rumors were closer to the latter than the former.”
Amedahast felt her reddening become a full-fledged blush. This one could give the silver-tongued courtiers of elven Myth Drannor some competition. “I am neither,” she said firmly. “Only an apprentice Lord Baerauble has chosen to take on. It was the middle of the night when I arrived, but that was mere happenstance.”
“Ah,” said the youth with a smile and intoned grandly, “Hearken ye to the First Law of Baerauble: Nothing is coincidence when it involves wizards, and the Royal Wizard in particular!”
“I’ve hardly been imprisoned, though it does feel like it sometimes,” continued Amedahast. “He has been busy teaching me the history and customs of this land before presenting me to the court.”
She held out her hand. “I am Amedahast, a middling mage of Myth Drannor, apprentice to Lord Baerauble, High Mage of Cormyr.”
The youth dropped to one knee, and Amedahast nearly jumped at the suddenness of his movement. He cradled her hand gently and kissed the back of her wrist. His breath was warm and his lips soft.
Yes, she thought, this one could definitely give the elven courtiers competition.
The smoothness of his manner was broken by the lopsided grin that spread across his face as he stood up again. A happy, puppy-dog sort of smile. She almost expected his tongue to hang out of his mouth. Instead, he said, “They call me Azoun. I mean, Prince Azoun, son of Anglond and descendant of fifty other kings going back to Faerithann himself, young lord of Cormyr and scion of House Obarskyr. Azoun the First, since I assume there will be others.”
“I know,” said Amedahast, bowing slightly but formally. “The circlet gave it away.”
Azoun touched the circlet on his head as if he had noticed it for the first time. Then he gave her another grin. “Comes with the title, I understand. Baerauble has trained the Obarskyrs to always make sure that whatever other fashion crimes they may commit, they always wear the proper hat.”
Amedahast found herself smiling at the image of Baerauble picking out the royal wardrobe. “Otherwise, you’d look like one of the castle’s hirelings.”
“This?” Azoun raised his arms to show off the blousey billows of his shirt. “I ride every morning around this time. I was taking a shortcut from the stables back to the castle.”
“I see,” said Amedahast. A small silence fell between the two. Then she said, “Well, I came out here to study. Baerauble is a cruel taskmaster.”
Azoun did not move away. “History?”
“Geography,” said Amedahast, taking two steps up the gazebo stairs. “Local geography.”
The young prince gave an exaggerated shrug. “Let me help. I know a good deal about the area, given that it is the family business.”
Amedahast flashed a hint of a smile and climbed the steps, taking a place at the back where she could watch the castle and keep an eye out for Baerauble’s eventual return. Azoun sprawled a respectable distance away. She sat sideways on the bench, with her knees up on the seat, and unraveled the scroll in her lap. “Soldier’s Green,” she said.
“Small chunk of land north and west of here,” Azoun replied.
She nodded. “Used for marshaling the militia and drilling the palace guards in large-scale maneuvers.”
“It was originally the site of an old settlement, wiped out by goblins, back before there was a Cormyr. That was where Keolan Dracohorn of Arabel gained the family name killing a blue dragon, and where Gantharla stationed her foresters when she marched on Suzail and seized the throne from her brother.”
Amedahast blinked. The blue dragon had been mentioned in the texts, but not the other two. “What about Mabel itself?”
“Almost as old as Suzail,” said Azoun. “Originally a logging encampment of folk who moved in when the elves moved out. It’s been part of Cormyr, off and on, for about three hundred years. It would petition to join, or be conquered, or be absorbed in one generation, then grow restive and break away the next. It’s officially part of the nation right now, but it has always been-and remains-very independent. The saying in court is ‘A rabid kobold could start a rebellion in Mabel.’ Of course, we don’t say that around folk from Mabel. They’re a little touchy about it, to say the least.”
And so the afternoon passed. The young prince was a font of knowledge, picked up from a lifetime of listening to the tales of Anglond’s court. It turned out that Baerauble had taught the young king his letters, and Azoun was amused to hear that the old scarecrow was as demanding and boring now as he was then.
