by Troy Denning
“Within a tenday, you say?” Vangerdahast interrupted, stepping past Azoun toward Owden. “That is exceedingly fast, is it not?”
Owden nodded grimly. “The fastest I have ever seen. If we do not move quickly, the whole of Cormyr could lose its crop.”
“Truly?” Vangerdahast ran his fingers through his long beard, then turned to the royal couple. “Majesties, we may have a situation here worthy of our closest attention.”
Azoun frowned in confusion. “Just yesterday, you told me that Merula the Marvelous-“
“I fear Tanalasta may have been right about him,” Vangerdahast said, again interrupting. “Unless you want a dragon blasted apart or a company of orcs put to sleep, Merula the Marvelous is a bit of a wand waver.”
The king and queen exchanged perplexed glances, then Filfaeril asked, “I beg your pardon?”
“Merula wouldn’t know a blight from a blotch,” said Vangerdahast. “He assured me the disease would never escape the mountains, and the next day here it is in Tyrluk. When it comes to plants, we might be better to put our faith in the judgment of the good Harvestmaster.”
Tanalasta wondered what trick Vangerdahast was working now, then frowned as the old pettifogger turned to address Owden.
“Harvestmaster Foley, what would you say is the origin of this blight?”
“It appeared first in the mountains, and it molds the roots just below the surface.” Owden rubbed his chin thoughtfully, then said, “It may very well be some sort of cave fungus-carried by orcs, I imagine. The filthy creatures spend a lot of time crawling about in caverns, and a wandering band would explain why the disease seems to be jumping around.”
“Excellent observation, Owden… if I may be so informal,” said Vangerdahast.
“Of course, Lord Magician,” said Owden.
“Vangerdahast, please, or Vangey if you prefer. We really don’t stand on ceremony in private.” The old wizard cast a sidelong glance at Tanalasta, then added, “As you may be aware, sometimes I am even referred to as ‘that damned old staff-swinger.’”
“Really? I hadn’t heard that,” said Owden, lying beautifully. Tanalasta had spent her first tenday or so at Huthduth complaining about the wizard and doing very little else, and she considered it a tribute to the harvestmaster’s patience that she had not been asked to leave. “The princess always referred to you in a rather fatherly fashion.”
“How kind of you to say so.”
Suspicious of Vangerdahast’s polite tone, Tanalasta studied her parents for hints as to why the royal magician was trying to befriend Owden. Even in the rosy dawn light now spilling across the stable yard gate, their expressions betrayed nothing beyond the same confusion she felt.
Vangerdahast turned to the king. “Majesty, perhaps we should send word to High Horn to triple their orc patrols and see to it that the beasts are kept far clear of Cormyr. If I may borrow a few scouts from the Purple Dragons, I’ll also have the War Wizards send out teams to seal the mouths of any caverns the orcs have been inhabiting.”
“And you’ll claim it was the War Wizards who stopped the blight,” Tanalasta surmised. “I see what you’re doing, you old thief.”
Vangerdahast turned to her with an innocent expression. “I am trying to stop the blight,” he said. “I thought that was what you wanted.”
“Of course,” said Tanalasta, “but if you think you can use Owden’s knowledge to steal the credit from the Royal Temple “
“Vangerdahast isn’t stealing the credit from anybody,” said Azoun. “There isn’t going to be any Royal Temple.”
“What?” Tanalasta whirled on her father so fast that several bodyguards glanced reflexively over their shoulders. “You let Vangerdahast talk you out of it without hearing me first? That’s hardly fair.”
“Actually, Vangerdahast never said a word against the Royal Temple,” said the king. “Your mother and I had barely retired from the ball before high priests began to fill the Marliir’s foyer, all insisting that the palace establish royal temples to their own gods and goddesses.”
“Why shouldn’t we?” Tanalasta asked evenly. Owden stood at her side looking serene. They had decided earlier that their best strategy in an argument would be for Owden to maintain an air of patient confidence. “As long as each church pays its own costs, what harm can it do to curry the favor of the gods?”
