The Last Wizard of Eneri Clare (28 page)

After returning Ondine to her special river sanctuary, and thanking her for her contribution to Delphine’s wedding, (“Oh, thank you, Lovely Man. I had such a very good time – love meeting all the new friends, hear beautiful music. You come take me to more special things anytime.”), Tvrdik strolled back to the palace through the empty gardens at a leisurely pace. The day was promising to be warm with a clear, fair sky.
A
perfect day
, he thought. He went straight to the kitchens, where he joined the others in a hearty breakfast already in progress. They hastened to set out a chair for him and made him feel welcome. The day would be long and full – no one knew when they would next find opportunity to eat. So they feasted on eggs and bread and fruit and fresh butter, warm milk and cider. To Tvrdik’s delight, they even dug up some of the little custardy pastries he had developed a taste for on his first morning at the palace. He confessed that they were fast becoming his favorite treat, and they gave him two. They all lingered long at the table, eating and laughing and sharing stories in warm, easy fellowship. Mark and Delphine told the story of how they met, and talked with exuberance about their plans for a school, Nyree paying close attention, and showing more than a passing interest in their original ideas. Jorelial Rey described in great detail her favorite features of the retreat spot at the crater lake. This time the bride and groom were listening with rapt attention, excited about their upcoming escape to the beautiful place. Tvrdik was asked to tell all about his adventures in transporting Ondine from the ancient forest to Theriole, and he did have a few humorous moments to relate that kept everyone entertained. Nelrose kept asking Rel where she could get her own dragon, and the Lady Regent kept finding ways to obliquely avoid the subject, an accomplishment that earned her no end of devotion from Mark’s mother. All in all, it was a morning of good fellowship and happy camaraderie that no one wanted to end, but as the last bit of bread disappeared, someone checked the hour, and they all reluctantly realized it was time to address the next of the day’s obligations.

As they all parted for different destinations, everyone wished Mark and Delphine great happiness and thanked them for a lovely ceremony. The two sisters embraced long and tenderly and Rel shook Mark’s hand. Then Tvrdik motioned quietly to the Regent, “I’ll be there if you need me.” She nodded and headed back to her rooms. The rest of the palace was already abuzz by now, as its inhabitants all rose to bathe, dress, and adorn themselves for the social and political event of their lifetimes. Servants bustled about in every direction carrying food, clothing, hot water, fresh towels, floral arrangements, cleaning tools, and hearth equipment. Making her way through the halls was like an obstacle course, but she managed to arrive in her rooms in one piece. Unfortunately, Bargarelle was already there awaiting her decisions on a hundred and one last-minute details that apparently no one else could handle. With a sigh, she set to work. If she had truly hoped for the afore-mentioned nap, it became a pipedream as the hours ticked by. She did finally get half an hour in a chair with eyes closed, and a chance to wash her face and re-braid her hair. And then it was time to make her way to the chapel.

SEVENTEEN
A New King and a Clipped Wing

T
HERIOLE WAS NOT A SINGLE
edifice, but a large, sprawling complex of buildings and additions which had sprung up over centuries around the original keep, as the inhabitants’ needs had shifted from defense to a thousand civil functions. At one corner of this miniature city stood a very old chapel, or spiritual sanctuary, where the residents could celebrate their connection to a higher power, however they perceived it. There were many local flavors of spiritual practice scattered throughout the kingdom, and the builders wisely sought to bring together common elements in this sacred space, without making any of its citizenry feel uncomfortable or unwelcome. Eneri Clare boasted a tradition of tolerance which continued right up to the present time. It was in this chapel, then, that the coronation would take place, so as to invoke the blessing of Divine Providence, whatever the populace currently conceived it to be. The space was not large, only seating several hundred, which was why only the highest echelon of lords, ministers, ambassadors, dignitaries, civic leaders and their spouses could be accommodated for the actual ceremony. These few could then witness and attest to the fact that all the usual ceremonies and conventions were duly observed. The general populace could then welcome the new king outside on the palace steps, while feasting and secular celebration could later continue in many venues, both inside and outside of Theriole.

