She laughed. “Later, then-and be sure that it’s good wine.”
“The best,” Vangerdahast promised.
Laspeera rolled her eyes as the Lord High Wizard opened the door, then asked Emthrara loudly, “Do you know how many times he promises that?”
The Royal Magician of the Realm, Court Wizard of Cormyr, Chairman Emeritus of the College of War Wizards, Lord High Wizard of Suzail, Scepter of the Stonelands, and Master of the Council of Mages paused at the doorway and turned, his eyebrows arched in mock surprise. Both ladies laughed merrily and waved farewell.
Vangerdahast pointed at the abraxus on the table and growled, “Leave that not unguarded!” as the door swung closed. Turning from it, he found himself grinning and shook his head. He must be overtired.
“So tell me,” Emthrara said calmly as the door closed on the mage, “now that the free entertainment is gone, just how does one guard such a thing?”
Laspeera winked at her. “First, be aware that he loves to listen at doors. Our Royal Magician is seldom truly gone when you’re in the palace. Secondly, I don’t know. I’m going to raise a shell of antimagic around it, and then surround that with several spherical force barriers of various sorts.”
The Harper eyed her steadily. “And will all that work?”
Laspeera spread her hands. “With magicas always-who knows?”
Vangerdahast managed six steps along the quiet hall toward the back stair that led down to, among other things, the kitchens, where there might be some still-warm sage-and-pheasant soup in a pot somewhere, before a breathless palace page whirled around a corner and gasped, “Lord wizard! Lord wizard! The Sage Lord Alaphondar sends me to tell you that the priests have done their work-and adequate work, he terms it-and have pronounced Aunadar Bleth free from hurt or contagion!”
Vangerdahast nodded and smiled. “And-?”
“He and Sir Wizard Halansalim have Lord Bleth in their care now, in the Redpetal Room, and await your earliest pleasure there.”
“Well,” the Royal Magician demanded, “what are you waiting for?” And he plucked up his robes at the knees like a servingmaid and ran. The winded page could barely keep up.
“Untouched, all the high holy men agree. Untouched when the three you were riding with lie stricken, one dead… and yet you,” Vangerdahast said, spacing his words with menacing gentleness, “are… entirely.. untouched by the beast’s breath. I find that most curious. Would you not find that curious, Aunadar Bleth, if a man under your command came back unscathed from a fray with a poison-breathing beast that laid all of his companions low?”
“What are you saying?” the young noble snapped coldly, his face red with anger. He had been poked, prodded, and enspelled for the past several hours, and the strain and irritation shone on his face.
Alaphondar and the gaunt old war wizard across the room regarded him impassively. There were wands in both of their hands, and when Aunadar’s hand moved unconsciously toward the hilt of his sword, the tips of both wands lifted, to catch his eye, and twitched warningly.
The young man’s lips thinned as he set his mouth in a hard line, but his hand fell back to his side.
“What am I saying?” Vangerdahast’s voice was bitingly mild as he strolled back and forth, hands clasped behind his back. Aunadar’s eyes followed his progress. “I have, so far, said nothing. I merely ask. I ask you for your opinion, knowing my own already. But then, fat old men in robes never seem to have a high regard for the bravery and sword skills of swaggering youths, do they?”
Aunadar turned to face the wizard and snarled, “Enough of your insults, old man! I am a Bleth, not a lowborn dotard who happens to have a few wands and a title at court! I may not have taught the king everything he knows, but my father and his forebears have walked this land as long as the Obarskyrs! Few throughout all those long years ever dared to impugn their bravery!”
Aunadar’s blustering was met with only silence cold silence. When he, too, fell silent, his last shouted words fell like stones into an abyss, past eyes that were very gray with age this night, but as calm as if they belonged to a painting.
They belonged, in fact, to the Royal Magician of the realm, who said mildly, “As I recall, the Bleths have always been strong on old history and bearing grudges until full-fledged feuds are born. Since you mention longevity, let me inform you that I, lowborn commoner that I am, am descended from someone your tutors just may have acquainted you with: Baerauble Etharr. That means my ancestors have been treading the dirt of Cormyr longer than the noble sod has known the weight of either Obarskyr feet… or Bleth boots. Longevity, it seems, grants no special status.”
His tone changed from sadness to something with a little more thunder as he added, “Nor, as seems increasingly clear, does it have anything to do with loyalty.”
“Just what are you saying?” the young noble demanded, his rising voice making the challenge almost a plea.
The old wizard spread his hands. “I need to know-the crown needs to know-your loyalties in this affair.”
Their eyes locked in silence, and Vangerdahast added, “I need to know if I can trust the man who may be our next king or prince consort, depending on the decisions of Queen Filfaeril and the crown princess. I need to know if I should be aiding the man who can give true love and support to the heir apparent-or blasting him to ashes, that he have no more chance to bring the fair realm down into ruin.”
Aunadar Bleth licked suddenly dry lips and asked, “So what would you have me do?” His eyes were drawn to the moving hands and lips of the war wizard across the room. Halansalim was murmuring a spell… a magic that would, no doubt, tell him if a certain young noble was trifling with the truth.
There were suddenly beads of sweat on Aunadar’s handsome forehead. Vangerdahast eyed them but said nothing. Is there a noble in any realm lacking a few dire secrets best kept hidden?
“Swear fealty to the crown,” the court wizard said. “Oh, I know you knelt before Azoun and laid your sword at his feet. That holds, if our great king sits on the throne once more, and I shall then see that you are honored for this minor humiliation. But I need to know what is in your heart now.”
“I suppose the alternative,” Lord Bleth the Younger said with a trace of bitterness, his eyes darting to the watchful war wizard, “is to have my wits probed until they are torn apart by the loyal wizards of Cormyr?”
The Royal Magician nodded slowly in silence. Bleth went to one knee and said hoarsely, “I swear, then. By whatever words you want, and on anything you desire. I will be loyal to the crown of fair Cormyr, upon my life.”
The wizard raised one hand, and suddenly, without fanfare, there was a blade in it. The blade was a relic of days gone by, its broad and heavy blade incised with deep, angular runes. Bleth had never been so close to it before. He drew in his breath involuntarily at its power and beauty as Vangerdahast lowered the sword to his lips, hilt first.
“The blade I hold is Symylazarr, the Fount of Honor, upon which every leader of every noble house swears his or her fealty to the king. Kiss the dragon’s-head pommel and repeat the last sentence you uttered,” the old wizard said, and the other two men in the room took a single step forward in unison.
The young noble did as he was bade and added firmly, “Moreover, I pledge upon my honor to do whatever I can to help the Princess Tanalasta.”
Vangerdahast nodded gravely. “Well said.” With a wave, the ancient blade was gone again, as suddenly and as silently as it had appeared.
As he rose, the young noble seemed calm, composed, and almost regal, as if he’d been touched by some magic of the blade or the ritual itself. For the first time, he spoke to the wizard as an equal and an ally. “For my part,” he said anxiously, catching at Vangerdahast’s sleeve, “I am worried about Tanalasta and the future of the realm. Will she see what she should do? Will she rule well, or is it truly a challenge for someone else? And if-the good gods forbid-Azoun should die now, who will rule if the princess hesitates?”