Aunadar looked at Vangerdahast and blinked, as if he did not understand the question. The Royal Magician seemed to exude crisp, commanding power, but the slender noble stood like a stone that ignores the wind of a raging storm. Bewilderment flickered across his face for a moment before he said hesitantly, “I’m sorry. Was I needed?”
“You are the only conscious survivor of an attack on the king,” said Vangerdahast flatly, only barely concealing his irritation. “Furthermore, all of you may have been touched by some malady, which might be poison, or spell, or a virulent and contagious disease. And the first thing you do upon returning to the palace is spread that potential disease to the heir apparent.”
Bleth’s face went dark red, and he sputtered, his eyes beginning to blaze. One of Tanalasta’s slim hands reached up to squeeze his own. He looked down at it, put his other hand over her soft fingers, and seemed to remember both his own station and who he was addressing. He shook his head as if to clear it and said with dignity, “I’m sorry, Lord Wizard. I felt my place and duty was near my beloved. I wanted to be the one to tell her-“
“Tell me, then,” said Vangerdahast, lowering his bulk into one of the thin-legged chairs that usually held the more petite derrieres of one of the princess’s ladies-of-chamber. It creaked alarmingly. “And tell me everything.”
Aunadar sat down next to the princess, pressed his hands together in his lap, frowned, and haltingly began to relate the tale he’d just told Tanalasta. Vangerdahast leapt on every other sentence or so, distressing the young noble and making him flush and stammer. Twice the old wizard demanded Aunadar recount once more the sequence of who attacked the golden beast when, and in what order it struck at them.
“Bhereu went down first, then His Majesty, then the baron,” Bleth said at last, exasperation sharp and shrill in his voice.
“But if what you say is true, Baron Thomdor attacked the beast first,” Vangerdahast said heavily.
“Both cousins did-one from each side!” Aunadar said, almost protesting. He looked to Tanalasta, as if hoping that she might end this interrogation by decree, but she was looking sadly from wizard to noble and back again, eyes wide and red-rimmed, lips set in a silent line. Aunadar sighed unhappily and added, “It was Bhereu who seemed affected first by the beast’s breath.”
The Royal Magician nodded as if he didn’t believe a word and asked, “When the baron returned to the fray, did he seem affected?”
“Yes, I suppose he was… that is, he was pale and perspiring.”
“You say you attacked with your cape held up over your face. Why did you do this?”
Aunadar blinked. “I thought it was a gorgon-a metallic beast with steaming breath that turns one to stone…”
“It wasn’t,” the wizard said flatly, “and it doesn’t. It was an abraxus, a magical creation similar to a golem or automaton.”
The younger noble started, eyes flaring in shock-and then narrowing to slits of suspicion. “So you’ve seen one of these before?”
“I have, or rather, my mentor told me of them,” Vangerdahast said simply, and shut his mouth, letting the noble’s unspoken question hang unanswered in the air between them. They stared at each other in silence, gazes locked in mute challenge, for two long breaths as the princess looked from one face to the other. Then, eyes still locked with Aunadar’s, the Royal Magician whispered, “And after the royals fell, you snapped the wand and summoned the rescue party.”
“I-” The noble tore his gaze free from the old wizard’s and looked at Tanalasta, eyes almost pleading. Then he dragged his gaze reluctantly back to the wizard. “I pulled the wand out, but… I didn’t know how to activate it. Baron Thomdor showed me how.”
“Fortunate,” said the Royal Magician, “that the good baron remained coherent long enough to give instruction.”
“Fortunate indeed,” said the young Bleth almost tonelessly, slumping his shoulders in exhaustion. Tanalasta put a comforting arm around him.
Vangerdahast nodded. No doubt the youth had glossed over this last detail when he’d told the princess his tale.
“I’m-I’m very sorry for all of this,” Aunadar offered wearily to the room in general, slowly bowing his head.
The three sat in silence for a long moment. Tanalasta kept her arm around Bleth, who looked at the floor. Her hand tightened on his shoulders and shook him a little, he looked up at his beloved then and managed a weak smile.
His elbows resting on the arms of the chair, fingers steepled in front of him, the wizard studied the pair on the divan. His eyes never left the face of the young noble.
At length, Vangerdahast spoke. “In the future, young Bleth, when you are involved in any serious matter involving peril to a member of the royal family, you will remain around long enough to inform others who need to know what befell. I think you know who those others are.”
Aunadar raised his head and their eyes locked, noble and wizard, brief fire passing between them. The youth nodded slowly. “Of course. I thought the others were in your capable hands.” His words held no hint of bitterness.
Tanalasta leaned forward and captured Vangerdahast’s gaze with her own reddened, pleading eyes. “My father… will he be…?” Her voice trailed away into silence.
The Royal Magician inclined his head to her. “I know only what I told you earlier, Lady Highness,” he said carefully. “The tremors he and the baron experienced have subsided. However, neither has roused nor responded to any curative power we have brought to bear.”
The eldest princess of Cormyr went even paler at his words, her skin becoming almost as pale as milk. Now it was Bleth’s turn to put his arm about her. He whispered soft words in her ear, but his eyes, flaring the sharp light of an unmistakable challenge, never left those of the High Wizard.
“Your Majesty,” said Vangerdahast to the princess, returning Bleth’s look with a steady, steely gaze of his own as he spoke. “I am sure this matter will be swiftly resolved. The Lords Alaphondar and Dimswart are already in attendance on… the stricken, and I will be returning to them to render whatever aid I can. However, if the worst comes to pass…”
Tanalasta raised her hands in front of her and spread her fingers, as if warding off a blow. “No,” she said quietly.
“Your Majesty,” Vangerdahast pressed, his voice softening, “it would be most wise to prepare for every possibility…”
“No,” she said again, louder, and raised her head to regard the Royal Magician. She was crying again, but fire burned in those sapphire eyes.
“Even so,” the wizard began softly, “the realm-“
“I said no,” she said, steel creeping into her voice for the first time. “I refuse to even consider that until until all other possibilities have been excluded. Am I clear?”
“But, Your Majesty…” Vangerdahast said mildly, raising his brows.
Tanalasta stood, taller than most men and as imperious as Azoun at his most fierce. “Am… I… clear?” she repeated, biting off each word. Aunadar rose behind her and placed a supportive hand on her shoulder. He had to reach up to do it. As he looked at the Royal Magician, his other hand went slowly and deliberately to the hilt of his sword.
“As always,” the wizard replied calmly, also rising, “I will send word as we know more.”
“Do so,” said the princess coolly. “You have my faith, as my father and the baron have my prayers. You are dismissed.”
Expressionlessly Vangerdahast turned his head to regard Aunadar Bleth. The young noble treated him to a short, serious nod-a warrior’s farewell to an equal-but made no motion to depart. Nor did the princess make any motion that might have been interpreted as a dismissal of her suitor. The High Wizard bowed slightly from the waist, then strode to the door.
Before leaving, he looked back at the pair. Already Tanalasta’s moment of strength had passed, she was slowly collapsing back onto the divan, her face in her hands. Her slender shoulders were shaking. At her side,
