by several Obarskyr queens prior to his reign, but several sages swore that the maiden was somehow connected with the good fortune of House Obarskyr and should never be broken up, defaced, or lost.
So when a careless court sage dabbled overmuch in forbidden sorceries and managed to blow up himself and the topmost room of a tower in the court, Rhigaerd had the maiden raised into the room while it was being rebuilt and walled in there. A narrow ladder shaft was the only way into the lofty, enclosed turret room, and the steep climb to get to it, up through the hidden heart of the court, made the maiden a favorite place for disgusted sword captains to send bumbling soldiers. “Go up and polish the maiden” was still heard on the streets of Suzail as a slightly more polite alternative to saying, “Lose yourself-far away, and now!” But only slightly…
Nevertheless, it was relatively unusual for the dusty maiden to have visitors in her dark, lofty chamber, but two men stood leaning on either side of her now, in poses that suggested they were overly familiar with the lass. A drifting globe of soft mage light hovered above them, making the maiden glow eerily, but neither man noticed. They were too busy remaking Cormyr.
“I never thought I’d see the day,” Ondrin Dracohorn was saying in a harsh whisper, “when the Royal Magician of the realm would have the time-and desire-to hear my dreams for Cormyr.”
Vangerdahast shrugged. “The day has come, so say on and you need not whisper. My spells have shielded this place against prying magic and people coming up from below. No one can hear us.”
“Aye, good,” Ondrin said with an excited smile. “Then I’ll not waste overmuch time.”
In truth, Vangerdahast hadn’t heard that the man had ever wasted so much as the time it took to blink, in fewer than thirty winters, he’d bought his way from obscurity to prominence among the eastern nobles. Not a tenday passed that Ondrin Dracohorn didn’t-quietly, mind you-buy this farm or that warehouse with the coins that poured into his lap, it seemed, from his busy fleets based in Marsember and Saerloon. There were the usual whispers of smuggling, piracy, slaving, and running provisions out to the Pirate Isles, and in truth, it was hard to think of any honest shipping bringing quite so many coins. But on the other hand, it was hard to think of Ondrin Dracohorn as a competent slaver.
Or pirate, or just about anything else. His short stature, ordinary looks, and pale, watery blue eyes didn’t invite men to do business with him or maids to go to revels with him, but he seemed to suffer no shortage of either. Perhaps, Vangerdahast conjectured, the prevalence of folk greedy for power and easy money explained it.
Ondrin was as exultant as a small boy to be “in the know” and at the heart of deals and important events, but he seemed not to see that he stood outside most real intrigues in the court of Suzail, because-as everyone knew-he was one of the biggest loose tongues in the kingdom. Something in his inner being compelled him to tell secrets to just about everyone he met.
Ondrin liked to drink-he was fumbling with a belt flask now-and watch dancing girls, and impress folk with his wealth. He dressed in the height of fashion. Right now he was wearing a violent flame-orange cross-sash secured with a metal brooch as large a man’s face. The brooch depicted a two-headed serpent transfixed on three swords, but the sash clashed horribly with the blood-purple ornamental half-cloak he’d clipped to it. Vangerdahast was thankful for the brooch, however. Keeping his eyes on that scene of serpent and swords was enabling him to keep his face straight as the excited whispers went on.
Ondrin took a pull of cordial, coughed, exhaled noisily-by the gods, cherryfire mixed with… with… mint wine? Vangerdahast glided a step back. The noble said, “Well. Listen, then: I see a Cormyr free of the uncertainty of today, with a king lying near death and the realm stirred up like bees when a hive is broken open. I see a Cormyr where the poor are richer, and the Dragon Throne less decadent. I see a Cormyr-“
Gods, but the man had good eyes, thought Vangerdahast. He was careful to let nothing of his thoughts show on his face, he was going to need this man.
“-in which the laws are more just, and the gauntlet of authority lighter!”
“Good, good,” the Royal Magician said encouragingly, leaning forward to put a hand on the Blue Maiden’s knee in quickening excitement. “And how will we reach this better, brighter realm?”
“‘Tis a swift and simple thing,” Ondrin said, watery eyes alight. “You, as regent, turn over control of the local Purple Dragon detachments all across the realm to the nobles whose lands they patrol. Then name a king-get someone to marry Tanalasta, I’ll put myself forward if she hasn’t been promised to someone already-and call the first true council in Cormyr’s history The king can only rule as far as the nobles-by vote, one vote per holding-say he shall, so that we, the nobility, will hold the true power in Cormyr.”
