Beyond the High Road

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 canape 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 canape 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 canapes “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.”