Silence fell.
Tanalasta pursed her lips. “Are they all mad? Forever?”
Vangerdahast spread his hands. “Who can know? There are scores of them, some of them so old their names have been forgotten, and we have no precise knowledge of their abilities. Some may be failing and diminishing, and some growing stronger. The realm lacks any secure place where we can take them, one at a time, to try to work with them—or on them.”
Alusair asked quietly, “Are they all liches?”
“No, but the enchantments of the place seem to turn the living into undead, rather than allowing natural deaths. The imprisoned squabble constantly but rarely seem to destroy each other. There is some evidence that the Lost Palace restores or heals or however you want to term ‘repairing damaged undead.’ Some of them were foes of the realm in life, some loyal war wizards, some were traitors or noble dabblers who went too far—and some have Obarskyr blood, however illegitimate their births from the view of a herald considering inheritance.”
Tanalasta’s eyes narrowed. “And if they are all freed? Disaster?”
“Grudges pursued, for those who can still think coherently. The others would be like mad dogs, unleashed to wander. I almost lost my life not very long ago, rebinding them all.”
Tanalasta shuddered. “You were reversing this Unbinding, then?”
“I was.”
“How?” Alusair snapped.
“Forgive me, Princesses, but revealing to you the details of the spells would be both foolish—someone who caught you unawares with the right magic could compel you to speak of them—and unhelpful. Neither of you possesses the Art to work such magics.”
“We are both aware of that, Vangey,” Alusair said coldly. “What I was trying to ask was how you managed the rebinding, alone, after shooing Laspeera and everyone else out of the place. An important war wizard traitor, or so you have given us to believe, somehow escaped while you were busy in the Lost Palace. It is conceivable that in the future you might again be busy or dead when the need recurs. So consider telling us what you did vital to the security of the realm. As an Obarskyr, and therefore someone you are supposed to obey without question or reservation, I order you to tell me. Now.”
Tanalasta gave her younger sister a pained look, but Alusair merely lofted her eyebrows and told her, “If I’m polite to the man, he glibly dances around telling us things we want to know and calmly maintains his ‘I will decide what is good for you to know’ superiority. That has to be wiped away, as of about six seasons ago. If I’m old enough to bear royal heirs or end up warming the Dragon Throne if calamity strikes our family, I’m old enough to be told such secrets.” She aimed her chin back at the Royal Magician and added, “So tell us. Plainly and completely. And while you’re at it, try to make me believe that Obarskyr king after king—and queen after queen, too—knew of this and approved of it down the years.”
Vangerdahast sighed, looked down at his hands for a moment, then said, “Some of them never knew of it. The Royal Magicians always have, but—”
“My, my,” Alusair said, her tone dripping with acid, “such deep and abiding loyalty to the Dragon Throne!”
Vangerdahast muttered a curse, drew in a deep breath, put a bright smile on his face, and said heartily, “Well, now, where to begin?”
“What’s that?” Doust hissed, leaning forward to listen intently.
Florin held up a hand for silence and did the same thing. The faint rustling moved southeast through the brush below, before it was too far away to hear.
“Something small,” the ranger said calmly. “Probably a rat. All that noise, the scuttling … nothing to worry over.”
“Among our larger worries?”
“They’re only worries if you let them be. Think of something else.”
The priest sat staring out into the night for another long breath before asking almost reluctantly, “Such as …?”
Florin gave his anxious friend a grin. “Women you haven’t met yet, waiting in Shadowdale?”
“Florin! I’m a priest, stlarn it!”
“Doesn’t Tymora regard holiness as boldly taking chances?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“So for once inexperience will serve you well. Blunder here, stumble there, please Lady Luck no end!”
“Thank you,” Doust said. “I think.” A long breath later, he added a chuckle.
“Hmm?” Florin asked.
“It shouldn’t be too bad—the blundering, I mean. I’ll just watch what Stoop says and does and do the opposite.”
