by Ed Greenwood
Orvendel was too caught up in his moment of fame to heed her warning. He turned to Emlar Goldsword. “What I know is that if you weren’t such a coward, Princess Tanalasta would have troops to put everywhere, then it wouldn’t matter if the ghazneths had a spy.”
Emlar gave him a cobra’s smile. “We can see that you need never fear the princess’s assassins.”
“Actually, neither do you,” said Queen Filfaeril. “These assassins belong to Princess Tanalasta no more than they belong to you. I can assure you of that personally.”
A stunned silence fell over the room as the nobles worked through the implications of Queen Filfaeril’s words. Even Tanalasta found her head reeling at what she thought she heard her mother saying. For the queen to know who did not control the assassins suggested she knew who did. If that were so, Tanalasta could only guess at the reason her mother had kept the knowledge secret.
Emlar seemed to reach his conclusion before everyone else. “You are to be commended for defending your daughter’s reputation, Majesty,” he said.
Filfaeril’s pale eyes grew icy. “Do you call me a liar, Goldsword? Or perhaps you think me irresolute enough to let such behavior go unpunished.” The queen leaned back and looked past Ildamoar Hardcastle to Korvarr Rallyhorn, who had been assigned to stand guard over Emlar personally. “Lord Goldsword has impugned the dignity of the queen. Execute him.”
“What?” Goldsword’s face grew stormy and indignant, and he braced his hands on the table so he could stand and look toward the queen. “You can’t-“
Korvarr cut the objection short by catching Emlar by the hair and pulling him off-balance to the rear to prevent him from defending himself. For a moment, Tanalasta thought the lionar would stop there, but then he jerked his captive’s head back and pressed his dagger under Lord Goldsword’s quivering jaw.
“Wait!” Tanalasta cried.
Korvarr cast an inquiring glance at Filfaeril, who raised one finger to delay the execution. “You have something to say before we proceed, Princess?”
Tanalasta started to say that her mother could not simply have a man executed, but of course she could.
The princess swallowed, then said, “If Lord Goldsword were to apologize, perhaps he might be excused for challenging your claim, Majesty. I myself doubted I understood you correctly until I considered The Rule of Law-particularly the passages relating to Time of War.”
The icy hint of a smile crossed Filfaeril’s lips, and Tanalasta knew with a sudden hollowness that she had guessed right. While Iltharl the Abdicator’s treatise The Rule of Law was not exactly the law of the land, it had been quoted as precedent for more than a thousand years and was certainly the foundation of Cormyrean common law. The particular passage Tanalasta referred to stated that during Time of War, any royal representative of the crown had complete authority to punish crimes against the crown. While it might be argued that execution was a rather severe penalty for affronting the queen, the treatise stated explicitly that during Time of War, the punishment was at the representative’s sole discretion and could not be appealed. In other words, Queen Filfaeril could execute not only Emlar Goldsword, she could execute any noble who committed even the smallest breach against the crown-and questioning Tanalasta’s right to call for troops could well be construed as a crime against the crown.
Queen Filfaeril remained silent, apparently considering her daughter’s appeal. A soft murmur rose around the table as the few nobles familiar enough with The Rule of Law to know the passage she cited explained it to those who did not. A lot of faces paled, and the unarmed lords began to cast uneasy glances at the dragoneers standing behind their benches. The loyal lords-Ildamoar Hardcastle, Hector Dauntinghorn, Roland Emmarask, and a handful of others-appeared more astonished than frightened. Only Orvendel Rallyhorn’s reaction did not make sense. Though he was practically touching Lord Goldsword, who remained off-balance with Korvarr’s dagger to his throat, Orvendel did not look astonished or frightened or even alarmed. He looked frustrated-frustrated and worried.
After giving the lords a few moments to appreciate their dilemma, Queen Filfaeril turned from Tanalasta. Her gaze lingered on Orvendel an instant and flashed icy hatred before continuing on to Lord Goldsword, and the princess knew that her mother’s surprises for the day were far from done. The queen had insisted on young Rallyhorn’s presence for a reason. Tanalasta had the sinking feeling she knew what it was-and this time, she would not be able to beg the crown’s mercy.
