Fire in the Blood, page 40
“I do,” Raedra said. She gathered up the wooden markers. “So kindly make an effort not to frighten my friend, please.”
20
19 Eleint, the Year of the Nether Mountain Scrolls (1486 DR)
Suzail, Cormyr
FARIDEH SPRINTED DOWN THE HALLWAY AS THE KNOCKS ON THE DOOR pounded harder. Dumuzi leaned down the stairs. “I have it,” she called. “Sorry.” She pulled her dressing gown closer around her and opened the door.
There was no one at the door. She stuck her head out, into the rain, searched the little yard along the gated path, the street beyond. Nothing.
Farideh cursed at a night of interruptions. She latched the door and turned to find herself standing face-to-face with a robed man with a red beard. She yelped and the powers of the Hells poured down her arms. The man raised a hand, spat a word, and a bubble of force surrounded her, slamming her back against the door. From the top of the stairs, she heard Dumuzi cry out. Without looking back, the wizard reached over his shoulder, hand crackling with a new spell.
“I wouldn’t,” he said in a deep voice.
“Damn it, I asked you not to frighten her.” Raedra stepped out from behind the wizard. “My apologies,” she said. “We had to sneak.”
Farideh pushed the magic back down, shook the flames from her hands. A moment later the shielding spell evaporated. Farideh looked from Raedra to the imposing wizard and back. Dumuzi hung on the stairs, ready to spring over the bannister. “It’s all right,” she said. To Raedra, “What are you doing here?”
Raedra pursed her mouth. “I need a favor.” She gestured to the wizard. “This is Lord Ganrahast, the Royal Magician, by the way. He doesn’t feel I can be trusted to not die.”
“Well met,” the wizard said.
“Well met.” Farideh wet her mouth. “I wasn’t trying to hurt her. You just startled me—”
“Better to be safe than sorry,” Ganrahast said. “You should know there are four highknights stationed in and around this tallhouse.”
Farideh’s stomach plunged. “I … I have a guest. In the library. Are they going to bother him?”
“Not if he doesn’t try to leave.”
Farideh opened her mouth to protest, then thought better of it. The Regent of Cormyr and the Royal Magician were standing in her hallway—of course they had guards.
“They won’t bother us,” Raedra said. “Or your not-quite-brightbird.”
Farideh considered the wizard again, every one of Brin’s and Dahl’s and Constancia’s warnings about the war wizards coming back to her. “This is Kepeshkmolik Dumuzi, son of Uadjit,” she said, gesturing up at the dragonborn. “He’s staying with me.”
“Well met,” Raedra said. “Now, Ganrahast, I think it best—”
“Before you ask, Your Royal Highness,” he said, “I’m not going to sit in the parlor while you discuss things.”
Raedra’s brows rose. “Are you sure? We may drift to girlishly uncomfortable topics.”
“I am one hundred and thirteen years old,” Ganrahast said. “I was raised by five extraordinary women. I daresay I could think of ‘girlish’ things to make you uncomfortable long before you could make me so.”
Raedra snickered. “Do you have a large table?”
“In the kitchen,” Dumuzi said, coming down the stairs. “Your Royal Highness.”
“Go back to bed,” Farideh said.
Dumuzi didn’t budge. “I am not taking your coin to sleep,” he said in Draconic. “She has plenty of guards and guardians. You should have at least one, since you don’t seem to have plans to tell—”
“Fine,” Farideh said in Common. “Assuming it’s all right with the Royal Magician? This way.”
In the kitchen, Ganrahast plucked a series of maps and several small bags of wooden markers out of the ether. Dumuzi stood against the pantry. Farideh dug out a bottle of wine and several goblets, wondering as she poured what Raedra was thinking. Raedra stared at her all the while. Farideh pulled her dressing gown closer. “If it bothers you, I suppose we could discuss your wizard disguising me.”
“My apologies.” Raedra set more of the markers on the maps. “I suppose I’ve gotten used to ‘Asmura.’ I keep thinking you might take the horns off any moment. But that’s my mistake.”
Farideh handed her one of the goblets. “What’s your trouble?”
