by Ed Greenwood
Narantha frowned. “Well, of course not.”
“ ‘Of course’ nothing. What were your parents thinking? Or not thinking? Lord Hezom will likely have you swinging steel-something light enough for to suit your arm, mind, not this.”
“Crownsilvers,” Narantha said haughtily, waving an airy hand to indicate phantom legions of retainers in lace and livery, “need not swing swords. We have servants enough to do that for us.”
“Oh?” Florin crooked an eyebrow. “And if the person who seeks to slay you is one of those servants? What then?”
The noblewoman looked incredulous. “No servant would ever dare — ”
“And yet I do-constantly, it seems-and again and again you exclaim that I wouldn’t or shouldn’t. I think you’d be unpleasantly surprised at just what some folk of Faerun will dare, if ever they catch someone as beautiful and as important as you alone.”
Narantha stared at the forester, eyes widening and face going pale, then took a swift step back from him. Unfortunately, a root was right behind her.
A moment later she was blinking up at him, flat on her back and winded, with Florin reaching down a helping hand.
She gazed up at him for a long, hard-breathing moment, face unreadable. Then, slowly, she reached out and took that proffered hand.
Gently but firmly, the ranger pulled her upright. “Lady Narantha,” he said, “I don’t mean to give you orders or offer you rudeness. Yet understand this well: doing the wrong thing, out here in the forest, can get us both killed. Please do as I suggest until you are safely in the hands of Lord Hezom-or your family. Please. ”
The flower of the Crownsilvers was breathing fast and her face was set, her eyes hard and unfriendly. But she nodded, curtly, and snapped, “I’ll try, man-what was your name again? Hawkhand? Falconhand? I’ll try.”
“Florin Falconhand thanks you, Lady,” the handsome forester said, his manner almost humble.
Narantha inclined her head regally. “ That’s better,” she declared, starting to climb the ridge again.
This time, Florin let her go, merely snaking swiftly around a boulder to look at the forest ahead before whatever might be lurking in it got a good look at a wild-haired young noblewoman of Cormyr with a dirty, once-translucent nightrobe plastered to her, and large, flopping mens’ boots on her feet.
A bird took startled wing at Narantha’s appearance, but nothing more sinister seemed to be lurking in the trees just ahead.
“Coming, Falconhand?” the Lady Crownsilver called imperiously. “I grow tired of seeing nothing but rocks and trees. Is all this corner of Cormyr endless rocks and trees? No wonder no one ever goes here, or thinks of it. My father must be mad.”
Florin rolled his eyes. So much for terrifying her. So this was a high noble of Cormyr.
And this was an adventure.
Florin rolled his eyes again. Ye gods.
“I will see the crown princess alone, ” Vangerdahast said, cold iron in his voice. The royal magician was making it clear that he’d grown unused to having to repeat orders-and that this was not one of his patient days.
The two most senior highknights of the Bodyguard Royal hesitated. “Our orders-”
“Were given to you by me, as I recall,” Vangerdahast almost snarled. “Now, to a thinking man, wouldn’t that lead rather readily to the conclusion that having given them, I can also countermand them?”
The knights nodded reluctantly, turned and saluted the princess between them, turned again, and marched out of the Greatgauntlet Audience Chamber, bootheels clicking on the tiled floor. Just before the two war wizards outside the doors closed them, to leave the royal magician and the crown princess alone together, one of the highknights remarked to the other, his voice carefully pitched to carry clearly back into the audience chamber, “Well, old Thunderspells is certainly having one of his bad days!”
Vangerdahast turned away before the Princess Tanalasta could see him smile. Better that she thought him furious, and sat still to listen, for once.
Fourteen years old and turning into quite the Lady Wildnose; he should have squashed her rebelliousness long ago. Of course Azoun and Filfaeril had spoiled her. Nevertheless, his duty was clear. Well, he could make a good start on it today. He casually turned back to the princess-and found her looking away, down to the dark and empty end of the room. Obviously she did not want to be here, and was trying to pretend, for a few breaths more, that she was elsewhere.
