Cormyr

Chapter 26: Death of Dhalmass

Year of the Wall (1227 DR)

Rhodes Marliir, youngest cousin of a minor relative of a fallen noble house, stalked the streets of Marsember hunting for the King of Cormyr. In its sheath, his serrated dagger wept sweet poison.

The fall of Marsember had come within a generation of the establishment of Sembia’s western border. Once the Purple Dragon established a permanent border with Sembia, the slow, continual tightening of his royal gauntlet around the port city began. Finally, just to stay free, the ruling Marliir family had been forced to publicly endorse the pirate trade in the city and to declare hostilities against the Forest Kingdom.

And that’s when Dhalmass, mighty Dhalmass, the Warrior King of Cormyr, crossed the marshes and took the City of Islands.

Rhodes Marliir was nobility in name only. His immediate family was not within spitting distance of the Marsembian throne, but his was the only branch that had not perished battling the invading horde. And now, blade in hand, the young rogue was intent on exacting his revenge.

The remainder of the town was in celebration, which angered Rhodes even further. These were the merchants and smugglers and thieves and petty nobles, like the Eldroons and the Scorils, who had loudly encouraged the ruling Marliirs to stand firm against the Purple Dragon. Then these supposedly loyal followers deserted the cause when the king’s forces first entered the marshes, and some-Rhodes suspected the treacherous Eldroon household-even guided the Cormyrean army through the tortuous byways of the marsh to the city’s open gates. Now those traitors tooted silver horns and threw gaudy bits of paper to celebrate their new masters and Marsember’s incorporation into the nation of Cormyr.

His uncles and great-uncles lay in Marsember Bog unavenged, along with the last of the Janthrins and the Aurubaens. Mighty Marsemban nobles all, who in life would not have allowed one such as Rhodes, born on the wrong side of the blanket to a poor relation, to pass through the door of any of their palatial homes. That did not matter to Rhodes. All he had gotten from his relatives was a noble name, and now, thanks to their bullheaded stubbornness, the power of that name was gone as well.

Still, Rhodes had his contacts in the city. Everyone knew Dhalmass had taken over the old Marliir manor as his base of operations a fortnight ago. But it was Halfhand Elos who reported that the newly arrived queen, Jhalass Huntsilver, had suddenly taken ill and the king was abroad in the city. The pawnmaster Jacka Andros told him the king was at the Cloven Shield, drinking with his victorious troops. By the time Marliir had reached the Shield, another source said that the king had adjourned to the Drowning Fish Festhall. And the proprietress of the Fish, the old crone Magigan, had noted gravely that his lustful majesty had just left, three empty kegs to the better, with a pair of young ladies, one supporting each arm. For a fee, Magigan would recall where they were going, and for a slightly larger fee, she would forget that fact-and her telling of it-forever, after she told Rhodes.

The last of the Marliirs paid the crone’s fee and sought out the apartment Magigan had mentioned. It was on one of the city’s outer islands, which served Rhodes well. Half of the city was located on a treble-handful of unnamed islands hunched along the marshy shore. These small islets were linked by innumerable bridges of crumbling stone and sea-weathered wood, which added further to the mazelike nature of Marsember.

The narrow streets and bridges of the inner islands were packed with revelers and soldiers. More warriors had fallen in the last two tendays to inebriation and exhaustion than had died in the brief siege of the city’s low walls. The two-tenday anniversary of the takeover, prompted by the arrival of Queen Jhalass and rumor of the king being abroad in the city, had served as reason enough to spark a new wave of revels hard on the heels of the previous ones.

The outward island was practically deserted. The last bands of partygoers clustered along its bridges, tossing empty bottles and insults at the barges beneath them. Here the buildings leaned against each other like drunks, and shadows seemed darker and more forbidding in the dying rays of the sun. The address the old crone had given proved to be a two-story, slightly leaning house of stucco and weathered lumber, its roof a rambling ruin of shellacked wooden shingles.

The girl was running out as he stalked in. Half-dressed in a light shift of Theskan silk, she was clutching a blanket over her bare shoulders. She was small and blonde, and her blue eyes were wide and full of tears. She halted upon seeing Rhodes, then sobbed and fled, her bare feet slapping the cobbles, the blanket trailing after her like a cape.

He found the other girl sitting on the second-floor landing. She was dusky-skinned and almond-eyed, with long, dark hair worn loose in ringlets. She also wore only a light shift as she sat with her knees up, clutching an overly brocaded pillow. She stared at the open doorway wordlessly, seeming dazed.