Filfaeril regarded Tanalasta as though she were mad. “Curry favor from the Prince of Lies? Or the Maiden of Pain?” The queen shook her head in disbelief. “Perhaps you should be Loviatar’s first royal acolyte. You’re certainly causing your parents enough anguish.”
Tanalasta fell silent, not because she had failed to anticipate the argument, but because she was surprised to hear the queen voicing it instead of Vangerdahast. Before, her mother had always supported her against the wizard, and it shook her confidence to see the normal order of things reversed. She smiled at a gawking stable boy stumbling past with two buckets of warm goat’s milk, then returned her attention to the queen.
‘The term ‘royal’ implies the sponsorship of an Obarskyr does it not?” Tanalasta did not put as much acid as she had planned into the question, for she could not quite bring herself to speak to the queen in such tones. “I have faith enough in our family to think that even Cyric’s new Seraph of Lies could not arrange such a thing.”
“And I share that faith,” said Azoun. In contrast to Filfaeril, the king spoke in a patient, if firm, voice. “But other considerations take precedence. First, you know how the nobles make a vogue of anything we do.”
“There are worse fads to start,” Tanalasta said.
“Perhaps, but we must also think of the War Wizards. They will take it as a grave insult to their skill and loyalty if the crown suddenly finds it necessary to establish another corps of magic-users.”
“And the crown princess should not need to be told of the War Wizards’ importance to the realm,” added the queen. The dawn had finally turned yellow, and in its golden light Filfaeril looked more like an angry celestial seraph than Tanalasta’s mother. “Nor of the dangers of undermining their value by creating a divisive atmosphere. Already this morning, I have heard several wizards refer to your priests as ‘spell-beggars’ and ‘mommy’s boys.’”
Vangerdahast gave Owden an apologetic nod. “No offense, of course. I’ll have a word with them about such epithets.”
“Not necessary,” said the harvestmaster, not quite managing to mask the indignity in his voice. “Their jealous-ah-resentment is understandable.”
Vangerdahast only smiled at what everyone knew to be an intentional slip of the tongue, and Tanalasta began to fear that her mother’s argument had merit. If Owden could not handle Vangerdahast on his best behavior, she shuddered to think of the enmity that would be unleashed when the old guttermouth gave himself free rein.
Tanalasta addressed herself to the queen. “If the crown must fear the consequences of the War Wizards’ anger, then perhaps they are not as great an asset to the realm as we believe.” She smiled in Vangerdahast’s direction. “I am sure we may be confident of the royal magician’s ability to keep them under control. Really, it would be a shame to let petty politics prevent us from doing what is best for the realm. Vangerdahast himself has pointed out that only the priests of Chauntea can deal with crises such as this.”
Even on his best behavior, this was a bit too much for Vangerdahast. “That is not quite what I said, young lady. A small crop blight is hardly a crisis for a kingdom like Cormyr.”
“Nor do we want to make it seem like one,” said Azoun. “Creating a new organization to respond to it is bound to do just that. It could cause a general panic that would lead to hoarding, thievery and profiteering. I’m sorry Tanalasta. You’ll have to announce that Chauntea called Owden and his priests back to Huthduth.”
“But she hasn’t,” Tanalasta said. “The goddess wouldn’t do such a thing.”
“It’s no reflection on Owden or Chauntea, or even on your decisi
on to venerate the All Mother,” said Filfaeril. “This simply isn’t the time to establish a royal temple. You shouldn’t have announced it without discussing it with us first, and I’m sure you know that. Trying to force this onus is unforgivable-as unforgivable as Vangey’s attempt to embarrass you into taking a husband before it is too late.”
“Too late?” Tanalasta fairly shrieked the words, for her mother had touched a tender chord. She turned to Vangerdahast. “So that’s how it is. You would turn my own parents against me to get what you want.”
Vangerdahast arched his bushy eyebrows, and something like sorrow seemed to flash in his dark eyes. “I am sorry, milady, but I have no idea what you mean.”
“A marriage for a royal temple. Is that to be the agreement?” Tanalasta looked to her parents. “If a child is the only thing I am permitted to give the realm, then at least let me do that well. Trust me, it would be better to leave my field fallow than to plow it with a man I do not love.”