The chapel was beautifully decorated with breathtaking murals, carvings, stained glass, and statuary whose aim was to guide one’s thoughts to otherworldly pursuits. It was always open to anyone who wished to engage in personal contemplation or prayer, except when being used for such formal, official occasions as weddings, funerals, celebrations of holidays, festivals, changes of season, commemorations, and of course, the occasional crowning. Senior bards conducted all solemn ceremonies, but as a coronation could be a long and demanding ritual, Nyree had declined the honor of performing it herself. She was quite comfortable attending as an honored guest, leaving the duties of her guild to her second, a fortyish veteran named Morelle. Morelle had been in the game a long time, had a pleasant enough tenor voice, and was more than competent on the harp. However, his true specialty was history, lore, and the preservation of traditional and ceremonial chant, a fact which made him uniquely qualified to preside at an occasion as ancient and ritual-bound as this one. There would be a small musical ensemble in the room to play during processional, recessional, and transitional moments in the service, but most of the actual chanting in the body of the ceremony was unaccompanied. Morelle had assisted fourteen years earlier when the young king’s father had been crowned, and therefore was not only familiar with what was required in scholarly terms, but also by experience.

It was a perfect day, weather-wise – dry and sunny, but not terribly hot. The room was filled to capacity with the wealthy and influential of the kingdom, all dressed in their finest garments and ornaments. Everything moved along without a single unwelcome surprise. The musicians played while Jorelial Rey walked down the center aisle, leading her infant charge. They were followed by the High Ministers, Morelle, and Lord Maygrew. Each of these took pre-determined places at the front of the room before the eager onlookers. Chants were sung invoking the assistance and wisdom of the powers of the Universe, and special attention was paid to calling forth the symbolic divinities embodying Justice, Wisdom, Prosperity, Harmony, and Peace. There was a long section listing the young king’s lineage, reinforcing his bloodline and birthright to the throne in front of all present. There were a series of questions of intention for the candidate, which the Lady Regent was allowed to answer in the child’s stead, since he was so very young. There was a recited statement by the gathered witnesses, offering support and fealty to the rightful monarch. Then came the conferring of symbols of office – the Scepter of Power and the Yoke of Responsibility (which was really a very large pendant), as well as the ring with the royal seal. Sacred, fragrant oil was used to anoint the boy’s yellow head, officially beginning his reign. Last of all came the crown (a child-sized replica was used for this occasion), a plain band of finest gold surmounted with the seven stars of Clare (also appearing on the kingdom’s flag), each one set with a different precious gem cut to a brilliant sparkle. As Morelle set it on the new king’s brow, the musicians played a stately, but joyful melody, and cheers erupted from the assembled crowd.

Given the length and complexity of the ceremony, one might have expected young Darian to have become restless and impatient. But he bore up well through it, standing quietly tall, and still as he could manage, paying careful attention to every detail. He seemed to have a self-possession and a grace well beyond his tender years.

As the room began to settle, Darian turned to face his subjects and lifted a hand, indicating that he wished to speak. Jorelial Rey’s eyebrows arched in surprise, but she stood back and let the boy take charge.

“Now that I am king,” he began in a piping, child’s voice, and the room became hushed, “my first decree will be to make it a crime for wind and waves to overwhelm any traveler.” There was a very audible intake of breath from most everyone in the room, as they grasped the poignancy of that pronouncement. “As your king, I decree that all children shall have warm clothes, and places to live, and food, and places to play. And that everyone be kind to one another.” People in the crowd glanced around at one another, or lowered their heads, moved by the child’s naïve wisdom. “Those are my wishes and my dreams. But for now, I rely on my Lady Regent, and the ministers, and Lady Delphine, and all my tutors, who are helping me to learn a great deal, so that I might become a good king, and make my father and mother proud of me.” Darian gave a curt nod, indicating that he had completed his speech. The crown slipped to one side, and his pudgy hands flew up to make sure it did not fall. “Whoa!” he shouted, and a ripple of laughter ran through the noble assemblage, followed by applause, and sounds of approval.

