Cormyr_ a novel - Ed Greenwood [92]
And each evening Baerauble would ask her what she had learned and correct the more obvious errors in Azoun's stories. Once or twice she had argued with the mage over a point of history, but the old wizard pointed out how it could only happen in one particular way, and if young Azoun's version was true, then all manner of other things should have occurred, which had not. Amedahast conceded the point, but grudgingly.
One afternoon, during their studies, Azoun turned to her and said, "You're going to be my wizard. Do you know that?"
Amedahast was taken aback. "Baerauble is the King's Wizard. I'm merely his apprentice."
"The old scarecrow is my father's wizard and High Mage to every Cormyrian king back to the beginning of time," said Azoun. "But he's never taken on an apprentice before. That means he's finally feeling his age. I think he's about to retire, or become a lich, or whatever old wizards do. And you're going to be my wizard."
The idea of becoming the master mage of Cormyr unsettled Amedahast slightly. Yes, she thought, she probably would like to attain high station and respect. But Baerauble had outlived all but the eldest of elves, enhanced by his magic and enchantments. Even in his frail state, he seemed invulnerable and eternal.
She crept around to the topic at the dinner table that evening. The old wizard nodded slightly and said, "Cormyr has always had a king, from the very first. It has always had a wizard as well, to advise, correct, and aid the king. Without its wizard, Cormyr would not be a true nation. Eventually you will assume that position, though not for some time. You still have much to learn."
The month ended and the noble season began in Suzail, a brief spate of celebrations in the capital before the nobility took to their summer retreats. Amedahast was presented to King Anglond and Queen Eleriel and swore fealty to the crown on Symylazarr, the sword also known as the Fount of Honor. She was presented before any of the nobles. Standing there after swearing the oath, she saw both Baerauble and Azoun smile at her, the former's tight and approving, the latter's open-mouthed and proud.
The feasts and revels were rougher than the elegant court of Myth Drannor, but held a vitality lacking among the elves. The dances were reels and progressions, and what they lacked in organization, they made up for in enthusiasm. The mysterious mage, Baerauble's pupil, stunning in her green gown with reddish hair wrapped with gold filigree, was a center of attention and danced with the noble sons and gossiped with the noble daughters. When those fine folk looked at her, their eyes held curiosity and just a touch of respect and fear.
She liked that very much-both the attention and the respect. Part of her told herself that it would fade in time, when she was no longer the Wonder of the North, when she truly took on responsibilities. But for the moment, her heart sailed on the winds of praise and adoration.
Then she noticed that Azoun was nowhere to be found. Of course he would want to dance with her, she reasoned. And all the other crowned heads were present, as well as the High Mage, so it wasn't as if there were some affair of state to be tended to. She disengaged herself from a chatty young Turcassan who was extolling his virtues in bear-slaying and went looking for the handsome young prince.
She found him in the garden, in the gazebo. He was not alone.
They did not see her approach, but Amedahast got close enough to see the pair, she lying with her head in his lap, he dropping grapes into her overly reddened mouth. She was one of the lesser nobles, a debutante of the Bleth household perhaps. She wore a gown with a southern cut, low to the point of indecency and flaring at the hips. From his position above her, Azoun had a grand view of her charms.
Amedahast was close