Beyond the trees, the ground rose smoothly, the path marked out with round white cobbles on moss and grass intermixed with tiny flowers, pink and white and blue. The top of the mound rose to the height of two men, level there with a single stone on it. The Council paused, then split into two lines, each moving to the side. Only the most senior, Sier Halveric, led the way up the mound. Kieri followed, and the Captain-General of Falk and the elf ambassador moved with him. Behind him, he could hear his Squires and Paks, but the others, he’d been told, would join those marking the human half of the circle.
As he climbed, he could see files of elves lining up on the other side of the circle. With every step he felt the same strangeness he’d felt in the battle on the way … the hairs stood up on his arms, his neck, and the sunlight pouring into the center of the opening acquired a silvery shimmer. Every leaf, every flower, seemed to glow from within. More fragrance rose from the moss, from the grass, as if the earth itself breathed welcome and delight. And now he could see the Lady of the Ladysforest, bringing with her the elvenhome light, with her attendants behind her. He came to the lip of the mound’s flat top and saw the stone, a polished slab inlaid with the flowing patterns elves favored.
Trumpets sounded. Kieri stiffened. He had seen no musicians … and yet the sound seemed to come from everywhere.
“Present the king-to-be,” the Lady said. “Is he acceptable to all?”
“Great and gracious Lady,” Sier Halveric said, “this is Falkieri Amrothlin Artfielan, seed-son of Falkieri, fourth king before, and born-son of his elven queen. The Council of Men accepts him as king, with joy.”
The Captain-General bowed. “The Company of Falk accepts him as king, with all joy, in the name of all his human kindreds.”
“I present him to the Lady Flessinathlin of the Ladysforest,” said the elf ambassador. “He is known to us, as my Lady knows, and I will ask: Is he acceptable to the elven kindred?”
“The Ladysforest accepts him, with all joy. Let the elfane taig witness, and the forest taig witness, and the people of this realm witness: All accept him.”
Kieri felt his eyes stinging.
She bent her gaze on him. “Come forward, Falkieri my beloved grandson, and make those pledges that bind our peoples together. And accept the blessing of the Singer, the High Lord, and all gods who serve the good. It is time.”
The Halveric and the elf ambassador stepped aside, and Kieri went forward alone, to stand across the stone from the Lady. “Your dagger,” she said, drawing a slim silver knife from her waistband. Kieri handed her his dagger—new, like the rest of his outfit but the elf-blade at his side—and took hers.
The words—he had learned the words of the pledges—but speaking them in chorus with her, in that mix of light, in that place, he felt them piercing his heart. “I, Falkieri Amrothlin Artfielan, pledge my life to this realm, to the welfare of all its people of every race. I pledge to renew and protect the taig to the end of my ability …”
And as they spoke, Kieri followed the Lady’s lead as she pricked her finger with his blade, and he pricked his finger with hers, and the mingled drops of blood fell on the stone, in the exact center of the design on its upper surface.
Kieri had never seen elf-blood before; he had heard the phrase “silver blood” but had not known what it meant—now the silvery glints danced in that drop, and when the drops landed, they shone a moment on the surface, then disappeared. In that moment, a lance of light shot upward from the stone, bright even in the sunlight. Kieri felt for a moment that he had been clasped in strong arms and given a knight’s buffet. Then he was standing, blinking against the afterimage of intolerable brightness, and the Lady across from him blinked back.
“The gods have blessed you indeed, Grandson,” she said. “I think we may safely say the pledge was witnessed.”
Kieri found it hard to speak. “I … did not expect that.”
“It is not usual,” she said. “Only a few coronations have had such a response from the stone. But now—you need a crown on that head.” She gestured.
The crown was of green-tinged gold, a circlet of leaves—each one unique. On it were set rubies dark as blood. It sat lightly on his brow, as he came back down the mound, this time on the elves’ side of the circle, walking arm-in-arm with his grandmother. Together, they circled the mound, and the courtiers of both bowed low, then mounted the hill again. There they bowed to one another, and the Lady said, “It is your day, Kieri; make your procession and then I will join you for the feast.”
