Beyond the High Road by Troy Denning Page A

Knowing he might well have to return to crush a revolt if he left so soon after the stir Tanalasta had caused, Azoun had seized on the northern blight as an excuse to remain another tenday, imposing on his Lord Governor, Myrmeen Lhal, to house the royal party in the city palace. He had then invited all the local notables to an extravagant state dinner. They had responded with a chain of increasingly exotic liverpaste receptions that would, he was quite certain, be the end of him. Of course, Lady Marliir had been too ill to attend any of the events, and Azoun was quite certain she would continue to be ill until a day or two after he left.
    Azoun allowed Marliir’s response to hang in the air long enough for everyone present to be certain he knew the truth, then said, “Tell her that I certainly hope she feels better soon.”
    Marliir cocked an eyebrow at the lack of a “please,” then turned to gesture at his odd gathering of supporters. “I am sure Your Majesty knows these good people: Lady Kraliqh, Merula the Marvelous, and Daramos the High, of the Lady’s House here in Arabel.”
    “Of course.”
    Azoun smiled at each in turn: the grave-looking Lady Kraliqh, the rotund Merula, and the zealot-eyed Daramos. Of the three, he knew the most about Daramos Lauthyr. The man was a fanatic, almost as dedicated to the glory of his goddess Tymora as he was to establishing a central church in Arabel, with himself as its divinely-ordained patriarch.
    Azoun took the platter from his wife’s hand, then held it out to Marliir’s odd coalition. “Liverpaste, anyone? They’re quail.”
    The offer seemed to disarm the four. They exchanged a flurry of startled frowns, then Duke Marliir snatched a wafer off the plate, and the other three followed suit. Unfortunately, there was one left. Azoun pushed it toward Filfaeril.
    “Canape, my dear?”
    She smiled at him adoringly, then took the plate from his hand and passed him the wafer. “No, you can have it, my dear. I’ll go and fetch more.”
    Azoun accepted the wafer and tried not to make a sour face as he bit into it. “Lovely, aren’t they?”
    “Quite,” said Duke Marliir. “Your Majesty, there is something of great import we must discuss.”
    “Really?” Azoun swallowed, then asked, “What can that be? If you are worried about this blight, I assure you the War Wizards have the matter well in hand.”
    “The blight is only a part of it,” said Lady Kraliqh. According to Azoun’s spies, her dealings with Duke Marliir were seldom limited to matters of business. “We are concerned more with the future of the crown.”
    “The future of the crown?” Azoun feigned a surprised look, but took note of the lady’s no-nonsense tone. She would not be put off easily with platitudes or vague promises, and he decided not to try. “You are speaking of Tanalasta, then.”
    “We are concerned about her refusal to take a husband,” said Marliir. “Matters between her and Dauneth seemed to be progressing nicely. There must be some reason she chose to dismiss him so out of hand. It was embarrassing, really.”
    “I am the cause of that confusion, Lord Marliir,” said Azoun. “I am so fond of Dauneth myself that others may have misinterpreted my affection when I asked him to escort Tanalasta to the party. I apologize for any embarrassment it caused, and I want everyone in Arabel to know I hold him in the highest regard. In fact, I was thinking of naming him Lord High Warden of the North.” Azoun turned to Duke Marliir. “Do you think he would have time for the extra duties?”
    Marliir’s jaw dropped. “Of-of course.”
    “Good.” Azoun could see by the man’s astonished expression that he had won back the loyalty of the entire Marliir clan. “Have him stop by the Arabellan Palace tomorrow, and we shall discuss the arrangements.”
    “That is very nice for Dauneth,” said Lady Kraliqh, “but it still does not address our concerns about the future of the crown. After all,