Cormyr_ a novel - Ed Greenwood [70]
Huh, thought the court wizard sourly, we should all be under heavy guard, with this many nobles flitting in and out. Or should that more properly be crawling in and out?
That thought carried him almost into the long, pointed nose of the noble who was badgering the king right now, some popinjay who wasn't going to let a comatose ruler get in the way of seeking personal favors. Blundebel Eldroon, from the minor so-called nobility of Marsember, if memory served right…
"Your Majesty," Eldroon was saying earnestly, "if you could just see your way clear to signing-"
"The king won't be signing anything today," Vangerdahast said firmly. "Today is cloudy."
The noble straightened up with a frown. "Go away, old man! This is the king I'm talking with, and I'm a very important-"
"And widely praised buffoon known to one and all as Blundebel Eldroon, among ruder things," the Royal Magician interrupted. "Go away. Come back when the weather is clear."
"'Weather is clear'? Guards-take away this madman!"
A Purple Dragon as tall and muscular as the front end of a horse grinned, sheathed his sword, and obediently took Blundebel Eldroon by the elbow and forearm, lifted him off the ground, and trotted to a side door.
"What-Hey! Ho! What're you doing?" the Marsembian noble shouted.
"Taking the madman away, as you requested," was the gruff reply. An instant before a door banged open, Blundebel had a dizzying glimpse of several more grinning guards swinging wide another door onto a vista of descending marble steps, and the painful grip on his arm was released. He barely had time to grasp the fact that he was sailing through the air, down a flight of stairs that looked very solid and hard indeed, when he wasn't anymore. His roar of pain was lost in the laughter from above.
Back in Gryphonsblade Hall, the next noble in line, smiling uneasily at the greatest mage in the realm, wisely decided to keep silent and await a later moment to speak with the king.
"Old friend! Your match hat is a werebeast, I see!" Azoun smiled weakly, then frowned as he himself heard what he had said. "Your match-hat…" he began again, "is a were-beast," then shook his head. Whatever fever raged in his brain prevented him from communicating his ideas fully. The King tried to wave an arm, but the limb wouldn't do more than twitch on the silken sheets and then fall still again.
"Yes," the Royal Magician agreed gravely, "My match hat is indeed a werebeast. I've thought that for some time. But how are you, my liege?"
"Several bottles of strong drink rage in my gut," Azoun said slowly, forcing each word and dropping one eyelid in a slow, deliberate wink. "All I can feel. Fingers feet… nothing. A little dagger point of pain here, there. That's all."
He closed his eyes for a moment, and the wizard thought sleep had captured the king as it had the baron. Then Azoun's brows furrowed, and he opened his eyes again, spearing Vangerdahast with their intensity. "I am dying, am I not?" asked the king.
The wizard bent down to mutter in his ear, "We don't think so, but these vultures we call nobles do. Try to disappoint them for me, will you?"
Azoun tried to laugh, coughed with an alarming catch and a weak, sobbing breath, and shook his head. "They… just might be right… this once," he managed to wheeze.
Vangerdahast frowned. "Mounds of bull droppings to that! Majesty, there doesn't seem to be anything that can halt the poison yet, but we've barely begun to try-"
"The whole range of tortures on me. I know," the king replied, his voice growing stronger as he concentrated on his words. "Worse than the nobles, in their way."
"Your condition may be due to something found in warmer climes or even on another plane of existence," the court wizard said, still muttering. "All of our sages-and the Harpers, too, I'm told-are consulting with their brethren in other cities."
The king caught his eye.