Death of the Dragon

Epilogue

Though her new dress plate had been made by the same smith to the same specifications as her old battered field armor, Alusair felt clumsy, vain, and somehow naked in it. Made of the finest dwarven steel, it was fluted, etched, and trimmed in gold damascening. The Royal Dragon of Cormyr was embossed in purple relief on its abdomen, and it had been perfectly cast and joined by the royal armorers. The royal artists had decorated it beautifully, the royal pages had polished it to a mirror sheen, and the royal squires had hung it on her glove tight-and Alusair would rather have ridden nude into battle than in such elaborate harness. Not for the first time, the Steel Regent cursed Vangerdahast for foisting the crown off on her instead of having the courage to set it on his own head.

Alusair was standing between her mother and Vangerdahast on the Review Balcony, holding her ridiculous dragon’s head helm in one arm and King Azoun Obarskyr V of Cormyr in the other, nodding numbly and smiling stupidly as noble after noble paraded past her with his company of knights. Half the lords were so fat that even a full-sized shire could not have charged more than a hundred paces with so much blubber and steel, while the other half did not seem to know which side of the sword to hold outward as they raised it in salute. It was all she could do not to go down and start barking weapon drills.

Young Baron Ebonhawk led his lancers through the Presentation Arch and nearly put an eye out when he snapped the wrong side of his curved falchion against his face. The bronze bill of his garish helm caught the worst of the blow, but did not prevent the keen edge-no doubt honed razor-sharp by some beleaguered squire-from opening a bloody line down his cheek. The whimper that followed drew a chortle even from baby Azoun, but the young lord managed to avoid further embarrassment by riding on without stopping to call for a healer.

Alusair smiled and nodded as though she had not noticed, then muttered under her breath, “If this is the best that remains, the realm is lost already.”

“They’re only border garrisons.” Vangerdahast smiled and waved enthusiastically to the young baron. “And each company will have a lionar and a war wizard along to advise it-and to take command at the first sign of an engagement.”

“And the lords agreed to that?”

“Not exactly,” said Filfaeril. The queen looked strong and supple and somehow younger than she had seemed in years, though also much harder and infinitely sadder. “But what they don’t know will kill them, should it prove necessary.”

Alusair cocked her brow. “That should inspire loyalty.”

Filfaeril gave her a patronizing smile and said, “My dear Alusair, you have much to learn.” She patted the arm cradling young Azoun. “On this battlefield, all that matters is power-who has it and who doesn’t. At the moment, you are holding it in your arms, and we must all do everything we can to make certain it stays that way.”

Alusair glanced down at the chubby-cheeked baby and wondered if she were truly up to the job Tanalasta had left her. To be a queen and a mother and who knew what else in Cormyr’s darkest hour…

At least she would not be alone. Filfaeril would be there beside her, pointing out which nobles to trust, which to watch, and which to execute at the first sign of disobedience. There would also be Owden Foley, who had agreed at her insistence to stay as the child’s spiritual educator and do what he could to help Tanalasta’s legacy live in her son.

And, of course, there would be Vangerdahast, who was even now nudging her with his elbow and murmuring quiet guidance.

“Give Earl Silverhorn a big smile. The poor fellow has spent his entire fortune outfitting his cavalry, and we wouldn’t want him to think you unappreciative.”

Alusair did as Vangerdahast suggested, even going so far as to raise her nephew and wave one of his tiny hands at the passing company. This drew a roaring cheer from the spectators, which immediately caused the young king to break into a round of gurgling.

“Now you’ve done it,” growled Vangerdahast. “Now every lord will want a wave from the king.”

“I suppose I’ll have the strength to manage that,” Alusair growled back. “I am holding him in my sword arm.”

“Sword arm?” harrumphed Vangerdahast. “It’s about time you put that limb to a proper use.”

“What?” Alusair thundered.

She turned to blast the wizard with one of her vilest cavalryman’s curses and found him grinning at her. It was one of his old, kindly, sardonic smiles telling her that save for whatever annoyances she happened to be causing him at the moment, soon all would be well again in Cormyr-but Alusair had never seen the old wizard looking quite so dark, or thin, or tired.