Troy Denning - Beyond the High Road

Hag bowed low. “And you have my thanks for trying. Rest assured that I shall keep your secrets-all of them.”

“That is well for you,” growled Vangerdahast, hoisting himself into his saddle. “You may be certain that I will be listening.”

Hag bowed again, and this time his face had finally grown pale with intimidation. Tanalasta said her farewells to Owden, promising to meet him in Arabel within the space of two tendays, then signaled the real Purple Dragons to close the perimeter and resume their marching order.

As they rode down the creek toward the ford where Tanalasta had first noticed the orc tracks, Vangerdahast splashed up beside the princess and said, “You should know I’m serious about contacting your father. You can’t keep flouting his wishes and expect him to forgive you.”

“I’m more concerned about these orcs running around loose than my father’s forgiveness.” Tanalasta gestured at the stream bed. “Have you sent word to Castle Crag about them?”

“I… uh… certainly.”

“Really, Vangerdahast?”

Vangerdahast’s cheeks reddened above his beard. “I’m confident Lord Commander Tallsword has already sent a patrol to track them down.”

“I’m sure be has.” Tanalasta smiled to herself, then asked, “Tell me, when did you hear about that field?”

Vangerdahast looked confused. “Milady?”

“Hag Gordon’s former rank,” Tanalasta said. “How could you have known it, if Bren Tallsword hadn’t already told you about the blighted field? I only hope the good sergeant wasn’t part of the deception. I’d hate to think Harveatmaster Foley will be running around smashing in vagabond heads for no good reason.”

Vangerdahast sighed wearily. “Unfortunately, I fear the harvestmaster will find plenty of reason. Bren Tallsword told me about the Gordon field three days ago, but today was the first I had heard about the vagabond-and yes, I have already contacted the Lord Commander and told him to watch for the man.” The old wizard smiled, then added, “I have also asked him to do his best to keep your priest friends out of the king’s sight.”

“It’s not father’s sight that I’m worried about,” said Tanalasta. “He has ears in as many places as you do.”

Vangerdahast regarded her doubtfully. “A princess shouldn’t exaggerate.”

“What makes you think I am?” Tanalasta laughed. She fell silent for a time, quietly appreciating the kind of moment that she had not experienced with Vangerdahast since before her twentieth birthday, then said, “It won’t work, you know.”

“Princess?” Vangerdahast’s wrinkled brow rose in a parody of innocence. “I’m sure I have no idea what you mean.”

“I’m sure you do, but you won’t trick me into changing my mind. I’m old enough to know what I believe in and what I don’t.” “Truly?” The expression that came to Vangerdahast’s face was one of genuine envy. “How nice that must be.”

Azoun eyed the plate of liver-smeared wafers in Filfaeril’s hand and his mouth instantly filled with a taste that could only be described as minted cow dung. He and the queen were attending their fifth reception in as many days, this one at the overdone mansion of the powerful Misrim merchant family, and he had grown so weary of the local delicacy that he could not even look at it without his gorge rising.

Pretending to listen earnestly to young Count Bhela’s suggestion that the crown establish a system of cobble-paved merchant roads across the realm, Azoun caught his wife’s eye and turned his head ever so slightly, signaling her to be rid of the ghastly stuff.

Filfaeril grinned viciously and glided to his side without stumbling or tripping or finding some other excuse to let even one of the awful canapes slide off the tray. She managed to interrupt young Bhela’s diatribe with a flash of pearly teeth, accomplishing with a single smile what the king had been attempting in vain for the last half-hour, then pushed the platter forward. The smell of minted grease filled Azoun’s nose, and he suddenly felt so ill that it took an act of will to keep his wineglass in his hand.

“Liverpaste, my dear?” Filfaeril asked. “It’s quail.”

“Love one!” Azoun took a wafer and bit into it, then chewed three quick times and swallowed quickly in a futile attempt to keep his tongue from registering the taste. “Excellent. Won’t you have one, Count Bhela?”

Bhela’s eyes grew as round as coins. “Off your plate, Majesty?”

Azoun nodded enthusiastically. “I know your family well enough to trust you won’t slip me any poison.”

Bhela eyed the wafers with unconcealed longing and nearly reached for one, then caught himself and shook his head. “It wouldn’t be right, Sire. I’m only a count.”

“Please, I insist.”

Bhela’s expression grew nervous, and be glanced around the room at all the other nobles who had been glaring at him for the last quarter hour.

“I beg you, Majesty. The superior lords will consider me haughty,” he said. “In fact, you really should allow me to take my leave. They’ll think I have been monopolizing your time.”

“Yes, yes, of course. How mindless of me.” Azoun dismissed him with a hearty clap on the shoulder, then sighed wearily. “Do send me a study on that idea of yours, Count. Imagine, cobbling an entire highway!”

“Within a tenday, Your Majesty.”

Beaming with pride, Bhela bowed deeply to both the king and queen, then turned and strutted off to bask in the glow of his lengthy audience with the king. Filfaeril took another minted liverpaste off the plate and offered it to Azoun. He accepted the wafer with a smile, but held it between two fingers and allowed himself a generous swig of wine, trying to wash the lingering taste of the last one from his mouth.

“Eat up, my dear,” urged Filfaeril. “You wouldn’t want our hosts to think you fear poison.”

Azoun lowered his glass, then concentrated on maintaining a pleasant smile as he spoke to his wife. “Show some mercy. I’ll never get through this without your help.”

“I am helping. If we are to repair the damage done by Tanalasta, we must be accessible to our nobles.” Filfaeril looked across the chamber toward a boorish man in yellow stockings and crossed garters. “Isn’t that Earl Hioar? He has a wonderful plan for clear-cutting the Dragon Wood. I’ll fetch him.”

Azoun stuffed the minted liverpaste into his mouth whole, then caught Filfaeril by the elbow and said, “Not yet.” Somehow, he managed to mumble the words without spewing wafer over her damask gown. He chewed half a dozen times and gagged the canape down. “Tanalasta gave me no choice.”

“You always have a choice. You’re the king.”

Azoun allowed himself a quick scowl. “You know better. And why are you angry with me, anyway? From the way you were inciting her, I thought you wanted a new heir.”

“I want what is best for Tanalasta,” Filfaeril countered. “Instead, you allowed Vangey to manipulate her into defying you.”

“You helped.”

“Not knowingly.” Without taking her eyes off Azoun, the queen held out her free hand. A waiter scurried forward and placed a glass of wine in it, which she sipped until he had retreated out of earshot. “Vangey used me. Had I known how much she had changed, I would never have… I just didn’t know how much she had changed.”

“After the Abraxus Affair I should think you would consider that a good thing,” said Azoun. “She certainly does. So do I, and so does Vangerdahast.”

“It will make her a stronger queen, yes,” said Filfaeril, “but will it make her happy?”

A pang of sorrow shot through Azoun’s breast, and he had to look away. He loved Tanalasta like any father loves a daughter, but the truth of the matter was that he could not concern himself with her happiness. The good of the realm demanded that he think only of making her a strong ruler. That was a steep price indeed to demand of any parent.