Crusade by James Lowder

the king’s eyes for a reaction.
    Azoun’s expression, a mixture of cold resolve and vague distraction, didn’t change. “If he hadn’t killed those people it might have been different. I have to uphold the law. I want the masters of the Trappers’ Guild called to court, too. They have much to answer for.”
    Vangerdahast hesitated before he replied. Anger, not just irritability, had a hold upon the Cormyrian king, the wizard realized. It was very much unlike Azoun to act that way, but, then, the last few days had been unusual themselves.
    “Perhaps I should reschedule the meeting with the Zhentish envoy,” Vangerdahast ventured, hoping that his friend might recognize the cause for the suggestion.
    Azoun’s forehead furrowed deeply as he narrowed his eyes and glared at the wizard. That expression was only temporary. The dark look on the king’s face passed as quickly as a lone storm cloud on a bright summer’s afternoon. Vangerdahast silently breathed a sigh of relief.
    “That won’t be necessary,” Azoun noted, clasping his hands together in front of him. “Besides, if I don’t convince the dalesmen that we can leave in the next tenday or so, the Tuigan will conquer most of Thesk. At that point, we might as well do as Lord Mourngrym suggests and wait for the barbarians to show up on our doorstep.”
    Vangerdahast sighed and hoped that the king could shake off his concerns long enough to parley with the envoy that afternoon. “Should I bring our Zhentish visitor here when he arrives?” the wizard asked as he turned to leave.
    “No,” Azoun replied. He opened the study’s door. “I want to skim a book or two and clear my mind. Bring the envoy to the throne room.”
    Vangerdahast raised an eyebrow. “You don’t usually meet mere envoys there, Your Highness.”
    The king smiled—a little wickedly, Vangerdahast noted with mild surprise—and said, “No doubt the ambassador will know that and expect a more casual greeting. I think it wise to keep him off balance, don’t you?”
    The royal wizard returned the king’s smile, though his was undoubtedly tinged with a mischievous malice. “Of course, Your Highness,” he said. Vangerdahast bowed, then hurried down the hall, his concern for Azoun lessening as he pondered the king’s strategy.
    Azoun quietly entered the study and sat at his desk. First, he scribbled a note to Torg, the dwarven king of Earthfast, informing him of the crusade’s status. That done, the king opened the large, leather-bound book that lay on the desk. For a short time, he read and reread the passages describing the “black days” under Salember, the Rebel Prince. The citizens of Cormyr, and especially Suzail, were reportedly very supportive of the crusade. Despite this, Azoun wondered—as he had for much of the night—whether or not his people really did believe his plans to be in their best interest.
    The king knew that history might report him to be the next traitor to Cormyr if Bors was an accurate manifestation of his subjects’ true feelings about the crusade—his crusade. What his descendants thought of him mattered to Azoun more than it probably should have, so before he headed to the throne room to meet the Zhentish envoy, he devised a plan by which he might discover the people’s real opinion of the crusade and uncover any plots the trappers might have hatched for open revolt.
    Putting that plan into action would have to wait for the following night, when he’d have a chance to make a suitable disguise.
     
    The royal chamberlain, decked out in his finest costume, entered the throne room. He strode pompously to the center of the large hall and bowed to the figure on a throne at the room’s opposite end. After a few moments of silence, which seemed to the Zhentish envoy like an hour, he sharply rapped the tip of his gold-shod staff on the polished marble beneath his feet.
    “Your Highness, may I present Lythrana Dargor, special envoy from Lord Chess at Zhentil