wooden shutters on their open-fronted shops. Other merchants-including all the bakers, butchers, and other food peddlers Azoun saw-were still standing in their storefronts, hawking their goods at the tops of their lungs, trying to sell what perishables they could before they closed for the night.
The king walked to a bakery and leaned against the corner of the building. The white-bearded man who ran the shop scowled at the king, but didn't chase the loiterer away. For the next few minutes, Azoun simply stood on the corner, taking in the relaxing smell of warm bread and watching his subjects as they went about their lives.
'Tell your master that this is the finest bread I have,' Azoun heard the baker tell a young serving girl who'd come to pick up part of her master's evening meal. The girl smiled as if she'd made a special deal with the merchant, then ran off. In a few minutes, another girl in the low-cut blouse of a serving wench came to the shop. The baker told her the same thing he'd told the last customer.
Across the narrow, rocky street from the bakery, a weapons crafter kept shop. At the same time the second serving girl was passing by him, the king watched as a small, even scrawny man stormed up to the smith across the way and unwrapped a sword.
'This weapon isn't balanced correctly!' the man bellowed. 'I was guarding a caravan in the Stonelands. When we got attacked by goblins, I used the sword and nearly cut off my own leg!'
When the weaponsmith didn't reply, the warrior smashed the heavy pommel of the claymore against the store's weather-beaten counter.
The dark-skinned crafter looked up at last, contempt in his eyes. 'I warned you when you bought it, Yugar. That sword's just too damn heavy for you to wield correctly.'
'Ha!' the overzealous warrior cried, snatching up the monstrous two-handed sword again. 'I can use any weapon that'll fit in my hand. I'm Yugar the Brave!' He said the last as if it should mean something to anyone who heard it. No one passing by so much as took a second glance at the young braggart.
The smith dropped the whetstone he was using to sharpen a tiny, jewel-handled dagger and stepped out of the shop. He grabbed Yugar's arm and wrested the claymore from his grasp. 'If you're so brave, why aren't you signing on for the crusade?'
Without pausing, Yugar picked up a slightly smaller sword from the smith's display-rather awkwardly, Azoun thought-and said, 'I am… I think. I've heard there's good money to be had if I sign on as a mercenary.'
The king winced. Traveling through the city, he'd heard many people discussing the crusade. Most of the merchants were complaining about the new taxes that were being levied to defray the cost of the expedition. Azoun had heard only two craftsmen talking about the crusade with any enthusiasm. However, one of these men was an armorer, the other a weaponsmith. They had far too much to gain from a war to be considered fair representatives of the people.
The king had also overheard many warriors like Yugar, hungry only for money, and a few who only wanted adventure. Still, the guards and churches had reported early that day that over a thousand people had already signed on for the crusade. Azoun had spent much of the morning dispatching letters to the various nobles who had promised armies, asking them to gather in Suzail as soon as possible. The crusade was, without a doubt, going to become a reality very shortly.
Despite this, the trapper's attack still plagued the king. And before he could leave Filfaeril in command of Cormyr, he needed to know that he went with his subjects' blessing. Few people seemed willing to talk about the guilds in detail, though the assassination attempt was the subject of much idle speculation.
Azoun hoped that the adventurers and guildsmen who frequented the same tavern would prove a greater source of information about the Trappers' Guild and public sentiment about the crusade than the merchants he had encountered so far. At the very least, a visit to the Black Rat would provide an excellent escape from the court, if only for one night. He had, after all, frequented the Black Rat in his days with the King's Men.
As the king was remembering a few of those happy hours, the baker came out of his shop, scowled at the loiterer again, and slammed the awning closed. Azoun took the hint and headed for the docks.
By the time the king got to the tavern, the sun had set and a bright moon hung over the city. The air was very chill, and Azoun could see his breath as he hurried along. Occasionally a lantern or candle flickered in an open window, but most of the shops and houses were completely dark. This wasn't surprising, for few people traveled the streets of any city in Faerun at night, especially one the size of Suzail. It was commonly said that only criminals, fools, heroes, and gods walked a city's streets after dark. That statement was generally quite true.