The queen let her gaze rest on Emlar until the room grew quiet again, then asked, “What say you, Lord Goldsword? Do you apologize?”
Emlar nodded. “Aye, I apologize for doubting you but not for speaking against the princess. I hold the Sembians to be Cormyr’s best hope now more than ever, and I’ll not apologize for that.”
“And I would not ask you to,” said the queen. “Obviously, the crown finds your opinion mistaken, but at least it is honest and takes into account Cormyr’s interests as much as your own. We are not in the habit of executing people for bad opinions and honest mistakes.”
Filfaeril motioned to Korvarr, who pulled his dagger away from Emlar’s throat and gently lowered him to his seat. The color returned to the lord’s face and to the faces of his supporters. Tanalasta knew that in a few moments of terror, her mother had won the cooperation she had been struggling to earn for months.
Emlar knew it as well. “Her majesty is most forbearing.” He inclined his head to the queen, then tried to salvage at least the appearance of compromise by adding, “The Goldsword house shall abide by the decision of this council.”
Filfaeril ignored him and turned to glare at Melot Silversword. “What the crown cannot abide are self-serving intriguers who straddle the wall until they see on which side the most profit will lie for their house. Such nothingarians cause harm enough when the realm is at peace, but during Time of War, they are tantamount to spies.”
Melot straightened himself in his chair. “Majesty, I hardly think such a comparison warranted. It is no fairer to blame a man for his caution than-“
“I would not press the matter, Lord Silversword,” said Tanalasta. “You are still alive-and may even have a reasonable chance of staying that way.”
“Provided he abides by the decrees of this council,” agreed Filfaeril. “Now, there is one other matter I wish to dispose of.”
“If it pleases the queen, I would rather handle that myself.” The princess caught her mother’s eye and glanced quickly in Orvendel’s direction, then grimaced inwardly when the queen gave an icy nod. The chain of betrayal flashed before Tanalasta’s eyes. Orvendel drawing the information out of his older brother, then passing it to the ghazneths-but why? That was a question the boy would answer before he died. Trying to ignore the sick feeling in her stomach, she turned to Orvendel and said, “Young Lord Rallyhorn, you and I will speak after the council.”
A nervous expression came over Orvendel, but it was nothing compared to the shock on Korvarr’s face. The lionar’s jaw fell, his shoulders sagged, and the princess was certain that only duty kept him from closing his eyes and starting to weep. Clearly, the queen had warned him that the traitor would be named today, but had not said who it was.
Not wishing to draw undue attention to the dragoneer’s internal struggle, Tanalasta looked away and ran her gaze down both sides of the table, taking care to linger on the faces of those nobles who had sided with Goldsword instead of her. When only loyal nobles dared meet her gaze, she decided the time had come to follow her mother’s approach and exert her authority.
“On the morrow, the crown will greet half the retainers of each noble house outside the Horngate,” she said. “They will come prepared for a long march, as they will be journeying north to join King Azoun. At noon, the crown will accept the magic items of each noble house into the Royal Palace for safekeeping and will welcome an additional quarter of each house’s retainers into the king’s service for the purpose of garrisoning various fortresses acros
s the south. The last quarter of each house’s retainers will remain at their home estate for the purpose of securing the lives and property of the manor occupants. Is there any discussion?”
“Discussion?” scoffed Lady Calantar. “Do you really expect us to pretend we are agreeing to this willingly?”
Tanalasta turned toward Lady Calantar but looked past her, to the dragoneer standing guard behind her. “Lady Calantar is fostering treason. Take her outside and behead her.”
Lady Calantar’s eyes grew wide. “You can’t-“
Her protest was cut off as the dragoneer behind her clasped a mailed palm over her mouth and dragged her from her seat. He looked to Tanalasta and raised a querying eyebrow. When the princess nodded, he clenched his teeth and pulled the noblewoman off the bench.