Jorelial Rey, an involuntary grin on her face, and moisture in her eyes, reached down to conduct the little boy to a seat, whispering encouragements to him as the crowd’s approbation continued. Darian, his little feet swinging back and forth beneath the seat of his rather stately chair, and all his attention now on tracing the ancient inscriptions embossed on the pendant around his neck, had spoken his mind without any coaching, and had won the hearts of his most powerful subjects. It was early in the game to know for sure, but he certainly seemed to have the makings of a fine king.

It would have been grand to end on such a high note, but the rituals were not yet over. It was now the Lady Regent’s turn to answer questions of intent, to receive the promise of the masses and symbols of office. She too received a Scepter of Power and a Yoke of Responsibility, also a ring with the royal crest for her own frequent use. After Morelle offered a brief dissertation on the duties and privileges of regency, and Jorelial Rey stepped forward to publicly swear that she would faithfully discharge said duties, she was officially installed. Kneeling, she received her own circlet of silver with a single purple star, pressed upon her head. Another burst of music and cheering greeted her as she rose. Prayers were then offered for the new king and his Lady Regent, for good counsel and divine guidance, and for their wisdom and responsiveness to the needs of their people. Finally, a cry from Morelle of, “Long live the King and well may he rule!” was echoed first by the ministers, Lord Maygrew and Jorelial Rey herself, and then was taken up by the entire company assembled. The musicians began a cheerful little catch and the event was complete.

As King Darian the third and his appointed regent made their way back down the center aisle, this time stopping to make eye contact with or grasp the hands of many well-wishers on both sides, Jorelial Rey sighed in relief that this piece, at least, was finally accomplished; the rightful king was installed in his office with reliable support put in place until his majority. Now, anyone who stood against him was officially committing treason, a daunting deterrent for most would-be usurpers. It had been an emotional, memorable ceremony, the attendees seemed happy and enthusiastic, and would of course be feted for the remainder of the day. By any estimation, there should be a peaceful pause now to rest and regroup before the next crisis. Jorelial took the king’s hand and smiled down on him, feeling that, for that moment at least, all was well with the world.

It was time for the customary greeting of the citizenry by the newly crowned king, from the palace steps. For hours, a huge crowd had been gathering in the forecourt and across the lawns, anticipating a glimpse of Darian III and a chance to cheer his ascendancy. There were villagers and farmers, shopkeepers, crafts-men and -women, artists, fishermen and sheepherders, weavers and cooks. There were women with newborn infants hoping for a benediction, and families who brought their elderly for a look at a royal countenance. The atmosphere was festive and collegial, as they all waited for the climactic event. Later on there would be feasting for all, provided by the royal coffers, and fireworks were promised, along with mead and dancing far into the night. The people were joyful, and filled with holiday spirit, greeting each other and wishing good fortune aloud to friend and stranger alike. Palace guards were posted all up and down the great stone staircase, and at intervals throughout the crowd. Their presence was as much symbolic as precautionary, but they nevertheless kept a vigilant eye out for drunkards, malcontents, and the usual altercation that might crop up in the crowded courtyard.