Kieri went back down the human side, this time to cheers. Now his Squires led the way, and the whole Council walked behind. Back down the lane, and into the city, its streets lined with cheering crowds. Banners hung from the windows, flowers were thrown down before him. He’d seen triumphant processions before; he’d walked in some. This was different, and not just because he was now king. He felt around him—behind, where the King’s Grove lay, and ahead, where the forest curved around the far side of the city, and beneath, where the waters trickled through stone to emerge as springs nearer the river—the taig, stronger than ever. His awareness seemed to deepen with every step, and yet it did not distract him from his people, pressing as near as the rangers allowed.
He would walk, he knew, the bounds of the city, ending again at the palace gate. “Bounds must always be walked to dawn first,” Belvarin had explained. “It is not the direction of the circle, but the direction of the first turn that matters—it must be the shortest way to the rising sun and the elvenhome kingdoms.” Now they were nearing the city’s margin, with forest beyond gardens and orchards. A cloud of birds rose singing from the trees—tiny birds, brilliantly colored, fluttering like butterflies. They swooped nearer, flew in a spiral over his head, and returned to the trees as the procession turned toward the river. Butterflies then took over, out of the gardens and orchards, arching over the lane, then settling on his shoulders and arms as lightly as air, as if he wore a cloak of jeweled wings. As they neared the river side of the city, the butterflies lifted away, and out of the water meadows rose flying creatures as brightly colored as the birds and butterflies … glittering gauzy wings, metallic greens, golds, blues, scarlet. Kieri put up his hand and one landed there long enough for him to see it clearly. Great green eyes, a body boldly striped in black, gold, and green, with a green tail. The head cocked toward him; he could see tiny jaws move. Was it talking? He could hear nothing, but the creature looked as if it were listening.
It was a long walk, and his new boots—comfortable enough that morning—were far less so by the time they reached the palace gates again. He could smell the fragrance of roast meats and bread, but next he had the ritual visit to the royal ossuary, and spoke vows into that listening silence, to those who had given him bone and blood, vows no one else would hear.
He came up again to find the feast spread in the King’s Ride, long tables stretching away into the distance. On either side, the trees rose up; he could feel them, feel their roots below the cushiony sod that welcomed his feet. His place lay at the farthest table, with the Lady, and that led him past the others, where men and women—and not a few children—bowed as he walked by.
At the head table, set across the line of other tables, he left a seat between himself and Aliam Halveric, and bent his knee to the Lady. She had withdrawn her glamour, as someone might fold in a cloak, but he was aware of the line of it connecting her through ground and air to the elvenhome kingdom she ruled.
“You are happy, Sir King?” she asked. He heard real affection in her voice.
“I am,” he said. “Still somewhat mazed, though.”
She chuckled. “So I would think. Bards elven and human will make songs of all this for a thousand years. Your paladin looks well.”
“She is not my paladin,” Kieri said. “She belongs to her gods.”
“Ah, but you were her … there is no word in human language that I know … I believe you were there when Ardhiel told her the story of the harp growi
ng?”
“Yes …”
“Well—you are one of those who can grow people. It is not the same with individuals, of course, because unlike a tree, humans have choices they can make.”
“It was not my doing,” Kieri said, watching Paks come up the line of tables, laughing and chatting with people. “She was extraordinary from the start. I wish you could have met my wife, though …”
“I, too, Grandson.” She turned to face him and for a moment he saw compassion in her face. “You had children, and lost them. We both did. It is my dearest hope that the Singer grants you another love, and I know—because of my losses—that new children will not replace the old in your heart.”
Just as Kieri felt tears sting his eyes, Paks arrived at the table and came to his side. “Sir King? Are you well?”
“Very well,” he said, swallowing the tears, bitter and salt together. “Sit here between Aliam and me, will you not?”
