James Lowder - Crusade

"Perhaps a spell, Your Highness?" Vangerdahast offered helpfully.

"Or a mixture of herbs?" added Dimswart.

The king shook his head. "No, no. I'll go and lie down beside Filfaeril. Try to sleep on my own. Spells or potions might leave me unfit to meet our guest later this morning." He shuffled to another candle and extinguished its flame, then turned to the gilt door that led to his inner chambers.

Silently the king left the room. The gilt door slid noiselessly shut, and the wizard and sage were left in the antechamber. Vangerdahast squeezed the flame out on the room's sole remaining lit candle.

"Good night-or should I say good morning? Thank you for your help, Dimswart."

The sage frowned and gestured toward the gilt door. "Will he be all right?"

Nodding, Vangerdahast mumbled something about the trials of kingship and all men needing rest. The wizard then hustled Dimswart from the room and told the guards standing watch outside to knock in three hours and keep alert. Before Vangerdahast closed the door to the antechamber, Dimswart asked, "He's paying for the crusade already, isn't he?"

The royal wizard didn't answer as he shut the heavy door. As quietly as he could, Vangerdahast picked up the king's cloak, hung it over his own shoulder, and dragged the padded chair closer to the window. He lowered himself slowly into the chair, his old joints creaking, his brown robe folding around him. Finally, pulling the cloak up to his chin, he glanced out at the blue morning sky. It was chilly, but he guessed that the sun would burn the frost from the air by highsun.

Azoun will have to pay far more than one sleepless night to stop the Tuigan, was the wizard's last thought before he lapsed into a shallow, fitful sleep.

The guards knocked on the antechamber door three hours later, as instructed. Vangerdahast started awake. His none-too-rested mind immediately called a defensive spell to the fore, but the groggy old wizard recognized the soldiers before he had a chance to make a mistake.

The sun was high over the gardens when Vangerdahast glanced out the window. He reckoned that he and Azoun had at least an hour before the special emissary from Zhentil Keep made his appearance. The wizard shivered slightly and rubbed his arms through his woolen robe. Winter still hadn't been completely banished from Cormyr, and it was certainly making its presence known that morning.

Wondering if the king had managed to sleep at all, Vangerdahast crossed to the king's bedchamber and knocked. When he got no reply, he slowly, quietly open the gilt door. It slid noiselessly open on oiled golden hinges.

To the royal wizard's chagrin, King Azoun was awake. He stood across the large room, near a multipaned stained glass window that depicted a twisting purple dragon. The king traced the dragon in the glass, running his fingers over the purple, burgundy, and gold fragments. The light from the sun shot through the window and cast the king in a bath of deep, beautiful color.

"Your Highness," Vangerdahast began, "I-"

Azoun turned sharply and held a finger to his lips. He motioned toward the large, white-draped canopy bed that dominated the room. Seeing that the monarch pointed to his still-sleeping wife, Vangerdahast nodded. Azoun cast one longing look back at Filfaeril, then followed the wizard into the antechamber.

"My apologies for intruding, Azoun," Vangerdahast said softly as he closed the gilt door. "How was your rest?"

"I feel fine, Vangy." He moved restlessly to the window and added wryly, "Until I saw your expression just now, I almost suspected you of casting a spell to restore me."

"Not against your wishes," the wizard said, coming to the king's side.

"No, I really didn't think so."

Noting an irritability in the king's voice, Vangerdahast decided to tread carefully with his questions. It was obvious Azoun had slept little. "Are you ready to meet with the Zhentish envoy?"

The king chuckled a humorless laugh and pushed himself away from the window. "I must be," he said firmly. "I can't let madmen or intractable dalesmen or anything else get in the way of this crusade. I must be ready."

Without waiting for a reply, the king spun on his heels and headed out into the hall. The wizard trailed behind him, making mental notes of the orders the king snapped off. Finally, Azoun reached his study. Before he opened the door, he noted that a sizable reward should be sent to the man who'd captured Bors in the crowd and that the would-be assassin's trial should be convened immediately.

"He'll almost certainly be put to death," Vangerdahast replied, watching the king's eyes for a reaction.

Azoun's expression, a mixture of cold resolve and vague distraction, didn't change. "If he hadn't killed those people it might have been different. I have to uphold the law. I want the masters of the Trappers' Guild called to court, too. They have much to answer for."

Vangerdahast hesitated before he replied. Anger, not just irritability, had a hold upon the Cormyrian king, the wizard realized. It was very much unlike Azoun to act that way, but, then, the last few days had been unusual themselves.

"Perhaps I should reschedule the meeting with the Zhentish envoy," Vangerdahast ventured, hoping that his friend might recognize the cause for the suggestion.

Azoun's forehead furrowed deeply as he narrowed his eyes and glared at the wizard. That expression was only temporary. The dark look on the king's face passed as quickly as a lone storm cloud on a bright summer's afternoon. Vangerdahast silently breathed a sigh of relief.

"That won't be necessary," Azoun noted, clasping his hands together in front of him. "Besides, if I don't convince the dalesmen that we can leave in the next tenday or so, the Tuigan will conquer most of Thesk. At that point, we might as well do as Lord Mourngrym suggests and wait for the barbarians to show up on our doorstep."

Vangerdahast sighed and hoped that the king could shake off his concerns long enough to parley with the envoy that afternoon. "Should I bring our Zhentish visitor here when he arrives?" the wizard asked as he turned to leave.

"No," Azoun replied. He opened the study's door. "I want to skim a book or two and clear my mind. Bring the envoy to the throne room."

Vangerdahast raised an eyebrow. "You don't usually meet mere envoys there, Your Highness."

The king smiled-a little wickedly, Vangerdahast noted with mild surprise-and said, "No doubt the ambassador will know that and expect a more casual greeting. I think it wise to keep him off balance, don't you?"

The royal wizard returned the king's smile, though his was undoubtedly tinged with a mischievous malice. "Of course, Your Highness," he said. Vangerdahast bowed, then hurried down the hall, his concern for Azoun lessening as he pondered the king's strategy.

Azoun quietly entered the study and sat at his desk. First, he scribbled a note to Torg, the dwarven king of Earthfast, informing him of the crusade's status. That done, the king opened the large, leather-bound book that lay on the desk. For a short time, he read and reread the passages describing the "black days" under Salember, the Rebel Prince. The citizens of Cormyr, and especially Suzail, were reportedly very supportive of the crusade. Despite this, Azoun wondered-as he had for much of the night-whether or not his people really did believe his plans to be in their best interest.

The king knew that history might report him to be the next traitor to Cormyr if Bors was an accurate manifestation of his subjects' true feelings about the crusade-his crusade. What his descendants thought of him mattered to Azoun more than it probably should have, so before he headed to the throne room to meet the Zhentish envoy, he devised a plan by which he might discover the people's real opinion of the crusade and uncover any plots the trappers might have hatched for open revolt.