Cormyr

Chapter 25: Lies, Spies, and Assassins

Year of the Gauntlet (1369 DR)

“We’re almost ready, you know… almost. Just a few more little details, and then we’ll have to move very swiftly indeed.” Ondrin Dracohorn glanced around the chamber once more and added apologetically, “One can’t be too careful, you know. The war wizards have spies everywhere, and who knows just whom they’re working for?”

The other noble, one of the middle-aged Dauntinghorns, curled his lips. “Vangerdahast, of course.”

Ondrin’s watery blue eyes blinked up at him. “Well, some of them, of course, but I’ve reason to believe that a lot of them are working for other masters… noble masters. Trust me in this, my spies are everywhere, too.”

His nose almost twitched with excitement. “As to why I counsel haste, have you heard what happened to Ohlmer Cormaeril and Sorgar Illance? Both old family patriarchs were found dead in their beds, and on the very same morning!”

The other noble nodded knowingly. “Just a little housecleaning for those two families. I’m always surprised those serpents didn’t father thrice as many daughters as they did, to sell them into slavery-‘guaranteed gently born noble bluebloods,’ and all that.”

Ondrin’s eyes lit up. “Now, there’s a chance for a handsome profit! Why didn’t I think of that? I’ll have to hire myself some lasses to breed with.”

The older, taller noble shook his head. “No. No, you’ve got to free Cormyr first! And by the time you’re finished accomplishing that high and splendid calling-and how many rich merchants can say they did that, toppling kings and setting new ones on thrones, eh?-other nobles’ll have their broods well on the way. In a dozen years or so, after all the expense of rearing them and training them, you’ll be ready to sell and find the market glutted.”

“I suppose.” Ondrin sighed, visibly crestfallen, and then said with a rush, “But I almost forgot to tell you! I’ve heard that the same men slew both old Ohlmer and the head of House Illance! Men working for the same patron, somewhere in House Cormaeril!”

The other noble’s eyebrows went up, encouraged, Ondrin rushed on. “They’re saying the war wizards were furious. They thought a few spells would find out who was behind it all, once they got hold of one of the assassins, but when they started fishing them out of the harbor, they were headless and positively aglow with dead-magic fields!”

The eyebrows went up again. “Dead magic? That sounds like the work of someone a little more powerful than your average war wizard!”

Ondrin seemed to purr with satisfaction. “And you know there’s only one man in Cormyr who fits this little scenario! As it happens, I was talking with our esteemed Royal Magician just the other day-a few private matters, you know…”

The gong by the bath’s door sounded faintly, as if a discreet fingernail had tapped it.

Gaspar Cormaeril lifted his mouth from the stunningly beautiful woman and smiled coldly. “Approach!” he called, rolling her aside in the warm, languid waters with a firm hand and reaching for a glass of smoking blue wine, a rare and expensive import from a very distant place indeed, with the other.

Sensibly the lass settled deeper into the waters and nestled into the crook of the noble’s arm. The scented waters were still roiling from her movements when the man in dark leathers padded to the edge of the pool, knelt, and murmured, “News you should hear, lord. Ondrin Dracohorn’s been heard talking of the deaths and tracing them to House Cormaeril!”

Gaspar sipped at his wine. “Has he, now? Well done, Tuthtar! Send Elios to watch over our talkative little noble for the rest of the day, and then get yourself something to eat. I’ll have something important for you later.” He gave the man his serpent smile, nodded in dismissal, and turned back to the willing lass, sliding down into the deeper waters of the pooi again.

She began to murmur softly, Gaspar let her do so for a very short time before he rolled over again and pressed a button that flanked the marble lip of the pool. A message gong sounded in the distance, and it had barely fallen silent before another man entered the room and knelt in smooth, practiced haste. “Lord, command me,” he said.

Gaspar smiled coldly. “It has become necessary to remove Ondrin Dracohorn. Someone is bound to take him seriously, eventually. And see to poor Tuthtar as well. Ensure to his everlasting silence forthwith, before he has a chance to gossip in the kitchens.”

“At once, lord,” said the man and turned with a grin.

“A pity,” Gaspar murmured, taking the willing lass into his arms again, “but I can’t have folk around who know too much about two fates. Every mouth that can talk of such things is a peril House Cormaeril cannot afford.”

He looked down at the woman, as her emerald eyes met his, they widened in sudden fear.

“Another pity,” Gaspar said with a smile, as he pressed another button to summon a second assassin.

The man in robes strode past, looking grim. The two guards nodded in salute. When the man was safely gone and a stout door closed behind him, one of the Purple Dragons muttered, “That’s the first time I’ve seen Lord Alaphondar in days now. Where’s he been, I wonder?”