“Of course, Sir King.” She sat, and as they ate, she chatted more with Aliam than with him, giving him space to talk to his grandmother. The afternoon wore on with music and song and—as he had promised Kirgan Marrakai—dancing.
At one point, the Pargunese envoy, Lady Hanlin, paused beside his chair. “I see not all the beautiful girls are in Pargun,” she said, with a sly grin. “But some are. I have nieces, you know.” Then she passed on, smiling and chatting with anyone who would speak to her, and smiling pleasantly at those who would not.
“If all Pargunese were like her,” Aliam said, leaning across, “we would have far less trouble with them.”
“We would have different trouble,” Kieri said. “Open enmity is easier to recognize.”
“I do not believe she intends evil,” said his grandmother. “And I believe I would know.”
“Then I suppose she wants to marry me off to a Pargunese girl,” Kieri said.
“Perhaps. It is a traditional way of cementing friendship between peoples, though—” She paused, one eyebrow rising. “—it does not always work. Especially if one does not wish it.” Then she smiled, a smile that seemed to fill the entire world for a moment. “But I must not lessen the joy of this occasion.”
The next two days were filled with Lyonyan traditions: showing the coronation gifts—now covering many tables—to anyone who wanted to walk past them. Guild processions wound through the city, ending at the palace with a presentation to the new king. Twice, small children escaped and got lost somewhere in the palace; these were quickly found and restored to their parents. Three times, adventurous adolescents tried to sneak upstairs, only to be foiled by alert guards and escorted outside the palace walls. In all this, Kieri had no time for a long talk with Aliam Halveric, and Aliam and Estil had not come to the palace since the coronation itself. On the third day, he sent a message and asked them to come. He was sure the Council would not meet that day, even if he convened them; everyone was tired by now.
When they were announced, Kieri led them upstairs to the royal suite.
“I’m still not used to this,” Kieri said, waving his hand at the room. “This and all that goes with it. I wasn’t trained for it.”
“You’ll do well,” Estil Halveric said. Aliam grunted, running a finger along the carved back of a chair. “It’s nothing but a larger domain, after all …”
“Oh, it’s not the responsibility,” Kieri said, though he felt the weight of it hovering over him. “It’s this—this palace, this ceremony. Your steading, Aliam, or mine … comfortable enough, beautiful—yours anyway—but no more luxury than anyone needs. This is …”
“Royal,” Estil said, with a touch of firmness. “Royal, like you, Sir King.”
“I’m not—”
“You are,” Aliam said. “You are, and you always were, and this is your house—you belong here, and you will adapt to it sooner than you think.”
“I must not forget,” Kieri said, turning to look out the window. “I must not let it …” He searched for the right words, could not find them. “You always said, Aliam, that a soldier must never get too used to comfort—”
“So I did, and it’s true.”
“But this—” With him, they looked around the sitting room of the royal suite. Soft cushions, upholstered chairs, another one of those incredible carpets figured with flowers and vines and trees and birds and butterflies … “This, if I let it—”
“You won’t let it,” Estil said. Kieri saw the sparkle of tears in her eyes. “Kieri, Kieri—you are not that kind of man. You were not that kind of boy. That is why you will be a good king—are a good king already. This is all due the king’s majesty: it is meet and right, the measure of a royal house, but you will not dishonor it by thinking it is yours alone. Trust yourself, Kieri.”
“I … am not sure. When I think of how I got here …”
“It’s my fault,” Aliam said. “Those years of not knowing. If only I’d figured it out, and how to go at proving it—”
They had been over that before; Aliam had fallen at his feet, begging forgiveness, when he first arrived. Kieri shook his head. “It is not your fault. I told you, Estil’s told you—if your king and your wife can’t convince you, who can?”
Aliam smiled, but the smile touched only his lips; his eyes were still sad. “If you will quit thinking you aren’t worthy of this, Kieri, it will ease my mind considerably.”
“At least you aren’t calling me Sir King every moment,” Kieri said. “The day you quit calling me Kieri—at least in private—I’ll really worry.”
