Beyond the High Road

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.