Was the king he’d come to slay some sort of devouring lusty lion who drove his partners to madness? Rhodes edged around the doorway to see a room in the disarray of passion. Discarded clothing of both sexes littered the room, cast over chairs, tall chests, and nightstands. The room was dominated by a single huge bed with an overstuffed straw tick. Its covering quilts lay thrown to one side. In the center of the bed, tangled in the cotton sheets, sprawled Warrior King Dhalmass, naked-and dead.

Rhodes Marliir carefully approached the bed, his hand on his dagger. The huge, muscular body of the king was already turning blue in its swath of sheets. The royal mouth gaped open in one last, endless battle cry, and the royal eyes stared unfocused at the ceiling. Rhodes touched the body with the back of his hand. It was cold and clammy. The last of the body’s heat had departed with the king’s fleeing life.

The young noble cursed. How dare Dhalmass die, here and now, before Rhodes had a chance for revenge!

There was a subtle change in the stifling air of the room, as if a window had been opened for a moment and then shut again. Rhodes realized he was no longer alone in the room with the dead king.

He turned. The new arrival was a broad-shouldered man whose large gut spilled over the top of his belt. He wore red and black robes of vivid hues and expensive make. A mage’s sigil in gold thread was embroidered over his heart. Rhodes did not know the symbol, but he knew who the man must be from Halfhand’s descriptions of the royal court. This was Jorunhast, Royal Magician of Cormyr.

Rhodes began to stammer that he’d found the king this way, but the wizard swept him aside with one arm and went to the bed. He touched the king at the neck, the breast, and the inside of the thigh. Then he cursed mildly and pulled a small book from his vest. He raised the book and muttered something in an alien tongue. Sparks of light danced around the pages and grew swiftly in brightness and number, to orbit the volume like the streaming stars in the skies over Faerun. The wizard laid the book on the king’s forehead.

The sparks danced, flared once, and then died. Dhalmass continued to lie there, blue and stiff. The wizard leaned on the bed with both fists, his shoulders slumped in defeat. He cursed again, longer and louder this time.

“That’s it, then,” said the wizard. “He’s well and truly dead. His mighty heart failed him, obviously in a moment of passion. Even the Book of Life could not bring him back this time.”

He turned his head to look at the young noble. “Were you here when it happened?”

“Me?” asked Rhodes, then shook his head. “I’ve only just arrived. He was, uh, entertaining.” The young Marliir pointed his chin at the open doorway. Beyond, the dusky-hued girl was watching everything with staring eyes.

“The only witness?” asked the wizard.

“There was another young lady,” said Rhodes. “She left suddenly.”

Jorunhast cursed again and looked hard at the noble. “And you were here with the girls?”

Rhodes straightened his shoulders and looked the wizard in the eye. “I am no panderer, mage. I am of the blood of House Marliir-one of the last, thanks to this man.”

“So you came here, poisoned blade in your sheath, seeking revenge,” said the wizard.

“I came seeking justice,” said Rhodes. “I regret that I was too late to mete it out.”

“Justice!” the old mage spat the word like a curse. “Is that what they call unthinking bloodlust these days?”

Rhodes Marliir’s eyes narrowed. “And how did you know where to find him?”

Jorunhast held up a hand. “I came bearing sad news. Her Highness Queen Jhalass has perished, apparently in an allergic reaction to some fish served at dinner. Like Dhalmass, no amount of herbcraft or priests’ magic could save her. Both of the rulers of Cormyr have perished within hours of each other. I fear for your city, Marliir.”

The news amazed Rhodes. It was as if the gods themselves were saying, in their unsubtle way, that conquering Marsember was not the wisest of moves for the Cormyrean crown. He forgot that Jorunhast had not exactly answered his question.

Then the mage’s last comment registered, and Rhodes asked sharply, “You fear for my city, mage?”

“Aye,” said the Royal Magician, his face a mask of concern. “Once word gets out that both king and queen died in Marsember, regardless of how, there will be a gnashing of teeth and a seeking of revenge. Or, as you would call it, ‘justice.’ Seven companies of Purple Dragons walk-and drink deeply-in this city right now. Tell them their king, their warrior king, is dead, and his queen alongside him. Can you imagine the carnage and rioting that will ensue?”

For the first time, Rhodes really thought about it. “They’ll destroy the city,” he said quietly, seeing in his mind islands that were only ashes, houses put to the torch, the bridges broken, the vultures swooping down…

“Marsember would be abandoned once more,” the Royal Magician intoned, “and its abandonment would not be peaceful. It is well that you had no hand in his death, for revenge would be swift and hard, and no mage or warrior or pirate could shield you.”

He looked down at the spread-eagled corpse on the bed again and sighed. “Even now, I fear Marsember will be devastated by these deaths. And some of the same conspiring merchants who opened the gates to us have crept away during this last tenday. They might well return after the fury has abated and the city has been torn apart and try to establish their own kingdom. Then Cormyr would return. Death upon death, year after year. Feuds that die not, and children who do. Sometimes the gods play savage jests on us all.”