The ranger nodded but said gravely, “Tymora’s going to be disappointed.”
Doust gave him a gentle shove and chuckled again.
“No,” Vangerdahast said, “that was no leak at all. I intended that the Princess Alusair be the one to warn all Cormyr of Ruldroun’s escape and so alert folk to watch for him.”
“To spare you having to announce a failure on the part of the Wizards of War,” Tanalasta said.
“Not at all. In my judgment, citizens will be swifter to aid and please their youngest, most vulnerable princess than help the hated Royal Magician with his latest blunder. If Alusair cries warning, they’ll see the problem as the kingdoms’—and so, theirs. If I do, they will growl that I should clean up my own problems. More importantly, it was time to begin to establish your sister’s image and role in the eyes of the citizenry.”
“Oh?” Tanalasta snapped. “And when do you start to establish my image and role?”
“Your image and role were set at your birth, because you are the heir. Alusair’s is the one the Crown must establish—lest some foe establish it, where we have left silence.”
“And you, wizard, are the Crown?”
“I am. Not the king, nor any challenge to him, but the Crown. I serve, defend, and maintain the Crown—the image the ruling Obarskyr dons, just like the literal circlet on his or her brow, every morning.”
“And if I happen to believe differently?” Tanalasta asked very quietly, in the voice both her sister and the Royal Magician had learned meant trouble.
Vangerdahast leaned forward to meet her gaze directly and said, “To borrow a phrase from the Sage of Shadowdale, that’s a bridge we’ll burn when we’re both standing on it. If I am still Royal Magician or Court Wizard when you ascend to rule this land, we will talk more of this.”
“Talk!” Tanalasta spat. “Talk and more talk and change nothing!”
“Not so! The Royal Magician and the ruler of the realm must agree on who does what to helm Cormyr and where they are trying to take it. What the Crown is and how it works must always change until that agreement is reached.”
“Point taken,” Alusair said, and she held up a staying hand. “We could sit here arguing the future of the realm until it is the future of the realm. Let’s get back to this Ruldroun and what’s besetting us now.” She wagged a finger at Vangerdahast and added, “And don’t forget to explain to us about the archwizard Ondel, and Sundraer the She-dragon, and this burning barn I’ve heard about.”
Vangerdahast blinked at her, astonishment clear on his face.
“Oh, yes, Royal Magician,” the younger princess said, “where you somehow neglect to mention things to me, certain Harpers who stop by the Palace from time to time tell me far more. They seem to have this odd notion that the royal family of Cormyr just might have the right—and the need—to be informed about matters of the realm, rather than being kept in the dark by courtiers. Who by doing so, wizards or not, are arguably guilty of a quaint little something called ‘treason.’ And before you bluster, bear in mind that I’m merely reporting their common notion. One that I happen to share.”
“As do I,” Tanalasta said.
Silence fell, and neither princess rushed to break it. They were too busy sitting in silent fascination, watching the Royal Magician wince—then blush a deep, rich scarlet.
Andaero Hardtower was not in a good mood. Why did the Brotherhood persist in allowing such dolts into their
ranks? And why did they all end up in his lap?
“Hearken,” he said to the sullen mageling standing in front of him, “and hearken well. When you are given a specific and detailed order by a member of our Brotherhood who outranks you—”
The glowering mageling’s face changed, eyes lighting up in interest that swiftly became alarm as they stared over Hardtower’s shoulder, resentment giving way to astonishment.
Hardtower sighed, irritation flaring. “The oldest tricks not only don’t fool us, young Galaeren, using them shames you—or should. Why, we—”
A merry chime sounded right behind Hardtower’s back. It was the last thing he ever heard.
He had time to identify it as his own shielding warning him and to wonder what could possibly breach a five-layered magical shield so swiftly and quietly, before the Sword That Never Sleeps burst through him.
Vangerdahast sighed, steepled his fingers, and rested his chin on them.
“Deciding what to forget to tell us?” Alusair asked.