“I have a war council I may have … insulted. I need to come up with a military plan by tomorrow morning. And you, I recall, have a special interest in old battles and tactics.”
“You want me to help you craft a battle plan?” Farideh said. “Are you mad?” She looked to Ganrahast. “Why not ask him? A hundred and thirteen years has to know more than a little about war.”
“We all choose where our interests lie,” the wizard intoned.
“It’s not going to get anyone killed,” Raedra protested. “If I’m wrong … well, you can be certain my war council will let me know and put a halt to it. And possibly throw the whole country into civil war for the trouble,” she added, with that bitter humor she had when she was nervous. Farideh sat at the table.
“I can’t promise you anything,” she started.
“All I want is for you to tell me if I’m being a fool,” Raedra said. She set the markers in place—a red cluster near Arabel, a black cluster near Wheloon, a line of purple near Saerloon, a small grouping of gold in Suzail and more scattered through the countryside.
“Wheloon is a prison,” Raedra explained. “Fifteen years ago, the Purple Dragons uncovered a shocking number of Sharrans in that city, allied with Risen Netheril and plotting against Cormyr. Walls were raised by royal decree, sealing the city with all of its inhabitants inside.”
“All the Sharran inhabitants?”
“All the inhabitants,” Raedra said. “No one wanted to take the chance. It’s only recently that people have been saying that might not have been the wisest course. That perhaps the Crown committed a grave error in acting so swiftly. But most people still remember their crimes.” Farideh frowned at the city. “So it’s dangerous.”
“Likely,” Raedra said. “But it’s been fifteen years. There are children in Wheloon who have never known another world. And that is a grave error.” She pushed the black markers closer. “Shade’s army is making for Wheloon. There’s no doubt they intend to take it.”
“What resources does it have?”
“Sharrans,” Raedra said. She frowned back at Ganrahast. “What was that about shadow fiends?”
Ganrahast sighed heavily. “Rumor and hearsay. It is simpler for the people of Wheloon to be invented monsters—and to be precise, there is no such thing as a shadow fiend. If there are shadow demons in Wheloon, I will swallow a wand whole.”
“Not much else,” Raedra said.
“ ‘Nala and the Ten Thousand Shadows’ come to life,” Farideh murmured.
Behind her, Dumuzi laughed. Raedra and Ganrahast started at the sound.
“What does that mean?” Raedra said.
“It’s an ancestor story,” Farideh said. “A kind of dragonborn nursery tale. Nala Who-Would-Be-Verthisathurgiesh freed her family and two others from Morthongiarimyth, the Starshine Duke. She made the dragon fear creatures seeping out of the shadows by playing light off of stones, until he went mad.”
“ ‘And lo, the wyrm looks on the plane,’ ” Dumuzi said. “ ‘In every crevice hides a shadow, by every stone his death is waiting. Where can I flee? the Starshine Duke cries in his madness.’ ”
“ ‘Only the light may save you, Clever Nala tells him,’ ” Farideh finished with a smile. “ ‘Fly! Fly! into the sun’s embrace.’ They’re trying to frighten you,” she told Raedra. “Shade doesn’t gain much from breaching Wheloon—”
“They free their fellows,” Ganrahast said.
Farideh shrugged. “Do they care about that? All the Shadovar and Sharrans I’ve ever crossed paths with think only of themselves or else of destruction. They don’t strike me as the sort to gather up lost followers. And,” she went on, “if it’s a prison, I assume you take care of the food. I don’t expect the city is full of well-fed, well-exercised soldiers. It might look like a run for reinforcements, but the kind of reinforcements Shade would get aren’t worth the grain it would take to keep them fed. They’re trying to scare you by unleashing ‘shadow fiends.’ I assume she’s been heading for Suzail? That’s what the rumors say.”
“Ever south,” Raedra said. “And seemingly everywhere.”
“You might consider surrender if Shade rode to Suzail at the head of all your childhood nightmares,” Farideh said. “Wouldn’t you think?”
Raedra peered at the map, deep in thought. “Lady Marsheena’s clever,” she said. “She’s the one who stirred up the goblins and gnolls and things, incited the Stonelands to pour out and ravage the countryside. Whatever damage a band of goblins can do, the stories are worse. And she always leaves survivors, people to carry the story ahead of her army. We think she’s breaking her force as well, so they can attack all sorts of settlements while the bulk of the army captures the Way of the Manticore.”
