language from wandering elves, and my accounts from visiting Sembians.”
“A well-spent youth,” snapped the king.
“I know my people and my land. I am ready to take on my father’s burden,” finished the young prince. “I do not want to fight you for it, but fight I have, and will. Do not, I entreat you, divide our people more than they already have been.”
“A pretty speech,” Salember spat. “Did Lady Damia help you? No, young nephew, you have insufficient knowledge of court politics. The courtiers would eat you alive.”
“From the looks of things, it is the courtiers who were eaten alive in this castle,” Rhigaerd drawled. “Or fled to our camps, or hid themselves until we two could come to agreement.”
Lady Damia put in, “We thought, Lord Salember, of recognizing your wisdom with a continued advisory role for you, perhaps a barony or dukedom of the kingdom.”
“I should surrender the crown to a child for a handful of crumbs and a smattering of titles?” Salember snarled, the fire coiling like a serpent in his belly.
“I admit your experience would be invaluable in-” Rhigaerd began.
Salember cut him off. “In cleaning up after your mistakes, Nephew? In supporting you as king? In doing all the work and gaining none of the credit?”
“It does not have to be immediate, Uncle,” said Rhigaerd calmly. “Three more years of regency, then a smooth changeover.”
“No!” Salember shouted. “You will get the crown only when I have no earthly need for it! Surrender to me here and now, young prince. If you truly love this country as you profess, prove it!”
Rhigaerd’s eyes blazed with anger. “I do love the Forest Kingdom,” he said, voice rising, “and honor my ancestors. Yet, Uncle, you must step down. Can’t you hear the sounds of men dying? The sounds of the realm ripping itself apart? We cannot survive with two kings, one rightful and one temporary.”
“Agreed!” shouted Salember and turned to Jorunhast. “Kill them, wizard!”
Silence wrapped the four of them like a cloak, the echoes of Salember’s orders rebounding from the walls like ripples of water.
Jorunhast looked at the king stonily. “Excuse me?”
“Kill them!” bellowed the king. “Kill them now! This is our best chance to end all of this destructive nonsense-now!”
“Prince Rhigaerd came here on my assurance of personal safety, Sire,” the mage said calmly. Rhigaerd moved to stand in front of Lady Damia, and his hand drifted to the hilt of his peace-bonded blade.
Salember’s eyes burned with fury, and his own hand now rested on Orblyn. “I am your king, and I demand your obedience! Kill the pair of them! A snake without its head cannot long survive!”
Jorunhast looked at the young noble and pregnant noblewoman on the dais, then back at the king. Salember’s face was a mask of rage now, spittle flying as he shouted.
Jorunhast looked at his king and said simply, “No.”
Salember’s face was as crimson as a red dragon’s now, the fire surging through him. “I found Baerauble’s records, mage! The elves have forced your kind to serve the crown. You must follow my orders! You must deal with the threat to the crown! Kill them!”
Jorunhast blinked at the raging king and said quietly, “Sainted Baerauble was forced to serve the crown, yes. Amedahast, Thanderahast, and I-we served through choice and through loyalty. Loyalty to the crown, but also to the king and the people and the country itself. Let it end here, Sire. Even Iltharl the Insufficient knew when to step aside…”
Salember was no longer listening, for the fire pounded in his temples and his ears, and in his heart something snapped loose from its moorings and catapulted him to action.
With an incoherent scream the Red Dragon King pulled the blade of King Duar from his belt and charged the pair on the dais.
Jorunhast stepped forward as the king charged and whipped out a massive hand, grabbing Salember’s face with widely splayed fingers. The mage barked a few ancient words, and a tomblike carrion smell swirled through the chamber. He let go of his king.
Salember stumbled forward a half-step and fell to the floor, Orblyn skittering away on the flagstones in one direction, Palaghard’s gaudy crown in the other. The carrion stench returned again, and this time Salember’s tattered scream was borne on the whispering wind.
Rhigaerd bolted down the dais stairs and knelt by the king’s body. “He’s dead.”
“Aye,” said Jorunhast softly. “I had to deal with the threat to the crown.” The mage held his arms before him, hands interlocked in the opposing sleeves, as if hesitant to show the deadly weapons again.
“The king is dead,” said Damia Truesilver.
Jorunhast nodded and pulled from his robes the crown, the original elven crown of Cormyr, slender with its three amethyst-studded spires. He handed it to Lady Damia. The young prince knelt, and the noblewoman placed the circlet on his brow.
“Long live the king,” said Damia, “Arise, King Rhigaerd the Second of Cormyr. Would that your coronation had been a celebration, but your kingdom has need of you.”
Rhigaerd stood again, and Jorunhast saw that his eyes were wet.
The young king’s voice was firm, however. “You have my thanks, wizard.”
“I had to deal with the threat to the crown,” repeated Jorunhast sadly. “I am sorry there was no other way. He was my friend as well as yours.”
“Let him be remembered in his strength, not in his madness,” said Damia, as if finishing a litany.
“Yet you have killed a king,” said Rhigaerd solemnly, “and for that, the sentence is death. I hereby commute that sentence to eternal exile. You will leave Suzail, wizard, and never return to it again.”
Jorunhast opened his mouth, then shut it again and nodded.
“None will trust a kingslayer, regardless of his motives,” said Rhigaerd, “and none will believe me to be truly a ruler if I keep Salember’s chief plotter as my own.”
Jorunhast nodded again and said, in tones almost of relief, “As you wish, Sire. I follow your orders out of my loyalty to the crown. I will gather some things and then be gone.” The mage retreated to the door of the great throne room.
“Hold one moment, wizard,” said Rhigaerd, and the mage paused by the doorway.
“Sire?”
“Cormyr has always had a wizard, but now will not,” said Rhigaerd carefully. “In your exile, find and train the best young mage you can find. When I marry and produce an heir, I will send word far and wide, to where you cannot help but hear-and I bid you then send your pupil to become my son’s tutor. Cormyr can survive without its wizard, but not for long. In this, I command you.”
Jorunhast bowed deeply. “As you wish, my liege.”
“And thank you,” Rhigaerd added softly. “Thank you for the crimes you committed in the name of the crown.”
Jorunhast’s eyes were as wet as those of the new king.
“I do my duty out of loyalty and love,” he said roughly, “and I will teach my pupil to do the same.”
And though no one saw him leave, Jorunhast was never seen in Suzail again.
Chapter 29: Treachery
Year of the Gauntlet (1369 DR)
“O Lady of Fortunes and Mysteries,” the priestess said reverently, “hear us.” Striking the silver gong just inside the door, she threw off her sea-blue cope to reveal vestments of shining silver, took three slow, measured paces forward, and knelt. She touched the silver disk at her throat, the symbol of her goddess. “Tymora, hear us.”
Behind her came the soft rustle of the crown princess removing her own overrobe and slippers. Gwennath remained on her knees until Tanalasta joined her, murmuring her own “Tymora, hear us.”
