The king sat on a table's edge, studying the tapestry that hung at the end of the hall. He had stood in front of the hanging for the entire meeting, but only now considered the backdrop from the assembly's perspective.
Woven from threads of gold, silver, and other precious metals, the tapestry depicted the continent of Faerun, with Cormyr purposefully prominent at its center. Around the hanging's edge, the artist had placed renderings of Cormyr's kings from the last thousand years. Azoun saw his forefathers, from Pryntaler to his own father, Rhigaerd II, staring emotionlessly at him from the wall.
"My father had them leave Salember, 'the Rebel Prince,' off the tapestry, even though he ruled the country for almost eleven years," Azoun said absently.
Vangerdahast took a seat behind the king. "If Salember had been the victor of the civil war, your father wouldn't be on the tapestry and I daresay you probably wouldn't be alive."
Azoun frowned, thinking about all he knew of Salember's reign. "He wasn't a bad ruler, Vangy-Salember, I mean-and some say he had a right to the throne."
"Why bring this up now?"
Shifting to face his advisor, Azoun mulled over a thought for a moment, then said, "I wonder how my ancestors will portray me, Vangy. I've been a good king, but I could do something so wrong that all my good deeds would be forgotten. Salember forces me to remember that."
" 'You will make history,' " the wizard quoted from his old lessons to, then, Prince Azoun, " 'but history can unmake you.'"
Azoun laughed and nodded. "What will history say about the council today?"
Raggedly Vangerdahast sighed and drummed his fingers on his not inconsiderable paunch. "You controlled it as best you could, I suppose."
"If that's the best you can say, we're in sorry shape."
The wizard rubbed his eyes and started to add something, then stopped. In actuality, Vangerdahast wasn't quite sure what to think of the meeting. He settled for a noncommittal reply. "At least your nobles followed your lead."
Azoun was quick to pick up the hesitancy in his advisor's responses. "As we expected," he noted as he studied Vangerdahast's face for some clue as to his true opinion. "But what about Sembia, or, more to the point, the Dales?"
The wizard shrugged. "We got what we could from Yarmmaster and Sembia. Their army is so small it has trouble keeping the peace at home, so we shouldn't expect anything other than financial support."
"I'm still not all that comfortable with hiring mercenaries, Vangy."
"You have no choice," the wizard replied. "At least Sembia will pay for some of them."
"And the Dales?"
"Not even a witch from Rashemen could predict what they will do," Vangerdahast said flatly. "It mostly depends on your meeting with the Zhentish delegate two days from now." The wizard paused and stood up. "Even if you do get Zhentish support, you're going to have trouble placing the dalesmen in the army."
"Ah, Mourngrym's ridiculous demand for dalesmen leading themselves."
"Ridiculous?" Vangerdahast repeated, his eyes wide with surprise.
Azoun nodded, wondering why his friend was taken aback by his comment. "I'll not have anyone undermining my command of these forces, Vangy. For us to succeed, there must be one clear leader on the expedition."
"You're being inflexible."
"Not inflexible, Vangy. I'm right. Military history shows that-"
Vangerdahast threw his arms into the air and looked up at the ceiling. "One minute you're damning fickle historians and the next you're basing your army's organization upon their advice."
Azoun scowled and crossed his arms over his chest. "I find good advice where I can."
"No, Azoun," Vangerdahast began, then shook his head. "It's just like Alusair used to-"
All the color drained from the king's face at the mention of his youngest daughter. Vangerdahast saw the pained expression that took hold of his friend and instantly regretted the slip. The princess's opinion of her father's stubbornness was, however, a very valid point to bring up.
It was Azoun's inflexibility that caused his conflict with Alusair. No one really believed that it was entirely the king's fault his daughter had run away four years past, for Alusair was as headstrong and willful as her father was sure that she had a duty to the state. Still, if Azoun hadn't pressed her to abandon her desire to see the rest of the world before settling down to a life of royal responsibility, she wouldn't have fled. And though Azoun had offered a generous reward for her return, Alusair remained hidden from even Vangerdahast's considerable magical talent.
All these facts, and more personal things, raced through Azoun's mind. Vangerdahast bowed his head and mumbled, "I'm sorry, Azoun."
The king closed his eyes for a moment and banished the memories as best he could. "As I was saying," he began dully, trying to avoid the topic altogether, "it is important that one person be recognized as the crusade's leader. For this venture to be successful, we need to dissuade our soldiers of their national loyalties. We should fight as one, and this means Mourngrym's demand for dalesmen leading dalesmen is utterly impossible."
"Have you even considered letting another man lead the crusade?" Vangerdahast asked quietly.
"Cormyr is committing the most troops," replied Azoun sharply. "Are you willing to give them over to another leader?"
"That depends upon who stepped forward," Vangerdahast said, though there was little conviction in his voice. His spirit still muffled by his painful error, the wizard meekly returned to his seat.
"Who, Vangy? Mourngrym, perhaps? How about the Sembians' mercenaries? Would they have my training in strategy? How about that hotheaded general from Battledale-Elventree?" The king hammered the table with a fist, anger roiling inside of him. "I am the only one to lead this crusade. I am the best trained. I-"
Azoun ran a hand through his beard and straightened the scabbard at his side. When he spoke again, Vangerdahast heard the cold resolve in his voice. "I know that I'm fighting for what's right. I fight for Cormyr and for Faerun, not for myself."
A deeper sadness took hold of the royal magician as he realized that Azoun was correct. There was no other ruler in Faerun better suited for the crusade, no one who could muster as many troops or lead them against the Tuigan with as much zeal. The wizard pushed himself up from the table and headed toward the door.
Azoun moved to Vangerdahast's side, putting a hand on his shoulder. "I want you to see that I'm right," the king said softly.
"Your Highness knows this matter best. As your servant, I will support you in any way I can."
Vangerdahast heard Azoun's sigh. "And as my friend?"
The wizard gazed deep into the king's oak-brown eyes. "As your friend I am sorry that you are the best man to lead the army against the horsewarriors."
"Then that will have to do," Azoun said. He took his hand off Vangerdahast's shoulder. The wizard turned and exited the room, leaving the king alone to study the faces on the tapestry once more.
"Sure flights! Razor points!"
The fletcher's cry rang out over the marketplace. Other wandering sellers called, "Nice red apples!" or "Boots mended! Leather repaired!" The fletcher's call, borne by his deep, resonant voice, carried over these and other noises.
"Sure flights! Razor points! Buy your arrows from John the Fletcher! Only the best from Razor John!" Pausing a moment to settle the heavy cart in his hands, John the Fletcher took in the sights and sounds of Suzail's market.
It was a beautiful morning. Winter was finally loosing its grip on Cormyr, and the sun shone brightly in the cloudless azure sky. The nights were still chilly, of course, but the days were getting more and more pleasant all the time. The nice weather brought people out to the market, so merchants and shoppers now crowded the open area reserved for tradesmen like John. A few permanent tents and stalls dotted the dusty expanse, but the place was mostly packed with small-time sellers and farmers. Shoppers bustled from one stall to the next. Cooks frowned at unripe imported fruits and vegetables, and merchants smiled endearingly, trying to lure people toward their goods. Ham and beef and other, more exotic meats roasted over small fires, sending tempting smells and black, greasy smoke twisting into the air. Pack animals brayed, gulls screamed overhead, and people jabbered and bartered, creating a steady, roaring hum that would hang over the square until the sun set.