Year of the Gauntlet (1369 DR)
“You sent for me, lord wizard?” The fur-cloaked high priest’s tones were barely respectful. Augrathar Buruin, High Huntmaster of Vaunted Malar for all Cormyr, wasn’t used to answering any summons that did not come from the crown itself.
“I did,” Vangerdahast told him gravely, “and I count your presence in Suzail at this time as a stroke of good fortune for the realm.”
The huntmaster merely grunted, a sound of mingled disdain and disbelief, and swaggered past Vangerdahast, the many dangling claws on the pelts he wore dancing with the weight of his stride. He headed straight to a platter on a sideboard, where he tore a leg deftly from a roast mountain bustard and asked, “So where’s the blood you want spilled? And in the meantime, what’s happened to the wine cellars?”
The Royal Magician’s eyes silently answered the query of the nearest belarjack, and the man scurried over to the cleric with a jack of wine and a goblet. The priest snatched the jack, leaving the startled servant holding the empty goblet, and Vangerdahast turned away before anyone could see him smile.
His movement brought him face to face with the next arrival: the battered old warrior Aldeth Ironsar, Faithful Hammer of Tyr, whose face was stiff with disapproval at the priest of Malar’s manners and presence. The Royal Magician greeted Ironsar warmly, even as they clasped each other’s upper arms, the Chamber of Crossed Dogs began to fill up rapidly. High Priest Manarech of Tymora, resplendent in vestments so new they seared the eye, nodded to Vangerdahast. Manarech smiled, seemingly bearing the High Wizard and the palace in general no ill will for being bathed in Bhereu’s last breaths, and drifted to the sideboard. Junstal Halarn, ranking Visiting Songmaster at Suzail’s shrine to Milil, was not far behind.
All of these good clerics were accompanied by their personal scribes, consecrated pages, and watchpriests. With glances and finger gestures rather than words, Vangerdahast saw to it that all of them were given wine and the small savory pastries that the kitchens of the court were justly famous for. Then he smiled and nodded, listening to their self-important chatter with every evidence of deep interest, hoping that the three men he was waiting for would not be too much longer.
As it happened, they arrived together. The sage Alaphondar and Erdreth Halansalim, a gaunt, no-nonsense senior war wizard, crept in unobtrusively through a side door, while Runelord Thaun Khelbor, Loremaster of Deneir, swept in through the main door. The loremaster bore a tall rune-graven staff of darkest ebony, and small lightning bolts crackled around the staff’s tip.
Vangerdahast fought the urge to smile again at the sight of the loremaster and his portable lightning storm, and he was careful not to raise his eyes in a patronizing glance. The loremaster was the oldest and most gentle of the assembled holy men. Why not allow him a moment of pride? Alaphondar, always calm and graceful, led the tardy cleric over to the sideboard as the Royal Magician stepped forward. Now was the time to take control of these proud men, before their mutual patience was stretched further and disputes could break out.
In a back corner, Vangerdabast saw the grim, white-bearded face of Erdreth start to turn, beginning to ceaselessly scrutinize the gathering from a back corner. The Royal Magician smiled in approval. Erdreth was checking for all manner of magical devices and potential dangers. The priests, of course, took Vangerdahast’s approving grin as a smile of welcome to them and made various gracious nods of superiority.
“Respectful greetings, your hallowed graces,” Vangerdahast said loudly and pleasantly. “The Crown of Cormyr requires your services in an important matter involving the very safety of the state, of your persons, and of the health of every man, woman, and child in Suzail.” That got their attention.
“There is a man in the chambers of Crown Princess Tanalasta,” he went on, not giving them any time to interject any speeches about their willingness, loyalty, and the like, “who may bear a disease, or a poison, or even fell magic. A nobleman. He must be examined without delay, lest he spread a plague-or worse-throughout the palace. And what afflicts the palace touches the court, fair Suzail, and eventually all the realm. I need you to make that examination.”
“Us?” The huntmaster demanded, waving the jack of wine without shame. “Why can’t you-or your precious war wizards-do it?”
