Rhodes Marliir nodded. “I so swear on my noble name and my loyalty to House Obarskyr and Cormyr. And so let me hear you swear that you will protect Marsember.”
“More than that,” the wizard replied. “Dhalmass would have looked upon Marsember as an irritant removed, but in the end no more than another trinket of conquest, to be forgotten after it is acquired. Palaghard, or rather King Palaghard the Second, is a more thoughtful man. I think it will be easy to convince him to improve upon his late father’s acquisition, to bring in stone and new construction. I swear I will move him in that direction. Agreed?”
“Royal Magician,” Rhodes said softly, “you have yourself a deal. I will be true to this, before all the gods you care to summon.”
Jorunhast clucked disapprovingly. “God summonings? I leave that sort of truly dangerous nonsense to young nobles. Folk think them strange, you know.”
Rhodes chuckled helplessly.
Jorunhast scowled at him. “Stand still,” he said, “or I’ll have to shock you senseless and put you in bed with Dhalmass, there, to try to get you into his likeness!”
The young noble stood very still. The wizard peered at him and set to work, slowly cloaking Marliir with the seeming of the king. When the last spell was done, Rhodes examined himself in a cracked mirror and then looked down at what lay on the bed. The match was perfect, rendered by an expert who’d known the original subject from birth.
“Don’t talk while you’re on the road, for that I cannot fix now,” said the Royal Magician. “Limit it to grunts. That was about the level of the king’s speech when he was drunk, in any event.”
“One last thing,” said the “king” with Marliir’s voice. “Are you going to do this same magic for the queen?”
Jorunhast paused. “I suppose so. I’ll recruit some serving girl for the impersonation. Someone of strong will, like yourself. Many of the court know of the queen’s illness, but almost none of her death.”
“One of the queen’s servants would be missed,” said Rhodes.
“You have a suggestion?” asked the wizard.
Rhodes looked out the door. Following his gaze, Jorunhast saw the dusky-skinned woman. She was still sitting there, eyes and ears open, and had been watching them, not daring to make any sound by moving. Her eyes were very large and dark.
“Lass,” Jorunhast said, “know that I am the Royal Magician of Cormyr, and hold the power in my hands to cook dragons to ashes.” He raised one of his hands meaningfully and added with a smile, “On the other hand, I also have the power to transform young wenches into queens…”
It took only a little coaxing to convince the young woman to throw in with the plan, given the choice between horrible death-now or at any time in the future, if she spoke out-and nobility, a manor house full of fine gowns, with good food in plenty, servants, a swan pond, and the ear of the Royal Magician to pursue any interests that might come to her. To say nothing of a husband, if she could see eye to eye with the darkly handsome young man she’d seen change into the king before her eyes. She looked at him now and frowned.
“Strip,” she told Rhodes calmly, “and put on all the things he tossed around the room. You’re the king now, and none of what you’re wearing fits.”
Looking down, the young noble saw that she was right. His clothes and dagger went onto a sheet, and the body of Dhalmass was rolled onto it and then wrapped up in a tight bundle. The wizard glanced around the room, nodded, and made a quick, intricate gesture.
He, the shrouded corpse, and the girl began to glow with a soft radiance.
“One last thing,” he said as the glow spread and gained strength. “Dhalmass was well loved in Arabel. You might consider putting up a statue for him.”
“When I hear of improvements in Marsember, I shall,” the young noble replied tartly, then grinned in real pleasure for the first time he could remember.
The radiance rose to blinding intensity, and then abruptly faded, leaving him alone in the upstairs apartment.
Marliir checked the room over for any fallen royal jewelry or other evidence they might have overlooked that would tell a nosy Cormyrean that his king had been here-and died here. He found nothing.
The temporary king closed the door on the squalor of the room where Dhalmass had died and headed down the stairs. The king had been-well, was-a taller man than he, and it was more difficult than he’d thought it would be to maneuver his new body down to street level. Fortunately, Rhodes thought, the original King had been drunk, a few staggers would be forgiven.
He met the other girl, the blonde, at the doorway. She was creeping timidly back in to see if the drunken monarch had truly died in her arms, and she nearly leapt out of her skin when confronted with His Majesty, hale and hearty, seeming none the worse for wear.
Marliir kissed her gently on the forehead, then winked and weaved off into the city, on his way back to the official royal residence at Marliir House. There’d be other lasses to kiss on his journey. If he did this properly, many eyes would see and remember King Dhalmass this evening, and in the morning he and his queen would board the coach to take them back to Suzail. And in a week’s time, there would be mourning across an entire realm for the fallen crowned heads of Cormyr-and a new noble lord and lady sitting at ease by a swan pond in Arabel.
Chapter 27: Deals
Year of the Gauntlet (1369 DR)
The old nobleman finished speaking and fixed the wizard with a level eye, trying to determine if the wizard had truly been listening.
“Legitimate concerns,” Vangerdahast repeated the old noble’s words gravely, nodding-and meant it.
Albaerin Dauntinghorn had a remarkable skill for seeing clearly through dishonesty, deliberately obtuse courtly phrases, and misleading impressions.
Unfortunately, that’s precisely what the Royal Magician of Cormyr did not need right now. He was going to have a lot of hasty and hardy work ahead of him as it was to keep the court from becoming a graveyard of nobles wearing daggers in their ribs over the next tenday or so. The nascent factions seeking to remake Cormyr had their respective bits between their teeth and were starting to pull on the realm trapped between them. The image of Cormyr as the helpless victim being torn apart between four horses was all too painfully accurate just now.
Vangerdahast gave old Albaerin his best confident smile and told him, “You have my word that, if I am named regent, I will bring the matters you raise before the open court and see that they’re dealt with directly, rather than festering unattended through the months ahead.”
They exchanged the curt nods of old, wise equals who dealt with each other in mutual respect, then parted. The court wizard turned along the Hall of Honor, where the names of common soldiers who had died valiantly in the service of the realm were graven on the stones of the wall, and headed for Gemstars Hall, where there were bound to be some nobles muttering together about the dark future of Cormyr. It was time to fill a few more gullible heads with promises of what could be theirs if a certain wizard were made regent.
He was halfway there when a page in the tabard of palace service hurried up to him, bowed, and said in a voice sharp with excitement, “Revered lord, Lord Aunadar Bleth would speak with you in the Flamedance Hall at your earliest convenience. He says the matter is of utmost urgency to the security of the realm.”
“Of course it is,” Vangerdahast said, almost soothingly, and added, inclining his head in dismissal, “My thanks. I shall attend Lord Bleth directly. If you have been charged to bring him a reply, you may inform him so. If not, spare yourself the run, I shall not keep him waiting long.”