ere raising her eyes to meet his gaze directly. “As this must be a matter of state, I have come prepared, yet uninformed. So, Royal Magician: why am I here?”
So, Tana was playing her I-can-be-very-solemn-and-grownup-look-you act, determined to be regal, and cleaving to stiff formality. Halting in front of her, Vangerdahast kept his wry inward smile off his face. She’s shaking with self-importance; how long before her manner breaks, I wonder?
“You are here,” Vangerdahast told her flatly, “because you are the crown princess. Ceremonially anointed with that title or not, from the moment your brother Foril perished and you were confirmed as a child of Azoun and Filfaeril Obarskyr, you have been the crown princess. The next ruler of all Cormyr.”
The royal magician started to pace. “Being a princess- any princess-of the Dragon Throne is not a matter of wearing pretty gowns and murmuring diplomatic nothings, of smiling and waving. Cormyr needs princesses who can think. All too many princes and noble lords conduct their reasoning only with their codpieces, so you lasses who lack them must do their thinking for them.”
“I am unaware that any of my tutors have thus far discovered or reported any deficiency in my reasoning,” Tanalasta said stiffly, her face an expressionless mask. “My judgment may be lacking, but it must needs be informed by my experience, which thus far has been scant. May the gods grant that the king my father sit the Dragon Throne for decades to come, and keep my experience meager-for the good of the realm, which flourishes so under his wise and just rule.”
Vangerdahast found himself chuckling. “Ah, as smooth as any adroit courtier, and better than most! Well said, Princess!”
Tanalasta gazed once more upon the great gauntlet on the wall. “Are you mocking me, Royal Magician? I confess I am unused to hearing your mirth, and may misjudge you.”
“I never mock any citizen of Cormyr. Their lies, yes, and their foolishly founded opinions, on occasion-and all of those occasions are in debate, in open court, for all to hear. Yet no matter, Princess; I confess that I am more than used to being misjudged. Hear me well: I mean you no harm, nor seek to coerce you by menace. As you must be aware, I often counsel your royal parents, separately and together, in private; it is my most important daily duty. As Heir Royal, it is important that you receive my counsel too. My wisdom may not be great, but-scourge the gods- it is better by far than any other advice you are likely to find in our fair realm.”
“I hear similar sentiments from Alaphondar, and Dimswart, and nigh twoscore highknights, heralds, maids, and courtiers, too. Yet I do not intend to debate the quality of your counsel with you, Royal Magician, but merely move forthwith to its content. The day draws on, and this tiara is heavy. I ask again: what do you desire to tell me?”
Vangerdahast inclined his head as if acknowledging a shrewd point, hooked his thumbs through the belt that gathered his severe robes together at his ample waist, and said, “Rulers may in the end rule by force, but frequently swording subjects soon leave a king ruling empty land-and a land without farmers is a land wherein a king and his knights starve. So rulers enact daily justice and order through rules: laws. Cormyr is no different, and our laws, royal decrees, treaties, and records of legal disputes and their resolutions fill vaults beneath us, scribes’ workrooms all around us, and secure chambers in four other places in the realm: fortresses in Arabel, Marsember, and High Horn, and in a secret forest location. Of the specifics of such laws you have hitherto no doubt remained blissfully ignorant, but it is high time that you, as heir, were made aware of the boundaries outlined by a few of them, so-for the good of the realm as well as yourself-you set no foot wrong in time to come. You must know your rights and responsibilities, so no false advice nor claims of those who seek to do harm to Cormyr can lead you astray. This learning will take some years, and we will have many meetings like this one. However, we must begin with a matter you must be informed about before another day passes. I speak particularly of the laws of succession, beginning with royal life and death.”
“Surely those are matters I have no control over? I do not recall, mage, being consulted beforehand about my birth.”
“Jest if you feel the need, Tanalasta. I won’t be forcing you to read over legal documents this day or any other for some months to come; it is more important that you understand what the laws-the rules all Cormyreans live by-are and what they do, in simple terms. So I ask you: what would happen, gods forfend, if your father and mother had died this morning? What are you obligated to do? What would you try to do?”
