“Because to do otherwise would be muttonheaded self-slaying,” muttered one Purple Dragon on a rooftop, unheard amid the roar of applause.
When it started to fade, the herald continued, “By tradition, every charter must have a sponsor. A royal charter is, of course, sponsored by the Crown, but as a mark of royal favor, the monarch always personally appoints a ceremonial sponsor. His Majesty smiles upon Espar, upon those who have served the realm loyally, and upon those who have fought at his side, and for all of those reasons hath named Irlgar Delbossan, your own well-beloved horsemaster, sponsor of this charter!”
More applause greeted this, and rose into shouts as Delbossan, white-faced but smiling, and apparently healed of his wounds, came striding out the front door of the Eye onto the porch, and took his place at Lord Hezom’s shoulder.
He and the herald exchanged smiles and nods, whereupon Espar told the crowd, “Master Delbossan, mindful of the young man who saved his life as well as that of the king, desires to share his sponsoring duties, and has named-”
The man who strode out onto the porch then wore black armor, as smooth and as supple as velvet, that made no sound-and one of his hands was held out before him, palm up, with a faint glow flickering and skirling around it. Wary mutterings arose from the Purple Dragons and from the war wizards among the crowd, who’d known of the man but not expected the obvious magic, awake in his hand.
“-Hawkstone, ranger and swordmaker of some fame, who from his wanderings in the wild forests of Faerun has come hither to mark the importance of this charter!”
Astonished applause, that sank away in eager anticipation when Hawkstone flung out his empty hand to halt the herald, and in a voice deeper and yet louder than Espar’s, that echoed off the fronts of houses across the green, said, “Witness all, that I bear the favor of Holy Mielikki here this day, to confer upon him who has pleased her welclass="underline" Florin Falconhand!” He held up his glowing hand, and the applause this time was a storm of excited and awed talk.
Then Hawkstone cradled his hand to his breast, and nodded to the herald. The herald gave the famous ranger a look of wonder, but resumed his speech undaunted: “A noble lady of the realm in whose veins runs royal blood, a maiden Florin Falconhand also rescued from beasts in the forest, hath requested the right to bear witness to the granting of the charter. Folk of Cormyr, I present to you the Lady Narantha Crownsilver, flower of her house!”
Out of the inn door came marching a gleaming row of splendidly plate-armored knights, their spotless armor polished silver-bright. They split to right and left in succession, forming two lines-and between them appeared the Lady Narantha Crownsilver, smiling, in a gown of white a-sparkle with silver glister. More applause, sinking immediately into a great hissing of excited whispers. Narantha was blushingly and yet serenely beautiful, and knew it, yet seemed humbled by that knowing-and men’s hearts broke all over the green as they gazed upon her.
The herald from Espar let the babble continue for a few breaths, almost smiling, then let out a sudden bellow, “All hail the valiant hero of the Battle of Hunter’s Hollow!”
The crowd bellowed back, in a great roar that broke into wild cheering when Florin Falconhand, smiling a little uncertainly, strode out of the door of the Eye and lifted a hand in greeting.
When Hawkstone stepped to meet him and touched that glowing hand to his chest with words murmured too quietly for others to hear, Florin was visibly astonished-then moved to tears. Wet-faced, he gaped at his onetime tutor, as loud cheers rose in the green.
Espar waited until they had just begun to subside a little, then cried in a voice that rang out like a trumpet: “Folk of Espar, I give you: your king!”
No blare of horns followed, but none could then have heard them, even had all the warhorns in the realm winded at once.
Espar rocked with the din as Azoun, fourth of that name, the Purple Dragon, strode out onto the porch, and everyone there, led by the herald on one hand and Lord Hezom on the other, smoothly turned to face the king, and knelt to him.
“ What did this Hawkstone just pull?”
Vangerdahast’s glare seemed sharp enough to split the scrying crystal asunder. The largest such crystal in the realm, it floated before them, a bright, glossy oval as wide as an armchair.
Laspeera laid a comforting hand on the royal magician’s arm. “I doubt he planned it, Lord Vangerdahast. I heard awe in his voice, though he tried to hide it. Divine favor is… divine favor.”
Vangerdahast nodded, and clapped his free hand over Laspeera’s, patting it in silent thanks. The young lass always said the right thing. Always. Thrice as graceful a lady as any of the other nobility he’d seen at court, strong in her Art and growing stronger with astonishing speed, she was a treasure.
He’d mind-reamed her, pouncing without warning, at least twice a tenday since taking her into the Wizards of War, and seldom let her stray far from his side. Thus far he’d found nothing save that he both amused and awed her, and she saw him as the true ruler and savior of the realm.
Oh, and that she’d started to enjoy being mind-reamed. He blushed even now, at the thought-and blushed still stronger when the slender fingers of her free hand came down atop his, patting him soothingly.
Neither of them said a word, but stared into the scrying crystal together. In distant Espar, the charter had just been granted.
The herald’s glad cry of, “And so the charter is done! Behold your Swords of Eveningstar!” was almost drowned out by a thunderous cheer-a cheer that a blinking, smiling herald hadn’t had to lead. He had to wait some time for it to die away enough to be heard again, whereupon he grandly directed everyone “up the Way of the Dragon, to where feast tents await!”
There were fresh cheers, and the crowd started to move. Free food and drink can move men who’ll stand their ground against armies.
King Azoun’s own hand had signed the charter, under the watchful gaze of Hezom, Lord of Espar, and his herald, as Delbossan and Hawkstone held the parchment flat, and three war wizards who’d quietly stepped out of the Eye had stood behind the king with wands at the ready.
Now, cleaving through the crowd streaming north, Purple Dragons in full armor were converging, standing close to form a solid shield-wall curving all around the porch.
Florin, Doust, Semoor, Jhessail, and Islif stood close together as if facing a foe. They were all a little overwhelmed as they blinked at their king, almost nose to nose, and Azoun clasped their hands in his own and spoke words of congratulation.
“I have every hope,” he was saying, as Jhessail fought down a sudden urge to burst into tears, “that together you will stand and prosper and go on to greatness, becoming every bit as successful and famous as the Company of the Manticore Cloaks”-there were awed murmurs from those who heard-“and the Company of the Trollblood Blade!” More murmurs swelled; the king had named adventurers still famous all across the Sea of Fallen Stars.
“The Crown,” Azoun added then, “expects you to-”
Ah, thought Semoor a little sourly, here it comes.
“-make at least one foray into the notorious Haunted Halls of Eveningstar, and report whatever you may see there to my Lady Lord of Eveningstar, Tessaril Winter. She can give you directions to the halls, and be your guide in matters ethical while you are within her writ.” Azoun smiled. “I wish you fair fortune, and therefore warn you that you’d best recruit more members if you hope to stay alive for long. By giving my name and the word ‘Tathen’ you may compel Tessaril or other officers of the Crown to without fee add any such members to your charter, in griffon ink.”