He gave her a pained look. “Onsler Ruldroun was a Wizard of War, yes. Stolid, strong in his Art but unambitious, and so not all that accomplished in the more powerful magics. Which was fine. I have an endless need for such mages, so long as their lack of ambition doesn’t slide into sloth. He worked in the Royal Court, gleaning information from the many documents and reports that are sent there daily, and following up on interesting matters. Exciting, thus far?”
The two princesses gave him identical withering stares. “Say on, wizard,” Tanalasta commanded.
Bowing his head in silent assent, Vangey did so. “Unbeknownst to the rest of us, a curious and ancient item of magic came into Ruldroun’s possession, probably two seasons ago when he attended some family funerals in Marsember. It enabled him to cloak his innermost thoughts from all spells, even when mind-speaking to fellow war wizards. I believe he met the traitor lords Yellander—whom he had befriended years earlier—and Eldroon at one of those funerals and began working for them. He gave them some private Court and Wizard of War information. This was noticed, and he was imprisoned when we discovered we couldn’t read his mind. In captivity, he remained uncooperative, until two agents of Lord Yellander found and acted upon written instructions Yellander’d left as to how to find and contact Ruldroun in an emergency, and telling them to take along certain items of magic. We believe Ruldroun earlier gave these to Yellander in a gesture of ‘betray me not, and I’ll not cross you’ trust, but they served Ruldroun well when the agents reached his dungeon cell. He used them to get free, then killed the agents, leaving one of them in the chains that had prevented him from working spells. He then escaped. We assume he means us ill but are uncertain of both his whereabouts and his precise intentions regarding Cormyr.”
“Why, if you have been so ruthlessly high-handed on other occasions, did you just imprison this traitor?” Tanalasta asked. “If you can quietly toss any madwits you please into the Lost Palace, why didn’t you and Laspeera and anyone else just force your way into this Ruldroun’s mind to learn what you had to know?”
The Royal Magician looked embarrassed. “We dared not. We had trusted him enough to let him be part of the warning magics laid upon your minds, when you were both infants.”
“What? What warning magics?” Tanalasta cried.
Beside her, Alusair nodded grimly and shot her sister a triumphant “told you so” look.
“Shieldings that would prevent sudden magical attempts to invade your minds, drawing them instead into those of six Wizards of War—for each of you. This foiled most such attacks completely and warned us of their launching.”
“Foiled?”
“Oh, yes. Many wizards—Zhentarim, wizards hired by Sembians seeking to gain future influence in Cormyr, a few independent spellhurlers, and no fewer than twoscore mages hired by various noble families of the realm—tried to influence or read or control or just destroy your minds before either of you could walk.”
“So is this Ruldroun still linked to my mind?” Alusair asked. “Or Tana’s?”
“Tanalasta’s, yes. Or so we believe. That mind-shielding item he gained prevents us from being certain.”
“So this is another of your brilliant successes in judging loyalty,” the younger princess said. “Like Applethorn and Margaster and—”
“Princess Alusair,” Vangerdahast snapped back at her, “no wizard can or should—I can well imagine how you’d shriek at me if I tried!—mind-control even handfuls of Cormyreans. We are all served by many, many loyal Wizards of War. The few who go bad stand as rare examples of how power corrupts.”
“I can think of many loyal Cormyreans who would name our Royal Magician among the ranks of the corrupt,” Tanalasta said. “Tell me, what would you say to them?”
Vangerdahast sighed. “That I am not, and they have only to watch me to see that. Unless they don’t want to see it. They may disagree with me as to what a loyal or honest courtier would do if in my boots, but few of them can properly appreciate what wizards do and face, let alone know all the secrets I do and the worries I have. If they knew just a little of what I hear and ponder and know, they might see me very differently.”
“Fair enough,” Tanalasta replied. “So tell us some of these secrets.”
“Such as all about Ondel, and the She-dragon, and the barn,” Alusair said.
