Cormyr

Chapter 27: Deals

Year of the Gauntlet (1369 DR)

The old nobleman finished speaking and fixed the wizard with a level eye, trying to determine if the wizard had truly been listening.

“Legitimate concerns,” Vangerdahast repeated the old noble’s words gravely, nodding-and meant it.

Albaerin Dauntinghorn had a remarkable skill for seeing clearly through dishonesty, deliberately obtuse courtly phrases, and misleading impressions.

Unfortunately, that’s precisely what the Royal Magician of Cormyr did not need right now. He was going to have a lot of hasty and hardy work ahead of him as it was to keep the court from becoming a graveyard of nobles wearing daggers in their ribs over the next tenday or so. The nascent factions seeking to remake Cormyr had their respective bits between their teeth and were starting to pull on the realm trapped between them. The image of Cormyr as the helpless victim being torn apart between four horses was all too painfully accurate just now.

Vangerdahast gave old Albaerin his best confident smile and told him, “You have my word that, if I am named regent, I will bring the matters you raise before the open court and see that they’re dealt with directly, rather than festering unattended through the months ahead.”

They exchanged the curt nods of old, wise equals who dealt with each other in mutual respect, then parted. The court wizard turned along the Hall of Honor, where the names of common soldiers who had died valiantly in the service of the realm were graven on the stones of the wall, and headed for Gemstars Hall, where there were bound to be some nobles muttering together about the dark future of Cormyr. It was time to fill a few more gullible heads with promises of what could be theirs if a certain wizard were made regent.

He was halfway there when a page in the tabard of palace service hurried up to him, bowed, and said in a voice sharp with excitement, “Revered lord, Lord Aunadar Bleth would speak with you in the Flamedance Hall at your earliest convenience. He says the matter is of utmost urgency to the security of the realm.”

“Of course it is,” Vangerdahast said, almost soothingly, and added, inclining his head in dismissal, “My thanks. I shall attend Lord Bleth directly. If you have been charged to bring him a reply, you may inform him so. If not, spare yourself the run, I shall not keep him waiting long.”

The page bowed and ran off toward the palace. Of course, thought Vangerdahast, and looked up and down the Hall of Honor to see if he was being observed. The page dwindled into the distance and turned down the east stair, there was no one else in sight. The wizard nodded in satisfaction, laid his hand on a particular inscription on the wall, and spoke a certain word. The block seemed unchanged, but his fingers sank into it as if it no longer existed. He reached in, plucked a certain ring, a pendant, and an armlet from the small cloth bag that he knew would be there, and drew them forth, speaking another word that made the stone solid again.

Donning the three items, he resumed his walk, heading not for Gemstars Hall any longer but for the palace and the soaring hearths of Flamedance Hall. The flames would be illusory during weather this warm, but their endless leapings were fascinating to watch nonetheless. It would be best to get this over with, now that he was protected against poisons, normal missiles, steel weapons of all sorts, and the effects of hostile gases. It would be most indecently hasty to try to strike down the Royal Magician of all Cormyr, leaving the land mageless once more, but then, these ambitious young nobles seemed to care not a whit for the safety of the realm nor for rules, courtesies, and conventions. Truly a wonderful future lay ahead for the kingdom.

Two belarjacks nodded to him respectfully at the threshold of Flamedance Hall and drew the doors wide. The old wizard strode in calmly to find only one figure waiting for him, with a decanter and two glasses. Vangerdahast smiled slightly as he heard the doors close softly behind him, and walked steadily forward.

“So this day finds you desirous of converse with the wise old mage of Cormyr, does it?” he asked cheerfully. “Well, then, speak! I bring both time and interest to hear you out.”

Those piercing brown eyes locked with his, and the thin lips beneath the thinner mustache twisted slightly. “That is convenient, lord wizard, for I find I have matters of crucial import to the future of the realm to discuss with you.”

