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Early the next morning, Aaron left with his uncle Lothair. Lothair was headed to work at the stables, while Aaron was going to Suzail's Royal Library to look up information on spellcasters.

Breakfast was warm sheep's milk, bacon-and-egg sandwiches, and two sausages. The household baker had risen even earlier than the rest of them to get the day's bread in the oven.

As soon as they stepped outside, Aaron noticed the mansion next door. The Woolf residence stood wide open, and people were carrying furniture out of it.

"Hurry up. Time is money, my friend."

"Don't rush! Don't damage anything!"

"Hey, go easy! Be careful, you idiot."

"Gond above, this is all good stuff."

People shouted back and forth as furniture was carried out of the Woolf residence and loaded onto carts. A young nobleman of about twenty-five or twenty-six stood in the doorway, pale and listless in his shirt and robe, his head completely bald. He stared blankly as each piece of furniture and each keepsake went past.

"Is that... Yarrow?" Aaron recognized his neighbor at once. Frowning, the viscount asked his uncle, "He divorced his wife after all?"

"Yes. His wife insisted on it. And... you know, Aaron, Yarrow and his family don't have the best reputation right now. The royal house wasn't willing to offend the Church of the Mysterious Lady over them, either. Unlike you, he was allowed to keep only a knightly title." Lothair sighed. "Yarrow decided to sell the house, leave Suzail, and return to his knight's estate in the countryside."

The two talked for a few moments. The man in the neighboring doorway noticed them, forced a smile, and waved before turning back to his own affairs.

Yarrow Woolf was Baron Woolf's son and a Paladin of Helm, the god of guardians.

Yes, Yarrow was a Paladin.

Paladins were an unusual sort. Like Clerics, they wielded power, but theirs came more from faith in their own oaths than from Deities. Like warriors, they fought, but they could also cast some spells.

Most Paladins swore to uphold justice, to stand with all that was good against the encroaching darkness, and to hunt evil wherever it lurked.

So Paladins ought to have enjoyed considerable status and respect in the Realms.

In truth, they did not.

"Once, a noblewoman in Baldur's Gate was said to adore Paladins. Every day, she wrote articles praising them. On weekends, she went to the temple of the Three Gods of Justice to attend the Paladin oath ceremonies held by the Clerics. She even spent afternoon tea discussing Paladin stories with other noblewomen.

When a Paladin from the outskirts heard about her, he hurried to the Upper City by carriage without even changing out of his armor. He poked his head through the fence around her estate and called, 'My dear lady, your Paladin is here!'

The moment the noblewoman saw him, she looked at him with utter disdain and had her servants drive him away.

The Paladin left heartbroken. Evidently, the noblewoman did not truly like Paladins. She liked only the Paladins she described in her stories."

—A joke from the Realms

The joke captured the Paladins' awkward place in the Realms: people respected and admired them, but had no desire to become one.

Like that noblewoman, they might love Paladins, but they certainly would not marry one.

According to authoritative figures from Candlekeep scholars, Paladins were the people women in the Realms least wanted to marry.

The Salian and Woolf families had been close for generations; otherwise, the two boys would never have been given such similar names as Aaron and Yarrow. Yet after their elders died in battle, the two received very different treatment.

Yarrow had not inherited his father's barony. As a Paladin of Helm's church, he had taken part in a special military operation to suppress riots during the Time of Troubles.

The people he had suppressed were Cormyr's War Wizards, driven to riot by the death of the Goddess of Magic.

That was a very different matter from Aaron's father dying for his country.

Worse, Yarrow had clashed with followers of the Goddess of Magic in the streets more than once. The two sides already hated each other over the fall of the Second Goddess of Magic. So when Azoun IV, moved by Aaron's father's loyalty and courage, made an exception and allowed his viscountcy to pass down one more generation, the Woolf family retained only a knightly title. The church of the Goddess of Magic appealed repeatedly, and more than half the nobles and nearly every War Wizard opposed the inheritance.

The worst part was that Yarrow's wife now wanted a divorce. Their marriage had been arranged on the understanding that he would inherit his father's barony.