Rhodes Marliir stared at the wizard, realizing the man was truly sad at the thought of Marsember’s fate.

He felt tears rising in his throat, and at the same time a curious thankfulness. He’d never stood thinking beyond his own pride before-thinking down the generations and ages, of the fates of realms and cities and peoples. No wonder folk thought wizards strange.

Rhodes thought of the many islands of the city that was his home, the rat warrens of twisted streets and ancient, decaying buildings. The sagging wharves and inns and taverns and festhalls. All gone in a passion as hot and burning as his own hatred of the king. Marsember, swept away…

“What if he did not die here?” Marliir asked suddenly. “What if you teleported him back by magic, to lie beside the queen, and men thought they died together in their sleep?”

The Royal Magician shook his head. ‘They would still both have died in Marsember, and enough people heard Queen Jhalass complain of the food that the assumption would be that they were poisoned by rebel Marsembians. The fire and rampage would follow, inescapably.”

Rhodes sighed in sudden despair. “Then my city is doomed. I wish I’d slain him myself! Then I’d be the only one held responsible, and not all the people of Marsember.”

“A noble thought. Yet dark times will come indeed,” said the mage, “unless…”

“Unless?” echoed Rhodes.

The Royal Magician of Cormyr drew himself up and asked formally, “Rhodes Marliir, will you pledge your loyalty to the crown of Cormyr, which will now pass to Palaghard, son of Dhalmass?”

The young noble looked at the mage, dumbfounded. Had the man not heard him confess his desire to kill the king?

“Knowing,” the wizard continued, “that in doing so, you’d save Marsember from much rioting and ruin and gain a full noble title and rewards for you and your surviving house?”

“I suppose…” Rhodes shrugged, and then their eyes met. He sighed again, drew himself up, and picked up Jorunhast’s book from the cold forehead of the corpse.

The wizard made a sudden movement and then froze. The Marsemban nobleman handed him his book, looked into the eyes of the mage, and said firmly, “To save Marsember from seven companies of drunken, enraged Purple Dragons, I will so swear. I do so swear-if you will protect this city.”

Jorunhast nodded. “Done… I hope.”

Rhodes raised an eyebrow, and the wizard started to pace the room. “Dhalmass was a great war leader, but only a fair-to-middling ruler. He was too much the slave to a lust for battle, as well as for… other, more earthy lusts. By rights, he should have died in battle. We can ensure that if you’re willing to assist me.”

“Willing in what way?” Rhodes asked, eyes narrowing. “His Majesty must be seen leaving this place and returning to his quarters, where be will sleep undisturbed through the night,” said the wizard. “I will teleport back to Marliir House with the body and store it, say within the royal carriage that brought the queen here. We load Queen Jhalass similarly. In the morning, the king will be called back to Suzail. He will go by carriage to be with his queen, and will not take escorts on this safe trip through known country. Regrettably they are ambushed on the coast trail by known rogues and brigands. How do you feel about the Fire Knives?”

“Marsember has no love of the Fire Knives thieves’ guild,” Rhodes replied stiffly.

“Then the Fire Knives it is,” the wizard said with a grim smile. “The king dies protecting his queen and passes into history as warrior king rather than libertine. And it all happens far from the walls of Marsember, which allows this fair city to drift easily into the arms of Cormyr without further bloodshed.”

Rhodes was silent in response. The plan had more bizarre angles-and perilous steps-than the trader’s market in Marsember. Nevertheless, if all went well, it would work.

He asked, “You want me to impersonate the king? Aren’t there laws against such a thing?”

“If caught,” the wizard said with a shrug. “And, Rhodes Marliir, I pledge to you my aid in getting you out if you are. Unless someone has the unusual presence of mind to check once and again to see that their drunken monarch truly is their drunken monarch, no one will know. Indeed, if there is any doubt, they’ll likely summon me to determine your identity.”

Rhodes smiled grimly. “And in return I get my noble house in Marsember?”

“You get your noble rank,” said Jorunhast, “but too many questions will be asked if it is in Marsember.”

“I don’t want to be a petty lord of some sheep path,” Rhodes said grimly, folding his arms.

“What about Arabel, then?” suggested the wizard. “A large city with a number of local nobility, far from the easy reach of the throne.”

“Arabel would be suitable,” agreed Rhodes.

“And it revolts against the crown every hundred years or so. You’ll fit right in.” The wizard smiled again. “Moreover, I can see my way clear to losing enough gold from the royal treasury that-when you’re as old and as fat as I and have sons of your own, mind-you can buy any islands you want in Marsember again. But you must give me your most solemn oath that you’ll never speak of this to anyone. Not a wife, not an heir, not a crony!”