The other guard shrugged. “Best not to wonder, I’ve found. He’s in there with Dimswart now, though, and by the looks of things, he’s bringing along grim news with him.” He frowned. “I wonder what…”

Not far away, a dark figure peeled itself away from a pillar and stroked her chin. What indeed? And just where had the sage been? It was high time to get some answers. A black-gloved hand fell to the hilt of a ready dagger.

The Crown Princess of Cormyr buried her face in the pillow and sobbed as she had never sobbed before, until she strained for breath and her ribs ached. The handkerchief held beneath her cheeks was sodden, and her hair was everywhere, and she felt sick, yet still she could not stop weeping.

“Oh, gods!” she wailed in frustration.

“My lady!” Aunadar’s voice came to her, and a moment later his soothing hands touched her shoulders. Tanalasta shuddered under him, wracked by fresh sobs of grief.

“Princess,” Aunadar said gently, “I have just now come from where the king lay abed and found him gone from the chamber, but the priests there said he yet lived! High Lady, there is still hope!”

“My father is dying,” Tanalasta sobbed. “Dying! He lies so near death that they’ve moved him to somewhere secret, and they’ve forbidden me-me, his only family present!-from seeing him. Only our Lord High and Mighty Wizard and his two cronies, the bloody-minded sages, can see my father! They’ll not let me in to see him until all that’s left is a cold corpse!”

She rose bolt upright on her bed and hurled the sodden pillow across the room. The heavy, waterlogged cushion struck an oval mirror as tall as the princess herself and shattered it into a spiderweb of cracks.

“Princess-” Aunadar said helplessly, and she answered him with a snarl of rage that rose into a scream, then thrust her fingers into the next pillow like claws, ripping and tearing.

Aunadar put firm arms around her and endured a few frantic moments of struggling and clawing before his lips found hers, and he began to stroke and soothe and rock her gently.

It seemed a long time before she broke free of his kiss, trembling, and said quietly, “I’m all right now, Aunadar. Let me go. Thank you.”

Aunadar Bleth released her and sat back, concern darkening his eyes, and she managed a wan smile. “I’m not handling this very well, am I?”

“Lady,” he said gravely, “I don’t think anyone faces the loss of her father very well. We do what we can, as the gods made us, and that is all we can expect and hope for.” He smiled faintly. “Right now, what I hope for is your smile. I haven’t see you smile in days!”

Tanalasta burst into fresh tears, a short shower that ended in a lopsided, sputtering smile. She put a hand on his cheek. “You are the sweetest of men, my Aunadar.”

“Oh? Deceived you, too, have I?” he teased, stroking her upraised hand. She chuckled weakly, and his lips found hers once more.

They rolled over on the bed, and Tanalasta came up alone. “No!” she said. “No, Aunadar… much as I’d like that right now, I can’t, I-I just can’t. There’s too much to worry about! Nobles muttering everywhere, rumors of rebels gathering in the King’s Forest and even somewhere right here in Suzail, that old wizard gliding around, smiling at me and waving his writ of regency whenever he passes! I can’t spend what may be my last few days of life rolling around on beds with you! What if the nobles came in and stabbed us both? What then?”

“Then we’d be together forever,” Aunadar said lightly, adding hastily, when he saw her brows darken in fury, “But you’re right, Lady Highness, and I am wrong to distract you now. Your birthright is this fair kingdom of ours, and I must tell you that I have been very busy these last few days trying to ensure that what is rightfully yours does indeed pass to you!”

“What do you mean?” Tanalasta asked softly, her eyes dangerous.

“I’ve been talking to all the nobility I can find here in Suzail, putting to them the blunt question of their loyalty to you, should Crown Princess Tanalasta claim the Dragon Throne in the face of Vangerdahast as a declared regent-or anyone else who thinks the throne might be his for the taking, ‘for the good of the realm.’”

“What did they say?” Tanalasta’s voice was calm, but the last pillow she’d caught hold of was now a tortured rag in her hands.

“Most of them offered guarded support,” Aunadar said carefully, “but many of them also complained about this and that which displeases them about the governance of the realm. I sense that if Cormyr is to stay strong under a ruling Queen Tanalasta-without its war wizards, perhaps-certain, ah, concessions to the nobility may be necessary to guarantee the security of the kingdom.”

“Were they any more specific?” Tanalasta asked dully.

“Some of them want a small say in the policies of the realm,” Aunadar said gently. “A council of nobles that you’d consult with, or something of the kind.”

Tanalasta frowned. “I see. So say the nobles, what of the others who dance ever closer to my father’s throne?”

Aunadar spread his hands, “Rumors, more than hard truth.”

Tanalasta waved a despairing hand. “Rumors, then-speak!”

The young pride of the Bleths leaned forward in excitement. “Hear, then: Your sister, Princess Alusair, has been seen to flee with her war band deeper into the Stonelands, apparently afraid to return to court. She and her nobles rode away from a patrol sent out from High Horn specifically to speak with them.”

“That sounds like my sister,” Tanalasta said with a sigh. “What else?”

