Beyond the High Road (5 page)

Once the cheers were finished, Dauneth asked the high nobles to clear a space in front of the rostrum, then brought on a company of singing acrobats. Within minutes, everyone in the room, from the lowliest lord to the king himself, was crying in laughter. Though Tanalasta could not forget Lady Marliir’s behavior, she did find herself able to forgive it-especially given that someone in the royal party had most likely put her up to it. By the time the show ended, the spectators were so exhausted from laughing that many had sunk to the floor holding their ribs.

As the performers cartwheeled and back-flipped out of the chamber, Dauneth invited the high nobles to ascend the rostrum in turn and present their gifts to the king. After the mirth of the acrobats, it was a welcome chance for the audience to relax and refresh themselves, and a pleasant drone descended over the chamber as Azoun opened the artfully wrapped packages. For the most part, the gifts reflected the families that had given them. From the seafaring Dauntinghorns there was an intricately modeled cog of pure gold, with silken sails that furled or unfurled at the tug of a tiny chain. The Hawklins presented an archaic sword crafted in forgotten Netheril, too ancient and brittle to wield in combat, but a valuable addition to the king’s collection in Suzail. Cat and Giogi Wyvernspur produced a huge white stag captured in their Hullack Forest, tame enough to eat from a man’s hand, yet so proud it allowed only the king to approach it.

Azoun thanked each giver profusely, displaying the offering and expressing his appreciation so sincerely that no one in the crowd could doubt how deeply the present had touched him. Tanalasta quickly lapsed into a performance of look, exclaim, and applause that required only a small fraction of her attention-a routine shared by many high nobles as they circulated through the front of the room, conversing quietly and congratulating each other on the genius of their gifts. At the base of the rostrum, Merelda was the center of much attention, even from the aloof Huntsilvers and the ever-envious Illances.

Once the process seemed well underway, Dauneth returned to his seat and leaned over to speak quietly with Tanalasta. “I apologize for my mother’s eagerness. As you can see, she was quite taken with the idea of our marriage.”

Despite her anger, Tanalasta forced herself to smile and speak in a teasing voice. “Of course you have said nothing to encourage her.”

Dauneth withdrew slightly, apparently sensing the pique behind her tone. “I would never presume!”

“No?” Tanalasta pushed her lip out in a parody of a pout. “What of those ‘wild claims’ about my beauty? Are you telling me you said no such thing?”

Dauneth looked confused. “Of course, I find you ravishingly beautiful, but in truth-“

“Say no more, Dauneth. There are some things a princess should not hear.” Tanalasta laughed lightly, then laid a hand on his arm. She glimpsed Lady Marliir drawing Alaslyn Rowanmantle’s attention to the gesture, but did not draw back. If she wanted Dauneth to relax, she had to seem relaxed herself. “Besides, I do not think your mother was the only one eager to push us along.”

Dauneth glanced uneasily toward her parents and Vangerdahast, then said cautiously, “I am sure everyone wants to see you happily wed.”

“Truly? I was under the impression that Vangerdahast just wants to see me wed-happily or not.” Tanalasta gave another laugh. “Really, his schemes are so transparent.”

Dauneth avoided looking in the wizard’s direction. “I am sure he is only thinking of the kingdom’s welfare.”

“So he is the one!”

“The one what?” Dauneth asked.

“The one who convinced your mother to behave as she did.” Continuing to hold Dauneth’s arm, Tanalasta smiled in Merelda’s direction. “I know Lady Marliir’s reputation, Dauneth. She is hardly the kind to blunder in such a matter.”

Dauneth looked as relieved as he did surprised, and Tanalasta knew that in his eagerness to vindicate his mother, he would take her bait. She waited quietly and continued to look in Merelda’s direction, nodding pleasantly when Lady Marliir flashed a puzzled smile.

Finally, Dauneth said, “Now that you mention it, I did see her talking to the royal magician earlier this morning. He must have told her to behave as though we were betrothed.”

“And what did he tell you?” Tanalasta’s tone was casual.

Dauneth turned in his seat. “I beg your pardon?”

“I thought we were going to be honest with each other, good warden.” Tanalasta removed her hand from his arm, then said, “I know Vangey too well to think he would execute only half a plan. When were you to ask me?”

