the first time, she wished Vangerdahast were there to guide here-or at least to activate his own formidable network of spies. “Can’t they see how much danger Cormyr is in?”
“The only danger they see is their own,” said Alaphondar. “With the setbacks in the north, I fear Goldsword’s call to accept help from the Sembians is falling upon more receptive ears.”
Tanalasta slapped the balustrade. “We would not need Sembia’s help if our own nobles would pick up their swords and fight!” She paused a moment to collect herself, then looked to Owden and said, “I am beginning to think I should have married Dauneth. At least the nobles could not use my husband’s name to flout my authority.”
“They would find another excuse,” said Owden. “Do you really think they would become brave only because you lacked the courage to trust your own heart?”
The priest’s question allayed some of Tanalasta’s anger. “I suppose not.” She turned from the balustrade to her mother. “Speaking of cowards and traitors, have you had any luck locating the spy in our midst?”
Filfaeril met Tanalasta’s eyes evenly. “Of course,” she said. “I have known his identity for some time now.”
Tanalasta began to have a bad feeling about her mother’s conclusion. “And you didn’t tell me?”
“It would have accomplished nothing, except to alert the spy.”
Tanalasta bristled at her mother’s tone. “If you know who he is, then why don’t I have him in our dungeon?”
Filfaeril smiled. “Because spies can be very useful-especially the enemy’s spies.”
Tanalasta raised her brow and asked, “Would you care to elaborate?”
“Not at this time.” Filfaeril held Tanalasta’s eyes and did not look away.
“As you wish,” Tanalasta said, realizing she would just have to be patient. “I suppose we’re done here.”
“What about Lord Goldsword?” asked Sarmon. “You are going to arrest him?”
Tanalasta shook her head. “If I do that, it will look like I’m frightened of him. That’s no way to inspire confidence among our wavering nobles.”
Sarmon’s knuckles whitened on the arms of his chair, but he did not argue.
“A wise choice, but we must do something,” said Alaphondar. “With matters as bad as they are, the people are losing confidence. They need to see you act.”
Tanalasta glanced over the balustrade and cringed at the sight of all the people she was failing.
“What those people need, Alaphondar,” the princess said, “is food.”
The old sage frowned. “Of course they do, Highness, but what does that have to do with the matter at hand?”
“Nothing,” Tanalasta admitted. She continued to stare into the Royal Garden and suddenly knew what she had to do. “Nothing and everything. Clearly, I can do nothing to stop the ghazneths, and it may even be that I can do nothing to stop Goldsword, but there is one thing I can do.”
Alaphondar looked thoughtful. “And that would be?”
Tanalasta turned away from the balustrade. “I can feed my people.” She motioned Korvarr forward. “Lionar, send a man to fetch the cooks, and have the bailey set with tables. I’ll be down in a hour, and I expect a ladle to be ready for me.”
They met in a place in Suzail where such meetings took place, in the dimly lit store room of a shady tavern in a seedy quarter where no decent lord would be caught dead. That was why the six nobles had donned elaborately conceived costumes and disguised their faces with false beards, why they had dyed their hair and taken such care to be certain no one had followed them. The chamber stank of stale mead, mildewed wood, and unbathed sailors. It was surrounded on all sides by rooms kept vacant at the steep price of five gold crowns each, a price which had drawn even more attention to the group than the perfumed handkerchiefs they held over their noses as they approached their hidden refuge.
Frayault Illance was speaking, his dandy’s face ridiculously disguised by a purple eye patch and a trio of wax scars. “It’s the princess. Natig Longflail told me himself that he had it from Patik Corr that the princess’s own dressmaker told his wife that she had sewn no wedding dress for Tanalasta, and he said he would support no bastard on the Dragon Throne, be it the child of Rowen Cormaeril or Alaphondar Emmarask or Malik el Sami yn Nasser-then he was dead! Her spies found him out, I tell you, and it was her assassins who killed him.”
“And you are not blaming the princess just because she would have none of your soft talk, Frayault?” asked Tarr Burnig. A broad and burly man who normally wore a bushy red beard, he had cut off all his whiskers and disguised himself as the guard of a merchant caravel not long from the sea wars, and he was one of the few men there who looked the part he had assumed. “Natig told me that as long as the princess was married when she made the child, he’d stand with her, and to the Nine Hells with Emlar Goldsword and his Sembians.”
“And why couldn’t the Sembians be the ones behind these murders?” asked Lord Jurr Greenmantle. “It wouldn’t matter to them which way we were leaning at all. They could just keep killing us until there aren’t enough of us left to stand with Tanalasta, even if we wanted to. She’d have no choice but to ask for their help.”
The room erupted into a spirited debate, until a tall, dark-haired figure with a long beard rose and began banging his dagger on the table. “Enough! Enough!” The voice belonged to Elbert Redbow, who was neither tall nor dark, but wealthy enough to make himself appear that way for one night. “We could argue this all night, with every one of us coming to a different conclusion. I have even heard it said it could be the ghazneths-though I don’t know why they’d bother. Against them, the princess has proven ineffective enough as it is.”
“Hear, hear!” It was the first thing all six had agreed about all night.
“So have you a plan, Lord Redbow?”
“I do.” His voice grew even deeper, and he braced his knuckles on the table. “We must stop reacting and start acting.”
Again, there was agreement. “Hear, hear!”
“We’ll send a man to all the suspect parties,” explained Elbert. “He’ll pretend to be a craven coward in fear for his own life and claim I’ve called a secret meeting to divulge evidence about the identity of the assassin.”
“And we’ll know the identity of the cur by who shows up to kill us!” cried Tarr. “A grand plan, just grand!”
“As far as it goes,” said Frayault, “but what do we do after we find out?”
“You really are as slow as you look, aren’t you?” asked Lord Greenmantle. “We join them, of course!”
It was at this point that someone knocked on the door. The eyes of all six lords darted toward it, and Elbert Redbow had the presence of mind to snarl, “We said not to disturb us!”
“Yes, but you have not ordered a single mug of ale,” replied the tavern keeper. “How am I to pay for the room’s use? You must all buy at least one drink.”
Elbert snorted in disgust, then looked to the others. “What say you? I’m thirsty anyway.”
Lord Greenmantle nodded and stepped to the door. “A little refreshment never hurt anyone.”
Greenmantle had barely slipped the chair from under the latch when the door crashed open and an anonymous hand tossed something tiny into the room. Elbert Redbow cursed and hurled himself across the table to make a diving catch. Something crackled, and suddenly the room stank of oil and brimstone.
Lord Redbow cursed again, and the air went scarlet.
24
“Keep well apart!” the swordlords shouted, turning as they strode to look at the Purple Dragons trudging along behind them and to gesture with their swords at dragoneers they judged to be gathered too closely. King Azoun almost smiled. It had been well over half a century ago when he’d first noticed that officers seemed to love pointing and gesturing with their blades. Perhaps many of them kept those swords unused and shiny in a diligent search for the greatest effect, so the steel would gleam and flash back the sun impressively when employed in such sweeping gestures.
The scouts were well ahead, their horns lofting from time to time to warn the advancing army of orc and goblin patrols or battle forays. The horn calls most often persuaded goblins to try to sprawl on the ground and await a chance to gut the unwary with knives before springing to their feet and racing away, but usually they made orcs retreat, trading muttered oaths and wary warnings. These retreats inevitably led to larger and larger whelmings in