“I almost hesitate to say, High Lady, because it is but rumor and could well fly false,” Aunadar said gently.

“Out with it!” Tanalasta ordered, exasperated.

The young nobleman bowed his head to signify obedience to her wishes and said gravely, “It concerns your mother, Tana. I was trying to find out if it was true before I told you. Queen Filfaeril has been stabbed by a would-be assassin’s blade in Eveningstar and lies wounded and delirious there, in priestly care. Lathanderites, I would guess. I’ve heard no word of poison, but-“

“No,” Tanalasta gasped, going very pale. “No-not Mother, too!”

Aunadar put an arm around her shoulders hastily, but she did not swoon or collapse into tears. He saw her bite a trembling lower lip and feel for a pillow that was no longer there. It was lying, now shredded, at her feet.

Gently he put another pillow into her hand, and her slim, soft white fingers-oh, he knew how soft-dug into the fabric like a falcon’s claw.

Dug in, and then let go. The princess tossed the pillow aside, swallowed, and said firmly but very quietly, “I’m all right. Go on, my Aunadar. There’s more, isn’t there?”

Her comforter nodded. “It’s Vangerdahast, of course.”

A spasm of fury crossed the face of the princess at the wizard’s name, and then was gone again. Her next words seemed to come with fresh energy she’d not shown before. “Yes? Speak!”

“He’s been seen flitting about the kingdom,” Aunadar said grimly, “and walking the halls of the court and the back alleys of Suzail even more energetically these last few days. Talking to nobles and giving them promises, spells cast to their order, or just plain gold. Gold from the royal treasury, of course.”

“He’s gathering his own following,” Tanalasta said faintly. She seemed unsurprised and calm. Her mind was engaged now, calculating what it would cost to buy a kingdom. And, Aunadar thought, how much it would cost to prevent that sale.

“Exactly,” Aunadar said, “and I’ve heard that both the court sages are off around the Realms gathering support-mercenary troops, even-for whatever he’s planning.”

“His royal regency,” Tanalasta said flatly. “A wizard ruling the realm.” She lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “Not a bad idea, actually,” she added, “so long as the rule is just and the mage mighty enough to hold off the inevitable attacks from rival mages. As the Simbul holds off the Red Wizards, to keep her realm of Aglarond safe.”

“Wizards can never be trusted, Tana,” the young nobleman said, kneading her shoulders gently. “You know that.”

His touch was bliss for her tight, tired neck and shoulders. The crown princess leaned back into his fingers with a sigh of pleasure. “Oh, Aunadar…”

“I’ll always be here to do this if you ask me to,” Aunadar murmured, close by her ear.

“Go on,” she said. “Keep those wonderful fingers at work and tell me more about the old wizard.”

She felt Aunadar shrug. “There’s not much more any of us know, Tana. He’s just here, and then there, and then gone. We don’t have the spells to chase him around the kingdom or fight him if he notices us following. But one doesn’t have to be a sage-even a court sage-to see that he’s up to no good. Remember the old tales: Cormyr’s wizards are loyal only to the crown, not to the one who wears it.”

In a place of darkness not far away, Dauneth Marliir took his eye away from his tiny spy hole and nodded. The scion of House Bleth was right. He’d already felt the same thing, in his own now cramped bones. Vangerdahast was certainly up to something.

The princess sighed. “You’re right, Aunadar.” She reached back and gently but firmly pushed away his massaging hands. “My thanks for that, but I must get dressed and get out of here. Even if I can’t stop wizards from snatching Cormyr from me, I need fresh air and a place to walk and to be up doing something! I’m not going to lie in my bed until they come to turn me into a toad or charm me into marrying the noble of their choice or even-gods!-our Lord High Royal Magician himself!”

She stormed out of the room, hauling on the cord that summoned her ladies-of-the-chamber as she did so. “Step out into the receiving room, Aunadar,” her voice came back faintly. “We’re not officially betrothed yet, and I don’t want people talking…”

From Dauneth’s hiding place, the faint sound of Aunadar’s assent drowned out her last words. They’d moved too far away for him to hear any more. Dauneth sighed, raked slivers of shattered mirror from his hair, took a last look through his spyhole, and crept away.

Someone else heard the faint sounds behind the wall and smiled. That would be young Marliir departing. She might as well follow suit.

The lady with eyes like flames spat out the rose she’d been absently toying with during her long, uncomfortable time curled up behind the wing tapestries of Tanalasta’s bed. Its stem was almost chewed through. Emthrara, the Harper, sighed and dropped the rose, then rubbed at her aching back and slipped away.

When a maidservant came into the room a moment later with Tanalasta’s discarded nightgown in her arms, she almost slipped on a rose lying on the floor. The servant picked it up and peered at it curiously. Someone had been chewing on the stem. She frowned, shrugged, and then carried it away for disposal, leaving the floor bare and unblemished once more.