“Gods above,” Lord Crownsilver hissed, leaping in before his wife’s tongue could rule their converse, “but I am more furious than I have ever been, in all my life! Our daughter- our daughter — bedded by some unshaven backwoods lout! And now she wants to wed him, too!”
“Don’t be silly, ” Lady Crownsilver hissed. “We won’t allow her to do anything of the sort, and after she’s raged about it for a tenday or so and smashed enough things over the heads of loutish servants who frankly deserve it, she’ll be tired of him and be on to someone else, as she always does. Someone more suitable! We’ll see to that, and so will the court, after I say a few of the right words to the right people!”
“But Nantha is ruined, ” Lord Crownsilver said angrily, “and our reputations with her! How can we expect anyone to believe she’s untouched? Anyone who matters? ”
“Maniol, stop bellowing foolishness.” Lady Jalassa’s voice was as iron-hard as usual, but it held a cold commanding note her lord had heard only once or twice before. “We will not have to convince anyone of any social standing to believe in anything-because we will not tell them what befell our Nantha. So they will never know.”
“But Kim-”
“Your mother will know nothing if you say nothing, Maniol. For once.” Now Jalassa’s voice was like a stone dungeon door grating shut.
For the first time in his life, Lord Maniol Crownsilver looked at his delicate, diminutive wife with something akin to fear.
“So who is this ‘Florin Falconhand,’ anyhail?”
Highknight Arglas Duskeldarr shrugged. “Some backwoods bumpkin with a fair face, the luck of loving Tymora Herself, and a quick blade. Too clever by half, so he’ll doom himself within the month, and end up dead behind some tree with a dagger in his vitals, black-tongued with poison in some noble’s private feasting room because he refused to join in treason-or we’ll be dismembering him, ye and I, on Vangey’s orders. That’s what befell the last half-dozen lads Azoun liked the look of, anyhail.”
Highknight Malustra Thaurant sighed, cleaned already-perfect fingernails with the point of her belt knife, and uncrossed her long legs in a way that never failed to make Arglas swallow. She winked, just to watch him blush, and rose with sinuous grace, her every move a wanton beckoning. “Can I have some fun with him first?”
Arglas sighed in exasperation, and pointed the highcoin lass to the door. “I don’t for the life of me know why His Majesty ever made you a highknight!”
“Oh?” She crooked one cool eyebrow and purred, “I do.”
Her strut, as she went out, left Arglas swallowing repeatedly, his throat very dry. Which made him thankful he was the king’s cellarer, with the duty to sample every last bottle and decanter.
He very much wanted to sample several of them, right now.
War Wizard Andreth Thalendur had safely returned the speaking-stone to its thrice-locked coffer long since, and was oh-so-casually commencing to dust the ornate container’s lid for the third time when a door opened and the words he’d been expecting came to his ears.
“You, man! Sirrah!”
He made no reply and declined to look up, and so collected a sharp prod in the ribs with the gilded nether tip of Lord Crownsilver’s cane, wielded by Lady Crownsilver, who accompanied her polite greeting with the words, “War Wizard, we’re speaking to you!”
Andreth looked up, smiling the faintest of smiles. “Yes? I hear your words, but I’ve been trained not to listen to them.”
“Oh, you’ll listen to these, all right!” Lord Crownsilver snarled, reaching out a hand to dig iron fingers into the knave’s robes at the throat, to haul the smug byblow right off his feet so every Crownsilver word henceforth could be spat right into his face.
“Maniol!” Lady Crownsilver snapped, but whatever else she’d been going to say died unspoken as tiny blue-white arcs of lightning sprang from the war wizard’s robes to Lord Crownsilver’s reaching fingertips, causing the noble to shout in astonished pain.
“Ah. Sorry. I’m wearing something new that High Lord Vangerdahast is testing,” Andreth said pleasantly. “Seems to smite foes of the realm very well… doesn’t it?”
“Enough of this effrontery, knave,” Lady Crownsilver said coldly. “We demand an audience with Azoun-His Majesty to you! Kindly take word to him at once!”
Andreth bowed to them, smiled, and wordlessly withdrew.
The Crownsilvers scarcely had time to exchange glances and for Maniol to receive a hissed, “Stop holding your fingers like a child about to cry! Look like a lord, stlarn you!” ere the war wizard returned, bowed, indicated the man who’d followed him into the room, and departed again.
The man was not, however, the King of Cormyr.
The Royal Magician Vangerdahast gave the Crownsilvers his all-too-familiar half-smile, along with the words, “I regret to inform you that His Majesty is in the countryside, shielded from converse by magics even I cannot break. Rest assured that he will be informed of your polite request as soon as it is possible to inform him of anything, and that he will grant you an audience shortly thereafter, as the pressing needs of the realm allow.”
Lady Crownsilver said coldly, “Spare the glib-tongued emptynesses, Vangey. You’re not performing before all the court right now. I’d have much ruder things to say to you if we didn’t need your cooperation and candor-for the good of the realm, of course. So speak plain and true. Did this commoner Falconhand rut with our daughter?”
Vangerdahast did not hesitate. Looking Jalassa straight in the eye, he said, “No. Your daughter is, ah, untouched; you need fear no unexpected heirs.”
Glowering, Lord Crownsilver snapped, “You’re certain?”
“We’ve cast some spells to see into their minds, while they were dreaming,” the royal magician said soothingly, “searching for memories of intimacy, and that alone. There were no such memories.”
“Aye, but she’s smitten with the lout! What if he-?”
“The king is well aware of your concerns. You might say that as a father and as a monarch concerned with inheritance and lineage, he anticipated them. More than that, he shares them. Wherefore His Majesty is going to grant this Florin Falconhand and his friends a charter-so as to have ready pretext to send them all away.”
“Far away,” Lady Crownsilver snapped.
“Where?” Lord Crownsilver snarled.
Vangerdahast smiled, spread his hands like a conjurer discovering a gift for a small child in his palm, and replied, “To the Stonelands, of course. It’s needed conquering for years.”
Slowly-very slowly-Lord Crownsilver nodded, a grim smile spreading across his face. “So it has.” His smile grew, as he echoed in a satisfied whisper, “So it has.”
As the door closed behind the royal magician, busily ushering the Crownsilvers out before him, the speaking-stone glowed once, ever so faintly.
There was no one in the chamber to see it, but someone else did. Someone whose hand, adorned with a striking unicorn-head ring, waved into nothingness a scrying-spell linked to the stone. And smiled.
Sometimes, the watcher mused, it’s very handy being a war wizard entrusted with enspelling scrying crystals.
When the time comes, and he’s staring right into one, Vangerdahast won’t know what’s hit him.
Greenwood, Ed
Swords of Eveningstar
Chapter 9
There is no greater plague upon the lands than the chartered adventurer. Crown-sanctioned mischief makers, brigands whose thefts, casual murders, rapine and pillage are excused where the same things done by a cobbler or a milkmaid would be answered with severings of hands or other appendages, plus brandings-or all of those and hanging or death by drawing between four horses.