Beyond the High Road c-2

by Troy Denning

  “It’s not father’s sight that I’m worried about,” said Tanalasta. “He has ears in as many places as you do.”

  Vangerdahast regarded her doubtfully. “A princess shouldn’t exaggerate.”

  “What makes you think I am?” Tanalasta laughed. She fell silent for a time, quietly appreciating the kind of moment that she had not experienced with Vangerdahast since before her twentieth birthday, then said, “It won’t work, you know.”

  “Princess?” Vangerdahast’s wrinkled brow rose in a parody of innocence. “I’m sure I have no idea what you mean.”

  “I’m sure you do, but you won’t trick me into changing my mind. I’m old enough to know what I believe in and what I don’t.” “Truly?” The expression that came to Vangerdahast’s face was one of genuine envy. “How nice that must be.”

  Azoun eyed the plate of liver-smeared wafers in Filfaeril’s hand and his mouth instantly filled with a taste that could only be described as minted cow dung. He and the queen were attending their fifth reception in as many days, this one at the overdone mansion of the powerful Misrim merchant family, and he had grown so weary of the local delicacy that he could not even look at it without his gorge rising.

  Pretending to listen earnestly to young Count Bhela’s suggestion that the crown establish a system of cobble-paved merchant roads across the realm, Azoun caught his wife’s eye and turned his head ever so slightly, signaling her to be rid of the ghastly stuff.

  Filfaeril grinned viciously and glided to his side without stumbling or tripping or finding some other excuse to let even one of the awful canapes slide off the tray. She managed to interrupt young Bhela’s diatribe with a flash of pearly teeth, accomplishing with a single smile what the king had been attempting in vain for the last half-hour, then pushed the platter forward. The smell of minted grease filled Azoun’s nose, and he suddenly felt so ill that it took an act of will to keep his wineglass in his hand.

  “Liverpaste, my dear?” Filfaeril asked. “It’s quail.”

  “Love one!” Azoun took a wafer and bit into it, then chewed three quick times and swallowed quickly in a futile attempt to keep his tongue from registering the taste. “Excellent. Won’t you have one, Count Bhela?”

  Bhela’s eyes grew as round as coins. “Off your plate, Majesty?”

  Azoun nodded enthusiastically. “I know your family well enough to trust you won’t slip me any poison.”

  Bhela eyed the wafers with unconcealed longing and nearly reached for one, then caught himself and shook his head. “It wouldn’t be right, Sire. I’m only a count.”

  “Please, I insist.”

  Bhela’s expression grew nervous, and be glanced around the room at all the other nobles who had been glaring at him for the last quarter hour.

  “I beg you, Majesty. The superior lords will consider me haughty,” he said. “In fact, you really should allow me to take my leave. They’ll think I have been monopolizing your time.”

  “Yes, yes, of course. How mindless of me.” Azoun dismissed him with a hearty clap on the shoulder, then sighed wearily. “Do send me a study on that idea of yours, Count. Imagine, cobbling an entire highway!”

  “Within a tenday, Your Majesty.”

  Beaming with pride, Bhela bowed deeply to both the king and queen, then turned and strutted off to bask in the glow of his lengthy audience with the king. Filfaeril took another minted liverpaste off the plate and offered it to Azoun. He accepted the wafer with a smile, but held it between two fingers and allowed himself a generous swig of wine, trying to wash the lingering taste of the last one from his mouth.

  “Eat up, my dear,” urged Filfaeril. “You wouldn’t want our hosts to think you fear poison.”

  Azoun lowered his glass, then concentrated on maintaining a pleasant smile as he spoke to his wife. “Show some mercy. I’ll never get through this without your help.”

  “I am helping. If we are to repair the damage done by Tanalasta, we must be accessible to our nobles.” Filfaeril looked across the chamber toward a boorish man in yellow stockings and crossed garters. “Isn’t that Earl Hioar? He has a wonderful plan for clear-cutting the Dragon Wood. I’ll fetch him.”

  Azoun stuffed the minted liverpaste into his mouth whole, then caught Filfaeril by the elbow and said, “Not yet.” Somehow, he managed to mumble the words without spewing wafer over her damask gown. He chewed half a dozen times and gagged the canape down. “Tanalasta gave me no choice.”