As the soldier dragged her out the door, Roland Emmarask turned to Tanalasta, “If a loyal lord may be so bold as to ask-you truly can’t intend to behead Lady Calantar.”
“Of course I can,” Tanalasta replied evenly. “How would you expect King Azoun to deal with a traitor?”
Faces around the table began to go white. Emmarask, who had once spent a few pleasant months courting Lady Calantar before his parents decided the match would not be a good one for the family, continued to press the matter.
“Certainly, no one can argue that execution is an unjust punishment for a traitor, but Lady Calantar can hardly be considered that.” Emmarask cast a meaningful glance in Goldsword’s direction. “Not when those who have said far worse go unpunished.”
“Perhaps you did not hear Queen Filfaeril,” Tanalasta said, regarding the lord coldly. “The crown has no interest in punishing those who have spoken against us out of love for Cormyr. We respect their courage, if not their wisdom.” She cast her gaze in Melot Silversword’s direction. “The true traitors are those who would risk nothing in the matter, the self-serving ones who remain silent until it grows clear who will win and how best to turn that victory to their own advantage.”
Silversword’s heavy jowls began to quiver. “I assure you, the Silverswords are interested in Cormyr’s advantage only.”
“Good.” Tanalasta searched the faces of other lords for any further hint of defiance. Finding none, she decided the time had come to reaffirm her victory. She glared directly at Emlar Goldsword, then asked, “Is there any more discussion?”
Goldsword shook his head. “My retainers will be there as decreed. May the gods bless the crown.”
“I will be happy if they only favor Cormyr, though we thank you for the thought.” Tanalasta glanced around the table once more. When everyone looked away, she smiled and said, “The crown is most grateful for your support. To show its appreciation, you are all invited to guest at the Royal Palace until such times as your retainers arrive and are dispatched to their new assignments. Your escorts will show you to your rooms and provide messengers for your orders. We will see you for the evening meal.”
If any of the lords found the invitation less than gracious, they were wise enough not to say so. They simply stood and thanked the princess for her hospitality, then turned to follow their escorts out the refectory door.
Orvendel expressed his thanks without meeting Tanalasta’s eyes, then turned to follow the others… and found himself staring at his brother’s broad chest.
“Princess Tanalasta asked you to stay behind.” Korvarr pushed the boy back to his bench. “Or did you forget?”
“No, no… I…” Unable to meet his brother’s eyes, Orvendel spun toward Tanalasta. “I don’t know what I’m doing here.”
“I think you do,” said Tanalasta. “And please stop lying. There is nothing I hate more than a man who makes a fool of me.”
28
“I grow tired of running,” the King of Cormyr growled as the familiar howling began again, down a hillside to their right. Alusair waved a wordless hand-signal to the nearest bowmen to stand and fire.
It was goblins this time, streaming down the slope in a torrent, waving their blades and yammering for blood. Human blood.
“Is it time to turn and fight?” Alusair replied, turning in her saddle to give her father a dangerous look that added the words “I would” to her words as loudly as if she’d shouted it.
“You would, aye,” Azoun returned, spurring his horse forward, “thinking only of yourself. If I turn and take a stand I risk all our lives, the crown, and the stability of the kingdom. With all these nobles foaming for the throne like stallions given a chance at a ready mare, and all our farmers and commoners between here and the sea, if we fall who’s to stop these vermin from pillaging all Cormyr?”
“Gods, with all those cares it’s a wonder that horse can carry you!” Alusair snapped back. “You’re right. I did mean to risk only myself and the blades who ride with me. The rabble of nobles you so dismiss as eager traitors, remember? What loss to the realm if they fall?”
Azoun leaned over in his saddle until their faces almost met, and muttered, “If I lose my Alusair, I lose my hope for Cormyr’s future-and the best general in the realm. And yes, I am measuring you against Ilnbright, Taroaster, and me. You’re the best of us, and more than that you’re the one commoners and Purple Dragons alike look up to, with love.”
Alusair went white, and almost snarled, “They love you, too, father!”