Poor bastard. Aaron shook his head with a rueful smile.

It also showed how awkward Helm's church's position had become. Because Helm had caused the death of the Goddess of Magic, his relations with the good-aligned Deities had hit rock bottom.

And Helm, that cold stone, had never had many friends to begin with.

Choosing the right boss mattered. So did choosing the right spouse.

Thinking over his own affairs, Aaron reached the street corner. He said goodbye to his uncle and continued to the Royal Library alone.

After the Time of Troubles and Azoun IV's death in the Goblin Wars, Suzail was clearly less prosperous than it once had been. When Arabel, the gateway to the kingdom's north, fell to the Orks serving that Great Wyrm Red Dragon, its people had been forced to seek a living in Suzail. Nobles might find somewhere decent to stay, but refugees had to make do with inns or corners of the streets.

Yet that was ordinary life for people in the Realms. When someone approached Aaron to beg, he put a hand on his sword hilt to make the man move aside. He knew every coin he gave him would be turned into drink, and he had no intention of doing something so foolish.

If he wanted to give charity, he would do it through the Lady of Silver's church. When he had given Eleanor, the young Cleric, a large box of spices, she had used it to arrange food and lodging for at least dozens of people.

Even amid this relative disorder, Suzail—and Cormyr as a whole—remained quite wealthy.

As Aaron passed through the market, he made a point of checking the prices of several essentials.

Wheat was one copper coin a pound, edible coarse salt five copper coins a pound, barley beer four copper coins a cup, and a slab of pork ribs three silver coins.

Stable prices and ample supplies showed that Cormyr still had plenty of life in it. The country simply needed time to recover from its disasters.

The old "Aaron" had been deeply dissatisfied with Princess Regent Alusair Obarskyr, for an obvious reason: when the Obarskyrs' hounds—the Queen's Blade—could arrest, investigate, and interrogate anyone they pleased, any normal person would resent it. Aaron was a noble on top of that.

And judging by what had happened to him and Yarrow next door, the royal house was deliberately using the successive disasters to reclaim noble titles. That was hardly good news.

But the Aaron of today felt the Princess Regent might not be so terrible after all.

When the country's institutions were falling apart, wasn't a strong leader like the Princess Regent exactly what it needed?

If the "Iron Princess" had not decisively taken power after Azoun IV died and placed Cormyr under military control, Aaron dreaded to think what the country would look like now. Wheat at one copper coin a pound and coarse salt at five would have been out of the question.

I still can't tell what Alusair thinks of me, though.

Aaron pondered as he walked. Before long, he reached the Royal Library.

The Royal Library, on the far side of the palace, remained a magnificent sight. Unlike the buildings elsewhere in the city, which had been raised without much regard for a plan, it had been built strictly to designs supplied by the Elves. Mysterious magic circles were engraved into every building in the complex. Magic permeated the library, and every corner displayed both the former glory of the Elven Empire and the present glory of Cormyr.

In the corridors, courtyards, and gardens, monuments recounted the great deeds of those who had come before. Every statue amid the violets depicted a figure from Cormyr's legendary history. Every wall bore a noble family's coat of arms. Cormyr's War Wizards, renowned throughout the Realms, considered the library their sanctuary. As they grew old and left the battlefield behind, they donated wealth, books, and knowledge to it.

Many War Wizards longed to leave their names somewhere in the Royal Library. Such an honor, however, was reserved for the exceptional. Only the kingdom's heroes, the great figures who had left their mark on Cormyr's history, qualified for statues of their own.

Heroes were immortal!

Aaron silently saluted the statues. Heroes deserved respect.

And who had never dreamed of having a statue erected in their hometown?

The grand library stood at the center of the complex, beside the War Wizard Academy. Laurels, purple dragons, and the crest of the Obarskyr Royal House decorated it throughout, looking out toward the distance.

A retired War Wizard sat by the entrance. He appeared to be getting on in years, with gray at his temples and a cane beside his hand. His attention was almost entirely absorbed by a hefty book.

