The general stepped forward and saluted.
Bannor returned the salute. “Sir.”
Thurrgis spoke in a raw clipped tone surprisingly deep for his thin frame. “Recruit Starfist, what is a soldier’s heart?”
“Sir, his duty, Sir,” Bannor responded with the ritual answer.
“Recruit Starfist, what is a soldier’s blood?”
“Sir, his determination, Sir.”
“Recruit Starfist, what is a soldier’s mind?”
“Sir, his mission, Sir.”
“Recruit Starfist, do you swear to serve in the ranks with distinction and pride, executing the will of King and country?”
“Sir, I so swear, Sir.”
Thurrgis bowed his head. He drew a breath and let it out slow. There was a glint in his eye, the first emotion that Bannor had seen him show since the ceremony started. “Recruit, I accept your oath, and commission you as cavalry midach, serving in the talon-strike elite.” He reached back and took a short jeweled sheath from one of his subordinates. “Midach, weapon accept.”
Bannor snapped a heel and knelt with his hands upraised.
The general stepped forward, placed the sheathed weapon across Bannor’s raised palms, and returned to his place.
“Midach,” the general ordered. “Attention for weapon inspection.”
Bannor rose, stepped back, turned the sheath vertical and drew the dan-sword in a single long motion. Sliding the sheath into his belt he flipped the blade tip up with the hilt at his waist. The blade winking mirror bright and lethal sharp in the bright sun.
As he held the weapon he was found himself glad of all the grueling bells he had spent with Senalloy training weapons. Whoever prepared the weapon had weighted the hilt and blade deliberately to make maneuvers difficult. Senalloy had prepared him for that exact eventuality saying that it was a common trick played to make a new officer lose face. The King had stressed to him repeatedly that the sword receiving and presentation flourish were an officer’s first impression on the troops. Any slip up significantly reduced the respect a new member received.
Obviously, whoever had weighted the sword wanted more than a simple slip up. The weapon was grossly out of balance. Anything more than the most casual aerial maneuver would send the mithril shaft careening out of reach.
With a sigh, keeping his eyes on the general, he willed the tiniest shred of Xersis to travel down his arm around the hilt and up the blade.
“Midach,” the general ordered. “Fall back and weapon present.”
Heart speeding up, Bannor drew a breath. He had spent dozens, if not hundreds of bells, practicing this flourish. It was a combination of things that both Vera and Senalloy had taught him. He thought of Sarai and her beauty, and he made the flashing whirling blade a dazzling tribute to his love for his wife-to-be. The blade shrieked around in the flying dragon spiral, first diving, then soaring, to go spinning into the sky then come point down into his waiting hand just before the tip struck the wood.
A host of murmuring went through the soldiers around him. He did the four elements tribute salute before sliding the weapon away in its sheath. He bowed to Thurrgis and saluted. The general bowed as well and returned the salute. A slight narrowing of the elf’s eyes were the only indication that he might have had a hand in the sabotage of the weapon.
Bannor glanced to the King. The elf Lord was smiling.
General Baerdin stepped forward. “Midach Starfist, tell me what is honor?”
Bannor collected himself, stilling his body after the frenetic energy of the presentation. “Sir, honor is doing the right thing, Sir.”
“Midach Starfist, what is law?”
“Sir, law is the justice dictated by King and country, Sir.”
“Midach Starfist, what is freedom?”
He swallowed. Though it was part of the ritual it was a question that hit home with him. “Sir, freedom is what we fight for, Sir.”
The white-eyed elf smiled. “Midach Starfist, weapon accept.”
Bannor knelt and held up his hands.
The general accepted then placed the larger sheathed caansword across Bannor’s hands.
“Midach, attention for weapon inspection.”
As before, he stepped back, pulled and posed. This time the sabotage of the weapon was much more subtle. The tang of the blade felt lose in the hilt. A quick look with his thread sight told him the pin holding it would give the moment the weapon was swung with any speed. He sighed.
The King’s eyes narrowed slightly.
Lord T’Evagduran sighed.
“Midach,” the general ordered. “Fall back and weapon present.”
Bannor used the same trick as before. Using the shaladen’s shape-changing ability to imperceptibly modify the sword, tiny threads of ultimately strong enchanted ishtite and adamantine winding through the damaged parts.
Sliding the sheath away, he went into the talon-shriek’s dance, swinging the sword at full speed. However, he changed the movements so that the arcs of the blade swung toward the general. Every time the blade came around, he saw the elf leaning back and trying not to wince.
He noticed the King watching out of the corner of his eye, brow furrowed as he watched the other elf’s reaction. Bannor finished the flourish, the blade pirouetting pommel down on his palm before he flipped the blade tip down and dropped into a kneeling position with both hands on the hilt.