Amedahast shared the bread she’d brought, and they passed the bottle of port back and forth. The shadows of the afternoon grew longer, and the young wizardess realized that she was no longer watching for Baerauble’s return. The old mage was probably back by now, wondering where in the Seven Heavens she had disappeared to and planning a suitable punishment for her return.
She jumped up at the thought, rousing young Azoun, who had moved himself to sprawl on the bench next to her. “I should get back!” she said, stuffing the scrolls into the satchel. “The old… that is, Master Baerauble will have me flayed if he thinks I was lollygagging around all afternoon.” She bolted down the steps two at a time while the young prince was still pulling himself up.
“Will I see you again tomorrow?” he shouted after her. “I’ll be here after my ride.”
Amedahast turned and waved. “If I’m not slain or locked in a tower room, I’ll be here.” And with that, she ran back to the wizard’s quarters, her long robes billowing behind her.
Baerauble was indeed there when she returned, bent over his workbench and examining some detailed clockwork through a huge lens. Without looking up, he asked, “Have you been studying?”
Amedahast gasped to recover her breath and gulped, “Yes, Lord Baerauble.”
“So tell me something about geography,” he responded. Amedahast took a deep breath. “Soldier’s Green was originally the site of an orcish massacre. It was also where the Dracohorn family gained its name. Keolan Dracohorn killed a blue dragon there. The ruins of Marsember are regularly used by pirates, and periodically adventuring groups are secretly hired to clear them out. The High Horn was the first fortification among the Storm Horns and remains the largest, with dwarves emigrating from Anauria being hired to hollow out the mountain itself.”
She paused to take a breath, and the old wizard interrupted, still without looking up. “Good enough, but slightly inaccurate. Keolan Dracohorn found a dead young blue dragon there, drove his sword into the cooling body, and told his version of the tale so often that it became the family legend. Not everything that is claimed as history is true. Remember that. Now go prepare for dinner. We’ll be discussing Lathanderian philosophy.”
Amedahast bowed formally and retired to her quarters, taking the steps two at a time. She couldn’t see the old wizard’s face as he crouched over the clockwork nor see the wide smile on Baerauble’s lips.
Amedahast and Azoun met in the garden for the remainder of the month. Azoun kept her posted on history, family legends, court gossip, and local custom. “Right now all the petty nobles are in their country estates overseeing the plantings and first shearings. Come month’s end, they’ll all descend on Suzail. There will be a great ceremony that takes forever as each family lists its triumphs since the close of the last noble season. Naturally there will be intrigue and fistfights over who gets to be presented to my father first.”
Amedahast told the young prince about elven poetry, news of the outside world, and ancient legends of heroes and wizards and great threats from beyond the borders of Cormyr. Azoun sat in rapt attention as she recited from memory the epic poems and love sonnets popular in Myth Drannor.
And each evening Baerauble would ask her what she had learned and correct the more obvious errors in Azoun’s stories. Once or twice she had argued with the mage over a point of history, but the old wizard pointed out how it could only happen in one particular way, and if young Azoun’s version was true, then all manner of other things should have occurred, which had not. Amedahast conceded the point, but grudgingly.
One afternoon, during their studies, Azoun turned to her and said, “You’re going to be my wizard. Do you know that?”
Amedahast was taken aback. “Baerauble is the King’s Wizard. I’m merely his apprentice.”
“The old scarecrow is my father’s wizard and High Mage to every Cormyrian king back to the beginning of time,” said Azoun. “But he’s never taken on an apprentice before. That means he’s finally feeling his age. I think he’s about to retire, or become a lich, or whatever old wizards do. And you’re going to be my wizard.”
The idea of becoming the master mage of Cormyr unsettled Amedahast slightly. Yes, she thought, she probably would like to attain high station and respect. But Baerauble had outlived all but the eldest of elves, enhanced by his magic and enchantments. Even in his frail state, he seemed invulnerable and eternal.
She crept around to the topic at the dinner table that evening. The old wizard nodded slightly and said,
