Cormyr_ a novel - Ed Greenwood [77]
"There have been studious kings before," noted Baerauble. "Rhiiman the Glorious, who first pushed back the borders of the forest, and Elder Tharyann, Boldovar's father, who saw the leave-taking of the last great elven families."
"Aye, and Rhiiman slew the last great red dragon of the Wyvernwater, and Tharyann put down the first rebellion of Mabel. This Iltharl is a wan, pale king, moved by his courtiers and consorts. The people are growing very restive, and those of us charged with maintaining the realm have become… extremely concerned."
"Convince me," the wizard said softly. "Why are things so bad?"
Sagrast licked his lips. There was still a chance the wizard would turn on him and his allies. "There are goblins and orcs on the road. Bandits and thieves join them, and they grow bolder by the day, while the King's guards hug the tower like children afraid of shadows. Mabel is in rebellion once more, and Iltharl has let it go its own way. There are shortages now in the markets. Some matrons are now wearing daggers openly at their belts to walk the streets and shop in safety. And the Purple Dragon has been seen in the ruins of abandoned Marsember."
The mage made a harrumphing noise. "Every time someone needs an ill omen, the Purple Dragon seems to appear. Usually it is a red dragon espied in moonlight or a small black seen at a distance. And people see all sort of things in plague-ridden Marsember. All else you say is true, do not muddle it with fantasy."
"Many of the lesser nobles are taking greater liberties, and some are now refusing to pay their taxes and raising militias of their own. The trio of Silver families-Huntsilver, Crownsilver, and Truesilver, all the traditional eyes and long arms of the king-are too close to the throne to see the danger. Mewling toadies, they play to Iltharl's ego for his favor and spend their time thanking the gods that Iltharl is not Boldovar the Mad. But even the Mad King held the reins of state firmly when he was in his right mind. The Silvers cannot see that the realm is crumbling around them!"
"And you do."
"I represent a small group of nobles of… middling power," said Sagrast, "mostly families who have arisen since the days of Faerlthann himself. We have come to see things the same way, because what we see, however bleak, is the truth of things. The kingdom has been wounded by a mad king, and now it may be destroyed by a weak king. The elder nobles serve out of tradition, but some seek to break up the kingdom and seize their own territories. Our small houses would be swallowed in such strife, yet we cannot convince the crown of the dangers."
"And your solution is regicide," said the mage, his voice as cold as a steel blade.
Sagrast spread his hands in front of him, as if to ward off a blow. "No, lord wizard-not if it can be helped! I have served Iltharl well, and he is not a bad man. He is only a bad king. We mean him no harm. We just need a decisive leader."
"And you have one in mind," said the mage, looking at the young noble stonily. Sagrast wished that the wizard would blink, and not for the first time he found himself wondering if the mage was merely sounding him out, only to wave a hand and magically transport him to a dungeon cell.
Sagrast took a deep breath. "Iltharl has a sister Gantharla."
"A fine, strong young woman," Baerauble agreed, nodding. "The blood of the Obarskyrs runs strong in that one. And some fear she is truly Boldovar's daughter, brash and impulsive. She has done well in patrolling the Western Marches with her foresters, and I noticed that the marches were noticeably absent in your list of woes. But the Dragon Throne is held through primogeniture. The Crown of Cormyr has always passed to the eldest