“-in which the laws are more just, and the gauntlet of authority lighter!”
“Good, good,” the Royal Magician said encouragingly, leaning forward to put a hand on the Blue Maiden’s knee in quickening excitement. “And how will we reach this better, brighter realm?”
“‘Tis a swift and simple thing,” Ondrin said, watery eyes alight. “You, as regent, turn over control of the local Purple Dragon detachments all across the realm to the nobles whose lands they patrol. Then name a king-get someone to marry Tanalasta, I’ll put myself forward if she hasn’t been promised to someone already-and call the first true council in Cormyr’s history The king can only rule as far as the nobles-by vote, one vote per holding-say he shall, so that we, the nobility, will hold the true power in Cormyr.”
“You interest me,” Vangerdahast said, dropping his own voice to an excited murmur and glancing around to be sure the maiden hadn’t lowered her head to watch them, “but say on. You know how hidebound the old families are. I’ll need to speak strongly to persuade them to do anything that so weakens the crown. How does Cormyr profit by a council of nobles having a say over the king?”
Ondrin leaned forward until his ornate pin clanked against the maiden’s plinth. “Nobles, new and old, are always short of money. However much one has, there’s never enough-do you know how much servants eat?- and so no noble, once his pride is set at rest by knowing his votes are just as good as those of any other noble, with the old royalblood pecking order swept away and no king hurling absolute decrees about, is going to act in any way that hurts his coffers. We’ll govern to enrich ourselves, and so enrich everyone, as they do in Sembia, except that we’ll have some control over our realm and can act together to keep Cormyr strong!”
Vangerdahast was nodding like an old man over one tankard too many. “Your words are fair indeed, Lord Dracohorn. I think we can ride together on this, taking Cormyr to brighter days, indeed. But I’ll need your help to do it.”
“Yes?”
“You are the only man in the realm with broad enough influence to give me the support I need. The princesses-both of them, but in particular Crown Princess Tanalasta-are violently opposed to any regency, and in particular to me. They view me as some sort of spider who tugged their father this way and that, and they want me in my tomb, not standing beside the Dragon Throne. The only folk standing between the Purple Dragons they can hurl at me and my paltry spells-oh, I can topple a tower or two, but not whole armies!-are the nobles. The nobles listen to you, from one end of this realm to another. So I need you. Cormyr needs you.”
“Say on!” Ondrin Dracohorn had practically climbed up onto the maiden’s lap in his eagerness.
“Well,” Vangerdahast said slowly, “you and all the realm have heard tales about the scheming Royal Magician… about how I manipulate the king to do this and his courtiers to do that, using my war wizards when I have to. Everyone talks about the way I run Cormyr from the shadows behind the throne… and mostly they grumble about it.” He leaned forward until his nose was almost touching Ondrin’s and added, “So, knowing that about me, would you consider supporting me for the regency, to win a brighter future for Cormyr, free of the ever-present Obarskyr philandering? We’ve seen Azoun in half the bedchambers of the land, and he’s not the first, let me tell you. Do we really want to see his daughters doing the same and have to dance to their every amorous whim?”
Ondrin’s face grew serious. “Openly support you as regent against the wishes of the princesses?”
“Yes,” the wizard said. “I need you to do that, or I’ll have to flee the realm soon, and without me, your dream of a council of nobles can never be more than that: a splendid but windblown fancy.”
“I-I ache to say yes,” Ondrin whispered, drawing himself up. “And yet I dare not do so yet. First I must sound out some of my noble friends-in strict confidence, of course, and saying nothing of our meeting or your personal feelings at all-to be sure that enough of us are ready for such a brave change… or our necks may be on the block before our behinds ever find a council seat.”
“Well said,” Vangerdahast agreed, stroking his beard. “Go and see where the nobles stand, then, and we’ll meet again when you send word to me.” He grinned and shook his head. “Gods, Dracohorn, but this plan of yours shines brightly!”
“Doesn’t it, though!” Ondrin almost shouted, then shrank down and clapped a hand over his mouth, looking scared.
“Have no fear,” the Royal Magician said swiftly. “Nothing has disturbed my wards, but you’d best go while they still last. I can keep you cloaked until you reach the Lion Cellar. Go through the back of the third cask, mind, the fourth leads straight into a guardpost!”
“Yes,” Dracohorn agreed, eyes ablaze again. “Away now, to rescue Cormyr on a bright day soon!”
“Indeed,” Vangerdahast agreed, lifting the lid that covered the top of the shaft. Ondrin sketched a dramatic salute-which the wizard matched, moving his hands grandly-and hurriedly started down the ladder.
The Royal Magician watched him descend, hoping the fool wouldn’t miss his grip on a rung and fall. When the noble was safely out of sight, he let his mage light fade and patted the Blue Maiden affectionately. “Good girl! Thanks for the loan of your parlor again.” Smiling grimly, he started down the shaft himself. As sure as the sun would set this night, Ondrin was one of the biggest loose tongues in the kingdom, word of this oh-so-secret meeting was sure to spread rapidly.
Chapter 14: The Pupil
Year of the Leaping Hare (376 DR)
“Moriann, Tharyann, Boldovar the Mad, Gantharla, Iltharl…”
The elder wizard clicked his tongue at her.
“Moriann, Tharyann, Boldovar the Mad, Ilthan, Gantharla, Roderin the Bastard, Thargreve…”
“Which Thargreve?” interrupted Baerauble.
“Thargreve the Lesser,” spat Amedahast, and the older wizard nodded, allowing her to continue through the catechism of royal heads of Cormyr.
Baerauble was a teacher of the rote-and-repetition school, whether the subject was history or spell theory. Amedahast hated it. The crowned heads. The noble families. The lands about the Sea of Fallen Stars, past and present. The dead and dry tales of the Cormyrean legend. All the detritus that must be learned for her to serve as his scribe and apprentice in the court of King Anglond.
Baerauble needed a scribe these days. The wizard was skeleton-thin now, and his head was as smooth as glass. The only hair he had left consisted of a few long, white strands that marked where his beard and eyebrows had once been. He needed a gnarled staff to walk, had to be carried by chair from place to place, and was severely taxed by spellcastings. He needed at least an assistant, and at best an heir. Cormyr had always had its High Wizard and would need a new one in days not long to come.
That would be Amedahast, summoned from distant Myth Drannor at Baerauble’s request. The young woman had Baerauble’s blood in her, that much was certain. She was lean in form and sharp-featured in face, her light red-blonde hair gathered in an ornate, ordered braid halfway down her back.
She claimed Baerauble’s mantle through his mating with the elven ancestor of the family line, Alea Dahast. There would be a tale she’d want to hear, of elf and human falling in love on first sight, and a life of adventures during which they’d saved each other’s lives time after time. Not this droning repetition of facts and lists.
“To serve Cormyr, you must understand Cormyr,” said the elder wizard hoarsely. “Facts are merely tools and must be familiar to be utilized effectively.”
Amedahast was fully human, the result of many years of mortal blood watering down her elven ancestry. Even so, she had a fey, dangerous look about her, a look that she hoped would make her look even more dangerous among these rustics than she truly was. One lesson that Baerauble did not have to teach her was that if you looked like a tough fight, you did not have to be a tough fighter.