  “You always have a choice. You’re the king.”

  Azoun allowed himself a quick scowl. “You know better. And why are you angry with me, anyway? From the way you were inciting her, I thought you wanted a new heir.”

  “I want what is best for Tanalasta,” Filfaeril countered. “Instead, you allowed Vangey to manipulate her into defying you.”

  “You helped.”

  “Not knowingly.” Without taking her eyes off Azoun, the queen held out her free hand. A waiter scurried forward and placed a glass of wine in it, which she sipped until he had retreated out of earshot. “Vangey used me. Had I known how much she had changed, I would never have… I just didn’t know how much she had changed.”

  “After the Abraxus Affair I should think you would consider that a good thing,” said Azoun. “She certainly does. So do I, and so does Vangerdahast.”

  “It will make her a stronger queen, yes,” said Filfaeril, “but will it make her happy?”

  A pang of sorrow shot through Azoun’s breast, and he had to look away. He loved Tanalasta like any father loves a daughter, but the truth of the matter was that he could not concern himself with her happiness. The good of the realm demanded that he think only of making her a strong ruler. That was a steep price indeed to demand of any parent.

  After a moment, he said, “Tanalasta was my favorite, you know. Always so eager to learn. You had only to tell her a thing once, and a year later she would repeat it back to you word for word. And so sweet. How her guileless smile would light the room…”

  “I remember.” The queen’s voice remained cold. “I fear what we loved best in her is what Vangey destroyed.”

  Azoun grew stoic. “The royal magician did what is best for the realm.” He forced himself to meet Filfaeril’s gaze, then said, “We were wrong to shelter the crown princess from the harsher side of royal life. Even had Aunadar Bleth never set foot in Suzail, Tanalasta’s innocence would have served her poorly on the throne.”

  Filfaeril lowered her voice to an angry hiss. “And now that Vangerdahast has stolen her innocence, you do not like the result? Now you deny her the throne?”

  “She has not lost the throne yet,” said Azoun. “Tanalasta may still make a fine queen someday-provided she finds a man she can abide as a husband and stops being so headstrong about this business with Chauntea.”

  Filfaeril’s pale eyes grew as hard as ice. “You and Vangey are the ones who made her. If you do not like what she has become, then it is your fault and not hers.” The queen finished her wine in a gulp, then held the empty glass out for a servant. “Besides, how can you be sure she isn’t right? The blight is spreading, you know.”

  “Yes, I know,” said Azoun, “and Tanalasta is defying me in that, as well. There are reports from the Immerflow to the Starwater of Purple Dragons using Chauntea’s magic to save blighted fields.”

  “Good.” Filfaeril gave her glass to a waiter and waved him away, then thrust another liverpaste under Azoun’s chin. “Enjoy.”

  Azoun had no choice but to accept the loathsome thing. As he began to nibble at it, the queen flashed a smile to Raynaar Marliir, signaling him to come forward. The king groaned inwardly, though he knew there was no avoiding this moment. He had heard that Marliir had put together an odd coalition of nobles, War Wizards, and high priests who wished to discuss “the destiny of the realm.” Though he suspected they were less interested in discussing destiny than dictating it-specifically that of the crown princess-he would have to listen politely. The loyalty of the Marliir family
was his strongest bulwark against Arabel’s disagreeable habit of rebelling at the kingdom’s most trying moments.

  Azoun ran his tongue over his teeth to cleanse them of liverpaste, then smiled as broadly as he could. “Duke Marliir, how good to see you again. I trust Lady Marliir is feeling better.”

  “Sadly no,” Raynaar answered curtly. “She is still bedridden with ague, or else she would certainly be in attendance today.”

  They had exchanged similar greetings on each of the previous four days. After Tanalasta’s rejection of Dauneth, Merelda Marliir had fallen ghastly ill and asked the royal party to depart her home for the sake of its own health. Knowing he might well have to return to crush a revolt if he left so soon after the stir Tanalasta had caused, Azoun had seized on the northern blight as an excuse to remain another tenday, imposing on his Lord Governor, Myrmeen Lhal, to house the royal party in the city palace. He had then invited all the local notables to an extravagant state dinner. They had responded with a chain of increasingly exotic liverpaste receptions that would, he was quite certain, be the end of him. Of course, Lady Marliir had been too ill to attend any of the events, and Azoun was quite certain she would continue to be ill until a day or two after he left.

