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"We'll never have the opportunity to see what Zhentil Keep would do in that situation for we cannot-no, will not-wait for the Tuigan to arrive on our doorstep," King Azoun stated firmly. "If I have the support of the rest of Faerun's leaders, I'm going to stop Yamun Khahan long before he reaches us."

"And the guilds?" Dimswart asked.

Without pause, Vangerdahast replied, "We could toss the leaders of the Trappers' Guild into the tower until the crusade is over."

Azoun shook his head. "And make martyrs of them? Hardly." He glanced out of the open window again and added, "The guilds will simply have to follow my commands in this. There really is nothing they can do to stop me."

Dimswart and Vangerdahast knew from Azoun's voice that the discussion was over as far as the king was concerned. The tower room fell silent. Abruptly a sharp breeze from the open window carried the noise from the street to the tower and made the tapestries flutter on the wall. The air in the room, a little thick with the smell of the musty old books piled neatly near the window and the oiled wooden chess set over which Dimswart still fussed, lightened for an instant with a breath of sea air. If only for that moment, the tension in the room seemed to dissipate-until a loud rapping sounded at the lone entrance to the tower, a heavy, iron-braced trapdoor.

"Ah, that will be Winefiddle," Dimswart noted as he stood and moved quickly to unlock the entrance. The sage slid the bolt back noisily, then said, "Speak the password and enter," his foot planted firmly on the door.

"Don't be ridiculous," came the muffled response, followed by another loud thump on the oaken door. After a barely suppressed chuckle, the unseen man added, "I have a message for the king, Dimswart, so stop this nonsense and let me up. You'd think you were Vangerdahast, asking for a password."

The wizard cocked an eyebrow as Dimswart pulled open the door. Winefiddle, a rotund man with thinning brown hair and puffy red cheeks, shuffled up the stairs into the room. "You'd think I was-," he huffed as he climbed into the room. Then the fat man saw the royal wizard standing before him, his arms crossed, tapping his foot.

"Both you and Dimswart have succeeded in annoying Vangy this morning, Curate Winefiddle," Azoun noted as the priest faced the fuming mage. The quiet, happy cleric usually had a soothing effect upon the king, and that day was no exception. He forgot about the Tuigan and the crusade for a moment and smiled. "This is just like old times."

Vangerdahast snorted. "Yes, Your Highness, this rather is like the times you 'went adventuring' with these oafs. It's a wonder you all weren't killed any number of times."

"That we survived some of those adventures is due partly to you, Vangerdahast," Winefiddle said sincerely. He shifted the sack he carried to his left hand and wiped the sweat from his brow. "If you hadn't been so conscientious about following Azoun around, the King's Men would have perished any number of times." Noting the astounded look on the wizard's face, the cleric straightened his light blue tunic and headed for a comfortable chair on the other side of the room.

"You see, Vangy, someone appreciates you," Dimswart said, sitting back at the chessboard. "Even I admit that you saved our lives once or twice when we were tearing up the countryside as the King's Men."

The room was silent again for a moment as all four of them dusted off memories of the King's Men. Dimswart, then a mage of little renown, and Winefiddle, a novice in the temple of Tymora, the Goddess of Good Fortune, had formed the group, eager as they were to seek fame and fortune in the wilder parts of Cormyr. They were soon joined by other Cormyrian adventurers, including a highly skilled swordsman who called himself Balin. In reality, this noble cavalier was young Prince Azoun.

The prince had no trouble keeping Balin's true identity a secret from the world at large. Few people knew what Azoun looked like, and even fewer expected him to be roaming the countryside with a troupe of minor adventurers. After two or three months, though, the young cavalier revealed his identity to the group. Dimswart had uncovered the prince's secret after their first adventure together, proving himself to be a noteworthy sleuth even then. Winefiddle and the others were astounded at the revelation. This information changed little, however, as the King's Men were more interested in saving damsels from ogres than getting mixed up in Cormyrian politics.

And that went double for Azoun himself. Riding with Dimswart, Winefiddle, and the three other members of the group gave the prince a chance to escape the pressures of life in the castle. Vangerdahast covered for Azoun whenever possible, telling King Rhigaerd that his son was on an expedition to a distant shrine or library. Frequently the royal tutor would furnish an excuse to the king, then go hunting for the boy himself. He often found the would-be heroes in dire straits.

"Remember the time we stumbled upon that goblin camp in the mountains near High Horn," Azoun said with a chuckle. "They were sure we were spies-"

"And then they decided that Winefiddle was a cleric of some terrible, evil elemental god," Dimswart added, smirking at the rotund curate. "Just because a rock tumbled off a cliff and hit one of them as it tried to grab him."

Winefiddle frowned weakly. "You're both lucky they thought that, too. The beasts made short work of both of you before they tried to grab me. Those horrible little things were ready to kill us all." He rubbed his stomach. "I still have a scar where one of them prodded me with a spear."

The cleric paused, toying with the plain silver disk that hung around his neck. Talking about danger or even discomfort made Winefiddle nervous. He, for one, did not miss his life as an adventurer. "And if Vangerdahast hadn't come along when he did," the curate added, "they might have killed us anyway. I was getting tired of acting like an elemental lord."

The royal wizard nodded slowly as a reply, then sat down at the chessboard, across from the gray-haired sage. "The curate's right, you know. You're all very lucky not to have been eaten by any one of those monsters you pestered."

The comment stung Azoun like the flick of a whip. "We did far more than 'pester' creatures, Vangy," he said hotly. "The King's Men did some good in the short time they were around."

The king paused, as if daring someone to disagree. He knew that none of his friends would think of it, however. "What about that caravan we saved from the hill giants in the mountains west of here? Or the children we rescued from the zombies that raided that farm outside of Tyrluk?"

"They were fine adventures, Azoun, weren't they?" the royal magician stated more than asked.

King Azoun recognized the wizard's bait and responded to Vangerdahast's real question. "They were, Vangy… but I don't think the crusade will be an adventure at all, and that's certainly not why I'm organizing it."

"Are you so sure of that?" the wizard asked softly.

Azoun did not answer, and resumed pacing instead. Vangerdahast sat, drumming his fingers on the chessboard, while Dimswart and Winefiddle exchanged concerned glances.

Then the curate's eyes grew wide, and he leaped out of his seat. "The message!" he cried. "I almost forgot about it!"

Winefiddle noisily dug through his sack. "One of the pages gave it to me when he saw that I was coming to see you up in the tower." Wine bottles clinked together, papers and scrolls rustled, and loose coins clattered against everything else in the rough brown bag. "Here it is!" he exclaimed at last.