Vangerdahast stopped a few paces away from the young noble and raised both of his bushy brows. “How so? A man who’s spent so much of his time in recent years hunting boar and deer carries matters of crucial import about with him-and undiscussed?”

Aunadar poured himself a glass from the decanter, amber and sparkling-old, fine flamekiss, by the looks of it-and said almost wearily, “Whatever you may think of me, Lord Vangerdahast, I am no longer a boy but a man-moreover, one affianced to the future Queen of Cormyr. I have the ear of the crown princess and eyes quite able to see the future ahead of us all. Pray do me the courtesy of dispensing with the old-wise-one-patronizing-the-self-important-puppy act. It demeans you more than it does me.”

“Speak, then,” Vangerdahast said calmly, shaping something in the air behind him with one hand.

Aunadar laid a hand on the hilt of the court rapier he wore. “Casting spells when discussing affairs of state is a dangerously bold breach of courtesy,” he said, gliding a step forward.

Vangerdahast finished his gesturing and sat down calmly on the empty air, as if reclining in a comfortable chair. He made a flippant gesture of dismissal with his fingertips and said, “Lad, casting spells is what wizards do. If you don’t like being around castings, don’t summon wizards into your presence as if they were your servants. And of the two of us here, I shall be the judge of what court courtesy is or may be. All these veiled threats and posturings demean you more than they do me, to borrow a much-overused phrase.”

Aunadar’s mouth tightened, but he let go of his sword. Facing the wizard, he struck a pose-probably unconsciously, the wizard judged, these well-muscled noble sons with their sleek good looks started doing such things the moment they noticed that the world held women-and said, “I’d like to dispense with all the fencing between us for an hour or so.”

Vangerdahast raised an eyebrow and gestured at him to continue at his pleasure, the wizard would attend to his words. Aunadar raised a matching brow of his own, drew a deep breath, and said, “We are prepared to accept you as regent of the realm if-and only if-you agree to certain conditions.”

“‘We’? Are you speaking for the princess? Surely not, without her writ or herald! Or are you speaking for your father and your older brothers, Faern and Dlothtar? Or the entire House of Bleth?”

Aunadar’s mouth tightened again. “I speak for myself and for the nobles, both within my family and without, who stand with me on this point. Rest assured that I can muster to support me more nobles of Cormyr than any other person in the realm, including, my lord, yourself. Do you want to hear my conditions, or shall I inform them that you are a mad old tyrant best removed from Faerun forever?”

Vangerdahast smiled. The youth spoke of “my” conditions, not “our” conditions, and failed to notice the slip. The wizard nodded. “I do indeed wish to hear them. Perhaps we can deal together for the continued good governance of the realm.”

“Brantarra? We’re here!”

The small disturbance of whirling lights and roilings of the air in front of the young noble promptly grew two burning eyes, then sighed. They were within the palace itself, in one of the innumerable hiding holes and hidden passages. This one had seen only a few booted feet disturb the dust.

The spectral appearance sighed again, a soft, feminine sigh. It seemed to say, Were all the nobles of Cormyr as excited as young boys, creeping around and whispering? Was this all she had to work with?

“That is good,” the burning eyes said instead. At the sound of her voice, the five men in their gaudy court dress tensed, drawn swords glittering in their hands. All gulped and drew in breaths.

The woman who was using the name Brantarra went on. “Are you ready to forge a glorious future for Cormyr and for yourselves?”

The boldest of the nobles-Ensrin Emmarask, the one she’d first contacted-took a nervous step nearer her mystic portal and stammered, “Y-Yes, lady, we are.”

“Then hold out your cloak under my eyes-well below them!”

Tentatively Ensrin did as he was bade, and the whirling lights so close above him spat out something.

He flinched but managed to catch it in his cloak. It rolled over once, twice, and stopped: a ruby as large as his thumb. The radiance pulsed again, and another stone joined the first. Three more joined it before the voice said, “One for each of you, to start with. Earn them now.”

“How, Lady Brantarra?”

