The City of Splendors_ A Waterdeep Novel - Ed Greenwood [70]
Eremoes waved a dismissive hand. "The Kothonts are herders and trappers, not men of battle. Better's expected of you."
His son bowed. "Then give me your blessing, Father, and I'll set out forthwith to study upon a more glorious end."
"Still your tongue!" Lord Eremoes Hawkwinter roared. "It's barely highsun, and your foolish words this morn will last us all season!" He snatched up a sheet of bright new parchment. Through the closed door, Taeros heard Roldo groan; the Thongolir heir knew only too well what was coming.
"A broadsheet, Father? Since when do you heed anonymous scribblings?"
"Since I received on good authority the name of he who printed this-this rhyming dung, and more importantly, the fool who paid for that printing." Lord Hawkwinter shook the broadsheet.
"That fool," he added sourly, making the parchment rattle, "seems to be me. Now, is this your work, or hired you some other half-wit to pen it?"
Taeros bowed sardonically. "'Tis mine own. Merely a small tribute to the royalty of Cormyr; no harm in it, Father."
"Tribute! Since when is any man increased through another's ridicule?" Clearing his throat, Lord Hawkwinter read aloud:
When great Azoun fell dragon-doomed
And princess mage lay dying,
In steel-clad Regent's peerless arms
The next great king was lying.
But when OUR Lordship's heir is crowned,
It's likely they'll have found her
In converse with some paramour-
Both flatter than a flounder.
Taeros nodded. Catchy, mildly clever: Cormyr's stability compared to Waterdeep's energetic street-scandals. The infant king cradled in the arms of his warrior aunt contrasted ironically with what dignitaries might well find if they went looking to crown Piergeiron's roving, fun-loving daughter. No one in all Waterdeep expected her to succeed the Paladin-a point that had apparently sailed over his father's head with room to spare.
Wherefore an explanation would probably fail, but he must try. "Piergeiron's daughter-"
"Is none of your concern!" thundered Eremoes, his fist slamming down onto his desk. "She can do whatever she sees fit, in whatever bed suits her fancy, and Waterdeep's none the less for it! We've no hereditary monarchy-or have you forgotten that merest of details?"
"I strive daily to reach that happy oblivion," Taeros replied coolly. "The Obarskyr dynasty has endured a thousand years, but what awaits Waterdeep when the Open Lord's reign is done?"
"Well, we're about to find out, aren't we?"
Taeros felt suddenly cold. "Lord Piergeiron's dead?"
His father nodded grimly. "So 'tis said. The city's always awash in such rumors, but this news is racing through the ranks of the Castle itself. True or not, when warriors think their leader's dead, a door opens that's seldom shut again without bloodshed."
Taeros swallowed. "No one will believe House Hawkwinter foments rebellion against the Masked Lords," he said tentatively.
"Won't they? Tell me, how many men-at-arms can any noble house maintain?"
"No more than seventy, by decree of the Lords."
"And how many swords are hired through us every tenday?"
"I-I don't know."
"Of course not." Eremoes crushed the broadsheet in his hand. "You've far more important matters to attend to, such as, perhaps, the forcible establishment of a Hawkwinter ruling dynasty? I've made inquiries-it seems this isn't your first foray into scurrilous politics."
Taeros sank into the nearest chair. "How could anyone draw such conclusions from a few humorous verses?"
"This wouldn't be the first time swift and foolish words have been used to sway small minds and herd crowds like cattle. You call for a dynasty; what man does that, but to advance his own line? Even if no one accuses us of ruling ambitions, many will likely ponder the wisdom of allowing any one family so much control over men of the sword-the hiring of which is, may I remind you, the family business?"
Taeros sat in silence for a long moment. "My rebuke is well deserved," he said quietly.
His father nodded curtly. "I don't need your apologies, Taeros, I need you