Dauneth closed his eyes for a moment, then sighed. “During our dance. I was to whisper the question in your ear. But I knew nothing about my mother. That surprised me as much as it did you.”

“Which does nothing to excuse your own behavior.” Tanalasta cast a furious glance across the rostrum at Vangerdahast, who remained oblivious to her anger and watched in weary amusement as the king set a silver clockwork cat after a golden mouse. “Why, Dauneth?”

“Why what?”

“Why would you do this?” Tanalasta was struggling to hold back tears of rage. “I know you didn’t do it for the throne-not after the loyalty you showed during the Abraxus Affair. So why did you betray me?”

“I…” Dauneth looked away

Tanalasta noticed several nobles watching from the ballroom floor. She ignored them. “Tell me.”

When Dauneth looked back to her, his face was stern. “I did not betray you. If anyone is a betrayer here, it is you.”

Tanalasta raised her brow, shocked. “Me?”

“To your duty,” Dauneth said. “If you do not produce an heir, the Abraxus Affair will be a mere game compared to what follows your father’s passing.”

“My reign will follow my father’s passing,” Tanalasta said.

“And without an heir of your own, your reign will be one of plots and intrigues, with every noble family maneuvering to claim the throne upon your death. Sooner or later, one of them will see an advantage in assassinating you, and Cormyr will have a usurper for a king-or a war to unseat him.”

“And you think to prevent this travesty by getting a child on me? I think not. I will have a husband I can trust-or none at all.”

The hurt showed in Dauneth’s eyes. “I meant no offense, milady, nor do I say this for my own good, but you must take a husband, and soon. If you are angry with me, there are plenty to choose from.” He pointed into the crowd below. “There is Amanthus Rowanmantle if you fancy someone handsome, or one of the Silversword boys if you like wit, and perhaps even Dier Emmarask if you prefer someone who shares your love of learning.”

“Thank you for the suggestions,” Tanalasta said, struck by the absurdity of Dauneth recommending his own rivals. “If I were to choose a husband I did not love, it would probably be you. Even if I cannot trust you, you are loyal to Cormyr and that counts for much.”

“Thank you, milady.” A hopeful light returned to Dauneth’s eyes. “Do you really have time to think of love? We must think of Cormyr.”

“I am thinking of Cormyr.” Tanalasta started to rebuke the warden for trying to argue her into marrying him, then realized there was no point. She did not love Dauneth, and she was not going to marry him. “I am always thinking of Cormyr.”

“If that is true, you will-“

“Dauneth, please don’t presume to tell me what is good for Cormyr.”

The warden flushed and looked away, clearly aware that he had been doing just that. Tanalasta wanted to explain to him, to tell Dauneth of the vision she had experienced at Huthduth, but how could she expect him to understand something she could barely put into words? The revelation had been one of those slippery things that a sharp mind could twist into a thousand meanings, but in which a true heart perceived only one. How could she trust Dauneth to trust her feelings, when he had already proven that she could not trust him?

“I’m sorry, Dauneth, but it must be love. I really cannot abide less.”

A look of exasperation came over the warden, then he nodded and said, “Very well, milady. I shall fall in love with you on the morrow.”

Tanalasta’s jaw dropped, then she caught the note of self-mockery in his voice. “I wish it were that easy, good warden,” she laughed. “I truly do.” After a moment, she stopped laughing and gently took his hand. “But I fear your feelings would go unrequited. You don’t respect me in your heart, and after Vangerdahast’s meddling, I can never trust you as a woman should her husband. Forgive my bluntness in this matter, but you deserve to know. Your loyalty to Cormyr demands it.”

Dauneth’s face fell, and he sagged away from Tanalasta in shock. The nobles below did not seem to notice. They gasped in awe as Azoun displayed a four-foot dragon carved from a single crystal of amethyst, then applauded Ayesunder Truesilver as he descended the rostrum beaming with pride at the king’s superlative words of royal gratitude.

Seeing that there were no more nobles waiting to ascend the stairs, Dauneth gathered himself together, then went forward to express his admiration for the many treasures strewn across the rostrum. After swearing that it would take a whole caravan of war wizards to return the hoard safely to Suzail, he invited Alaphondar Emmarask to present his gift. The Sage Most Learned ascended the rostrum and presented the king with a massive leather-bound volume entitled, The Dragon Rides: A Complete and Accurate Account of the Life of Azoun IV of Cormyr, Volume Sixty-Two.