Vangerdahast sighed again. “Very well. Ondel was a wizard of great power, a Sembian resident in Saerloon who was of interest to the Crown because he’d begun buying up farmland in Cormyr, near Marsember. Someone murdered him, probably an assassin or team of killers hired by a Sembian rival or perhaps someone in Westgate. We investigated but haven’t learned who was to blame. We suspected that in his Cormyrean purchases he may have been acting for one of the exiled former noble families of Cormyr, but that’s mere supposition on our part. He was cut apart, and pieces of him left all over Shadowdale—another place where he’d started buying land. Wizard of War Lorbryn Deltalon—who is not suspected of being any sort of traitor, by the way—did most of the looking into Ondel’s death. None of you were told about this because we could learn nothing definite touching on the security or governance of Cormyr and because we delve into literally thousands of such matters every year. Would you want to sit through my filling your ears about odd murders of Sembian wizards, and half a hundred other things, for half a day, every day?”
“No, and I grant your point, Vangey. What about Sundraer the She-dragon?”
“Also a Sembian. Of interest to us because she was Ondel’s lover, when in human form. She died some years back, but aside from some handfuls of valuables she shared with Ondel, no one ever found her hoard. It’s been local legend in Saerloon for nigh a decade. The usual rumor after rumor about its great size and someone finding it. Well, we believe someone finally did find it—somewhere in the Thunder Peaks. Just where, when, who, and what they found … again, just guesses and rumors. Nothing to share with Obarskyrs who have real concerns about Cormyr to deal with. The Harpers take an interest in rumors and odd happenings just as we do, but I can’t think why a princess of Cormyr would want to, unless nobles or courtiers or rising personages of this realm were directly involved.”
Alusair nodded. “The barn fire?”
“Barns burn down all the time. If there are any suspicions about a barn fire in Cormyr, we investigate. This one was in our realm, and it spat out lightning bolts and green flames while burning. Therefore magic was involved, and we are investigating. If anything worth reporting comes to light, I’ll certainly share it with you.”
“See that you do, Royal Magician,” Tanalasta said. “As you’ve no doubt gathered by now, Loos and I are both tired of being treated like brainless children.”
Vangerdahast nodded, looking a little weary. “Have you heard enough for now?” he asked. “I’d think hearing all I hear and worrying about all I think about would soon darken your hearts and lives and make you rue being born an Obarskyr in Cormyr. Believe me, both of you: it ha
s been my intent and my hard work to shield you both from as much of this as possible, so you can enjoy your lives before the heavy burdens begin—the burdens that, once taken up, will only be lifted from your shoulders by death.”
“So is your heart darkened, Vangey?” Alusair asked, sounding almost gentle. “Do you have nightmares? What haunts you?”
The Royal Magician regarded her gravely and said quietly, “Dreams of drawn daggers haunt me. Picturing your royal mother weeping in grief haunts me. Seeing sorrow and disappointment in your father’s eyes when he looks at me after I’ve been too slow to see peril and disaster has harmed any of his family. Those are among the foremost things that haunt me, but my collection of hauntings is not a small one.” He rose from his chair. “Now, if you’ll permit me the impertinence, what I’ve heard out of your mouths here in this room suggests to me that you’ve both become quite old enough to enjoy a stiff drink. I know I need one.”
Doust yawned. Again. “Isn’t it time to wake Jhess and Stoop?” he asked, fighting down yet another yawn.
“Yes,” Florin said, leaning close to dig steel-hard fingers into Doust’s ear and bring him instantly and very painfully wide awake, “but see that you do it quietly. And weapons out, all.”
Doust blinked. “Why? Is there someone out there?”
“Someone. And a beast, too. They’re watching us.”
As he said these words, Florin rose, his drawn sword moving from across his knees to ready in his hand.
As it happened, he was just in time.
Chapter 20
TALONS IN THE NIGHT
Now dripping red where once so white
Fangs well fed flash not so bright
The Sword Never Sleeps Page 27