True to his word, Tvrdik, in his owl guise, was perched up on a stone scroll which protruded from the lintel above the main doors. From there, with his sharper owl’s vision, he could peruse the crowd, and had a pretty good view of the steps as well. He heard the great oak doors creak open, and looked down to see Steward Bargarelle and Lord Maygrew emerge onto the slate stoop, closely followed by the High Ministers of Defense, Justice, and Finance, as well as the Lord Mayor of Therin and several other influential lords. Four ceremonial guardsmen flanked the knot of dignitaries, who stood about looking self-satisfied. At last, the Lady Jorelial Rey appeared, along with the young king, his golden curls adorned with the small jeweled circlet of gold, which glinted in the sun. He let go of Rel’s hand and reached for his nanny, who had followed the notables out on the landing, and now took the extended hand firmly. But otherwise, Tvrdik thought, Darian seemed to be handling the long day’s demands and the noisy crowd better than one might expect of a four-year old. Jorelial, in her striking red dress, and the sunny-headed king stood dead center of the group on the stairs, waving to the crowd, easy to pick out at any distance.

As soon as the child king appeared, a deafening cheer went up from the crowd, and continued to roar for minutes without diminishing. Folks waved hands and handkerchiefs, held up babes in arms, and whistled and stomped their approval. Jorelial looked bright and poised as she waved to the crowd. On inspiration, Lord Maygrew lifted the little boy to his broad shoulder, which elicited a fresh wave of shouting from the masses, as many more of them caught a glimpse of their monarch. Sensing the spirit of the moment, Darian began waving his tiny hand in the air at his subjects, a gesture that instantly endeared him to young and old alike. It was a brave and glorious moment, perfect in every respect.

Tvrdik gazed down with satisfaction at the idyllic scene on the steps beneath him. The next moment, an odd feeling shifted his attention. He would never know how, in the midst of all that noise, and in a veritable sea of waving arms, he caught the one motion that seemed out of place. It was far to the rear of the crowd, a small gesture that his owl eyes zoomed in on, a shape that did not seem to belong. And yet, for frantic seconds he could not put a name to it. His heart pounded as he strained to make out more. All motion slowed out of time; he was frozen in that eternal moment of question. And then he saw it all – the whole picture snapped into clean focus – the hooded man, bow held out before him and right arm drawn back at cheek level, a high-pitched
twang,
and the deadly arrow speeding over everyone’s heads, aimed straight at the heart of Jorelial Rey! There she stood, smiling and waving, oblivious to the mortal danger that bore down upon her with terrible accuracy. Swift as thought, the owl/mage raised his wings and leapt from his perch. Extending his claws, he plummeted to the center of the scene below, beating his wings directly in the Lady’s face, and then shoving his powerful clawed feet against her shoulder with all his might. Startled by the white tornado descending upon her, the Lady Regent instinctively ducked, and raised her hands in a protective gesture over her face. Then, caught off balance, she took the full force of the owl’s attacking claws and fell to her hands and knees on the stone floor. There were gasps and screams as those around her saw her go down. But before anyone could move, they were confronted by the vision of a large white owl, wings extended. The great bird hung suspended for a moment in midair, and then careened backward in a tumble of feathers, as an arrow pierced its left wing.

In that split second of chaos, Lord Maygrew lowered the king to the ground and his nanny whisked him into her skirts. The guardsmen on the steps sprang forward to surround their leaders. The lords and ministers huddled in a tense knot, instinctively drawing together in front of the child to whom they had just sworn allegiance. The guards on the field dashed into the crowd, searching for the source of the offending projectile. The sounds of joyful celebration transformed into shouts, wails, and terrified cries. Rumors ran like flames through the courtyard. Families frantically tried to find each other, while many ran for cover, fearing some foreign attack was upon them all. Guards were pushing through the frightened mob in all directions. And then, above all the din, sounded a blood-curdling scream and the growls of some ferocious beast. A clearing opened near the center of the crowd, quickly widening as townsfolk scrambled to put space between themselves and the struggle happening there. The guards arrived to find a trembling, emaciated man in torn clothing, lying on the ground, bow by his side, pinned by a giant wolfhound, teeth bared and snarling. The man had his hands raised in front of his face, and was screaming and whimpering, begging for his life. A captain of the guard gestured for two of his men to take the bedraggled figure into custody, and he was dragged off into the palace, the huge dog following along behind, his stern brown eyes fixed on the captive.