  Azoun allowed Marliir’s response to hang in the air long enough for everyone present to be certain he knew the truth, then said, “Tell her that I certainly hope she feels better soon.”

  Marliir cocked an eyebrow at the lack of a “please,” then turned to gesture at his odd gathering of supporters. “I am sure Your Majesty knows these good people: Lady Kraliqh, Merula the Marvelous, and Daramos the High, of the Lady’s House here in Arabel.”

  “Of course.”

  Azoun smiled at each in turn: the grave-looking Lady Kraliqh, the rotund Merula, and the zealot-eyed Daramos. Of the three, he knew the most about Daramos Lauthyr. The man was a fanatic, almost as dedicated to the glory of his goddess Tymora as he was to establishing a central church in Arabel, with himself as its divinely-ordained patriarch.

  Azoun took the platter from his wife’s hand, then held it out to Marliir’s odd coalition. “Liverpaste, anyone? They’re quail.”

  The offer seemed to disarm the four. They exchanged a flurry of startled frowns, then Duke Marliir snatched a wafer off the plate, and the other three followed suit. Unfortunately, there was one left. Azoun pushed it toward Filfaeril.

  “Canape, my dear?”

  She smiled at him adoringly, then took the plate from his hand and passed him the wafer. “No, you can have it, my dear. I’ll go and fetch more.”

  Azoun accepted the wafer and tried not to make a sour face as he bit into it. “Lovely, aren’t they?”

  “Quite,” said Duke Marliir. “Your Majesty, there is something of great import we must discuss.”

  “Really?” Azoun swallowed, then asked, “What can that be? If you are worried about this blight, I assure you the War Wizards have the matter well in hand.”

  “The blight is only a part of it,” said Lady Kraliqh. According to Azoun’s spies, her dealings with Duke Marliir were seldom limited to matters of business. “We are concerned more with the future of the crown.”

  “The future of the crown?” Azoun feigned a surprised look, but took note of the lady’s no-nonsense tone. She would not be put off easily with platitudes or vague promises, and he decided not to try. “You are speaking of Tanalasta, then.”

  “We are concerned about her refusal to take a husband,” said Marliir. “Matters between her and Dauneth seemed to be progressing nicely. There must be some reason she chose to dismiss him so out of hand. It was embarrassing, really.”

  “I am the cause of that confusion, Lord Marliir,” said Azoun. “I am so fond of Dauneth myself that others may have misinterpreted my affection when I asked him to escort Tanalasta to the party. I apologize for any embarrassment it caused, and I want everyone in Arabel to know I hold him in the highest regard. In fact, I was thinking of naming him Lord High Warden of the North.” Azoun turned to Duke Marliir. “Do you think he would have time for the extra duties?”

  Marliir’s jaw dropped. “Of-of course.”

  “Good.” Azoun could see by the man’s astonished expression that he had won back the loyalty of the entire Marliir clan. “Have him stop by the Arabellan Palace tomorrow, and we shall discuss the arrangements.”

  “That is very nice for Dauneth,” said Lady Kraliqh, “but it still does not address our concerns about the future of the crown. After all, I know that when a woman reaches a certain age, it grows difficult for her to bear children.”

  “Truly? Then you must look very young for your age-and Tanalasta is even younger than you appear. I doubt there is any need to worry about her ability to provide an heir when she has not even tried yet… or if she has, she has not seen fit to tell her father about it!”

  Azoun winked as he said this last, drawing a raucous chuckle from everyone but Lady Kraliqh. He looked away, trying to catch the eye of some other notable before his growing irritation with the woman got the best of him.

  “If that is all you are worried about,” the king continued, “I believe I see-“

  “There is another matter, Majesty,” interrupted Merula. The wizard did not wait for an acknowledgement before continuing. “This unfortunate business of the Royal Temple. Perhaps the princess has not given thought to the question of where the loyalties of her royal priests might lie. A servant with two masters cannot help having divided loyalties.”