“It’s not wise,” Dumuzi said. “She gives you time to muster your forces.”
“Our forces are defending Arabel,” Raedra said. “And holding the line in Sembia. We are quite short of forces.” She wrapped a braid around her fingers. “Meanwhile, ‘capitulation’ is no longer treated like a treasonous utterance.”
“Who wants you to capitulate to Shade?” Farideh asked.
“Just mutterings,” Raedra said. “The nobles know that whichever of them throws over stands to gain a great deal from Shade—so long as they don’t leap for the spoils too early, or care about morals and such.”
“Karshoj,” Farideh spat. “That’s repulsive.”
“I would agree.”
“Can’t you call them out? Punish the ones saying that? Why do they get away with being so terrible?”
“They have power in exchange for the services they provide the Crown. Like collecting taxes, protecting the villages and cities where their lands are. Riding out in times of war.”
“There are an awful lot of them sitting around the city if that’s the case.”
Raedra sighed. “It’s just the way things work. The majority of the nobles do their duty, but more and more of late wait until they are forced from their comforts.”
“That’s hardly fair,” Farideh said. “Maybe I don’t understand Cormyr, but when they keep their wealth and their fancy houses and their lands and their titles, and all the while the people they’re supposed to take care of are fleeing gnolls and having their homes destroyed, I don’t think it’s working very well. Why should they keep those things if they won’t do their duty?”
The Regent of Cormyr considered the map, tapping her fingers against the Sea of Fallen Stars. “That’s … a very good point,” she said. She hummed to herself. “And it would be compelling, to say the least.” A small secretive smile played on her mouth. “If I offered you land,” she said to Farideh, “do you think you’d march?”
“No,” Farideh said. “I don’t think I’d do well, a tiefling among an army of humans.”
“But if, say, we were all tieflings. Land would be a good reward. Good land, plowed and cleared already?”
“What’s your plan?” Farideh asked.
“The refugees,” she said simply. “It occurs to me, now, that there’s another army in Suzail, who could be ready to march, given the proper motivations.” She looked back to Ganrahast. “How many war wizards can be spared?”
“Perhaps one or two. You’ll need a few Dragons. And someone to lead the thing.”
“Oh, I’ll have more than a few captains.”
“You won’t have time to train them,” Farideh pointed out.
“Which is why they can’t be asked to do anything too complicated,” Raedra said. “They sweep for refugees, help them back to Suzail. Cut down Marsheena’s skirmishers.” She bit her lip. “We can arm some of them—most of them, maybe. Maybe a benefit for those who bring their own.”
She scrawled notes on the maps, asking questions of Farideh and Ganrahast and even Dumuzi, putting scenarios to them, and polishing off her glass of wine, and then a second. Farideh tipped the end of the bottle into her own glass.
“I’m sorry,” she said when Raedra had grown quiet and thoughtful again, “about your grandfather.”
“Thank you,” Raedra said. She set down the stylus, drank a little more wine. “I keep thinking how sad it is that he won’t have … well, he wouldn’t have an ancestor story like that. He was a good man, and not a bad king, just … the gods handed him a lot of havoc. It seems like he spent his whole reign trying to fix things that kept falling apart. Maybe that’s all anyone does as king, I don’t know.”
“Sometimes I think that’s all anyone can do,” Farideh said.
“He listened,” Raedra said. “I always noticed that. And he tried so hard to protect everyone. He loved his people, his family.” She sighed heavily. “Any other king and Aubrin would have gotten a dukedom, a thousand gold a year, and a pat on the head. But Granddad … he loved his brother, he loved his nephews. The games of the nobles and the way things have always been done didn’t matter.”
“He sounds like a good man,” Farideh said.
Raedra smiled sadly and drank a little more wine. “He never wanted me to rule. Neither did my father. They didn’t think I had the temperament.” She blew out a breath and wiped her eyes, suddenly overcome. “Gods,” she said in a choked voice. “I’m so tired.”