Rhodes Marliir nodded. “I so swear on my noble name and my loyalty to House Obarskyr and Cormyr. And so let me hear you swear that you will protect Marsember.”

“More than that,” the wizard replied. “Dhalmass would have looked upon Marsember as an irritant removed, but in the end no more than another trinket of conquest, to be forgotten after it is acquired. Palaghard, or rather King Palaghard the Second, is a more thoughtful man. I think it will be easy to convince him to improve upon his late father’s acquisition, to bring in stone and new construction. I swear I will move him in that direction. Agreed?”

“Royal Magician,” Rhodes said softly, “you have yourself a deal. I will be true to this, before all the gods you care to summon.”

Jorunhast clucked disapprovingly. “God summonings? I leave that sort of truly dangerous nonsense to young nobles. Folk think them strange, you know.”

Rhodes chuckled helplessly.

Jorunhast scowled at him. “Stand still,” he said, “or I’ll have to shock you senseless and put you in bed with Dhalmass, there, to try to get you into his likeness!”

The young noble stood very still. The wizard peered at him and set to work, slowly cloaking Marliir with the seeming of the king. When the last spell was done, Rhodes examined himself in a cracked mirror and then looked down at what lay on the bed. The match was perfect, rendered by an expert who’d known the original subject from birth.

“Don’t talk while you’re on the road, for that I cannot fix now,” said the Royal Magician. “Limit it to grunts. That was about the level of the king’s speech when he was drunk, in any event.”

“One last thing,” said the “king” with Marliir’s voice. “Are you going to do this same magic for the queen?”

Jorunhast paused. “I suppose so. I’ll recruit some serving girl for the impersonation. Someone of strong will, like yourself. Many of the court know of the queen’s illness, but almost none of her death.”

“One of the queen’s servants would be missed,” said Rhodes.

“You have a suggestion?” asked the wizard.

Rhodes looked out the door. Following his gaze, Jorunhast saw the dusky-skinned woman. She was still sitting there, eyes and ears open, and had been watching them, not daring to make any sound by moving. Her eyes were very large and dark.

“Lass,” Jorunhast said, “know that I am the Royal Magician of Cormyr, and hold the power in my hands to cook dragons to ashes.” He raised one of his hands meaningfully and added with a smile, “On the other hand, I also have the power to transform young wenches into queens…”

It took only a little coaxing to convince the young woman to throw in with the plan, given the choice between horrible death-now or at any time in the future, if she spoke out-and nobility, a manor house full of fine gowns, with good food in plenty, servants, a swan pond, and the ear of the Royal Magician to pursue any interests that might come to her. To say nothing of a husband, if she could see eye to eye with the darkly handsome young man she’d seen change into the king before her eyes. She looked at him now and frowned.

“Strip,” she told Rhodes calmly, “and put on all the things he tossed around the room. You’re the king now, and none of what you’re wearing fits.”

Looking down, the young noble saw that she was right. His clothes and dagger went onto a sheet, and the body of Dhalmass was rolled onto it and then wrapped up in a tight bundle. The wizard glanced around the room, nodded, and made a quick, intricate gesture.

He, the shrouded corpse, and the girl began to glow with a soft radiance.

“One last thing,” he said as the glow spread and gained strength. “Dhalmass was well loved in Arabel. You might consider putting up a statue for him.”

“When I hear of improvements in Marsember, I shall,” the young noble replied tartly, then grinned in real pleasure for the first time he could remember.

The radiance rose to blinding intensity, and then abruptly faded, leaving him alone in the upstairs apartment.

Marliir checked the room over for any fallen royal jewelry or other evidence they might have overlooked that would tell a nosy Cormyrean that his king had been here-and died here. He found nothing.

The temporary king closed the door on the squalor of the room where Dhalmass had died and headed down the stairs. The king had been-well, was-a taller man than he, and it was more difficult than he’d thought it would be to maneuver his new body down to street level. Fortunately, Rhodes thought, the original King had been drunk, a few staggers would be forgiven.

He met the other girl, the blonde, at the doorway. She was creeping timidly back in to see if the drunken monarch had truly died in her arms, and she nearly leapt out of her skin when confronted with His Majesty, hale and hearty, seeming none the worse for wear.

Marliir kissed her gently on the forehead, then winked and weaved off into the city, on his way back to the official royal residence at Marliir House. There’d be other lasses to kiss on his journey. If he did this properly, many eyes would see and remember King Dhalmass this evening, and in the morning he and his queen would board the coach to take them back to Suzail. And in a week’s time, there would be mourning across an entire realm for the fallen crowned heads of Cormyr-and a new noble lord and lady sitting at ease by a swan pond in Arabel.