Beyond the High Road by Troy Denning Read Free Book Online Page B

switch lying across her father’s knees, then continued, “Let me assure you nothing could be further from the truth. The mountains were a place of great peace and harmony for me, and my gift is to bring some of that bounty to King Azoun IV, and through him, to all of Cormyr.”
    Tanalasta waved toward the entrance of the ballroom, where Owden Foley stood beneath the Grand Arch with a silk-wrapped gift box the size of a peasant hut. As the crowd turned to look, the Harvestmaster took up a golden rope and began to haul the gift across the floor. At first, his progress was labored and slow, for he seemed able to drag the huge box only a few paces before stopping to rest. Several minor nobles volunteered their help, which he gladly accepted.
    The lords began to haul on the cord, and the box flew toward them so fast that they fell to the floor in a heap. A puzzled silence descended over the chamber, until Owden returned to take the golden rope. Claiming that earls and counts were too clumsy for such dangerous work, Owden shooed them away to a chorus of laughter, then resumed his labored trek toward the rostrum. This time, however, the box seemed to have a will of its own, sometimes flying toward him so fast that he barely kept from being run over, other times refusing to budge no matter how he pulled, cursed, or kicked at it. By the time he reached the rostrum and climbed the stairs to present the cord to Tanalasta, the ballroom was shaking with laughter.
    Tanalasta beamed, for she and Owden had worked out the act together, spending much of her last tenday in Huthduth choreographing every move. She thanked the Harvestmaster for his hard work, then presented the rope to her chuckling father.
    “You have but to pull the cord, Sire.”
    “If I dare!” Azoun chuckled. He stood as though bracing himself for an onslaught, then jerked the cord.
    The walls of the box fell instantly away, revealing twelve guilty-looking monks on a small pedalcart crowded with large earthenware kettles. As the audience erupted into guffaws, two of the priests leaped off the cart and placed a pair of pots on the lowest step of the rostrum, then spoke a quick prayer to Chauntea. By the time they had finished, two more monks were placing another pair of pots on next step.
    As this duo spoke their prayers, a pair of small trees sprouted from the first two kettles and began to grow before the eyes of the astonished crowd. Another team of priests ascended the rostrum and placed their pots on the third stair, and so it continued until a pair of pots had been placed on every step. The trees blossomed as they grew, drawing gasps of wonder and delight from everyone in the room save Vangerdahast, who regarded the whole display with an air of wary impatience.
    The last blossoms had barely appeared before the limbs of the first trees began to grow heavy with fruit. Smiling in delight, the king descended three steps and plucked a pear from the branch, then bit into it with relish.
    “The sweetest fruit I have ever tasted!” he announced. The king used his sleeve to wipe the juices from his beard, then climbed the stairs back to Tanalasta. “A most excellent gift, Princess. We thank you for this wondrous orchard of mountain fruit trees!”
    Tanalasta smiled and curtsied. “You are very welcome, Majesty, but I fear the trees will fade as quickly as they grew. It is not the orchard I am giving you. It is the priests.”
    Azoun’s smile grew confused. “The priests?” He looked from her to Harvestmaster Foley to the twelve monks waiting to collect the dying trees, then finally leaned close to Tanalasta’s ear. “I don’t understand, my dear. Surely, you don’t mean to say that you have brought me slaves?”
    “Hardly.” Buoyed by the success of Owden’s entrance, Tanalasta spoke loud enough for the crowd to hear, “I have persuaded Harvestmaster Foley and his priests to return home with us to establish the Royal Temple of Chauntea.”
    Azoun’s