you and your settlement in general, though it now grows large enough to worry some in the court. Only Mondar, who broke the covenant, was punished. If you and your men tell your people that elves did this, they’ll attack the court and their hunters, and this-” he waved one hand around the smoldering battlefield, ending at the pyre- “will befall Suzail and all of you. Do you want that?”
Ondeth was silent.
“But if orcs did this,” the mage continued, “If the pig faces were responsible, then your settlement continues. Will your men tell that lie to save your people?”
Ondeth’s brows did not rise. “Why would they want to lie?”
Baerauble ignored the question. “If you told them to, would they obey you?”
Ondeth thought about it for a moment, looking at the others. The Silvers already had a large and growing brood in the settlement, Rayburton a daughter, and Smye a wife heavy with their first child. They had all argued with Mondar about the wisdom of settling beyond the walls. Yes, they would-reluctantly-agree, if the alternative was explained to them.
“Aye,” said Ondeth. “They would obey.”
“Let this be the work of the goblin-kin, then,” said Baerauble. “I will go back and work peace among the discontented elves. But there is another matter: Why will these men obey you?”
Ondeth blinked. “Because they choose to. They’re reasonable men, and they know they cannot take on the elves themselves and have any hope of victory.” Yet, he added to himself.
Baerauble shook his head. “They follow you because they choose to, but also because you choose to lead. You are the founder of your town, and the strongest voice in it. Were I to ask them to do this thing, regardless of the soundness of my arguments, they would ignore me, even though it would mean their own deaths. You they will listen to.”
“What are you saying, mage?” Faerlthann asked, looking from his father to the elf-friend and back.
“You are their leader in truth,” said Baerauble. “I want you to be leader in name as well. Declare yourself king, or duke, or whatever rank you so choose. I can offer the support of Iliphar and the court in this matter. With Mondar dead now, there is no other strong voice. Marry your Minda if you want to seal the matter.” He ignored the younger Obarskyr’s sharp intake of breath at the mention of Minda’s name.
Ondeth did not look at his son, but instead regarded the wizard. The elven attack had come when Minda was not present and had silenced the only man in a hundred miles who could challenge Ondeth’s tacit leadership of Suzail. If it were blamed on orcs or goblins, the peaceful lives of Suzailans could continue alongside the elves with the threat of death under elven arrows helping the town elders keep the secret of the assault.
How much did Baerauble know of this massacre?
Ondeth watched the crackling flames, aware of the scrutiny of both the mage and his own son. If he were to agree, that would mean Faerlthann would gain everything upon his death. More than a farm, more than a name, Faerlthann would have a kingdom. Would that be enough for the young man to forgive him his affair with Mondar’s sister?
At length, Ondeth opened his mouth and said deliberately, “No.”
The mage protested, “But-“
“No,” repeated the farmer. “Many of us have seen kings, and in general they are a bad lot. If I command these men, it is by their choice, not mine. If they obey the strictures you and the elves have laid down, it is through loyalty to me, not fear of you. If they hide this foul deed, it will be through their own desire to remain, not any order I enforce upon them.”
He looked at the pyre, where the Bleths were barely recognizable as things that had been human. “No, I cannot be your puppet king, dancing to elven tunes,” Ondeth continued. “You have no authority to offer me such a title. These men do, and they have had their fill of monarchs and official leaders. I will see that your secret is kept, because it is in all our best interests to keep it secret. But I will not take a crown born out of a massacre.”
The flames were beginning to die now, thick smoke pouring from the pyre. The smell of burned flesh hung heavily in the air.
At length, Baerauble spoke. “I will convey your refusal back to Iliphar’s court. Know, Ondeth Obarskyr, that the elves are concerned about the growth of your little settlement. If you will not take the reigns of leadership in an official form, they will have to decide what to do about the humans in their wolf woods.”
With that, he turned away from the pyre.
Ondeth shouted after him, “And how long will this decision take?”
Baerauble paused, then turned. “Ten years. Perhaps twenty. The elves are slow to decide…”
“And swift to act,” finished the farmer. “And will you warn us when they choose to eliminate us as they did this farmstead?”
Baerauble Etharr, the elf-friend mage, said something, followed by a jumble of syllables in a strange tongue. The light shivered, flowed like water, bent around him, and he was gone.
Gone back to his elven masters to report his failure.
Ondeth caught the mage’s last mumbled words and thought the wizard said, “Prepare yourselves.”
Faerlthann heard those same words but thought the mage had said, “I shall try.”
Chapter 9: Cordials
Year of the Gauntlet (1369 DR)
“Princess Alusair? My dear, she’s probably gallivanting around the realm with all the handsome young men she can grab with both hands! Gone to fight beasts at the borders of the realm, indeed! More likely she’s off to one of the king’s secluded hunting lodges for a weekend of dalliance. That one wants to try out all the nobles in Cormyr before she marries one!”
The prawn-and-cress sandwiches were all gone, and the dove tarts as well. The servants had been dismissed-Darlutheene had bidden them to leave the cordial decanters behind-and the two ladies had settled down in the parlor window seats with the drinks between them for their favorite post-highsun pastime: a good old gossip.
Darlutheene Ambershields was in fine form today. To look at her-something few men cared to do for overlong-you’d never think she’d been born to a family of longtime palace servants. Her gown of royal blue musterdelvys was alive with cut gems-glass, a jeweler would have said at a glance-that glistened like tears, and her formidable bodice was a masterwork of upswept filigree adorned with peacock plumes. The red silk of a fitted chemise flared through her slashed and puffed sleeves, and in half a dozen daring cutouts upon her breast and belly. Huge rings flashed and glistened on every finger as she waved expressive hands, and a small silver ship was under full sail across the raised billows of her blonde hair.
In truth, her companion, Blaerla Roaringhorn, considered this bellow-sailed vessel in very poor taste, but it was after all Darlutheene’s parlor, and her cordials, too, so Blaerla held her peace.
“She doesn’t matter at any rate,” Darlutheene confided in a whisper that set the crystal ringing several rooms away. “They say Azoun has three sons-that’s right, no fewer than three!-shut up in dungeons at High Horn and Arabel and even right here in Suzail, their wits stolen away by those wicked war wizards, waiting to step onto the throne should anything happen to him. The other nobles are simply furious, of course, and have spent quite a respectable amount of money over the years trying to get to these idiot princes. If they grabbed one, you see, they could kill everyone in the Palace at once with magic and still have a recognized blood heir to put on the throne!”
The earrings at Darlutheene’s green-and pink-dyed temples shook with the excitement of her words, tinkling almost like the diamonds they were cut to resemble, rather than the glass that they truly were.
Blaerla leaned forward, jewel-topped toothpick busily at work, to look out over what they could see of the royal gardens, just in case armies of men hired by the nobles were charging the palace to get at one of those chained princes right now, but the shrubs and flower beds were empty of rushing men in armor, perhaps they’d chosen another route. “You speak truth indeed about my mistress, the princess,” she said, putting her glass to her full, very red lips, “but I’ve seen her with a sword in her hand, love, and I tell you if anyone sits on the throne that she doesn’t agree with, we’ll have war!”
