanalasta asked.

 

"You are not Alusair."

 

"And I am no longer the crown princess," Tanalasta said, prompting a startled look from Ryban. "We could talk all day about what I am not, but that will not stop those orcs." She turned to the lionar and held out her arm. "Give me a sword."

 

Vangerdahast caught hold of her wrist. "The king did not say he had made a final decision. I'm sure he is eager to reconsider, if you'll only accommodate some of his views."

 

"Would those accommodations include relinquishing the Royal Temple?"

 

Vangerdahast nodded. "Of course, but the king has made it clear you must choose a husband of your own liking."

 

"How very kind of the king, but I think we can take his decision as final. Unless he is willing to accommodate my views, I won't be assuming the crown." Tanalasta turned to Ryban, wondering if she were speaking too quickly. Her vision had foretold specifically only the consequences of marrying badly, but she felt now that it concerned her ability to stand behind all of her decisions. "You may give me that sword, lionar. Alusair is the one who will be needing special protection now."

 

Ryban glanced at Vangerdahast.

 

"Why are you looking at him, Ryban?" Tanalasta demanded. "I am the royal here. You answer to me-as does Vangerdahast, when it suits him to recall it."

 

Ryban clenched his jaw at the rebuke, but drew his sword from its scabbard. "As you command."

 

He laid the blade across his forearm and offered the hilt to her. Tanalasta leaned across the space between their horses and took the heavy weapon from his hand, then traced a quick guarding pattern in the air. The balance was not quite as refined as the epees she used in the palace's gymnasium, but it was a well-made officer's blade that would serve her nicely.

 

When Ryban raised his brow, the princess laughed and said, "Don't look so surprised, lionar. I may not be Alusair, but I am an Obarskyr. I've been fencing since I could stand."