“Is the matter as urgent as all that?” the songmaster of Milil asked pettishly. “Could it not be brought to the holy place of-ah, one of us-and dealt with in the usual manner?”
“The fate of the realm does hang in the balance,” Vangerdahast told them gently. “And for once, that is no empty tale teller’s phrase, but the bare truth.”
He turned with slow, tragic grandeur to regard High Priest Manarech Eskwuin. “Do you not agree, holy lord? Was what you witnessed earlier not grave enough to threaten the peace of all Cormyr?”
The high priest of Tymora nodded, drawing himself up to his full height and flinging his arms wide dramatically to make the most of his moment. “It was indeed, and you did right to summon me then, as you do well to call on the holy skills of all of us now. Any time the king of any realm is laid low, and his senior blood nobles with him, is a time when the peace of that realm may well be said to be threatened.”
“What?” A general confusion of shouted questions broke out, and Vangerdahast held up his hands for silence. Thankfully he did not have to use the silver whistle, for they quieted at once. Interest made them reach eagerly for his next words.
“Yesterday afternoon,” he said gravely, “the king, Duke Bhereu, Baron Thomdor, and young Bleth were in the King’s Forest on a hunt. They encountered some sort of metal beast, which used some sort of breath weapon on them. Through magic, we were able to swiftly transport them back here, but all of the royals had collapsed. Duke Bhereu died almost immediately, and Thomdor and the king at this moment are fighting for their lives. Aunadar Bleth slipped away and went straight to the princess. I need to know why he did not collapse, if he carries any taint of anything that may afflict him, the princess, or anyone else he comes into contact with in the future, and how he feels right now.”
The priest of Malar spat. “Bah! I deal in hunting and slaying, not nursemaiding the sick! See to your own duty, court wizard!”
Vangerdahast did his best not to smile grimly. This is what he’d expected and been waiting for. Indeed, such anticipated response by the huntmaster was the sole reason Vangerdahast had invited him in the first place.
The Royal Magician made a far more grand gesture than he needed to and looked straight at the huntmaster as-with a flash and sparkle of light motes and drifting smoke-the staff of the High Wizard of Cormyr appeared in his hand. He raised it as high as his arm would stretch and willed it to hum and crackle with power. As it burst into life, glowing impressively above their heads, he said regretfully, “I regret having to inconvenience you in any way, holy lords, but it is imperative that you aid Cormyr in this problem without delay.”
“And if we do not?” Surprisingly, the cool question came from the loremaster of Deneir.
Vangerdahast silently revised his kindly opinion of the runelord and said sternly, “As Regent Royal of Cormyr, I expect your cooperation in this-or your heads.” He caused his upraised staff to wink slightly but meaningfully.
“‘Regent Royal’?” Huntmaster Buruin’s voice was loud with derision. “You think this nonsense title gives you any authority over me?”
“Good and holy lord, it does-and yet, respected servant of Malar, it is authority I should not need.”
“Oh? How so?”
The Royal Magician smiled a crooked wolflike smile. “Hearken to the decree of Garmos Saernclaws, one of the most respected servants of the lord of beasts-a holy decree that still applies to all priests of Malar, as it has for nigh a thousand years: ‘The Hunt must be clean. If disease or affliction is visited on hunters by a beast, clergy of Malar must do all they can to root out and exterminate the taint, that bloodlines and beasts in the wild remain always strong.’”
The huntmaster gaped at him in pale-faced astonishment. He hadn’t expected a layman, even a wizard, to know the gospel of Saernclaws. They both knew Garmos had said just that, and Agrathar Buruin was bound by it.
The Royal Magician dropped his eyes from the stunned gaze of the Malarite and looked around at the faces of the other priests. There was no more fight in any of them, it remained only to gesture toward the door and add gently, “Lord Alaphondar and Palace Mage Halansalim will accompany you to the chambers of the princess and be your escort therein and when you examine and bring out Bleth.”
The priests tumbled out of the room like adventurers fleeing a dragon, the sage and the war wizard in the lead. Vangerdahast imagined the turmoil that would result when the gaggle of holy men arrived at Tanalasta’s quarters and dragged off her suitor for laborious tests, examinations, and divinations. The Royal Magician labored to keep a broadening inner smile from spreading across his face.
Instead, he merely made the gesture that caused his staff of state to disappear, then turned away, to leave the Chamber of Crossed Dogs by another, smaller door, passing the gigantic wall carving of leaping hounds that had given the room its curious name.
The door opened onto a small, dark passage that gave onto a step halfway up Halantaver’s Stair. Ascending, he passed through the echoing stateliness of Endevanor’s Hall into the Salon of Six Scepters, nodding to the belarjacks who sprang to open doors before him. Across a hail from the eastern door of the salon was the Upper Eastern, or Satharwood, Banqueting Hall, the way to its closed doors barred by a solid line of grim Purple Dragons in full armor.
Vangerdahast stepped inside to find himself facing a watchful ring of tired war wizards, who raised wands to menace him out of habit. “For the realm,” he said to them wearily, the watch phrase should have been unnecessary. They lowered their wands, but four or more continued to watch him expressionlessly. The others turned back to what was going on inside their ring.
Above the tables where the royals lay, both still motionless and silent, hung a globe of radiant air, its soft glow illuminating the weary faces of the priests who were working on the baron-experimenting with vigorous massaging of his arms and legs, it appeared-under the direction of a weary-eyed Dimswart. Vangerdahast gave him a silent wave when he looked up to see which fresh face had joined the circle, and he replied with a silent negative shake of his head. No change.
The Royal Magician turned grimly away, trying for an instant to recall what pressing business he’d been attending to when the breaking of the summoning wand had dragged the realm into chaos. Thus occupied, he almost ran into the Bishop of the Black Blades. Gwennath was slumped against the wall, silent tears of grim failure and exhaustion running down her face. Vangerdahast took her gently by the shoulders, and as she looked up in weary wonder, he said merely, “Come.”
The belarjack by the door had fallen asleep, there was fear in his fluttering eyes when he saw that he’d been sleepily cursing the High Wizard for pinching him awake, but Vangerdahast simply said, “Go and get someone to relieve you and your fellow priests-after you bring Matron Maglanna to me.”
“Have I-done wrong?” Gwennath asked sleepily.
Vangerdahast kept his hands under her elbows to keep her from sliding to the floor and said, “No. By my decree, however, you are now to go with the matron of this floor of the palace and get some sleep in whatever chamber she puts you.”
Maglanna, doughty and dependable, though looking as worn as Gwennath, was at his side before he’d finished speaking. Vangerdahast merely added a gentle “By my command” to her, watched her nod and gather the exhausted priestess into her guiding arms, and turned away again.
Sleep might soon be a good idea as well for certain High Wizards, he reminded himself as he passed grimly on through another set of wary guards-backed up by war wizards this time-into Belnshor’s Chamber, where the clockwork beast had been stored.