Cormyr_ a novel - Ed Greenwood [176]
Aunadar's nostrils tightened, and he strode forward. "I trust the lore you were taught was specific on the subject of the last regency, wherein the faithful regent refused to give up power after his time had passed."
"Oh, yes," the mage replied softly. "My tutelage on that was thorough. I remember the tales of the last regency very well."
Aunadar stepped back a pace, face paling-and in his hiding place behind the hearth-surround peepholes, Dauneth Marliir shuddered for the same reason: the ice in the old mage's voice.
Chapter 28: Dragons, Red and
Purple
Year of the Rock
(1286 DR)
King Salember stalked the halls of Castle Obarskyr, bellowing for the courtiers, for his guards, for the servants. None answered his summons, and no one knelt, awaiting orders, at any corner he turned. His footfalls rang heavily through the stone halls and echoed in the distance.
The guards were gone from his doors, the servants from their hiding holes, the fawning courtiers from their appointed places. Where were the scribes, the healers, the pages? Where was his court?
They could not all have left him, he thought. Defections had been rife, true, but he'd kept the rest of the rabble in line. And they could still win. He had led the country for nine years and led it well. "Cormyr stands strong!" he bellowed, just as he had done in so many speeches before. The echo came back to him mockingly. Couldn't the people see that things were better now under his regency? Had been better, at least, until the upstart prince started making trouble.
Everything had been knocked askew by this upstart prince. Work was undone, crops unharvested, deals unmade. Even the castle itself was filled with projects half accomplished before the servants fled. Tapestries were half hung, shields of treacherous houses pulled from the wall but left lying when they fell. Salember passed the Blue Maiden, a favorite statue, resting beside its plinth, waiting for the workers to lift her up to the pedestal. Salember cursed at the sloppiness of the staff, along with their weak loyalties.
Salember paused by one of the great gallery windows overlooking the city. The sun was westering, and most of Suzail lay at his feet, already cloaked in the deep shadows of early evening. There were fires in the city tonight, fires unnecessary for so close to Midsummer Eve. They marked the sites of battles between his faction and that of Rhigaerd, between the Reds and the Purples, between those who served the rightful ruler and those who followed a pretender to the throne. The flames of burning buildings made him think of red dragons against the shadowed city, but the spiraling smoke reminded him of purple dragons in the dying sun.
Out there in the city and in the countryside beyond the walls, the factions were sparring and battling. In the streets of Arabel and swampy Marsember, in forested Dhedluk and mountainous High Horn, the country was riven. The Purple Dragons were torn apart, with units and mages taking opposite sides. The Battle Brotherhood had been shattered into a hundred individual mages, all of whom had headed for their towers and lairs. Even the churches-the Helmites, the Lathanderites, the Mystrans-were riven by the choice.
And all because some folk would fling aside a capable sitting regent for the unproven whelp of the previous king.
Nine years ago Salember's brother, Azoun III of the Forest Country, had died, leaving behind a son too young to rule a nursery chamber, let alone a kingdom. Jorunhast came to Salember then with the offer of a regency-a temporary rule until Crown Prince Rhigaerd was of age. Salember stepped up to the Dragon Throne, a position he'd never sought.
And he'd served for nine years, and served well. People were living better, imports were up, and the depredations of orcs, goblins,