“Go to the shrines just established in the palace, where Crown Princess Tanalasta worships. She will be on her way there shortly to kneel in prayer. Slay her.”

Someone gasped, and someone else swallowed noisily. The room was suddenly full of nervous shiftings and the flashings of moving blades.

Ensrin then did the bravest thing he’d every essayed in his young life. “Kill the crown princess?” he asked.

“Yes-and bring away her head with you, to hide in the place where first we met. Strike now, the princess must die this morn. It’s best if your attack comes at the altar of Tymora, when the princess is kneeling, far from guards or alarm gongs. Only one priestess should be in attendance. If you tarry, be warned that the chamber consecrated to Tyr is staffed by several heavily armed Warpriests of Justice.”

Ensrin swallowed, raised his blade in salute, and quivered in excitement. “Lady, it shall be done!”

“Aye,” the others echoed in a ragged chorus. The eyes of fire looked around at them all, and the voice of Brantarra said, “Good. Do this, and the wealth I promised is yours. You’ll never have to lift swords-or anything else-again. Go!”

Ensrin nodded sharply and drew a black silken mask from a belt pouch. As he drew it on, the others followed suit, and the little sphere of whirling lights sighed again and faded away.

Five masked men boiled out of the room and hurried along darkened back passageways of the palace. It was too bad for the lone Purple Dragon who happened to round a corner in front of them. Swords plunged into his face and throat without hesitation, and he fell against the wall and then slid to the floor without making more noise than a gurgle. Dealing death, it seemed, was very easy.

Back in the hidden room, the last motes of Brantarra’s light finally faded away, and something promptly moved atop an armoire in the corner. A moment later, a woman in dark mottled leathers, who wore a locket on a ribbon around her throat, dropped lightly to the ground and hurried to the door. The nightmare-young nobles rushing around the palace with blades ready in their hands and the will to use them-was beginning at last.

Emthrara raced down the corridor, drawing her own blade as she ran. If the gods smiled for once, perhaps she’d not be too late.

At the first corner, the fallen form of a Purple Dragon lay sprawled. A hulking form, his back to Emthrara, rose up from the body, the spilled blood spreading around the man’s feet in gleaming ribbons. The Harper rushed toward the man, raising her blade for a thrust that would slay him before he had time to react.

She was delivering that deadly thrust when the man looked straight up at her. Emthrara shouted as she saw his face, her sword in midswing.

He ducked, but it was too late. She half checked her swing, and instead of biting into flesh managed to strike the hallway corner. Her sword left a pale chalky streak where it clanged against the metal.

“Rhauligan!” she shouted. “You didn’t-“

“Of course I didn’t,” said the turret merchant, looking down at the fallen Purple Dragon. “Whoever did passed this way recently. The body is still warm, and no one else has found it yet.”

“Then who did this?” asked the Harper.

“And more importantly, where are they now?” said the merchant, pulling from his belt a long, wickedly curved knife. “What say we find out?”

Aunadar smiled silkily. “Hear me, then, wizard: I, the nobles who stand with me, and my lady, the princess, will accept you as royal regent of the realm for a brief period of clearly proclaimed duration, during which you will involve the princess constantly in all of your decisions so that she can learn how you govern the kingdom. We will not accept any regency of more than five winters in length. Have we any dispute on this?”

The Royal Magician shook his head in agreement. “Your words thus far simply define what a regency is, a definition I have no quarrel with.” He smiled thinly. “So I’m sure there are more conditions.”

“Just one,” Aunadar said coolly. “One that a mage who likes authority so little and counsel so much should have no difficulty at all in accepting: a regent’s council of a dozen or so nobles who have the right to overturn or stay your decisions by a two-thirds majority vote.”

“And who will choose these nobles? And how will they be unchosen?” the wizard asked.

Aunadar frowned. “Unchosen?”

“If council members do not serve for finite periods and then leave office, you do not have a council,” Vangerdahast said pointedly, “but a dozen or so petty kings. A realm under such chaos would be ungovernable and is something I’ll never agree to.”