Tanalasta turned her head away in case wily old Vangey could tell she was fighting down a smirk. It wouldn’t do to give him something to pounce on as evidence of her “wild, wanton waywardness” he was so fond of complaining to Mother about. He wanted to have a free hand in disciplining her-short of chaining her up and flogging her with a whip, the way they broke wild horses, or perhaps not short of that-and would seize on just about anything to achieve that.
And in Cormyr, what the royal magician wanted, the royal magician got. Well, doomed or not, she was going to make him work hard for this prize. She was going to be as solemn and as regal as she knew how, all stiff formality and words chosen with care.
Vangerdahast clasped his hands behind his back and strolled toward her. Just as he swept out a hand to point at the lone highbacked chair he’d ordered set in the center of the room, and before he could order her to sit down on it, Crown Princess Tanalasta folded her skirts gracefully under her and sat down unbidden, as if assuming a throne.
“You requested audience with me, Magician Vangerdahast,” she said in neutral tones, looking not at him but up at the giant’s gauntlet for which the room had been named, a long-ago battle trophy hung high on the opposite wall. “Your request was couched in terms that the queen my mother termed ‘just shy of a command,’ and I concur with her. I find it highly… unusual to find myself unescorted by my maids or my knights-of-presence, meeting with you in private.” Her hands went to her half-cloak and drew forth the Fire Tiara. She donned it with slow deliberation, ere raising her eyes to meet his gaze directly. “As this must be a matter of state, I have come prepared, yet uninformed. So, Royal Magician: why am I here?”
So, Tana was playing her I-can-be-very-solemn-and-grownup-look-you act, determined to be regal, and cleaving to stiff formality. Halting in front of her, Vangerdahast kept his wry inward smile off his face. She’s shaking with self-importance; how long before her manner breaks, I wonder?
“You are here,” Vangerdahast told her flatly, “because you are the crown princess. Ceremonially anointed with that title or not, from the moment your brother Foril perished and you were confirmed as a child of Azoun and Filfaeril Obarskyr, you have been the crown princess. The next ruler of all Cormyr.”
The royal magician started to pace. “Being a princess- any princess-of the Dragon Throne is not a matter of wearing pretty gowns and murmuring diplomatic nothings, of smiling and waving. Cormyr needs princesses who can think. All too many princes and noble lords conduct their reasoning only with their codpieces, so you lasses who lack them must do their thinking for them.”
“I am unaware that any of my tutors have thus far discovered or reported any deficiency in my reasoning,” Tanalasta said stiffly, her face an expressionless mask. “My judgment may be lacking, but it must needs be informed by my experience, which thus far has been scant. May the gods grant that the king my father sit the Dragon Throne for decades to come, and keep my experience meager-for the good of the realm, which flourishes so under his wise and just rule.”
Vangerdahast found himself chuckling. “Ah, as smooth as any adroit courtier, and better than most! Well said, Princess!”
Tanalasta gazed once more upon the great gauntlet on the wall. “Are you mocking me, Royal Magician? I confess I am unused to hearing your mirth, and may misjudge you.”
“I never mock any citizen of Cormyr. Their lies, yes, and their foolishly founded opinions, on occasion-and all of those occasions are in debate, in open court, for all to hear. Yet no matter, Princess; I confess that I am more
than used to being misjudged. Hear me well: I mean you no harm, nor seek to coerce you by menace. As you must be aware, I often counsel your royal parents, separately and together, in private; it is my most important daily duty. As Heir Royal, it is important that you receive my counsel too. My wisdom may not be great, but-scourge the gods-it is better by far than any other advice you are likely to find in our fair realm.”
“I hear similar sentiments from Alaphondar, and Dimswart, and nigh twoscore highknights, heralds, maids, and courtiers, too. Yet I do not intend to debate the quality of your counsel with you, Royal Magician, but merely move forthwith to its content. The day draws on, and this tiara is heavy. I ask again: what do you desire to tell me?”
