Cormyr

Epilogue

Year of the Gauntlet (1369 DR)

The conspirators, real and incidental, were gathered in Gryphonsblade Hall. The king’s sickbed had been removed and the original furnishings replaced. The windows that had been sealed for fear of contagion were now flung wide, and below them the city of Suzail was spread out like a blanket, leading downward to a cool, blue sea that mirrored the sky above. Somewhere down there a bell was tolling, long ringing peals that cascaded through the streets.

“The king lives,” said Cat Wyvernspur, nodding her head towards the bell’s joyous clangor. “Long live the king!”

The king in question was playing chess with Cat’s husband, Lord Giogi. Giogi would stare intently at the board for many minutes, then carefully nudge a piece to its new location. Azoun would then stroke his beard twice, reach out, and make his move. Giogi would sink his chin into his hands and return to his intense concentration.

“How’s the game going?” she asked, stroking Giogi’s shoulders.

“Totally engrossing,” her husband replied. “I’ve tried every variation in the book, but I can’t crack his defenses. Worse, every time he repulses one of my assaults, I’m in a worse position. He’s won three games so far, and in this little slaughter, I’m down two turrets and a Purple Dragon already.”

Cat smiled fondly at the top of her lord’s head, exchanged a solemn wink with the king, and took up a ewer of wine before sauntering over to where Vangerdahast, Dauneth Marliir, and Tanalasta were deep in conversation.

The Royal Magician looked over at the game in progress. “How is young Lord Wyvernspur doing?”

“Badly,” said Cat, pouring herself a goblet of blood-red wine. “He’s baffled by the king’s masterful defenses.”

“Should I let him in on the secret?” asked the mage, his eyes twinkling.

“Secret?”

“Azoun never plans out his moves in chess,” said the wizard. “He just moves what catches his fancy at the moment. Thinks of a move, does it on the instant, and-bless my soul-it’s usually right.”

Cat chuckled. “Oh, don’t tell Giogi. His Majesty beat him twenty-seven games straight when we were keeping him in the basement. My poor husband was up half the night memorizing Chess Variations of the Masters of Old Impiltur just on the chance of getting one more game in. I think he’d be crushed if you told him.”

Giogi let out a curse, and the king answered it with a mighty laugh as he took the noble’s queen and forced checkmate.

“Looks like he’s crushed anyway,” said the wizard, loudly enough for the two combatants to hear.

“It was a Theskan double-counter gambit,” said Giogi mournfully. “I didn’t stand a chance after the tenth move.”

“One more noble crushed beneath the heel of the Purple Dragon,” Azoun said, smiling.

“It’s good to see you up and around again, Sire,” said Dauneth. “But I’m puzzled as to how you were cured. It was my understanding that no magic worked against the venomous disease in your blood.”

“Ah, but that’s exactly the point,” said Vangerdahast. “The blots of disease in the abraxus’s venom were all enwrapped in their own dead-magic zones. Spells couldn’t reach the disease itself through the zones, and so His Majesty could not be cured by magic. But those very zones held the key to defeating the disease.”

Dauneth looked puzzled.

Warming to the task, Vangerdahast went on with the enthusiasm of a proud crafter of magic. “We bled His Majesty, then enchanted the blood we collected. A simple spell-Nystul’s Magic Aura-that would just turn the blood magical. Except, of course, the parts of the blood surrounded by dead-magic zones.”

“The disease.”

“Precisely. Then we worked up a spell to teleport enchanted blood to another container. That left the diseased blood, with its tiny dead zones, back in the original container, since it could not be affected by the spell. Then we infused the king again with the purified, magic-free blood.”

Dauneth shook his head. “But you couldn’t do that with all the royal blood at once, or His Majesty would die. And such a process is like diluting wine-the taint grows thinner and thinner, but there will always be some scrap of disease left.”

“Again correct,” the wizard replied, “but eventually the healthy blood overwhelmed the tainted, and the body of the king began to heal naturally. We had to effectively replace all of the blood in the king’s body twice before his natural resistance could deal with it.”

Dauneth goggled. “But that must have taken days! I can’t think of anything else so time-consuming…”

“And painful,” added the king, taking a seat with the others around the table. Giogi, still shaking his head, moved to where Cat perched. She handed him a goblet of wine, and he held it in one hand, rubbing her bare shoulder absentmindedly with his other hand.

“It is not,” Azoun said feelingly, “a process I care to repeat.”

“Nor will it be,” the Lord High Wizard responded. “Now that we know the process, we can craft a spell to duplicate its effects in manifestation. And as much as I want to take credit for the process, it is almost entirely the work of Dimswart and Alaphondar, our devoted sages. I’m afraid I was caught up in other things.”

