Cormyr c-1, page 38
part #1 of Cormyr Series
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.
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.”
