The feasts and revels were rougher than the elegant court of Myth Drannor, but held a vitality lacking among the elves. The dances were reels and progressions, and what they lacked in organization, they made up for in enthusiasm. The mysterious mage, Baerauble’s pupil, stunning in her green gown with reddish hair wrapped with gold filigree, was a center of attention and danced with the noble sons and gossiped with the noble daughters. When those fine folk looked at her, their eyes held curiosity and just a touch of respect and fear.
She liked that very much-both the attention and the respect. Part of her told herself that it would fade in time, when she was no longer the Wonder of the North, when she truly took on responsibilities. But for the moment, her heart sailed on the winds of praise and adoration.
Then she noticed that Azoun was nowhere to be found. Of course he would want to dance with her, she reasoned. And all the other crowned heads were present, as well as the High Mage, so it wasn’t as if there were some affair of state to be tended to. She disengaged herself from a chatty young Turcassan who was extolling his virtues in bear-slaying and went looking for the handsome young prince.
She found him in the garden, in the gazebo. He was not alone.
They did not see her approach, but Amedahast got close enough to see the pair, she lying with her head in his lap, he dropping grapes into her overly reddened mouth. She was one of the lesser nobles, a debutante of the Bleth household perhaps. She wore a gown with a southern cut, low to the point of indecency and flaring at the hips. From his position above her, Azoun had a grand view of her charms.
Amedahast was close enough to hear them as well, the noble girl’s giggles and the young prince’s words. He was reciting poetry to her, dropping a grape into her open mouth at the end of each stanza.
It was elven poetry. Poetry that Amedahast had taught him. She realized she was trembling, though the night was quite mild.
Amedahast wheeled and headed back to the castle, where the warm lights beckoned and cries of celebration filled the evening air. She stopped at the doorway to raise her hands briefly to her face. No tears. At least that was something.
Yet her face told the tale as she entered the hallway. She nearly collided with an older noblewoman, of House Merendil, if her studies with the treacherous young Azoun had been correct. Azoun had described the ruling matron as a vengeful, petty old woman, and Amedahast vaguely recalled a story that she had caught Azoun stealing apples as a lad.
Now she thought about that story again. Lady Merendil had three daughters. Azoun had probably been caught with more than apples in his hands.
Lady Merendil shot a sudden, questioning glance at Amedahast, then looked out into the garden and smiled. “Ah, the young prince strikes again.”
Amedahast choked out her words, “Frankly, I don’t care what the ‘young prince’ strikes. Or whom.”
Lady Merendil laid a hand on Ainedahast’s shoulder. “You are not the first to have fallen to his charms, my dear. Did he let you think so? I am afraid he is like all the other Obarskyrs. Once their passions get involved, their common decency vanishes.”
Amedahast said nothing, and her ladyship steered her into a side alcove. She spoke in a low whisper. “I can see that you are hurt. You must understand that you are not the first in that respect. Azoun and his kind will continue to act in such a fashion until they are taught otherwise, much as a hound struck across the nose will think twice before stealing food from the pantry again.”
“He just makes me so-” Amedahast searched for the proper word “-so angry. I trusted him.” She began to feel the tears pool at the corners of her eyes, but she fought back the feeling of despair.
“Poor dear,” said her ladyship. “I know of a way to set the balance right. Are you interested?”
Amedahast thought for a moment, then nodded. He used poetry she’d taught him for his cheap conquests!
“I know of a group of foreign merchants. Let us call them the Steel Lords,” she said, smiling. “They have been hurt by some of King Anglond’s taxes and want to reopen negotiations. These Steel Lords think the king needs a message sent to him. I think young Azoun needs a lesson taught to him as well. Perhaps we can kill two birds with one stone.”
Amedahast said, “Kill? No, I-“
“Forgive me… a poor choice of words,” said Lady Merendil, her smile becoming beatific. “We are no longer savages here in Cormyr. The plan would be to capture the young prince and simply hold him for a few days, then let him go when the Steel Lords have their concessions. A simple transaction. And if it becomes clear that his wenching brought him to this pass, I’m sure His Majesty will keep Azoun on a shorter leash in the future.”
Amedahast was silent. Perhaps it would be good to throw a scare into him before he brought ruin on the good name of Obarskyr.
Merendil brought her face close to Amedahast’s. “Is there a time when he is alone? A place where he has few guards or watchers?”
Aniedahast thought. There were no guards whenever they met in the garden. Which meant…
Which meant the young fool had planned this from the start. It was no random meeting a month ago. She was just a petty dalliance until the noble season began.
There is no coincidence. First Law of Baerauble, indeed!
“We get together in the garden,” she blurted, “in back, at the gazebo. After his ride. Though I don’t know if he will ever be back now.”
Merendil smiled like the canary-consuming cat. “Excellent,” she hissed.
“He won’t be hurt at all?” Amedahast pleaded.
“Dear girl,” said Lady Merendil, “where would the fun be in that?” And with that, she glided off to rejoin the party.
After a few minutes spent composing herself, Amedahast rejoined the throng as well. Most of the young nobles had paired off, and only a few were still spinning on the dance floor. Most were along the perimeter, gathered in tight little knots of deep conversation.
She found Baerauble ensconced in a chair, trapped in conversation with one of the rotund elder Crownsilvers. His face almost brightened upon seeing his pupil. To the Crownsilver, he said, “You must pardon me, for my student needs to walk her master home.”
Crownsilver bowed and backed away. Amedahast helped the old wizard to his feet. He felt frail now, as if the life had gone out of him.
Once they were in the hallway outside their rooms, he said, “I thank you for rescuing me. If I had to hear Lord Crownsilver’s epic treatise on rebuilding Marsember one more time, I would go quite mad.” The old mage weaved a bit, and Amedahast smelled ale on his breath.
“My lord?” she ventured.
“Hmmmm?” was his reply.
“Have you ever served an evil king?” she asked. “I mean, a really bad and foul man?”
“Two separate questions,” slurred Baerauble. “Cormyr has been blessed never to have a truly evil king. Mad, yes. Insufficient, yes. Greedy, bad, violent, petty, yes, yes, yes, yes. And lust-driven… oh, my, yes. But the Obarskyrs have been blessed with never having an evil king. The elves did well when they let the Obarskyrs stay.”
“But if they were mad and violent and… lust-driven, why did you serve them?”
The old mage turned and regarded Amedahast. “I serve the crown, not the head it rests on. I have lived for over four hundred years, and in that time I have seen this nation grow from a single encampment to something worthwhile. And if continuing that achievement means doing my best in the face of adversity, so be it. We do not rule here, pupil. But we do protect, and that means protecting men whom we might otherwise judge weak or foolish, because there is always hope with the next generation. ‘Do what you can,’ I always have said, ‘and it will be enough.’”
They reached Baerauble’s quarters, and the old man bade her good night. Amedahast stood in the hallway for a long time. In another part of the keep, the dance continued, and high, spirited music wafted weakly, lacelike, down the halls. She listened to it for a moment and thought of foolish men and weak women.