time. But how are you, my liege?”
“Several bottles of strong drink rage in my gut,” Azoun said slowly, forcing each word and dropping one eyelid in a slow, deliberate wink. “All I can feel. Fingers feet… nothing. A little dagger point of pain here, there. That’s all.”
He closed his eyes for a moment, and the wizard thought sleep had captured the king as it had the baron. Then Azoun’s brows furrowed, and he opened his eyes again, spearing Vangerdahast with their intensity. “I am dying, am I not?” asked the king.
The wizard bent down to mutter in his ear, “We don’t think so, but these vultures we call nobles do. Try to disappoint them for me, will you?”
Azoun tried to laugh, coughed with an alarming catch and a weak, sobbing breath, and shook his head. “They… just might be right… this once,” he managed to wheeze.
Vangerdahast frowned. “Mounds of bull droppings to that! Majesty, there doesn’t seem to be anything that can halt the poison yet, but we’ve barely begun to try-“
“The whole range of tortures on me. I know,” the king replied, his voice growing stronger as he concentrated on his words. “Worse than the nobles, in their way.”
“Your condition may be due to something found in warmer climes or even on another plane of existence,” the court wizard said, still muttering. “All of our sages-and the Harpers, too, I’m told-are consulting with their brethren in other cities.”
The king caught his eye. ” ‘Consulting with their brethren’? Is that not the phrase we used for a quick trip to Arabel-drinks to toast our arrival there, ladies to share them with? Back when we were young and healthy?”
The joke was as weak as its teller, but Vangerdahast laughed in relief. A flash, at least, of Azoun’s true spirit meant the king hadn’t given up on life just yet.
But the king was looking oddly green about the eyes, and his head had fallen back on the pillow again. “So, gods-blasted… tired,” he gasped, his voice trailing away. A breath later he was asleep, eyes closed, head turned to one side.
“He needs to sleep, doesn’t he?” the wizard asked the priests who were hastily gathering around the king’s head, feeling at his hands and brow and neck.
One of them, a short man whose face was almost hidden by a bristling mustache, looked up. “Of course,” he snapped. “Who can heal in peace with this going on?” He indicated the long line of waiting, chattering nobles with an angry wave of his hand.
Another turned from Azoun to say, “In general terms, I agree. Yet from time to time, ‘tis probably best if the king speaks with folk, as he did with you. The converse forces him to use his wits, especially if matters new to him, or which he’s not considered in some time, are raised.”
“Nonsense!” The first priest snarled. “He’s not fallen on his head or been smitten with a mace! It’s rest he needs, not a lot of chatter!
'I-“
“Your understanding of the king’s condition is hardly-“
“I dispute what both of ye say! We of-“
Vangerdahast’s hand went to his pocket belt, but instead of pulling out the whistle, he instead pulled out a milky flashstone. He held the magical stone up, and it issued a sharp, brilliant strobe of light, startling more than one holy man into a fall and shocking them all into silence.
The source of the blinding burst of radiance stood with his hands on his hips and looked grimly at them all. “If the king wakes and wants to talk to you or any of these nobles, let him. If he wants them to leave his side, see that they do. If any noble tries to rouse the king or complains about having to wait for his awakening, throw him out.”
One of the priests blinked. “Throw a noble of the realm out of this chamber? Lord wizard, that’s hardly-“
Vangerdahast held up an imperious hand. “I know. That’s why these good Knights of the Purple Dragon around us here will enforce my command and bring chamberpots and pillows to any nobles who want to spend the night defending their precious place in line.” He turned slowly, to catch the eyes of the men-at-arms, and collected many nods of grim satisfaction and a few open grins.
“If any noble has a formal complaint to make or tries to countermand my orders, refer him-personally-to me.” He turned back to the priests and added darkly, “They should settle any matters pertaining to titular or property succession with their kindred first.”
He looked slowly at each of the priests in turn, meeting their gazes, and asked, “Is there anything unclear in what I’ve just said? Does anyone find the slightest room for misunderstanding or speculation as to my will? Speak if so!”
Silence was his only reply. The Royal Magician smiled coldly and said to one of the guards, “Thanorbert, send pages down the line of nobles to repeat the orders I’ve given and send men enough after them to see that they aren’t manhandled. A noble who lays an unfriendly finger on any page is to be thrown to the ground, lashed on the behind just once with a swordbelt-but make it a good blow-and thrown out, losing his place in line. All right?”
“More than all right, lord,” the Purple Dragon veteran said from behind him. “It shall-enthusiastically-be done just as you have said.”
“Good,” the Royal Magician said and strode out of the hall without looking back. He passed through the Hornbow Bower, one of a number of small sitting rooms that littered the palace, marked by potted plants and ornate screens. He did not speak to the cooks and servants assembling there to prepare food for the war wizards, men-at-arms, and priests attending the king. Face set, the old wizard ignored greetings and queries alike and hurried out through the Mirror Bower, down the statue-lined Hall of Heroes. The normally silent, deserted hall was crammed with waiting nobles and a stolid trio of Purple Dragons, who moved up and down the line quelling fights and restoring queue jumpers to their former places. Many nobles called out to the wizard, and the armsmen quickly moved to hold back the few nobles headstrong enough to try to bar the court wizard’s way.
Vangerdahast shook his head sadly at the chaos of sneering and declaiming and posturing-was this the best the realm could muster from its noble bloodlines?-but did not slow his stride. Soon he reached the end of the royal purple carpet, where the last pair of white marble statues guarded three doors that led from the hall.
The wizard took the door on the left, into the Argent Robing Room, and reached for a fine chain on his belt that held a certain key. His hand fell away again when he saw that a man he did not know was waiting for him, bareheaded but in battered and stained battle armor, flanked by two Purple Dragons. “Yes?” he asked shortly, his tone almost a challenge.
The man in armor bowed stiffly, metal plates shifting, and laid a hand on his breast, saying, “Eregar Abanther, servant of Tempus.”
Vangerdahast nodded his head, and the priest continued. “We have prepared the duke’s body for resting in state, Lord Wizard.” He raised a hand and waved at the walls around him, asking delicately, “Where…?”
“Our thanks, sword brother,” the Royal Magician said gravely. “Let it be done fittingly. Algus of the Keys will give you the duke’s sword. Take it and four of your brethren of good strength and shared size to carry the duke. Let there be four more holy men of Tempus with lit torches to serve as escort. Bid the carriers take down Bhereu’s shield of honor from the Gallant Gallery-Algus will show you where-and bear it in solemn procession to where the duke now lies, his sheathed sword upon it. Let such holy prayers as please Tempus be said then, and the duke taken up.”
“Forthwith?”
Vagerdahast nodded. “Lead them yourself from that place. Bear him slowly, with dirge and tolling bell, through the palace, so the Purple Dragons you pass can give him sword salute, and take the fallen to the court, and to the Marble Forehall there. A bier awaits in that chamber. Lay him down there with the Warrior’s Farewell.”
The priest of Tempus bowed his head. “Lord, it shall be so.”
Vangerdahast took a ring from his belt pouch and pressed it into Abather’s hand. It bore a device shaped like a golden lion and inscribed with the numeral 3.
“Redeem this at the treasury after the solemnities are done,” he murmured. “They will have instructions to render unto you nine thousand golden lions, one thousand for each priest of Tempus who walks with the duke.”
The priest bowed his head. “Tempus thanks you, lord.”
“And I thank Tempus,” the wizard said, startling Abanther with the ritual response known only to faithful