Vangerdahast inclined his head as if acknowledging a shrewd point, hooked his thumbs through the belt that gathered his severe robes together at his ample waist, and said, “Rulers may in the end rule by force, but frequently swording subjects soon leave a king ruling empty land-and a land without farmers is a land wherein a king and his knights starve. So rulers enact daily justice and order through rules: laws. Cormyr is no different, and our laws, royal decrees, treaties, and records of legal disputes and their resolutions fill vaults beneath us, scribes’ workrooms all around us, and secure chambers in four other places in the realm: fortresses in Arabel, Marsember, and High Horn, and in a secret forest location. Of the specifics of such laws you have hitherto no doubt remained blissfully ignorant, but it is high time that you, as heir, were made aware of the boundaries outlined by a few of them, so-for the good of the realm as well as yourself-you set no foot wrong in time to come. You must know your rights and responsibilities, so no false advice nor claims of those who seek to do harm to Cormyr can lead you astray. This learning will take some years, and we will have many meetings like this one. However, we must begin with a matter you must be informed about before another day passes. I speak particularly of the laws of succession, beginning with royal life and death.”
“Surely those are matters I have no control over? I do not recall, mage, being consulted beforehand about my birth.”
“Jest if you feel the need, Tanalasta. I won’t be forcing you to read over legal documents this day or any other for some months to come; it is more important that you understand what the laws-the rules all Cormyreans live by-are and what they do, in simple terms. So I ask you: what would happen, gods forfend, if your father and mother had died this morning? What are you obligated to do? What would you try to do?”
“Summon the overpriests of Chauntea, Helm, Torm, and Tyr to have my father and my mother brought back from the dead, to rule on. Not only is this my desire, it is my obligation.”
“Not so. In seeking to do so, you would be breaking the law and dooming the realm.”
“What?”
“When this realm was founded, the first Obarskyrs to dwell on these shores entered into agreements with the elves who held this land, just as the elves had with the dragons who ruled here before them. Down the years, there have been many disagreements as to just what happened back then, and what was agreed to-and to quell ceaseless civil war using such pretexts as its banners, solemn treaties have been written, and laws devised and passed pertaining to those treaties. In short, no matter what really befell, Cormyr has agreed to commonly accept and abide by a certain version of events and rules tied to them. If this agreement is broken, we are taught (and so the heads of households grand and rude all across this kingdom believe) the Dragon Throne will shatter, the dragons will return in great numbers to hunt humans, and the realm will be swept away.”
“So a treaty dictates what will happen, if my-if the king and queen die.”
“Indeed. Simply put, in Cormyr, nobles of the realm cannot be magically restored to life, it is expressly forbidden to resurrect ruling monarchs and regents, and all other members of the blood Obarskyr will only be brought back if they agree to this before death, and do not principally follow a faith that forbids such customs. Heirs cannot be recalled to life and still remain heirs; no one who has died and been returned to the living can inherit the Dragon Throne, or even sit upon it by right of conquest. Even if the royal family is extinguished, and the succession passes to other houses-a process that almost certainly will plunge the realm into bloody civil war.”
The eyes of Princess Tanalasta had grown very large and dark. “Why-” She licked dry lips, swallowed, and tried again. “Why can’t my father just change this inane treaty? Why can’t any Dragon King name a clear sequence of successors, to head off war?”
“Ah, I fear not, Lady Highness,” the royal magician said gravely, pacing away from her with his hands clasped behind his back, “for there’s a law-another law, relatively recent but just as strong as any law in our code-forbidding that. Laws, I fear, inevitably pile up like a beaver’s dam, a great untidy intertwined heap one must traverse with care.”
Tanalasta frowned. “But my royal father is the king! Surely he can ignore a law that stands in the way of his will? His justice? Do his decrees not make law?”
Vangerdahast whirled around to face her, robe swirling, and leveled a finger at her-and despite all her training, despite all she’d schooled herself to do and not do ere entering this chamber, Tanalasta flinched back from a spell that never came.
She’d have fled in tears if the royal magician had sneered then, or even crooked his mouth in amusement.
But instead he stood looking sternly at her, as if she’d been very bad.