While the night watch made regular patrols in Suzail, shadowy figures still skulked in and out of alleyways, waiting for unwary travelers or drunken adventurers to stumble into their traps. Creatures that would never roam the streets during the day came out to scavenge through the offal and garbage dumped unceremoniously out of windows into the thoroughfares. And though Azoun had secreted a small dagger in his boot when he'd left the castle, he felt much safer when he finally passed through the door of the Black Rat.
'For the last time, no!' a barmaid screeched. She slammed a mug down on the table nearest the tavern's front door and slapped the one-eyed man sitting there. A burst of loud, raucous laughter rumbled through the room in response. The frumpy, fat-cheeked barmaid took a curt bow-one much too low for a woman with any modesty, considering the cut of her dress-and sauntered back to the kitchen.
Azoun started at the disturbance, then shivered at the wall of warm air that washed over him as he entered the tavern. He hadn't noticed how cold it was outside until then. The king glanced around the room for an open table, saw quite a few, then moved toward one close to the small fireplace that dominated the taproom's northern wall. The dozen or so patrons of the Black Rat watched Azoun cross the room, then went back to their drinks or their games of dice.
'I'd do anything for that girl, and this's what I get!' the one-eyed man yelled. Azoun noticed that he was slurring his words slightly.
'Bring back the head of one of those barbarians the king's so hot on killing,' a mournful-looking man called from a table near Azoun. 'That'll win her heart.'
The barmaid walked out of the kitchen and went straight to Azoun's table, ignoring the rude comments from most of the drunkards in the taproom and the protestations of love from the one-eyed man. The king politely ordered an ale, then leaned back toward the fire.
The woman smiled in gratitude at the respect shown her. 'Ale's free tonight,' she said. 'One of our patrons was recently rewarded by the king, and he left gold to pay for drinks.' After another brief smile, she blew a coil of red hair from her eyes and went for the drink.
'Alas,' a lean, dark woman sighed as the barmaid left the room. 'She's given her love to another, Brak. You'll never have her now. Her smile gives her away.'
A few men chuckled, but Brak, the one-eyed warrior, stood up. 'What?' he snarled, pointing at Azoun. 'That old coot?' The king's shoulders sagged. The last thing he wanted was trouble.
The barmaid returned with Azoun's ale, gave it to him, then got Brak to sit down. 'There's no one but you,' she teased and pinched the man's ruddy cheek. 'But I'll love you more if you prove how brave you are on that crusade. Perhaps I'll love you most of all if you don't come back.'
There was more laughter, but one man, clad in shining chain mail, stood up and lifted his mug. 'I say we should raise a toast to King Azoun. . the only king in the West worth following into battle. Long live the king!'
After the trials of the last few days, Azoun felt his heart leap as the patrons of the Black Rat, both men and women, lifted their mugs and called out, 'Long live the king!'
That phrase always made King Azoun think of his father. Rhigaerd had loved to hear men shout that toast, and few nobles had missed the opportunity to please him with it during his reign. Azoun usually found the phrase troubling, since many of the courtiers assumed it was a sure way to win favor. The phrase had fallen out of use at court, but it obviously hadn't in the city. The king didn't find this particular toast lacking in sincerity or enthusiasm, however.
He smiled to himself beneath his powdered white beard. 'Yes,' Azoun agreed softly. 'Long live the king.'
'And your damned guild brothers will pay for their grumbling,' the mail-clad warrior added, swinging his mug toward the table by the door. Brak grumbled something under his breath, but remained silent.
Azoun didn't miss the reference to the trappers and quickly moved to the table of the man who'd made the toast. 'May I join you?' When the man nodded, the king took a seat on the rickety bench across from him. 'What was that about the trappers, young man?' he asked in a soft voice.