  “And yet the realm might benefit immensely by courting the blessing of the gods,” said Daramos. “Tymora has always shown great favor to Cormyr. Had she not taken refuge here during the Time of Troubles, surely the realm would have suffered more than it did.”

  “No one can argue that her presence proved a blessing,” agreed Azoun, “but I hardly think that calls for a royal temple.”

  The veins in Daramos’s eyes grew as wide as string, and before Azoun could finish what he had been about to say, the high priest burst into a fit of righteous indignation.

  “After the kindness Tymora showed your kingdom, you would insult her by establishing a royal temple to Chauntea instead?” Daramos backed away, his face trembling and turning crimson with a zealot’s rage. “Do not anger the Lady, little king! Fortune has two faces, and only one is pretty.”

  The threat silenced the reception almost instantly, and a trio of bodyguards stepped forward to flank the high priest.

  “This is what I was talking about, Majesty,” said Merula. As the wizard spoke, he was returning a small glass rod to the sleeve pocket inside his cloak. Apparently, he had feared for a moment that Daramos was actually deranged enough to attack the king. “Priests cannot be trusted. They must beg their spells from their gods, and so they always serve at the pleasure of those fields masters.”

  “We thank you for your opinion, Merula.” Silently, Azoun cursed Daramos’s outburst, and wondered just how obsessed the man was. Because of the goddess Tymora’s stay during the Time of Troubles, the Lady’s House had almost as much power in Arabel as did his own governing lord, and it simply would not do to have Daramos Lauthyr angry-not unless Azoun wanted to crush another Arabellan revolt. He waved the guards back, then said, “The Lord High Priest’s point is well taken. Though the princess and I have had little time to discuss the matter, there will be no royal temple in Cormyr-to Chauntea or anyone else.”

  The redness began to drain from Daramos’s face, but the man looked far from calm. “Of course you are right about the other gods, Majesty, but Tymora has blessed the Obarskyrs for more than a thousand years.”

  “Which is why I would never dishonor her by establishing a royal temple,” said Azoun.

  Daramos looked confused. “Dishonor her?”

  “Tymora took refuge here in Arabel during the Time of Troubles, but the capital of Cormyr is Suzail,” Azoun said. “I cannot help but think it would offend her to establish a greater temple in the South. I was under the impression that she wished your
own temple to be the center of her faith.”

  Daramos’s eyes lit in alarm. “I see what you mean, Majesty.”

  Azoun shrugged sadly, then turned to Merula. “I am afraid you are right, Merula. Cormyr will have to do without a royal temple after all.”

  A wry smile came to the wizard’s lips, and he said, “Then I guess you have only the War Wizards to rely upon for your magic.”

  “It would appear so,” Azoun replied. “It is a good thing for the realm that they have proven themselves so many times through the ages. I would hate to think what might become of Cormyr without them.”

  “It would be a travesty, undoubtedly,” said Lady Kraliqh. “Which brings us back to the question of Tanalasta. There will be no Royal Temple while you reign, Majesty, but what of when you are gone-may that be a hundred years from now?”

  Azoun forced a smile and turned to the duchess. “Lady Kraliqh, you are so bad at guessing ages that I am beginning to think your eyes have grown weak,” he joked, trying to guess what it would take to placate her. “Even with the many blessings of Daramos’s goddess, I doubt I will see another twenty years.”

  “Which is all the more reason to answer my question now.” As Lady Kraliqh spoke, she stepped aside to make room in the conversation circle for Filfaeril, who was returning with a fresh platter of minted liverpaste. “Of late, Tanalasta has proven herself to be a most intelligent and strong-willed princess. I doubt very much that even you could bend her to your will from the grave. What do you intend to do about that?”

  “Yes, Azoun,” said Filfaeril, offering the canape platter to Marliir and the others. “What will you do then?”

  Azoun glanced around the little group and saw that despite the concessions he had made already, he would find no help from them. Tanalasta had returned from Huthduth stronger and full of her own ideas, and that scared them far more than the possibility of someone like Aunadar Bleth ruling from the shadow of her skirts. It scared him, too.