Azoun paled and glanced around the stable yard, then, with a few quick nods, signaled the guards to clear it. Filfaeril’s reaction was different. Though her eyes filled with tears, she flashed Tanalasta the same icy glare that had crushed razor-tongued duchesses and iron-willed army marshals.
“Your father’s decision has nothing to do with anything Vangerdahast may have said.” Filfaeril’s voice cracked, but she stepped closer to her daughter and continued in an even harsher tone. “The king is thinking of Cormyr. It is time for you to stop being so selfish and do the same thing.”
Vangerdahast’s eyes grew wide. “Your Majesty, you mustn’t.”
A small wad of cotton appeared in the wizard’s hand, but Filfaeril’s hand was clamped on his wrist before he could speak his incantation.
“Vangerdahast!” Filfaeril’s tone was threatening. “If you cast that silence spell, even Azoun will not have the power to keep your head on your shoulders.”
The wad vanished into the wizard’s sleeve. “Filfaeril, I beg you. You’re making a mistake.”
“Perhaps, but she has had twenty years to find a husband she likes.” The queen turned back to Tanalasta. “Now she will settle for Dauneth Marliir.”
Owden Foley stepped to the queen’s side. “Your Majesty, if I may, there is something you should know.”
“Owden, no!” Tanalasta grasped the harvestmaster’s shoulder and shoved him toward a guard. “This man is dismissed.”
“Not yet,” said the king. He gestured to Owden. “Is there something we should know about Tanalasta’s condition?”
“‘Condition,’ father?” Tanalasta said. “If there were something I thought you should-“
“I was talking to Owden,” said Azoun.
Tanalasta glared at the priest furiously. “You heard the king’s command.”
Owden swallowed hard, then looked back to Azoun. “Sire, I think you should know that your daughter thinks of nothing but Cormyr. In fact, when Lady Marliir’s invitation arrived at Huthduth, she told me that she would be returning to Cormyr to wed a man she did not love.”
“Then why isn’t she?” demanded Filfaeril.
“I’m afraid that is my fault.” Owden looked at his feet. “I advised her that she would be a better queen for Cormyr if she waited until she found a man she loved.”
Tanalasta had to struggle to keep her surprise hidden, for she had not realized quite how effective a liar the harvestmaster could be. The truth was that Owden had wished her well and said that by all accounts Dauneth Marliir was a fine man. Then she had sneaked out for one last hike and experienced her vision, and there had been no need for Owden Foley to convince the princess of anything.
Filfaeril narrowed her eyes at the harvestmaster’s explanation. “Under the circumstances, your advice could be considered treason.”
“Or sound advice.” Azoun cast a stern eye in the direction of both Filfaeril and Vangerdahast. “That is for Tanalasta to determine, and Tanalasta alone. What is not for her to decide is the fate of the royal temple. She will announce that Chauntea’s priests have been called back to Huthduth.”
Vangerdahast shook his head vehemently. “But Your Majesty…”
Azoun raised his hand. “And we will trust our war wizards to deal with the blight. Even if they take somewhat longer to stop it, the people of Cormyr will take comfort from their presence.”
Tanalasta’s thoughts began to spin. Filfaeril’s harsh words had left her so hurt and disoriented that she found it impossible to concentrate, and she could not help feeling she must have done something terrible to make the queen so angry with her. Nor could she take comfort from Vangerdahast’s unexpected support. She had seen his cobra’s smile charm too many foes to fall prey to its poison herself.
Azoun nodded to Owden. “We thank you for coming all this way, Harvestmaster, but you may take your priests and return to Huthduth. Tanalasta will see to an explanation.”
Owden’s face showed his disappointment, but he bowed deeply to show his obedience, then turned and grasped Tanalasta’s hands in farewell. As the harvestmaster said his good-byes, his words barely registered, for she suddenly felt her mother’s gaze and looked over to see Filfaeril’s pale eyes glaring at her. The ice in the queen’s expression caused her to recoil involuntarily, and Tanalasta’s earlier fury returned tenfold. No matter what her mother believed, the princess was doing the best thing for Cormyr, and allowing anyone to tell her otherwise would bring disaster down on the kingdom.