“Your alternative?”

“A two-year term for each councillor, followed by two years in which the same woman or man could not serve. Every two years each councillor can nominate one candidate for the council, each local lord of the realm can nominate one candidate, I nominate one, the Lord Sages Alaphondar and Dimswart each nominate one, and each living member of the immediate Obarskyr family who is able, or of age, to speak for herself can nominate one candidate each. A simple majority-not a two-thirds count-will serve to appoint a candidate to the council.”

Aunadar’s eyes narrowed. “What if we vote in more than a dozen councillors?”

“Then the council grows, at least temporarily.”

“And if less than a dozen can be agreed upon?”

“Then I shall name one person to the council, the Marshal of the Realm or senior officer of the Purple Dragons will name one, the two sages will each name one, the Obarskyrs will each name one, and so on, until we have our dozen-or more. These namings would be binding appointments, not one-man, one-vote proposals, and the only beings in all Faerun who could refuse them would be the named candidates themselves.”

“While the council sits powerless? That’s hardly fair.”

“Ah, but knowing that such a fate awaits the realm, the council will have to agree on some candidates rather than simply refusing everyone proposed as their successors.”

“And if they refuse?”

Vangerdahast shrugged. “Then I ignore them, and their vetoes fail-as they will in any case whenever I resign my regency and an Obarskyr takes the throne.”

“Need our ruler be an Obarskyr?”

The wizard shrugged. “If you want to remain in the Forest Country technically the answer must be yes. The original elves who kept this land and entrusted it to the Obarskyrs might take a dim view of other hands being found at the helm.”

Aunadar sneered. “Spare me the fairy tales, mage! Keep to the serious! Are you telling me that after all these years, the elves would return and press a claim against a land we’ve ruled for thirteen centuries?”

Vangerdahast did not answer, but instead let the question hang in the air for a long moment. The point had been made. Aunadar did not know if the old wizard was telling the truth. Indeed, there was much the young Bleth did not know.

The noble looked deeply into the hearth, then turned with the agile grace already displayed on many a dance floor. “Let us agree-for the moment, as an abstract point of debate-that we accept your view of council servitude and powers and your contention that one of Obarskyr blood must lead us.” He smiled softly and turned to fix the mage with a steady, searching gaze. “Tell me, then, is one born directly from the seed of an Obarskyr king not of Obarskyr blood?”

“You speak in this case of the many King Azoun has fathered, or is rumored to have fathered,” Vangerdahast said calmly. “Yes, they are of Obarskyr blood and stand in precedence ranked by senior birtbdate, behind all of the pure House of Obarskyr. If I, the sages, the wizardess Laspeera, and the major priests of the realm agreed to by us and the High Heralds we shall call in-if such a determination ever becomes necessary, and not before then-can all agree on the lineage of each bastard candidate. We alone shall investigate such claims, not a whispering cabal of nobles, and I warn you, young Lord Bleth, that if we are ever forced to mount such an indelicate investigation, we shall thoroughly delve into, bring to light, and proclaim throughout the realm every illicit birth connected to every noble house in the land.” The Royal Magician smiled faintly. “Nary an escutcheon shall remain unblotted, to quote the old saying.”

Aunadar made a gesture of uncaring dismissal. “Fair enough. Who, in your view, is to name our first council?”

Vangerdahast replied promptly. “I could ask nobles to nominate themselves and put them to a test. Those who pass are councillors, those who fail will be dead.”

“A test,” Aunadar said darkly. “A dangerous quest, no doubt? Or face-to-face personal spell duels with you?”

“Both of those seem excellent proposals,” the wizard agreed brightly. “Which do you prefer?”

“Stop playing with me, mage!” Aunadar snapped. “So, say we agree to your vote of heralds, and the council forms, and they vote you down on something-what then?”

