his back. Ilmreth Illance, another of the men that unpopular family had already lost in these last few years, and probably not the last. Alusair sighed. She didn’t want men to die bravely-she wanted them to live on to ripe old ages and die in bed, happy and safe and prosperous in a Cormyr free of Obarskyr sins and armies marching because of them.
“Arabel may be burning,” she heard a Purple Dragon grunt behind her, “but it’s one big orc oven. I saw one street chest-deep in tusker bodies, their blood running in a river down into the sewers.”
“You’ve caught up to us, Paraedro!” someone else called happily. “You must have run like the very wind.”
“No,” the dragoneer replied sourly, “I walked-butchering orcs every step of the way. Slow work, but if you lot were any slower at slaying orcs, I’d have passed you and been halfway to Immersea by now.”
“Be our guest!” another voice bellowed, over the ringing clang of his sword shattering an orc blade. “We’ve saved plenty of tuskers for you!”
“Aye,” Paraedro replied in dry tones. “I’d noticed.”
27
The huge refectory doors swung open, and the first nobles filed into the sparse room looking confused and uneasy. Each was accompanied by two dragoneers, one to carry his scabbards, jewelry, purse, and anything else that might conceal a weapon, the other to stand guard over him with a bared sword. When they saw the four dining tables placed together in the center of the room and the unadorned benches upon which they were being asked to sit, their expressions changed from apprehension to irritation.
Tanalasta, seated opposite her mother at the center of the table, stood as the first lords drew near. Her purpose today was not to assert her authority but to win the hearts and minds of Cormyr’s nobles, just as her efforts to care for the refugees had won the love of the common people. Queen Filfaeril remained seated in her throne, which was the only trapping of royal privilege in the room. The queen would be representing the crown, not to direct the proceeding but to bestow the royal blessing on whatever occurred there that day.
Young Orvendel Rallyhorn, wide-eyed and pale, was shown to a seat a little down from the queen. Because Urthrin Rallyhorn was already in the north fighting at King Azoun’s side and Korvarr was needed to oversee the guards, Queen Filfaeril had insisted that the awkward youth speak on behalf of his family today. That he did not yet know of her command accounted, perhaps, for his queasy aspect and trembling hands.
Tanalasta gave the boy a reassuring smile, then forced herself to nod politely as Emlar Goldsword came to stand next to the youth. The arrangement was no accident. The princess had intentionally arranged the seating to break up cliques and power blocs. Emlar returned Tanalasta’s nod with a spiteful glare, showing no curiosity about the manner of his summons nor the unusual site of the meeting. She wondered just how extensive his spy network was.
When the last noble had been shown to his seat-or hers, for there were more than a few matriarchs in the gathering-it was one of the neutral lords, Melot Silversword, who turned to glower at Tanalasta.
“Your assassins were not fast enough?” he demanded. “Or have you decided it will be more expedient to arrest and exile us?”
“No one is under arrest, Lord Melot. You are entirely free to leave.” Tanalasta glanced down the huge table in both directions, then let her gaze linger a moment on Emlar Goldsword. “You all are.”
A few brows rose, but there were too few friends seated next to each other for the resulting murmur to be more than gentle. Tanalasta allowed a moment for any noble who wished to leave to do so, but it was a mere ploy to make them feel they were attending of their own will. No one would leave before hearing the reason for her unusual summons. Of that she felt certain.
When none of the lords surprised her, Tanalasta nodded. “Good. I apologize for bringing you here under guard, but I wanted to be certain you arrived alive.”
She motioned them to sit, not bothering to elaborate. The rash of assassinations had continued unabated for well over a tenday now, and the ghazneths, starved for magic by Tanalasta’s ban, had begun to attack nobles in search of hidden magic items. That the creatures had an uncanny knack for assailing only lords who insisted on safeguarding their own magic suggested to Tanalasta that their spy was well-placed indeed. She had heard that Emlar Goldsword had another, more mercenary explanation.
After the nobles took their seats, Tanalasta continued to stand. “I summoned you because, as nobles of the realm, I thought you should be the first to hear some devastating news received by the palace just this hour. Arabel has fallen to the orcs.”
A few of the nobles cringed and closed their eyes, suggesting that Tanalasta’s words were mere confirmation of the rumors they had already heard through other sources. Most, including Emlar Goldsword, simply let their jaws drop and stared at the princess in shock. Only Orvendel Rallyhorn, staring around the table with an expression that could best be described as smug, did not seem shocked.
“What… what of the king?” asked Lady Calantar.
Still puzzled by Orvendel’s reaction, Tanalasta tore her eyes from the youth and turned to the noblewoman, whose winsome face had gone as gray as ash. The question was, of course, foremost on the mind of every lord and lady in the room. With Emlar Goldsword and his followers standing in more or less open opposition to the crown princess, the king’s death would bring Cormyr to the brink of civil war and all but assure a “stabilizing” invasion by Sembian mercenaries.
Tanalasta was about to answer when Emlar Goldsword cut her off. “The king is alive.” He stared directly at the princess as he spoke. “If the king were dead, do you think I would not have joined him already? The princess’s assassins have proved themselves most capable.”
Tanalasta was careful not to nod. “The king is well, as is the Steel Princess. If they were not, Lord Goldsword would be in Prisoner’s Tower, not a grave.” She resisted the urge to accuse the coward of trying to put the blame for his tactics on her. If this meeting degenerated into a shouting match between her faction and Goldsword’s, Cormyr was lost. “I have called this council to inform you of the crown’s decision to send its remaining troops north to reinforce the survivors from Arabel.”
The room broke into an immediate uproar, and several of the guards stationed behind each noble stepped forward to push a protesting lord back to his seat. Only Emlar and his supporters remained quiet, some studying Tanalasta and clearly waiting for the other shoe to drop, others ohserving her with an air of self-righteous satisfaction-convinced, apparently, that Arabel’s fall would force her to accept Sembia’s offer.
The princess watched Orvendel watch the others, his eyes wide and the corners of his mouth curled up almost unnoticeably. The youth was enjoying this. Why? Because it made him feel important? Tanalasta gestured for quiet. Under the gentle prodding of the dragoneer guards, the chamber slowly fell silent.
As soon as the tumult had died, Lord Longbrooke said, “This is outrageous!” He was so angry that even his heavy jowls were red. “You’ll leave the south undefended.”
“That is for this council to decide,” said Tanalasta. “A small garrison will remain to defend the royal palace and keep order in Suzail, but the rest is up to the nobles.”
“This-this-this is coercion!” sputtered Longbrooke. “We’ll not stand for it.”
“The crown’s troops are the crown’s to do with as it pleases,” said Tanalasta. “The first companies are marching north even as we speak. The decision before this body is a simple one. Will the nobles stand and fight, surrender to the ghazneths, or invite an invasion from Sembia?”
Finally, Goldsword smirked. “You would condone their help?”
“I would not,” said Tanalasta.
“Nor would the crown,” said Queen Filfaeril. She leaned forward to look down the table toward Goldsword. “At the moment, however, the crown has no more say over that than this council has over the disposition of the Purple Dragons and war wizards. You will do what you will do, and we’ll all live with the consequences. There are, however, some things you should know.”
Filfaeril leaned back in her throne and nodded to Tanalasta.
“Giogi Wyvernspur remains poised on the border and will invade Sembia the instant their mercenaries cross into Cormyr,” the princess said, “under any circumstances. He lacks a large enough force to win a victory, of course,
