The wizard nodded. "If Cormyr had been attacked by a troop of creatures from the Realm of the Dead, horsemen eating up territory on the other side of the continent wouldn't be our priority right now, either."
" 'The gods save men from some disasters only to thrust them into the middle of others.' " The king opened a dark wooden chest and took out a ceremonial sword. "Isn't that how the old saying goes?"
The heavy, earthy smell of pine wafted from the open trunk. Azoun inhaled deeply, soaking in the familiar, comforting scent. He closed his eyes for an instant and let the tension flow from his neck, then his arms, then his back. When he opened his eyes again, Vangerdahast was looking at him curiously.
"Nervous, Your Highness?"
"This is a very important meeting, Vangy. I can save hundreds, perhaps even thousands of lives if I-sorry, we-can persuade the people to our plans."
"This crusade is your plan, Azoun, not mine."
The king smiled warmly. "I know that you don't think a strike against the khahan is important, Vangy, but you've been invaluable to me in the last tenday. A few of the dalelords are here only from your prompting. I appreciate your aid."
"You're wrong about one thing, Azoun. I do believe that the campaign to stop the Tuigan is necessary. The khahan is a bloodthirsty savage intent on destroying as much as he can in as short a time as possible. The frightening old woman here to represent Rashemen at the meeting convinced me of that."
As Azoun turned to face the wizard, he couldn't hide his surprise. "If you agree that the crusade is necessary, why don't you agree with my plans?"
"Because I don't think you're the right person to lead the armies." The wizard raised his hand before Azoun could respond. "Not that I think you incapable of commanding the troops or making sound decisions… I just don't know if you realize what you're getting into."
A puzzled look replaced the shock on the king's face. "Why help me further my plans at all, Vangy?"
"I am, above all, your servant." The wizard bowed his head formally.
"Not friend?"
Vangerdahast was gathering the scattered stack of letters. He paused and studied the king. "Yes. Friend, too." The wizard fumbled with the stiff papers, then added, "But in the matter of the crusade, I will be of more aid to you as a servant of the crown."
The king strapped on the brightly gilded scabbard. "And why is that?"
"As your obedient subject, I will organize the crusade." The wizard stuffed the papers into a worn leather satchel, considering how to word the rest of his reply. After a moment, he concluded, "As your friend, I'd try to stop you from making what I see as a grave mistake."
Azoun shook his head. "I don't understand how can you separate your allegiances. I can only do what I think is right. And what's right is always right. The situation shouldn't have any bearing on it."
Anger clouded the wizard's features. He dropped the satchel onto the table, then quickly moved to the king's side and pulled the ceremonial sword from its scabbard. "You've been in battles before, Azoun, but never in a war. Charging into combat by yourself to face an ogre just isn't the same as leading thousands of men onto a battlefield."
The wizard slashed at the air angrily with the ornate weapon. "And you've grown more accustomed to ceremonial blades than real ones, Your Highness."
Azoun was more surprised by the anger in the wizard's voice than his actions. He gently took the saber from his friend's hands and replaced it at his side. "I know far more about warfare than you, Vangy. I've stood against enemies who should have beaten me, creatures that might have killed me with a single, bloody swipe. Perhaps-"
"That was more than twenty years ago," Vangerdahast interrupted. "Look in the mirror. You're not a young man anymore."
The silver-backed, full length mirror that stood in one corner of the room was an expensive rarity in Cormyr, but the king really wasn't concerned with the mirror's pure glass or the intricately wrought wooden frame. What caught Azoun's attention was the middle-aged man he saw reflected in the looking glass. His earth-brown eyes still gazed alertly back at him, but the king saw that the rest of his face and frame was showing the wear of his fifty-three years.
The most noticeable signs of aging visible to the king were the streaks of silver in his brown hair and beard. Azoun had been graying for much of the last twenty years, though, so that wasn't a surprise. Today, however, the creases around his eyes looked deeper, the bags under them a little darker, his cheeks more hollow and sunken. Although he exercised every day with sword and shield, the king's shoulders were bent, no doubt from the hours he spent poring over books or decrees in his study or the tower room. The king dismissed those things and decided that he was tired after the long nights of planning he'd gone through recently.
"Perhaps I am a bit worn down," he said brightly, "and I know that I'm no longer a young man… but I'm more experienced now than I ever was when traveling with the King's Men. Besides, I'm willing to gather strong, intelligent advisors about me."
The wizard didn't respond to the obvious compliment. "The dalelords will probably be waiting downstairs by now, and the others will be arriving shortly."
"Then you should make sure that the 'frightening old woman' from Rashemen is ready to address them," Azoun told Vangerdahast. He glanced into the mirror once more and straightened the ceremonial purple sash across his chest.
"You can joke about that woman because you haven't had to spend much time with her, listening to her tales about the Tuigan invading her land," the wizard said, picking up his satchel and opening the door. "I'll see you in the meeting hall in a few moments," he added as he left the room.
The king stared at the closed wooden door for a moment, not really seeing anything. He considered what Vangerdahast had said about his inexperience, then frowned. The wizard was right: He had seen battles, but never a war. Cormyr had been at peace, apart from a few border skirmishes, for his entire life.
Spinning abruptly on the toe of one highly polished boot, Azoun turned toward the high, dark-wood bookshelf that covered an entire wall of the study. He walked briskly to the shelves, his heels thudding on the carpeted floor.
As he got close to the rows of ancient tomes he kept in the study, Azoun could smell the familiar, musty odor of old, well-read books. He ran his index finger along the spines of the mostly leather-bound volumes, searching for a particular book, a fifty-year-old family history.
Though most of the older books did not have their titles embossed on their spines, Azoun had little trouble finding the one that he wanted. It had a worn red cover and was the thickest volume in the study. The king quickly located the tome between his own treatise on the history of polearms in warfare and a collection of notes on falconry. He pulled the book from the shelf and headed for his desk.
A small, thin black tube rested on the dark oaken desk. As Azoun sat down he lifted it, and the rod of steel that the tube had covered cast a bright yellow-white light over the desk. The glowing rod, a simple piece of shaped metal with a spell cast upon it, was a product of Vangerdahast's magic; the radiance cast by the steel augmented the weak natural light in the study.
Gingerly Azoun unsnapped the chipped metal band from around the book and allowed it to fall open. A tight, neat script covered the yellowed pages, broken only by a handful of beautifully detailed illuminations, some done in ink laced with gold or silver dust. The king flipped cracked pages until he reached the section detailing the end of his grandfather's reign. Azoun III had died when his son was only six years old. The king's brother, Salember, had taken control of the kingdom as regent until young Prince Rhigaerd grew old enough to seize the throne.
Azoun knew the family history's version of what happened next almost by heart. The wear on the pages certainly attested to this particular chapter's use over the years.