“I accede to their wishes,” Vangerdahast replied, “but continue to formulate policy for the realm. They are to act as reins on me and the princess under my tutelage, not as commanders over us. Moreover, voting us down does not make her an un-princess or oust me from my office as Royal Magician of the Realm.”

Aunadar nodded slowly, stroking his chin. “I can see us coming to an agreement on this,” he said slowly. “Tell me, what do you really think of such a council?”

“A good notion,” the wizard said. “It’s high time some of our nobles saw the decisions a ruler faces clearly, rather than through the bellyaching, self-serving blinkers most of them habitually wear.”

“What?”

The wizard held up a hand. “Don’t roar at me, young Bleth. You wanted plain speech, remember?” He waggled a finger. “Besides, I need to know your answer to a question.”

“And that question is?” Aunadar Bleth snapped, still visibly angry.

“Our council and regency are installed, and both run more or less smoothly-let us say,” The wizard leaned forward to fix Bleth with a searching gaze. “What happens if, after five years, Tanalasta is no more capable of taking up the reigns of power than she is now?”

“And who would judge such a thing?” Aunadar replied softly. “We both know that she’d never measure up-in your eyes-to what a monarch of Cormyr has to be.”

“It’s nice to know that you already know what we’ll both think five winters hence,” Vangerdahast said dryly. “No wonder every last noble in the realm thinks he knows exactly how to govern Cormyr.”

Aunadar Bleth sighed and set down his glass. “You can never stop teaching the fools that the gods set all around you, can you?”

The wizard almost smiled. “It’s one way to spend a life,” he said mildly.

The young noble shook his head, sighed, and then said briskly, “In answer to your question, the council would see to it that the crown princess ascended the throne in any event, proclaiming the situation throughout the realm. I doubt even a Lord High Wizard could last long if every last hand in the kingdom was raised against him. No matter where you slept, there’d always be a forester or farmer or goodwife, skillet or something in hand, to smite you down.”

Vangerdahast raised his brows but said nothing.

The young noble smiled triumphantly and added, “One more thing. I know that one of the Obarskyr family treasures is an item that protects the mind of its wearer from sorcerous influences. I want Tanalasta to wear that item, and I want it examined by a neutral wizard-one not from this realm-to be sure that it hasn’t been tampered with. I want him to ascertain and tell all of the council the precise limitations of its powers, and I want enchantments that duplicate those powers placed upon items worn by all members of the council, including myself. I’m afraid that, as one of those arrogant young nobles you speak of, I can’t find myself ever linking the word ‘trust’ and the word ‘wizard.’” He gave Vangerdahast a saccharine smile and picked up the empty glass. “Something to drink?”

The wizard shook his head. “Everyone seems to be buying his poisons from Westgate these days, and they always make things too salty so they can water down the stuff, because folk are driven to drink more of it.”

Aunadar’s lips tightened. “I don’t like your inference, mage.”

“Whether you like or dislike what I do or say is immaterial, noble,” Vangerdahast replied easily. “I am trying to govern a realm, not win fawning popularity contests among young noble boys.”

“Yes,” Aunadar said softly, “that’s precisely what you’re trying to do-govern a realm. And for the good of our realm, I am going to stop you. Wizards have twisted the lives of all in Cormyr long enough.”

“Ah, that grandest of phrases: ‘For the good of the realm.’ It can cover everything from outright murder to poisonings, smashing down buildings, setting the country to war, or starting plagues-and has.” The wizard’s tone was biting. “When someone says he’s acting for the good of the realm, it labels him either a self-righteous fool or a self-righteous villain. Which are you?”

Aunadar’s nostrils tightened, and he strode forward. “I trust the lore you were taught was specific on the subject of the last regency, wherein the faithful regent refused to give up power after his time had passed.”

“Oh, yes,” the mage replied softly. “My tutelage on that was thorough. I remember the tales of the last regency very well.”

Aunadar stepped back a pace, face paling-and in his hiding place behind the hearth-surround peepholes, Dauneth Marliir shuddered for the same reason: the ice in the old mage’s voice.