Had Jorunhast brought the conspirators here for sentencing and punishment? He should have teleported them directly to the deepest dungeon instead.
The wizard looked haggard and worn, as if he had spent the last three nights sleeping in roadside hedges. His shoulders were slumped with age and care. The battles had taken their toll on him as well. “You are here at last,” he said. “We must end this, and end it now.”
The old wizard stepped down from the dais and positioned himself to one side, between the king and the rebellious prince. The wizard wanted a parley, then. For all the good that would do.
“Greetings, Uncle,” said Rhigaerd, his young face struggling to look somber and serious.
“And to you, Nephew,” said the king. “You have come to your father’s house to surrender yourselves and end this bloody folly?”
“I have come to my father’s house, yes,” said the Prince, “and I seek to end this folly. But I am not here to surrender, but to talk.”
Jorunhast put in, “I convinced Rhigaerd to seek peace with you. We have come from a bloody battle near Wheloon, where the Red and Purple factions beat each other to corpses thick upon the ground… to no resolution.”
“If we continue this bloodshed, there will soon he no Cormyr to rule,” Rhigaerd added. “Already the Sembians are making restless noises about protecting trade. And agents of the Black Network and the Thayvian wizards cross our borders freely. This must end.”
“Agreed,” Salember replied coolly. “I am willing to accept your surrender. Your men will be spared. You, of course, will have to accept exile in Waterdeep or the Dalelands.”
The young prince’s face reddened, and he sputtered a curse. Behind him, Damia placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, and he collected himself. “Surrender my throne?” he said at last.
“Your throne?” mocked Salember. “Nay, may I remind you who has guided this country through nine years of peace? Who has sacrificed his own life for the good of the nation? Who has spent all his waking hours of time and energy living up to the Obarskyr name? The same hours of your youth that were spent hunting, adventuring, and gallivanting about, while I have done the real work. Do you think I’d entrust this great realm to an untried child?”
Salember’s face had turned beet-red by now, and the king felt the fire of renewed energy rising up within him. No pup of an upstart was going to waltz in and steal the crown from him without a fight!
Rhigaerd said, “The Obarskyr line has always passed to the oldest suitable direct male candidate. There have been exceptions, and Obarskyr queens have ruled when no male has been available. For nine years, there has been no child of Azoun the Third suitable. Now there is.”
“And now you expect to gain a full kingdom as if it were a present for your seventeenth birthday?” snarled Salember.
Rhigaerd’s face reddened again, but he held his voice calm. “While you were secure here in the castle with your account books and courtiers and your petty intrigues, I was out in the land itself. You call it gallivanting, but I see it as learning about my country. I have hunted in the King’s Forest and drunk deep with the soldiers of High Horn. I have dug the good ground with farmers, spoken with smugglers, fought brigands and goblins, learned language from wandering elves, and my accounts from visiting Sembians.”
“A well-spent youth,” snapped the king.
“I know my people and my land. I am ready to take on my father’s burden,” finished the young prince. “I do not want to fight you for it, but fight I have, and will. Do not, I entreat you, divide our people more than they already have been.”
“A pretty speech,” Salember spat. “Did Lady Damia help you? No, young nephew, you have insufficient knowledge of court politics. The courtiers would eat you alive.”
“From the looks of things, it is the courtiers who were eaten alive in this castle,” Rhigaerd drawled. “Or fled to our camps, or hid themselves until we two could come to agreement.”
Lady Damia put in, “We thought, Lord Salember, of recognizing your wisdom with a continued advisory role for you, perhaps a barony or dukedom of the kingdom.”
“I should surrender the crown to a child for a handful of crumbs and a smattering of titles?” Salember snarled, the fire coiling like a serpent in his belly.
“I admit your experience would be invaluable in-” Rhigaerd began.
Salember cut him off. “In cleaning up after your mistakes, Nephew? In supporting you as king? In doing all the work and gaining none of the credit?”
“It does not have to be immediate, Uncle,” said Rhigaerd calmly. “Three more years of regency, then a smooth changeover.”
“No!” Salember shouted. “You will get the crown only when I have no earthly need for it! Surrender to me here and now, young prince. If you truly love this country as you profess, prove it!”
Rhigaerd’s eyes blazed with anger. “I do love the Forest Kingdom,” he said, voice rising, “and honor my ancestors. Yet, Uncle, you must step down. Can’t you hear the sounds of men dying? The sounds of the realm ripping itself apart? We cannot survive with two kings, one rightful and one temporary.”
“Agreed!” shouted Salember and turned to Jorunhast. “Kill them, wizard!”
Silence wrapped the four of them like a cloak, the echoes of Salember’s orders rebounding from the walls like ripples of water.
Jorunhast looked at the king stonily. “Excuse me?”
“Kill them!” bellowed the king. “Kill them now! This is our best chance to end all of this destructive nonsense-now!”
“Prince Rhigaerd came here on my assurance of personal safety, Sire,” the mage said calmly. Rhigaerd moved to stand in front of Lady Damia, and his hand drifted to the hilt of his peace-bonded blade.
Salember’s eyes burned with fury, and his own hand now rested on Orblyn. “I am your king, and I demand your obedience! Kill the pair of them! A snake without its head cannot long survive!”
Jorunhast looked at the young noble and pregnant noblewoman on the dais, then back at the king. Salember’s face was a mask of rage now, spittle flying as he shouted.
Jorunhast looked at his king and said simply, “No.”
Salember’s face was as crimson as a red dragon’s now, the fire surging through him. “I found Baerauble’s records, mage! The elves have forced your kind to serve the crown. You must follow my orders! You must deal with the threat to the crown! Kill them!”
Jorunhast blinked at the raging king and said quietly, “Sainted Baerauble was forced to serve the crown, yes. Amedahast, Thanderahast, and I-we served through choice and through loyalty. Loyalty to the crown, but also to the king and the people and the country itself. Let it end here, Sire. Even Iltharl the Insufficient knew when to step aside…”
Salember was no longer listening, for the fire pounded in his temples and his ears, and in his heart something snapped loose from its moorings and catapulted him to action.
With an incoherent scream the Red Dragon King pulled the blade of King Duar from his belt and charged the pair on the dais.
Jorunhast stepped forward as the king charged and whipped out a massive hand, grabbing Salember’s face with widely splayed fingers. The mage barked a few ancient words, and a tomblike carrion smell swirled through the chamber. He let go of his king.
Salember stumbled forward a half-step and fell to the floor, Orblyn skittering away on the flagstones in one direction, Palaghard’s gaudy crown in the other. The carrion stench returned again, and this time Salember’s tattered scream was borne on the whispering wind.
Rhigaerd bolted down the dais stairs and knelt by the king’s body. “He’s dead.”
“Aye,” said Jorunhast softly. “I had to deal with the threat to the crown.” The mage held his arms before him, hands interlocked in the opposing sleeves, as if hesitant to show the deadly weapons again.
“The king is dead,” said Damia Truesilver.