“You interest me,” Vangerdahast said, dropping his own voice to an excited murmur and glancing around to be sure the maiden hadn’t lowered her head to watch them, “but say on. You know how hidebound the old families are. I’ll need to speak strongly to persuade them to do anything that so weakens the crown. How does Cormyr profit by a council of nobles having a say over the king?”
Ondrin leaned forward until his ornate pin clanked against the maiden’s plinth. “Nobles, new and old, are always short of money. However much one has, there’s never enough-do you know how much servants eat?- and so no noble, once his pride is set at rest by knowing his votes are just as good as those of any other noble, with the old royalblood pecking order swept away and no king hurling absolute decrees about, is going to act in any way that hurts his coffers. We’ll govern to enrich ourselves, and so enrich everyone, as they do in Sembia, except that we’ll have some control over our realm and can act together to keep Cormyr strong!”
Vangerdahast was nodding like an old man over one tankard too many. “Your words are fair indeed, Lord Dracohorn. I think we can ride together on this, taking Cormyr to brighter days, indeed. But I’ll need your help to do it.”
“Yes?”
“You are the only man in the realm with broad enough influence to give me the support I need. The princesses-both of them, but in particular Crown Princess Tanalasta-are violently opposed to any regency, and in particular to me. They view me as some sort of spider who tugged their father this way and that, and they want me in my tomb, not standing beside the Dragon Throne. The only folk standing between the Purple Dragons they can hurl at me and my paltry spells-oh, I can topple a tower or two, but not whole armies!-are the nobles. The nobles listen to you, from one end of this realm to another. So I need you. Cormyr needs you.”
“Say on!” Ondrin Dracohorn had practically climbed up onto the maiden’s lap in his eagerness.
“Well,” Vangerdahast said slowly, “you and all the realm have heard tales about the scheming Royal Magician… about how I manipulate the king to do this and his courtiers to do that, using my war wizards when I have to. Everyone talks about the way I run Cormyr from the shadows behind the throne… and mostly they grumble about it.” He leaned forward until his nose was almost touching Ondrin’s and added, “So, knowing that about me, would you consider supporting me for the regency, to win a brighter future for Cormyr, free of the ever-present Obarskyr philandering? We’ve seen Azoun in half the bedchambers of the land, and he’s not the first, let me tell you. Do we really want to see his daughters doing the same and have to dance to their every amorous whim?”
Ondrin’s face grew serious. “Openly support you as regent against the wishes of the princesses?”
“Yes,” the wizard said. “I need you to do that, or I’ll have to flee the realm soon, and without me, your dream of a council of nobles can never be more than that: a splendid but windblown fancy.”
“I-I ache to say yes,” Ondrin whispered, drawing himself up. “And yet I dare not do so yet. First I must sound out some of my noble friends-in strict confidence, of course, and saying nothing of our meeting or your personal feelings at all-to be sure that enough of us are ready for such a brave change… or our necks may be on the block before our behinds ever find a council seat.”
“Well said,” Vangerdahast agreed, stroking his beard. “Go and see where the nobles stand, then, and we’ll meet again when you send word to me.” He grinned and shook his head. “Gods, Dracohorn, but this plan of yours shines brightly!”
“Doesn’t it, though!” Ondrin almost shouted, then shrank down and clapped a hand over his mouth, looking scared.
“Have no fear,” the Royal Magician said swiftly. “Nothing has disturbed my wards, but you’d best go while they still last. I can keep you cloaked until you reach the Lion Cellar. Go through the back of the third cask, mind, the fourth leads straight into a guardpost!”
“Yes,” Dracohorn agreed, eyes ablaze again. “Away now, to rescue Cormyr on a bright day soon!”
“Indeed,” Vangerdahast agreed, lifting the lid that covered the top of the shaft. Ondrin sketched a dramatic salute-which the wizard matched, moving his hands grandly-and hurriedly started down the ladder.
The Royal Magician watched him descend, hoping the fool wouldn’t miss his grip on a rung and fall. When the noble was safely out of sight, he let his mage light fade and patted the Blue Maiden affectionately. “Good girl!
