Vangerdahast walked stiffly down the tower's broad stone steps. Through the arrow loops cut into the thick walls every ten feet or so on the stairs, he could see the first feeble rays of the morning sun. The light cast flowing ghostly images before Vangerdahast's eyes. The wizard staggered for a moment, but leaned against the cold gray wall before he could fall.
Dimswart patted the paunchy old man lightly on the back. 'Not used to staying up all night anymore, eh, Vangy?'
The wizard shook his head and frowned. 'These are strange days, Dimswart,' he said, continuing down the steps, this time at a slower pace. 'At the moment, I wonder if I shall ever sleep again.'
The sage moved to Vangerdahast's side. 'I believe him, you know-about not serving the guild.'
'Eh?'
'Bors,' Dimswart began again. 'I think he's telling the truth. You can see it in his eyes.' He paused for a moment, then added with a slight smile, 'Besides, my sources tell me that the guilds would plan something far more elaborate than one man reading a spell from a scroll.'
Again Vangerdahast steadied himself with a hand against the wall. After four or five stairs, he stopped and turned to the gray-haired sage. 'I find it hard to believe that he actually had enough money to purchase a scroll of that power.'
Shaking his head, Dimswart folded his arms across his chest. 'I don't think the fool who sold the scroll to him realized what he had. Or perhaps it was stolen and some wandering thief wanted to be rid of it. There's a thriving black market for magic in any city the size of Suzail.'
'And the money?' the wizard asked impatiently.
The sage smiled, this time a broad, self-assured grin. 'He had to have a little money from winter trapping. He probably spent all of it on the scroll. Did Bors look like he'd eaten recently to you?'
'So this was his last hope,' Vangerdahast concluded, stroking his beard. After a moment of thoughtful silence, he conceded, 'It makes some sense, I suppose.'
The wizard and the sage walked the rest of the way down the tower without saying another word, lost in their own theories about the assassination attempt. They crossed the frost-covered courtyard to the main keep the same way, and only spoke when they'd entered the palace and reached the antechamber to the king's quarters.
Azoun was sitting in a corner of the small room, tugging at the corners of his mustache, when Vangerdahast opened the door. The king still wore the clothes he'd changed into immediately after the attack: a plain tunic and breeches, with high, black boots. A thick purple cloak hung carelessly from his shoulders, probably put there by Queen Filfaeril sometime during the night.
Vangerdahast couldn't help but feel the monarch looked as if he were stranded on some desolate stretch of beach, shipwrecked and alone. The room's few candles and the thin sunlight from the window cast deep, aging shadows on Azoun's face. After the sage and wizard had entered the room, Vangerdahast cleared his throat noisily. When Azoun looked up, his dark-circled eyes and pale complexion only heightened his appearance as a lonesome castaway.
'We're done interviewing the trapper,' Dimswart noted softly.
'Is Zhentil Keep involved? Or the guilds?' The king asked the questions casually, offhandedly. This wasn't the first time someone had attempted to take his life; conspiracies and failed assassinations had become a part of Azoun's everyday existence.
Rubbing the knotted muscles in his neck, Vangerdahast eased himself into a padded chair. 'Your friend, the 'Sage of Suzail,' believes Bors was working alone. He has a few interesting points, but I'm not convinced. We've heard the trappers are gathering weapons, too. This could mean trouble.'
Dimswart shrugged. 'That was an awfully sloppy assassination attempt for one sponsored by a powerful guild.'
'I thought the people, the merchants would understand. I thought they'd be the first to see how necessary this is.' The king turned toward the window, which overlooked the gardens, and noticed for the first time that the sun was coming up. 'We've been up all night,' he noted absently.
'You should rest, Azoun,' the royal wizard said, concern coloring his voice. 'The special envoy from Zhentil Keep will be here late this morning to discuss the crusade.'
Inhaling deeply, then sighing, Azoun stood. The cloak slid from his shoulders and dropped into liquid folds of fine cloth at his feet. 'It's all getting out of control,' he said, half to himself. 'I can't let that happen.'
As Azoun paused, standing lost in his own wandering thoughts, Dimswart noticed that the king's age dragged heavily upon him. Azoun's shoulders stooped slightly, and his arms and legs seemed slack. 'Vangy's right. You need to rest.'
The king snapped out of his reverie and looked at the sage. 'Did I hear you correctly, Dimswart?' he asked, a trace of a sad smile on his lips. 'Did you actually agree with Vangerdahast?' The gray-haired man nodded, though he found he couldn't return even his friend's half-smile.
'I suppose you're both right,' the king concluded at last. He walked to the nearest candle and snuffed it out. 'I tried to sleep earlier. It didn't do me much good.'
'Perhaps a spell, Your Highness?' Vangerdahast offered helpfully.
'Or a mixture of herbs?' added Dimswart.
The king shook his head. 'No, no. I'll go and lie down beside Filfaeril. Try to sleep on my own. Spells or potions might leave me unfit to meet our guest later this morning.' He shuffled to another candle and extinguished its flame, then turned to the gilt door that led to his inner chambers.
Silently the king left the room. The gilt door slid noiselessly shut, and the wizard and sage were left in the antechamber. Vangerdahast squeezed the flame out on the room's sole remaining lit candle.
'Good night-or should I say good morning? Thank you for your help, Dimswart.'
The sage frowned and gestured toward the gilt door. 'Will he be all right?'
Nodding, Vangerdahast mumbled something about the trials of kingship and all men needing rest. The wizard then hustled Dimswart from the room and told the guards standing watch outside to knock in three hours and keep alert. Before Vangerdahast closed the door to the antechamber, Dimswart asked, 'He's paying for the crusade already, isn't he?'
The royal wizard didn't answer as he shut the heavy door. As quietly as he could, Vangerdahast picked up the king's cloak, hung it over his own shoulder, and dragged the padded chair closer to the window. He lowered himself slowly into the chair, his old joints creaking, his brown robe folding around him. Finally, pulling the cloak up to his chin, he glanced out at the blue morning sky. It was chilly, but he guessed that the sun would burn the frost from the air by highsun.
Azoun will have to pay far more than one sleepless night to stop the Tuigan, was the wizard's last thought before he lapsed into a shallow, fitful sleep.
The guards knocked on the antechamber door three hours later, as instructed. Vangerdahast started awake. His none-too-rested mind immediately called a defensive spell to the fore, but the groggy old wizard recognized the soldiers before he had a chance to make a mistake.
The sun was high over the gardens when Vangerdahast glanced out the window. He reckoned that he and Azoun had at least an hour before the special emissary from Zhentil Keep made his appearance. The wizard shivered slightly and rubbed his arms through his woolen robe. Winter still hadn't been completely banished from Cormyr, and it was certainly making its presence known that morning.
Wondering if the king had managed to sleep at all, Vangerdahast crossed to the king's bedchamber and knocked. When he got no reply, he slowly, quietly open the gilt door. It slid noiselessly open on oiled golden hinges.
To the royal wizard's chagrin, King Azoun was awake. He stood across the large room, near a multipaned stained glass window that depicted a twisting purple dragon. The king traced the dragon in the glass, running his fingers over the purple, burgundy, and gold fragments. The light from the sun shot through the window and cast the king in a bath of deep, beautiful color.
'Your Highness,' Vangerdahast began, 'I-'
Azoun turned sharply and held a finger to his lips. He motioned toward the large, white-draped canopy bed that dominated the room. Seeing that the monarch pointed to his still-sleeping wife, Vangerdahast nodded. Azoun cast one longing look back at Filfaeril, then followed the wizard into the antechamber.