Farideh ignored the wizard and the dragonborn, the vast gulf between them and the ever-present specter of Brin. She came around the table and sat beside the regent, embracing her and tucking Raedra’s head against her shoulder, beneath the curve of her horn. Raedra stiffened, then relaxed, hugging Farideh tightly.
“If Baerovus doesn’t wake up,” she whispered, “I don’t know what I’ll do.”
“Scrub Shade from the maps? Make your own ancestor story in his honor?” Farideh said. Raedra chuckled. “I’ll help.”
“You are the strangest friend I have ever had,” Raedra declared, releasing Farideh. “But I’m glad of you.”
Erzoured’s threats swept through Farideh’s thoughts, chased by Helindra’s. “I’m glad we’re friends,” Farideh said. “I don’t have many.” She hesitated. “Can I ask you something? Do you love Brin?” Raedra’s expression closed, swiftly as a slammed door. “I’m not asking,” Farideh said, “if you’d break your engagement. I just wondered if you loved him.”
Raedra looked over the maps, as if she were searching for Brin among the painted roads and trees. “I could have, I think,” she said. “But not now, not anymore. Not when I’ve seen how selfish he can be, how foolish.” She sipped the wine. “Not that it matters.”
“I’m not going to tell you what to do with Brin,” Farideh said. “Only, I think you should know … Erzoured wants me to convince you not to marry him.”
Raedra’s eyes narrowed. “Does he now?”
“And Helindra Crownsilver has told me to make certain you do marry him, to save your reign from scandals.”
“Pah!” Raedra snorted. “As if she wouldn’t be happy to spread scandal if it were any other family’s son. Why are you telling me this?”
“Because you should know. Because I don’t want to play these games. Because I think either of them could make trouble for me—or you—and I don’t think that’s very fair.” She sighed. “I suppose this happens to you a lot more. Brin always made it sound as if it were like breathing in Cormyr.”
“Not quite,” Raedra said. Then, “Perhaps for him. He’s in a more complicated position. Is he an Obarskyr or not? Is he an heir or not? Where does that put him for the Crownsilvers? His grandmother’s husband,” she pointed out, “was the eldest son. If he’s a Crownsilver, not an Obarskyr, then he’s the head of the family, not Helindra. But he’s not a Crownsilver by blood—he just styles himself that way because it’s what he’s used to—and the old lord Crownsilver never named him as an adopted heir—his father’s brother was meant to be the heir, but then he was killed. So where does Aubrin belong? I imagine the sort of snares that lie in the path of the throne are doubled for Aubrin.”
That question again—where do you come from? What lay growing in your bones from birth, and what was scribed on your heart by life? Farideh drained her glass and took a little comfort in the buoyant feeling of wine diluting her own cryptic blood.
“It’s getting late,” Raedra said. “And you have your mysterious guest to attend to.”
Farideh looked away. “And my books. I must have an answer for you by the end of the tenday—I’m running out of pages.”
“An answer to what, pray tell?” Ganrahast said.
Raedra stood, her expression a mask. “A puzzle,” she said lightly. “Come along. I need to prepare before tomorrow.” She gathered the maps and markers for the wizard to tuck away into the subtle folding of the plane. Ganrahast kept watching Farideh with a thoughtful expression.
“It doesn’t seem like the Baron Boldtree to ask for such a boon without a way to be certain that he gets it,” he said, almost conversationally.
“He threatened me,” Farideh agreed, though she did not elaborate on the threat. Raedra and Ganrahast left the kitchen, and by the time Farideh and Dumuzi had followed them out, they had vanished completely from the tallhouse, the bolt untouched.
“The door works fine,” Dumuzi sniffed.
“Do you think it’ll succeed?” Farideh asked. “The conscription and everything?”
“Depends on whether they fight like Verthisathurgiesh or like Fenkenbradon,” Dumuzi said, not bothering to explain what he meant to Farideh. He bid her good night and headed back up the stairs.
Farideh longed to follow him, to collapse onto the feather mattress and just sleep. The hour was late and growing later. Instead, she fetched another bottle of wine and glasses, and went back to the little library.
“Sorry, I took a little long,” she said.