"Sir, I'd like to consult some books on spellcasting." Aaron interrupted him. "Here's my authorization."

The War Wizard raised his head from the book impatiently. But the sight of a remarkably handsome young nobleman softened him at once, and Aaron's politeness helped. He took the parchment scroll and glanced over it. "Second floor. The shelves on your right. Read whatever you like, but you can't take anything away. If there's a book you want and can't find, come ask me."

"Thank you. What about books on Deities?" Aaron asked.

"Third floor, on the left. Go to the end and turn right... Oh, you're the Salian boy." The War Wizard tilted his head down and peered at Aaron over his thick lenses. Was the boy always this handsome?

"Take this. You won't need to show your authorization next time." Without moving, the War Wizard sent a card made from some unusual material flying out of a drawer behind him. It landed in front of Aaron.

Mage Hand really is convenient, Aaron thought as he picked up the card.

"Thank you." Card in hand, Aaron turned to leave.

"Come here to read, then actually read. Don't be like those fellows over there." The War Wizard seemed to have taken a liking to Aaron, because he added, "I'm sick of the sight of them."

Several young men were chatting nearby, right along the only route to the stairs. As Aaron approached, their voices reached him.

"Yes, yes, Sharp. Nicely done. You deserved that honor."

"Those people need to know they picked the wrong man."

"You were incredible, brother. The Lord of War must have noticed your courage!"

"Let's do it again, mate. Do even better. We can manage it."

Their leader was a little taller and broader than Aaron, with a crew cut, sturdy arms, round eyes, and a distinctive wide, flat nose.

"Well, if it isn't the last living Salian. How are you doing, brother?" The man signaled his companions, and they immediately spread out to block Aaron's way upstairs.

"Can't complain, brother. How about you?" Aaron had no wish to waste time talking to him. Time was money.

The man was Sharp, a Purple Dragon Knight candidate like Aaron. He had no grand noble title, only a knighthood, and had long resented Aaron for collecting eight hundred Golden Lions a year without doing anything for them.

"I feel great, mate! The God of War is blessing me!" Sharp stayed in Aaron's path. "We were just talking about recent events. Like how I completed my mission while you failed miserably."

"Hahahaha!"

"Oh, stop it, Sharp. Keep going and our Salian friend will cry."

"Boo-hoo! Daddy! Mommy! Why did you leave me?"

"Care to tell us what happened, Lord Salian? How did you run all the way back to Suzail with an enemy's club at your heels?"

Sharp's companions joined in the jeering.

"You're very funny, dear." Aaron raised an eyebrow. "But I don't have time right now. See you around, mate."

"Hey, don't go!" Sharp stepped sideways to cut him off and grabbed his arm. "We're talking to you, mate. Is that how your family taught you manners? Hm? Ignoring my sincere question?"

"My gods, my gods! Does having no parents to keep you in line mean you can act this arrogant?" Sharp called theatrically to the people around them. "Look! He's bullying me!"

"This is why we don't like you, Lord Salian. You're so unpleasant!"

"Show him what's what, Sharp!"

"Make some noise! Make some noise!"

His companions kept jeering behind him and refused to let Aaron pass.

"All right, Lord Salian, we're reasonable men. Just tell me one thing." Sharp held Aaron's arm with great enthusiasm and put on an earnest expression. "Those eight hundred Golden Lions you get every year by sacrificing your own parents and having your aunt throw a tantrum outside the royal court—can you really spend them with a clear conscience?"

Aaron smiled. He swept his gaze around, then gestured for Sharp to follow him a few steps to a nearby table. "Want to hear? Come on, lean in. I'll tell you."

Sharp immediately leaned his head forward.

Still smiling, Aaron waited until Sharp was close enough. Then he snatched a glass cider bottle from the table and smashed it against Sharp's forehead!

Crash!

The bottle shattered with a sharp report. Cider and blood streamed down Sharp's crew-cut head.

Clutching his head, the Purple Dragon Knight candidate let out a terrible scream.

"Aaaaaah!"

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