Cormyr_ a novel - Ed Greenwood [136]
"Aye," said the king huskily, smiling. "And here-" he thumped his chest with one bloody gauntlet-"it is valued more than all the gold in all the cities of humans all over Faerun. I can believe in my power-my just authority-only as long as others believe in me." He looked at Aosinin.
"You probably don't know how important this is," the old elf added, "but I have to say you've done a fair job with this tract of land. Iliphar would approve, and probably Baerauble as well."
"Will you be staying, then?" asked the king. "You will be most welcome, for I shall ensure that all Cormyr knows that the realm survives because of your aid here today."
The elf waved a dismissive hand. "For a year, perhaps two, we shall abide here," Othorion replied, "but no true elf can resist the call of Evermeet forever. Yet in these fair forests, I think there will be good hunting for a small while."
As the three men and the elf went slowly down from the hill, their trembling mounts moving no faster than the walking wizard, men of Cormyr walked about on the bloody field under the bright sun of morning.
The foot soldiers gathered mementos and told their companions about how they'd almost died here, and had hewn that one down over there, and as the tales went on, the tellers were already expanding their heroisms. By nightfall, all of them would have personally rescued the king and led the elves onto the battlefield in the charge that won the day and preserved the realm.
Chapter 21: Spells and Politics
Year of the Gauntlet
(1369 DR)
The Royal Magician's eyebrows rose. "Impressive shielding spells," he said, watching the three hired mages at work. Two were Calishites, whose sash symbols showed that they were both Exalted Masters in at least two schools of sorcery and the third was a Nimbran. By the looks of the rippling prismatic domes and spell-stop fields they were weaving around the room, any two of them could probably defeat him in a battle of spells. The house of Cormaeril spared no expense in seeing to the safety of its own… or in attempts to impress their Lord High Wizard.
The man he was here to meet inclined his head and smiled slightly-a smile that did not reach to his eyes, which were hard, black, and cold. "One can never be too careful," he murmured and went on waiting, leaning casually against the wall.
One after another, each of the wizards signaled that his spells were complete. Vangerdahast's host gave them each the same hand sign in return, and each sat down on a bench facing Vangerdahast, drawing out a pair of wands to hold ready. Their purpose was clear. If the Lord High Wizard didn't keep to his best behavior during the interview ahead, he would not be Lord High anything for very long.
Vangerdahast smiled slightly, to let his host see that he'd understood the rather unsubtie point, and sat down on a solid bit of nothingness he'd conjured. That opened some eyes over on the bench, none of them had seen him do the necessary casting. Perhaps this old fool was mightier than they'd thought, their eyes seemed to say.
The old fool crossed his legs, leaned back with his behind resting on empty air, and said, "I'm sure you already know why I'm here."
The cold-eyed young noble lazily pushed himself away from the wall with one boot and set down his slender tallglass of dragondew wine on the ornate table that bore the arms of his family.
"You'd like to proclaim yourself regent of Cormyr sometime during the next two days," Gaspar Cormaeril replied coolly. "Or has the information reaching me been incorrect?"
"You've stated my aim," Vangerdahast agreed. "I can, and shall probably have to, wait as long as six days or more." He met Gaspar's