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.”
“Now you are troubled that they didn’t raze some shack?” Vangerdahast looked to the heavens for patience. “Aren’t you wasting enough of our time without fretting over such things? The king sent us north to find Alusair-“
“And you are certain these farmers can’t help us?” Tanalasta stared at the old wizard evenly “I know why the king sent us north, and it has less to do with finding Alusair than getting me out of Arabel. I doubt he would object to our taking the time to determine if these orcs are the ones spreading the blight.”
“Very well,” Vangerdahast sighed, giving up the argument far too easily, “but we won’t be going after them.”
Tanalasta studied the wizard thoughtfully. She had spent the last two days alternately trying to puzzle out his game and feeling oddly pleased with herself. She did not know whether her father had been serious about naming a new heir, but she now realized she did not care. As they had ridden out of Arabel, an unexpected sense of relief came over her, and she took the feeling to mean she had never wanted to rule Cormyr at all.
Later, as she grew accustomed to her new status, she began to experience vague sensations of loss and came to understand that what she felt was not relief, but pride. For the first time in her life, she had staked her whole future on her own conviction. The possibility that in the process she had thrown away a kingdom did not frighten her-it made her feel strong.
Once Tanalasta came to that realization, it grew easier to focus on Vangerdahast’s strange behavior. Given his attitude toward her recently, she would have expected him to endorse her replacement as heir. Yet he seemed quite disturbed by the king’s pronouncement, and since then he had been almost civil to her. She would have to be careful. Vangerdahast was definitely plotting something, and he was at his most dangerous when cordial.
After a time, Vangerdahast raised one of his bushy eyebrows and asked, “Well? Do we have a bargain, or must I slip you into a bag of holding for the rest of the trip?”
“That won’t be necessary,” Tanalasta replied. “I’m no orc-hunter. I only want to find out what they did to this grange.”
As Tanalasta and her company rounded the corner of the field, the farmer sent his family into the hut, then turned to curtly salute his visitors. Despite his tattered tunic and mane of untrimmed hair, the princess felt certain he had once been a soldier-probably an ex-Purple Dragon who had accepted a tract of frontier land in lieu of mustering out pay.
As she approached the man, Tanalasta slipped her signet ring into her pocket, then returned his salute somewhat awkwardly. As a princess, she normally ignored military protocol, but her company was traveling disguised as a Purple Dragon patrol. Like Vangerdahast and Owden, Tanalasta wore the black weathercloak of a war wizard, while the twelve priests behind her were dressed in the capes and chain mail of common dragoneers.
The farmer’s eyes seemed to absorb all this in an instant, then he returned his gaze to Tanalasta. “Hag Gordon at your service, Lady Wizard. Didn’t hear there was a new patrol assigned to Gnoll Pass.”