Azoun nodded, but replied, “A different love. I am the ‘now,’ with all the feuds and disputes and annoyances they know. You are the future that shines ahead. You they’ll follow to death with hearts full of hope. Me, they’ll go down with grimly, doing their duty.”
Alusair bent her head over her saddle for a moment, then looked up and met her father’s eyes squarely.
“I never thought I’d hear a man be so honest,” she almost whispered. “I am honored beyond belief that the man is my father and that he gives such honesty to me.” Then her eyes caught a movement to the south, her head snapped in that direction, her face changed, and she added, “Rider-messenger, come to meet us.”
She raised her hand to make another signal, but Swordlord Glammerhand was already sending two kadrathen of Purple Dragons through the ranks of the bowmen to cut down the last of the goblins and sounding the horn that would bring the bowmen back to a steady march.
The envoy proved to be no excited young soldier or war wizard cloaked in his own importance, but one of the veteran King’s Messengers from the palace. He was a sleek man, Bayruce by name, known well to both king and princess.
He bowed his head formally as he brought his horse to a weary walk, and said, “From Queen Filfaeril, glad greeting and good news. The crown princess prevails at court, and our loyal nobles whelm many swords in good array, north to meet with you and fight for you. Such is the whole of my message.”
Azoun inclined his head in formal thanks and asked, “So, Bayruce, if we were but two carters in a tavern over tankards and I asked you, ‘Pray, how many of our nobles be loyal to the crown enough to whelm swords for war?’ how would you answer?”
The messenger did not bother to hide his smile. “Majesty, I cannot say.” His smile fled again before he added, “If you faced no dragon nor these dark flying things that eat magic, the men I saw in my ride would be more than enough… but then, you do face those foes, and these goblins would not have reached beyond Arabel without them, no?”
Alusair and Azoun nodded in grim unison. “No,” they agreed. The king did not pause, but added, “Sir Messenger, rest your horse. We shall tarry here for a time, while the Princess Alusair essays an attack, planned yestereve, on those who harry us.”
The Steel Princess turned her head, jaw dropping in astonishment. As her eyes met those of the king, her father winked and said simply, “Do it.”
Alusair clapped her hand to her shoulder in a smart salute, spurred her horse away, and shouted back, “Redhorn’s riders carry the best wine, Bayruce. Mind you get to it before His Majesty, if you want any!”
“This dragondew is good,” Azoun agreed, wiping his mouth. “How did I
sire such a daughter?”
“Do you desire me to say innocently, ‘In the usual way, Your Majesty’?” Bayruce asked the sky smoothly.
Azoun gave him a chuckle and turned his head back to the battle. Alusair had done just as he would have. Two arms of men were flung out like the arms of a crab, behind hills, bills and spears to the front and archers behind, to fire when their fellows were forced to retreat. Alusair had placed herself with the largest, strongest men in the center, to take a stand against the main company of goblins while the two hidden arms reached around to strike.
A brief struggle, then horns would sound the retreat and they’d flee south again, probably to the Starwater, and make a stand there. Giogi would just have to lose a year’s grapes and the good wine that came from them.
The goblins came over a rise and roared with excited fury when they saw their foes standing ready for them. They lumbered into a charge without a one of them looking up or to either side. Yes, goblins loved to fight. “Glath!” they called. “Glaaath!”
“Blood!” that was, in Common. Azoun smiled thinly. Let it be goblin blood. The goblins struck the line where his daughter was standing with a crash that made him wince, and he and the messenger watched intently as the charge drove Purple Dragons helplessly back. Those long hacking swords were busy now.
Alusair’s hair was streaming about her shoulders. “Gods above, girl, they don’t care how beautiful you look!” Azoun roared, standing up in his stirrups. “Put your damned helm back on!”
Alusair never turned her head, but both men thought that her long warsword thrust up at them in a rather rude gesture. Archers were lying on their bellies behind the fray, firing arrows point-blank up at any goblin they could get a clear shot at. At such close range, the shafts were tearing clear through screaming goblin bodies or plucking their victims up into the air and hurling them well back among their fellows.