“We must go soon,” Aliam said. “I can’t leave the Company to themselves for too long …”
“Are you going south this year?” Kieri asked.
“Not me,” Aliam said. “I might send Cal in my stead, but he’s taken over much of the work at home. We have potential contracts—but I’m getting old to go back and forth over the mountains.”
“You are not old,” Estil said, punching him lightly. “You are fat and not taking enough exercise, that is all.”
“We can take care of that,” Kieri said, grinning. “At least while you’re here. You should see the royal salle—in fact, come with me now—”
Kaelith, one of the King’s Squires, stood duty at the door to the suite, and led the way to the royal salle, but on the way they were interrupted by Sier Halveric.
“My pardon, Sir King, but I thought you would wish to know—now that the stables are no longer full of guests’ horses, the royal mounts have been brought in, including those gifts given at your coronation. Master of Horse would like your word on which to keep at hand.”
“We should go today,” Aliam said. “I’m sure we’re taking up stalls you’ll need.”
“Not to worry, Aliam,” his brother said. “I moved your mounts to my own yard.”
“Stay, Aliam,” Kieri said. “You’ve always had a good eye for horseflesh; you can help me choose.”
The royal mews rang with the sound of hooves and whinnies; Sier Halveric introduced the Master of Horse, Sir Ganeth, a lean man Kieri could just remember bowing over his hand during earlier ceremonies. He wore the ruby of a Knight of Falk on his collar.
“Sir King, I know you have heard comments about the color of our horses—and as you are half-elven, it is important for you to understand that the two have different preferences in color. Do you yourself?”
“I was taught to value conformation and performance over color,” Kieri said.
“Quite right, quite right. And yet here we must also consider color. The elves, Sir King, prefer horses of water and air, what you probably call grays and blue roans, like your mount Banner. Men prefer horses of earth and fire, what you probably call bays and chestnuts and red roans. In recent years, the royal stables ran heavily to earth and fire, by the will of the Council—” Here he glanced sharply at Sier Halveric, who shrugged.
“With only humans attending Council regularly, they would naturally lean towards those colors. Everyone knows grays are temperamental … perhaps you have to be
an elf to understand them …”
“The first horse I ever owned was a gray,” Kieri said. “A Marrakai-bred, and one of the best I ever rode. Banner is of the same breeding.”
“Sir King, you are half-elven. Perhaps it was that—”
“Perhaps. But let’s look at these—” Kieri waved at the stalls. It was not the moment to point out that the Royal Guard of Tsaia chose grays for their ceremonial mounts because they looked good with the Tsaian royal colors.
“We have an indoor school,” the man said. “If you would prefer, there is a royal box …”
“Indoor school?” Kieri had never heard of such a thing.
“The elves built it,” Sier Halveric said, with just the faintest edge to his voice. “Their horses are … flighty … or so our stable personnel insist.”
“I’ll just walk along the stalls first,” Kieri said, hoping to stop that in its tracks. “Come on, Aliam, Estil, let us see some horses.”
The Master of Horse moved up just off his right shoulder. “Sir King, this first row begins with the horse you rode from Tsaia—”
“Banner, yes.” The horse put its head out. Kieri rubbed its face, glancing in to note the clean, well-laid straw, the wrapped legs, the horse’s shining, satiny coat. Whatever the stable help thought of grays, they had treated Banner well. “You like it here, Banner, eh?” The horse tucked its nose and he chuckled.
“The rest of this row are what we consider traveling mounts worthy of nobility: horses you might ride about the kingdom as you visit the steadings. The former king had not ridden for years, and his favorites had, in the meantime, aged to the point where I questioned their endurance for long travel. I chose to retire them, and seek younger animals, but if you wish to see them, I will take you to their pasturage.”
Kieri wondered what to make of that. He had always chosen his own horses, after that first one, often buying Marrakai-bred, as with Banner. He wondered how someone else’s choices would suit him. “How many horses would you think I need for such travels?” he asked.
Oath of Fealty Page 30