“No,” said Tanalasta with a solemn smile. “You were too busy scheming and dreaming up plots against the crown.”

“And successfully, I might add,” said Cat.

“Don’t blame our good wizard too much, child,” said the king. “When I was a lad, one of the lessons he taught me was that things are not always what they seem, and that the most evil people can put on a good face if they are after something. While this blood process he’s so gleeful about was going on, I was as weak as a kitten. So I gave Vangerdabast orders to keep everyone in the dark and let him spin out all the dark intrigues he could think of, so long as he didn’t bring all-out war to Suzail or bring the palace down around our ears.”

“Separating the wolves from the sheep,” Giogi said brightly, “or the wheat from the chaff, or the mill from the floss… or whatever.”

“Aye,” said the king. “The power of the Cormaerils, the Bleths, and the others whose acts were treasonable is now broken. Their lands are seized, their titles are stripped from them, and some will be exiled. I’ll not be slaying more folk than have already died, however. That’s one lesson I’ve learned from Vangerdahast and his forebears. The realm is stronger than any one man, and it’s always best not to bleed away the best of its stock in wasteful executions.”

“I’ve made it known,” Vangerdahast added silkily, “that any interpretation of this clemency as a weakness of the monarch would be a mistake… almost certainly a fatal mistake.”

“However, letting the threat of execution hang over a man seems quite a useful tactic,” Azoun agreed. “Those who supported the traitors but were not immediately involved in the plot have either recanted or are heading for Sembia, Westgate, or Waterdeep with all the haste they can muster.”

“And those who recanted or denied their allegiance to the conspiracy know they are being watched,” Cat put in. “Knowing that, they are going to be on their best behavior trying to prove their loyalty like the youngest and most enthusiastic of knights for the next few years.”

“And they will not be the only ones,” Vangerdahast added slyly. “I made it a point to personally thank the families who sat on their hedges, blowing neither hot nor cold, as the realm almost pitched into the abyss around them. Particularly the supposedly loyal Huntsilvers, Crownsilvers, and Truesilvers. I’m sure they’ll spend the next few years trying fervently to prove their loyalty to the crown as well.”

“And what of those who passed your little test?” asked the crown princess, her eyes darting to meet those of the old wizard. “Those who risked life and limb when they were convinced Lord Vangerdahast was a traitor?” She lowered her gaze to the floor and added, “As I did.”

One of Vangerdahast’s large and hairy-backed hands closed over hers. “Lady Highness,” he said gently, “how could you have thought otherwise?” The wizard rose and struck an actor’s pose. “After all, I learned how to act from the best tavern dancers in Suzail! My performance, I’ll have you know, was peerless… simply peerless!”

Tanalasta tried not to laugh, then snorted helplessly, and then roared. Vangerdahast blinked at her, affecting an air of innocence, and Azoun’s rich mirth rolled out to join them.

When at last she could speak again, Tanalasta asked, “Seriously, Father, what about those who remained true, like Marliir and Giogi?”

“And Vangerdahast’s mob of agents, including the Harper Emthrara, and that turret salesman-” the king snapped his fingers-“Rhauligan. A royal writ, absolving them from any charges, should do the trick. Particularly for the Harper and the merchant.”

“And there are absences to be accounted for and holes to fill,” continued the king. “For instance, with the passing of loyal Thomdor, I need a new military commander in Arabel. It strikes me that any candidate for such a post should be brave, loyal, and come from a local Arabellan family, so that the city will never go into rebellion again. Young Marliir, are you up to the task?”

“I?” asked Marliir, dumbfounded. “I-I-” He slid from his seat, dropping dazedly to one knee. “Are you sure, Sire?”

“We’ll save the ceremony for later, in front of the full court,” said Azoun with a smile, leaning froward to clap the young man on the shoulder, “but you’ll be a good Warden of the Eastern Marches. It’s good to see someone care so deeply about Cormyr. Moreover, your naming to that title will send a message to a number of people about their own place within my kingdom. And as for you, Lord Giogi “

“Please, Sire,” said the Wyvernspur lord, raising a restraining hand, “I’m quite content with my life in Immersea. I desire neither a military post nor a rank.”

“Good to hear it, for I was going to offer neither,” said the king heartily. “Bhereu’s place at High Horn needs to go to someone with fighting blood. Perhaps that Bishop of the Black Blades, Gwennath. Don’t take offense, young Wyvernspur, but I don’t think even the most capable courtiers could survive you for long-or rather, your unique method of crashing head-on into problems and wrestling them into submission without ever understanding them!”

There was a general round of chuckles. Giogi reddened and ducked his head.