When Owden started toward the stable, Tanalasta caught him by the arms. “Harvestmaster Foley, the king is wrong. I am not going to explain your departure.”
Azoun’s face grew instantly stormy. “You are defying me?”
Tanalasta glanced toward her mother and noticed the queen’s lower lip beginning to quiver, then nodded. “I must follow my convictions, Sire.”
Owden’s face grew as pale as the king’s was red. “Princess Tanalasta, there is no need to argue-“
“But there is, Harvestmaster,” said Tanalasta. “Cormyr has need of you and your priests-now, and in the future.”
“I am king,” Azoun said in that even voice he used when he was angered almost beyond control. “My convictions determine what Cormyr needs.”
“And what happens when you are gone, father? Am I to have Vangerdahast rouse you from your rest to see what is best for the realm?” Tanalasta shook her head. “I must do what I believe to be right-now, because I am certain of it, and in the future, because I will have no other choice.”
Vangerdahast sighed heavily and muttered something indiscernible, and Filfaeril’s hand rose to her mouth. The anger vanished from her eyes, only to return a moment later when she looked in Vangerdahast’s direction. Azoun merely stared at Tanalasta, his eyes growing steadily darker as he tried to bring his temper under control.
Finally, he said, “Perhaps I can spare you that burden, Princess. I have two daughters.”
Tanalasta struggled to keep from staggering back. “I know that.”
“Good,” said the king. “Vangerdahast has been unable to contact Alusair. You will take your priests and ride into the Stonelands to find her. You will tell her that I have something important to say to her. She is to return to Arabel in all possible haste, and she is to guard her life as carefully as that of any crown heir.”
With that, Azoun spun on his heel and marched back toward the manor house, leaving Vangerdahast and Filfaeril standing gape-mouthed behind him. Tears began to trickle down the queen’s face. She started to reach out for Tanalasta, then suddenly pulled her arms back and whirled on the royal magician.
“Damn you.” Her voice was calm and even and all the more frightening. “Damn you for a lying child of Cyric!”
Vangerdahast’s shoulders slumped, and he suddenly seemed as old as Cormyr itself. “I told you it was too late,” he whispered. The rims of his baggy eyes grew red and wet, and he looked at his wrinkled old arms as though it took a conscious act of will not to grasp the queen’s hands. “I’ll
go with her. I’ll be there every step of the way.”
“Should that comfort me?” The queen glanced again at Tanalasta, then turned and scurried after Azoun.
Tanalasta stood where she was, trying to puzzle out what had just happened, and felt Owden grasp her arm. She quickly shook him off. To her astonishment, she did not need his support.
She felt stronger than at any other time in her life.
4
There would be no turnips for LastRest this year.
A mat of ash-colored mold covered the field, filling the air with a smell of must and rot so foul that Tanalasta had to cover her mouth to keep from retching. Little mounds of gray marked where the stalks had pushed up through the earth, but nothing could be seen of the plants themselves. At the far edge of the field, a free farmer and his family were busy loading the contents of their hut into an ox-drawn cart.
“By the Sacred Harrow!” cursed Owden. “What an abomination!”
“It is a sad sight,” agreed Tanalasta. She motioned the commander of her Purple Dragon escort to set a perimeter around the area, then urged her horse forward. “Strange we have seen no other sign of blight in the area.”
“Strange indeed,” said Owden, following her along the edge of the field. “Why would the orcs raid this grange, when it is so much closer to town than others we have passed?”
“Perhaps they had a taste for turnips,” Vangerdahast said, riding up beside Tanalasta. “I doubt even orcs know why they raid one farm instead of another.”
“I am not as interested in why as whether,” said Tanalasta. She had noticed the orc track a mile earlier, in the bed of a rocky creek they had been crossing. Over Vangerdahast’s rather feeble objections, the princess had led the company upstream, following a patchy trail of overturned stones and sandy hoof prints to within a few paces of the blighted field. Now that she saw the farmer’s undamaged hut, however, she wondered if the place had been raided at all. She pointed at the little house. “It’s not like orcs to spare such a defenseless target.”