Vangerdahast spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “My skills are insufficient, and my presence has been for the moment judged undesirable by the princess.” He fell silent, giving them the opportunity to ask the questions he knew they would.
“Forgive me if this verges on the indelicate,” Manarech of Tymora said tentatively, “but am I to understand that we are being asked to force our way into the bedchambers of the princess? And interrupt her, perhaps, in the company of a man who may be her…?” He fell silent, making a meaningful circling gesture with his hand. No one present lacked the imagination to supply the word that had been omitted: lover.
“And just who is this man?” the high priest of Tyr asked, brows drawn together in a frown of consideration.
“The man is Aunadar Bleth,” Vangerdahast told them, “and he may be the paramour of the princess, for all I know… or have bothered to ask.” He made the last few words almost a rebuke, looking around the room as he uttered them so that no man could feel personally singled out and slighted. Gods, he thought inwardly, priests are as bad as wizards-a keg full of pride crammed into a tankard of wits, the lot of them! Including, no doubt, he reflected ruefully, this wizard as well.
“Is the matter as urgent as all that?” the songmaster of Milil asked pettishly. “Could it not be brought to the holy place of-ah, one of us-and dealt with in the usual manner?”
“The fate of the realm does hang in the balance,” Vangerdahast told them gently. “And for once, that is no empty tale teller’s phrase, but the bare truth.”
He turned with slow, tragic grandeur to regard High Priest Manarech Eskwuin. “Do you not agree, holy lord? Was what you witnessed earlier not grave enough to threaten the peace of all Cormyr?”
The high priest of Tymora nodded, drawing himself up to his full height and flinging his arms wide dramatically to make the most of his moment. “It was indeed, and you did right to summon me then, as you do well to call on the holy skills of all of us now. Any time the king of any realm is laid low, and his senior blood nobles with him, is a time when the peace of that realm may well be said to be threatened.”
“What?” A general confusion of shouted questions broke out, and Vangerdahast held up his hands for silence. Thankfully he did not have to use the silver whistle, for they quieted at once. Interest made them reach eagerly for his next words.
“Yesterday afternoon,” he said gravely, “the king, Duke Bhereu, Baron Thomdor, and young Bleth were in the King’s Forest on a hunt. They encountered some sort of metal beast, which used some sort of breath weapon on them. Through magic, we were able to swiftly transport them back here, but all of the royals had collapsed. Duke Bhereu died almost immediately, and Thomdor and the king at this moment are fighting for their lives. Aunadar Bleth slipped away and went straight to the princess. I need to know why he did not collapse, if he carries any taint of anything that may afflict him, the princess, or anyone else he comes into contact with in the future, and how he feels right now.”
The priest of Malar spat. “Bah! I deal in hunting and slaying, not nursemaiding the sick! See to your own duty, court wizard!”
Vangerdahast did his best not to smile grimly. This is what he’d expected and been waiting for. Indeed, such anticipated response by the huntmaster was the sole reason Vangerdahast had invited him in the first place.
The Royal Magician made a far more grand gesture than he needed to and looked straight at the huntmaster as-with a flash and sparkle of light motes and drifting smoke-the staff of the High Wizard of Cormyr appeared in his hand. He raised it as high as his arm would stretch and willed it to hum and crackle with power. As it burst into life, glowing impressively above their heads, he said regretfully, “I regret having to inconvenience you in any way, holy lords, but it is imperative that you aid Cormyr in this problem without delay.”
“And if we do not?” Surprisingly, the cool question came from the loremaster of Deneir.
Vangerdahast silently revised his kindly opinion of the runelord and said sternly, “As Regent Royal of Cormyr, I expect your cooperation in this-or your heads.” He caused his upraised staff to wink slightly but meaningfully.
“‘Regent Royal’?” Huntmaster Buruin’s voice was loud with derision. “You think this nonsense title gives you any authority over me?”
“Good and holy lord, it does-and yet, respected servant of Malar, it is authority I should not need.”
“Oh? How so?”
The Royal Magician smiled a crooked wolflike smile. “Hearken to the decree of Garmos Saernclaws, one of
