Cormyr_ a novel - Ed Greenwood [177]
But, no, the traditionalists, the monarchists, the mired-in-rules old thinkers resisted. Rhigaerd demanded the crown, then fled into the wilderness to marshal his own forces. He took the banner of the Purple Dragons with him. Salember flew the Red Dragon, a color of battle and blood, over the castle.
Salember removed his heavy crown and set it on the sill of the gallery window. He'd taken Palaghard's crown from a century ago as his own, and the ornate, gem-encrusted helm weighed heavily.
He sighed. When the Purples were crushed, then perhaps the old crown would be fetched from the vaults. Yes, when the rebel Purples were crushed and Rhigaerd routed from whatever burrow he'd squirreled himself away in. When Rhigaerd's Purples were finally destroyed, everything would fall back into place. And at last affairs in Cormyr would get back to normal, and he could forge ahead to make the land ever mightier. "Cormyr stands strong," he muttered, bringing his fist down on the sill slowly and gently. Like a storm giant, he must be careful, he thought, lest his great strength break things around him that he held dear.
A distant sound came down the hall, a single, short slam or thump, booming along the bare walls.
The Red Dragon King turned and shouted, "Jorunhast? Is that you?"
The Blue Maiden looked up at him, calm and unchanging, from the floor beside the plinth he'd ordered her placed upon-how long ago had it been? A tenday, now? A life-sized, sculpted maiden of smooth blue glass, sitting gazing up at the dragon coming to devour her, the sages said. Her hands were too large, and her feet, too, some folk said, but Salember liked her strength, her courage to sit naked but for a cloak held against her, awaiting doom. That was the sort of spirit more folk in Cormyr should show. Besides, the sages said the maiden was linked to the good fortune of House Obarskyr and should never be smashed, disgraced, or lost. He'd have to give that order again and get her up on the plinth where she belonged without further delay. If he could only get the damned servants to answer his call…
"Jorunhast?"
The wizard would still be there. He was tethered to the crown like a mongrel dog, as all the Royal Magicians, Crown Wizards, and Lords of Magic of the past had been.
Yes! He, Salember, had found that in Baerauble's original books: The wizards were magically bound to protect the crown. Others had forgotten that, but not wise old Salember. Whatever else happened, the Royal Magician would be loyal.
But Salember's voice echoed down the halls to no response.
Cowards, thought Salember. No fire in the belly, no passion in the heart for a good fight. All the Dauntinghorns and Marliirs and Wyvernspurs, retiring to their country holdings to wait out the storm. Truesilvers, Crownsilvers, and Huntsilvers! They were cousins to both him and Rhigaerd, yet they mumbled their loyal oaths and equivocated and minced when pressed for troops and aid!
Salember held the high ground, the crown and the throne and the castle, and so the nobles remained loyal at first. Then slowly they started to drift away. Not to Rhigaerd, of course… never to Rhigaerd. They valued their own hides too much. A few traitors had died horribly, as examples. Salember had used his gold well, and the Fire Knives were very effective at creating examples.
And yet the cowardly nobles went on drifting away. They swore their fealty and tugged their forelocks, and then hied for the countryside, taking their students, scribes, and servants with them. What kind of kingdom could shine with such weasels, such men of straw, as its backbone?
Salember shouted again, an incoherent bellow. There came the clear sound of a door closing and latching somewhere in the distance.
A servant seeking to hide from his sire's wrath? Or had Jorunhast finally returned? You'd think with all the magic at his fingertips, the old mage could find the errant prince with the simplest of divinations.