Filfaeril drew a raucous round of chuckles by remarking that she hoped it was not “completely complete,” then Vangerdahast stood to present his gift, pulling a simple switch of willow from the billowing sleeve of his robe. The king accepted the stick with a somewhat puzzled look.

“We thank you, Magician,” said Azoun. “What kind of wand is it?”

“None, Majesty. It is a plain switch.” Vangerdahast looked directly at Tanalasta, then added, “I think you shall soon have need of it.”

Much to Tanalasta’s dismay, the wizard’s wry response sent the room into convulsions of laughter. She could do little except pretend to enjoy the joke and fume inwardly. If Vangerdahast could not bend her to his will through tricks and traps, then he seemed determined to undermine her prestige with outright mockery. The princess could imagine the campaign continuing until her father died, and no matter that it would weaken her own crown when she ascended the throne, The old staff swinger believed that only he knew what was good for Cormyr. Usually, he did, and if that had been so this time, Tanalasta would have married Dauneth on the morn. But this time the royal magician was wrong, this time, the future of Cormyr was not a matter of the mind, but of the heart, and she was not sure that Vangerdahast even had a heart.

Once the mirth faded, Dauneth turned to the princess and cocked a querying eyebrow. Though he was careful to maintain an expression of practiced congeniality, the rest of his face was at odds with his broad grin. Hoping the audience could not read his disappointment as clearly as she, Tanalasta smiled and nodded.

Dauneth extended an arm. “Lords and ladies, I give you the Princess Tanalasta Obarskyr.”

Tanalasta took a deep breath, then rose to a polite ovation and stepped to the front of the rostrum. “Thank you.”

The princess needed to say this only once to silence the applause.

“As you know, I have been in retreat at Huthduth for the last year. While the royal magician seems to fear that I have been somehow corrupted by Chauntea’s humble monks-” Tanalasta was interrupted by a round of nervous laughter as she waved at the switch lying across her father’s knees, then continued, “Let me assure you nothing could be further from the truth. The mountains were a place of great peace and harmony for me, and my gift is to bring some of that bounty to King Azoun IV, and through him, to all of Cormyr.”

Tanalasta waved toward the entrance of the ballroom, where Owden Foley stood beneath the Grand Arch with a silk-wrapped gift box the size of a peasant hut. As the crowd turned to look, the Harvestmaster took up a golden rope and began to haul the gift across the floor. At first, his progress was labored and slow, for he seemed able to drag the huge box only a few paces before stopping to rest. Several minor nobles volunteered their help, which he gladly accepted.

The lords began to haul on the cord, and the box flew toward them so fast that they fell to the floor in a heap. A puzzled silence descended over the chamber, until Owden returned to take the golden rope. Claiming that earls and counts were too clumsy for such dangerous work, Owden shooed them away to a chorus of laughter, then resumed his labored trek toward the rostrum. This time, however, the box seemed to have a will of its own, sometimes flying toward him so fast that he barely kept from being run over, other times refusing to budge no matter how he pulled, cursed, or kicked at it. By the time he reached the rostrum and climbed the stairs to present the cord to Tanalasta, the ballroom was shaking with laughter.

Tanalasta beamed, for she and Owden had worked out the act together, spending much of her last tenday in Huthduth choreographing every move. She thanked the Harvestmaster for his hard work, then presented the rope to her chuckling father.

“You have but to pull the cord, Sire.”

“If I dare!” Azoun chuckled. He stood as though bracing himself for an onslaught, then jerked the cord.

The walls of the box fell instantly away, revealing twelve guilty-looking monks on a small pedalcart crowded with large earthenware kettles. As the audience erupted into guffaws, two of the priests leaped off the cart and placed a pair of pots on the lowest step of the rostrum, then spoke a quick prayer to Chauntea. By the time they had finished, two more monks were placing another pair of pots on next step.

As this duo spoke their prayers, a pair of small trees sprouted from the first two kettles and began to grow before the eyes of the astonished crowd. Another team of priests ascended the rostrum and placed their pots on the third stair, and so it continued until a pair of pots had been placed on every step. The trees blossomed as they grew, drawing gasps of wonder and delight from everyone in the room save Vangerdahast, who regarded the whole display with an air of wary impatience.