“Laws and rules,” he said firmly, “ must be observed at all times. Even by kings. For if a realm is a bright-armored knight, every rule broken is a piece torn away from his armor that a traitor’s blade can thrust through later, with its wielder crying, ‘But in days gone by, so-and-so set aside this rule; why then cannot I?’ ”
Tanalasta trembled for a long, pale-faced moment, then blurted, “But you break rules. All the time. I’ve heard Father say so, and nobles and Alaph-” She fell abruptly silent, afraid to say more, trembling in shoulder-shaking earnest.
The royal magician took a slow stride forward.
“So I do,” he replied, his voice calm. “For the good of the realm. That is my duty-and my doom. For the great engine that is the court to work at all, someone must kick and tug and heave at it nigh daily, breaking the rules when need be-the rules that all others must follow. I am that rulebreaker.”
Tanalasta’s tremblings were almost shiverings, now, but she lifted her chin almost defiantly to meet his eyes. “And if you are ever wrong in your breakings? What then makes you not a traitor? Nor someone who should be hounded as an outlaw?”
Vangerdahast was smiling, now, and it was a thin, mirthless, unwelcoming smile. “I have been wrong in my breakings, as you put it. Many times. Yet kings have forgiven me.”
“Why?” Tanalasta whispered. “Have you… enspelled them?”
“Their wits, to compel them? No. Though most of the realm believes otherwise. Nor do kings leave me unchained out of fear, or hatred. Can you see your father fearing me?”
“Yes.” The crown princess was as white as her favorite snow-fur robe, her lips bloodless, but her whisper was firm.
The royal magician regarded her, smile gone again to leave his face old and expressionless, for long enough to make her quail, and said casually, “Well, perhaps he has grown wise enough to do so by now, at that. We’ll leave such considerations for another time, Princess, and return to the matters you must know and understand before another night comes. It is needful for you to know these things, that you be fit to serve the realm properly, when the day comes that you’re called upon to do so.”
Uncertainly, one of Tanalasta’s hands rose to her mouth. “When-when Father dies, and I… become queen?”
Vangerdahast’s face became severe again. “It is sincerely to be hoped that any princess of Cormyr will serve the realm fittingly, in many, many ways large and small, before she’s called upon to actually rule. There are other ways to serve than giving commands.”
&nb
sp; “As you would know well,” Tanalasta murmured, the graceful verbal slash so like her mother that Vangerdahast, far from being angered, had to quell a grin. Ah, but the lass was an Obarskyr true, under that stonefaced mask and haughty starch! Best to ignore her comment and simply “Mage, why are you telling me this now?” Tanalasta was frowning at him in real concern. “What are you really trying to tell me, with Father off hunting more than a tenday, now; he’s all right, isn’t he?”
Chapter 6
DECEPTIONS WITHIN DECEPTIONS
Most of us fall afoul of the tangles our tongues make for us when we trade in falsehoods too seldom and too clumsily. Yet there are courtiers, peddlers, seers, and moneylenders who lie adroitly, and can spin deceptions within deceptions deftly, rather than desperately or unintentionally. They court discovery as do clumsier liars, but flirt also with another danger: weaving deceptions so well that they lose sight of who they are, and without perceiving it are themselves transformed by their own falsity.
Tarth Ammarander, Sage of Athkatla
World of Coins: Musings On Merchantry published in the Year of the Saddle
W e halt here,” Florin murmured, going to his knees in another place of rocks. Narantha had been clutching her arms and shivering for some time, and her face showed him how heartily sick she was of trees, trees, and more trees. She sank down beside him without a word.
“See, here?” Florin asked, reaching out a finger to trace a roughly scratched symbol of two ovals joined by an arc on a head-sized stone in front of him. Narantha nodded wearily.
“Remember it: this is a foresters’ cache. There are hundreds of them in the King’s Forest.” He rolled the stone aside to reveal a stone coffer set into the ground, a mossgirt cluster of other stones heaped around it. Florin had the coffer lid off in a trice, plunged a hand into the dank interior, and drew forth a leathery bundle that stank of mildew.
Inside, when he shook it out, was another pair of boots, a belt, a tunic, breeches, some rope, and a weathercloak. There was also a sack of something right at the bottom of the coffer, beside a scabbarded knife that was dark and sticky with something oily, and some arrows.