“Summon the overpriests of Chauntea, Helm, Torm, and Tyr to have my father and my mother brought back from the dead, to rule on. Not only is this my desire, it is my obligation.”
“Not so. In seeking to do so, you would be breaking the law and dooming the realm.”
“What?”
“When this realm was founded, the first Obarskyrs to dwell on these shores entered into agreements with the elves who held this land, just as the elves had with the dragons who ruled here before them. Down the years, there have been many disagreements as to just what happened back then, and what was agreed to-and to quell ceaseless civil war using such pretexts as its banners, solemn treaties have been written, and laws devised and passed pertaining to those treaties. In short, no matter what really befell, Cormyr has agreed to commonly accept and abide by a certain version of events and rules tied to them. If this agreement is broken, we are taught (and so the heads of households grand and rude all across this kingdom believe) the Dragon Throne will shatter, the dragons will return in great numbers to hunt humans, and the realm will be swept away.”
“So a treaty dictates what will happen, if my-if the king and queen die.”
“Indeed. Simply put, in Cormyr, nobles of the realm cannot be magically restored to life, it is expressly forbidden to resurrect ruling monarchs and regents, and all other members of the blood Obarskyr will only be brought back if they agree to this before death, and do not principally follow a faith that forbids such customs. Heirs cannot be recalled to life and still remain heirs; no one who has died and been returned to the living can inherit the Dragon Throne, or even sit upon it by right of conquest. Even if the royal family is extinguished, and the succession passes to other houses-a process that almost certainly will plunge the realm into bloody civil war.”
The eyes of Princess Tanalasta had grown very large and dark. “Why-” She licked dry lips, swallowed, and tried again. “Why can’t my father just change this inane treaty? Why can’t any Dragon King name a clear sequence of successors, to head off war?”
“Ah, I fear not, Lady Highness,” the royal magician said gravely, pacing away from her with his hands clasped behind his back, “for there’s a law-another law, relatively recent but just as strong as any law in our code-forbidding that. Laws, I fear, inevitably pile up like a beaver’s dam, a great untidy intertwined heap one must traverse with care.”
Tanalasta frowned. “But my royal father is the king! Surely he can ignore a law that stands in the way of his will? His justice? Do his decrees not make law?”
Vangerdahast whirled around to face her, robe swirling, and leveled a finger at her-and despite all her training, despite all she’d schooled herself to do and not do ere entering this chamber, Tanalasta flinched back from a spell that never came.
She’d have fled in tears if the royal magician had sneered then, or even crooked his mouth in amusement.
But instead he stood looking sternly at her, as if she’d been very bad.
“Laws and rules,” he said firmly, “ must be observed at all times. Even by kings. For if a realm is a bright- armored knight, every rule broken is a piece torn away from his armor that a traitor’s blade can thrust through later, with its wielder crying, ‘But in days gone by, so-and-so set aside this rule; why then cannot I?’ ”
Tanalasta trembled for a long, pale-faced moment, then blurted, “But you break rules. All the time. I’ve heard Father say so, and nobles and Alaph-” She fell abruptly silent, afraid to say more, trembling in shoulder-shaking earnest.
The royal magician took a slow stride forward.
“So I do,” he replied, his voice calm. “For the good of the realm. That is my duty-and my doom. For the great engine that is the court to work at all, someone must kick and tug and heave at it nigh daily, breaking the rules when need be-the rules that all others must follow. I am that rulebreaker.”
Tanalasta’s tremblings were almost shiverings, now, but she lifted her chin almost defiantly to meet his eyes. “And if you are ever wrong in your breakings? What then makes you not a traitor? Nor someone who should be hounded as an outlaw?”
Vangerdahast was smiling, now, and it was a thin, mirthless, unwelcoming smile. “I have been wrong in my breakings, as you put it. Many times. Yet kings have forgiven me.”
