Ed Greenwood - Cormyr

Tanalasta stared up at the wizard, torn between grief and loneliness… and now, in the midst of that loss, a rising rage. The old wizard was seizing Cormyr as his own! And it was all her fault! She could have stood strong against him. She could have insisted on his kneeling to her… but she had not. And now it was too late.

But why had Father left her so unprepared? And where was Alusair? Where was Mama? Stolen away-as if by magic. Magic. Of course. In the face of such dark power, how could she hope to lead the realm?

Eyes swimming with tears, Tanalasta turned to face the line of nobles again. The next words would surely be theirs.

“You are sadly mistaken, Lord High Wizard,” Aunadar Bleth said coldly into the waiting room, “and as usual, you sadly overreach yourself.”

On their slow, numb way down the room to look at the nobles, Tanalasta’s eyes fell across the doors the nobles had come in by, and there she saw a shadowy figure step forward and wave to her.

Tanalasta almost fainted. There was no mistaking that face, those gestures-and now a finger going to lips to counsel silence, and a grim motion to hold on. Tanalasta bit her lip hard enough to draw blood. The figure was already drawing back into the shadows beyond the doorway when she managed to marshal enough control to manage a careful, regal nod.

“Look at yourself now,” Aunadar Bleth was saying, “as we do: alone save for a few misguided lackeys of minor houses. Yet you stand making demands and issuing orders with only your own pride to give them any authority. Wizard, you remain in Cormyr only at our sufferance, and you will be allowed to stay only if you accede to our rightful demands. We need no skulking, manipulating regent, but our proper queen!”

His shout rang back echoes from the high ceiling of the chamber and was answered by a second roar of approval from the nobles who stood with him. “The inexperience of the princess will be addressed by a guiding council of nobles, whose deliberations will be open for all the folk of Cormyr to hear. My dear Tanalasta and I will be wed forthwith, and as consort to our queen, I shall chair the council and ensure that it acts in a just and honorable manner.”

Aunadar stepped forward, eyes alight with excitement, and pressed on. “In return for your peaceful agreement to this, Lord Vangerdahast, you’ll be permitted to keep your title and be awarded a seat on the council, though your secretive and disloyal war wizards must and shall be disbanded. The time of Obarskyr kings who rule without regard for the people, trusting in the murderous spells of their own private pet wizards to keep them in power over a populace that fears and hates them, is past, and such days will never return to Cormyr. The people shall be free at last.”

As if they’d waited for his words as a cue, a rabble of other courtiers, joined by a few clergy and high-ranking court officials, burst through the double doors at the end of the hall and surged forward, their boots thunderous as they passed through the paneled doors. They surged forward, voices rising, and the nobles already in the room turned to see what this new disturbance was…in time to see a concealed door open in one of the pillars down the hall, and the sorceress Cat Wyvernspur step forth. Her hands were already raised, a wand clutched in one palm, and her mouth moving. She turned, faced the advancing throng, and suddenly waved her hands outward dismissively, and the foremost priests and courtiers ran into an invisible barrier. Said barrier did nothing to hamper sight or sound, but permitted nothing solid to pass through. Thrown caps and daggers tested it for a few moments, but Cat had already turned to calmly face Bleth’s nobles already in the room, her arms crossed. One of said nobles, Martin Illance, clapped a hand to his sword hilt, looking meaningfully in her direction, but she caught his eyes and shook her head ever so slightly. Illance’s hand fell away to his side once more.

“More foul magic,” Morgaego Dauntinghorn snarled, and the words had scarcely left his mouth when another secret door opened in another pillar, and a grim line of Purple Dragons strode out to stand with drawn swords, barring the way of the conspirator nobles.

A grim Lareth Gulur led the soldiers, and the center of their line was anchored by his superior, Hathian Talar. Most were battle-scarred veterans, but at the end of the line stood a new recruit, uncomfortable in his stiff new uniform, but whose sword twitched with eagerness. All the Purple Dragons bent their burning eyes on the luxuriously dressed young nobles.

“More foul magic indeed,” the Royal Magician said into the deep silence. “Think for a moment of just how well a hundred nobles would fare if they were ever sent against a hundred war wizards.”

Aunadar Bleth smiled crookedly and said in silken tones, “I have done so-and have an answer: a blade that I am confident can cut down a hundred war wizards!” He raised his hand and made a quick, intricate gesture as he called, “Hear us, Lady Brantarra! Attend us, Red Wizardess of Murbant!”

A moment later, as everyone in the chamber watched in breathless silence, a cluster of moving, winking lights appeared at Bleth’s shoulder, and a low, purring voice that carried from end to end of that hall spoke out of it.

“Greetings, Vangerdahast, Royal Magician of Cormyr. Call me Brantarra-call me your nemesis. Long have you wondered who it was who shielded rebels and contrary nobles and outlaws from your seeking spells, and who protected them against your magic of rulership and punishment. I stand ready now to shield all the other nobles of Cormyr who desire such protection-from you and your petty magelings. I am the bane of the war wizards. I am the one who has frustrated you for so long.”

Vangerdahast shifted and stirred on the step where he stood but said nothing. The triumphant voice rolled on.

“You think these were your masterminds, these clever young nobles unable to see beyond the ends of their swords? Mine was the hand that stole the abraxus from your precious vaults. Mine was the hand that guided these pawns before you. Mine was the skill that took your king’s will, on a night eighteen years ago, in the sight of the walls of Arabel. Mine was the body that bore the son who will be your next king!”

Aunadar Bleth’s head snapped around in surprise. He gaped at the sparkling, circling lights as the voice from the heart of them added, “Know, nobles of Cormyr, that the war wizards you fear so much will be shattered within the season and gone utterly soon after-as I and those mages loyal to me ensure that each war wizard is hunted to extinction.”

There was a brief but sharp chorus of gasps and murmurs from the courtiers crowded up against Cat’s barrier. The next words spoken, though they were soft, cut that noise off as if a knife had fallen across their throats.

“And who will protect Cormyr against the Red Wizardess and her wizards then?” Vangerdahast asked mildly, taking another step down from the throne. Giogi and Dauneth moved with him, their eyes watchful.

“Protect Cormyr against me?” came the low, rich voice out of the lights. “Why? I know and love the realm well. I have borne a son by King Azoun to prove it. A future king…”

More murmurs, and even some laughter, came from the crowd of watching courtiers just inside the entrance to the hall. The gathering of lights hissed a deep curse and the laughter quieted, but the murmurs continued. Even the densest courtiers realized the minimal value of an unrecognized son of Azoun.

Tanalasta cast a look at the dark doorway where she’d seen the figure that counseled her to silence, and then looked away again.

“This land has had enough of kings,” Aunadar Bleth said firmly, “and despite what you have just heard her say, this Red Wizardess and I have a solemn agreement on this point. I know not the measure of Thayvians, but noble families of Cormyr keep their word and expect others to do the same.”