“By the gods, I wish half my nobles were as much fun as you provide,” Azoun murmured, then straightened himself and boomed, “Nay, Wyvernspur, into your hands I give the Cormaeril lands, in toto, which should quintuple your income as well as your responsibilities. I hope you are up to it.”

“He’ll have a little help, Sire,” said Cat, taking her husband’s hand. Giogi opened his mouth and then closed it again without saying anything. He tried the process over again, several times, and then helplessly poked Cat with a finger.

She looked down at him fondly and said, “Your Majesty, Lord Wyvernspur is so honored that he’s speechless-for the moment.”

There were chuckles all around once more. Azoun raised his glass in salute to his dumbstruck noble and added, “I look forward to playing chess with you again in the near future, too.”

Even Giogi managed a chuckle-a rueful one-this time.

“I have one question,” said Tanalasta, curling her feet up under her where she sat. “Once you knew you were going to live, did anyone else know about it?”

“Well, I had to tell your mother,” said Azoun. “It wouldn’t do to have her find out that I was alive through court gossips.”

“And I sent word to Alusair,” added Vangerdahast, “through my war wizards, so she’d not worry-and wouldn’t come galloping home to defend the throne against the forty or so nobles who were already riding with her!”

“So what you’re telling me,” Tanalasta said to the wizard, her tone firm and her voice level, “is that I was the only one of the immediate royal family who did not know my own father was alive, and expected to remain so-and I wouldn’t have to take the throne at all.”

“Well, you might have told Aunadar, and, well…” said the wizard, before trailing off into silence. That silence suddenly held sway over the entire room. The crown princess leaned forward.

“Another of your little lessons, eh, mage?” Tanalasta pressed.

Vangerdahast cleared his throat. “Your Highness, as much as I respect your abilities, I have a duty to the crown, and as such must protect it as best as I can, whatever the personal cost.”

“And I can’t be the shy, dutiful daughter forever,” said the princess quietly. She sighed and then lifted her chin and added, “I cannot afford the luxury of being a royal wallflower. I’ve decided I must develop my own self, my own strengths, and my own goals.”

She stared into the old wizard’s eyes and added, “If I do not, I’ll always be a pawn, regardless of any apparent power I hold and no matter what crown I wear.”

“Well, I wouldn’t put it in quite so many words,” Vangerdahast replied, reddening and pointedly ignoring the smile that was growing on Azoun’s face.

“I would,” said the princess, crossing her arms. “Since this whole matter began, I’ve felt unprepared and unready. Unprepared to deal with my father’s illness, unready to deal with the vicious fights that promptly erupted among the nobles, and unwilling to take the throne on my own. That will have to change for Cormyr to continue. And you, wizard, will help.”

Vangerdahast stood up and bowed low to her. “When the crown princess calls, I will do everything in my power to advise and to aid.”

Tanalasta shook her head. “No. I’ll not be your puppet any more than I should have been Bleth’s. I want your real help. Long ago you and my father went traipsing all over the kingdom, did you not?”

“Ah, yes,” said the wizard carefully. “It was necessary for a prince to truly know the realm and its people.”

“And not a princess?” asked Tanalasta sharply.

Vangerdahast shrugged. “Well, I suppose we could make a few trips. You’ll need some proper walking boots and warm, sensible clothing… and you should know the bath water in the wilderness will be colder than you’re used to.”

He seemed to remember something and added brightly, “There may be weretigers…”

Azoun looked at the ceiling, but Tanalasta thought she saw the beginnings of a smile at the corners of his mouth.

“… but I’m told my snoring isn’t all that bad,” the old wizard continued, “and these old bones can still carry me a little way. But you already know most of what I could teach you: history, accounts, genealogy, and the like…”

“You can teach me magic,” said Tanalasta flatly.

In all his years with Vangerdahast, Azoun had never seen him stammer. The Royal Magician’s eyes opened very wide, and he stammered now, his mouth flapping as he tried to get out the words, “Oh! Ah! Oh-W-Well there’s never been an Obarskyr mage before…”

“Then it is seriously overdue,” said the princess, “and you’re the one who said that the kingdom needs both spells and swords to keep afloat! So what say you, mage?”

The wizard looked rather helplessly at the others. Dauneth Marliir stared at him intently, face carefully expressionless but eyes leaping with excitement, urging him to say yes. That one was going to be a diplomat, the wizard thought, and looked elsewhere.

Giogi patted Cat’s hand and raised a goblet in toast to the idea.

Azoun spread his hands and said, “It is your decision, Royal Magician. Of course, I can refuse my eldest daughter nothing.”

Vangerdahast let out a deep sigh, one that seemed to come from the core of his being. He blinked once, then smiled faintly.

“Very well,” he said raising his own goblet. “Once more into the breach, for crown and for country for king and for queen, and most of all… for Cormyr.”