For a long moment, Baerdin stared at him saying nothing. Around him the crowd of soldiers were nodding at the competently performed weapon present.
The general coughed. “Midach Starfist,” he coughed again. “Do—do you swear to serve the elite with distinction and pride, executing the will of King and country?”
“Sir, I so swear, Sir.”
Baerdin drew a breath. He glanced to the King and then back to Bannor. “Midach, I accept your oath, and commission you as militia Kul’praelor, serving in the Nightslash elite.” He stepped forward and put the gold chain and amulet around Bannor’s neck and stepped back.
He realized then that the general was truly shaken. The elf hadn’t expected the ceremony to be completed, probably expecting that the blade flying out of Bannor’s caan-sword would badly injure or kill someone and cause an inquiry.
“Kul’praelor Starfist,” King Jhaan said. “Rise and take your place.”
Bannor stood up and went to stand behind Baerdin. The white-eyed elf watched his every movement like he expected to be attacked.
“Soldiers of Malan, I present to you Kul’praelor Starfist, your future prince!”
The soldiers let out a cheer.
Inwardly, Bannor let out a breath. He had managed to sidestep yet another plot. He hoped that was the extent of it. For Sarai’s sake, he wanted her wedding to be perfect. It meant so much to her and her family.
There was a short reception where the King and generals introduced he and Laramis to the top officers, some of whom Bannor already knew. Though everything was civil with no overt hostility, he sensed an underlying tension running through the crowd. It cemented in his mind the suspicion that there were a group of individuals who had intended to disrupt the ceremony.
With bows to the King and the high generals, he and Laramis were dismissed to finish the rest of his wedding preparations.
When they were out of sight and well into the tunnel leading beneath Kul’Amaron’s western battlement, Laramis puffed out his cheeks. He rolled his shoulders and rocked his head side to side. “Zounds, it appears Lady Senalloy still has more work to
do.”
“Huh?” Bannor responded looking over.
The Justicar rubbed at the side of his mouth. “The eyes of serpent were on us, my friend, of that you can be certain.”
Bannor’s eyes widened. “You knew?”
Laramis laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “Come now, how long have we been friends? Sniffing out misdeeds is what I do! That ceremony,” he shook his head. “ ‘Twas a heavy helping of mischief at work there. I knew something was afoot when I saw the master of arms exchange your weapons at the last moment. I wanted to warn you but you had already stepped up. I was grateful my faith in your ability was warranted.”
He laughed. “I didn’t see a thing. It was all that training with Senalloy, I could tell when I picked up the blades. She warned me it was common jest played on new officers.”
“Zounds,” Laramis blew out his cheeks. “Bless her, I guess we must take our fortune where we find it. Still, we shall need to watch our backs.”
“Right.”
They turned a corner and Bannor opened the ironwood door for Laramis. He returned the salute of the two soldiers in the entry. Proceeding up the stairs beyond they stopped in the vestibule at the top. Bannor saluted the four guards standing watch in front of huge mithril-bound door. The giant valve was opened for them and Bannor stepped in the offices of the royal quartermaster.
Inside a dozen male and female elves went about the business of administrating the supplies of the Malanian military. An aide stepped up, saluted and led them to the inner offices.
Kul’praelor Alvaar worked in a giant office stuffed to overflowing with racks, shelves, and cabinets. Aside from the massive ironwood desk and filing armoire to one side, the whole room was dedicated to storing various weapons and other paraphernalia, most of which was magical in nature.
Inside, pale haired and pallid, the sagely appearing Kul’praelor was almost invisible behind a massive desk and a mountain of documents. The officer pushed the spectacles up on his nose, stood and gave a salute that Bannor returned.
“Ah, Kul’praelor,” Alvaar greeted. “Congratulations on your indoctrination and wedding. You have something for me, yes?”
“Yes,” Bannor responded, pulling first the dan-sword and sheath from his belt and then the caan-sword.
Alvaar accepted the dan first, pulled the blade, part way and looked at something on the tang. He raised an eyebrow. Closing the weapon, he put it aside. He took a sheet of parchment from among the thousands on his desk dipped a wax marker and made a seal. He took the caan-sword and did a similar examination and shook his head.
Bannor and Laramis exchanged glances. Bannor stepped forward. “Is there something wrong?” he asked the quartermaster.
“Eh?” Alvaar responded. He sighed. “Just foolishness, that’s all,” he said, moving to the racks to put the weapons away. “I trust you were not too seriously embarrassed by these games?”
Bannor tilted his head. “I wasn’t embarrassed at all. Though I should think you would repair that caan-sword before someone is injured or killed by it.”
Alvaar’s hand stopped part way to the rack and he looked back at them quizzically. He finished putting the dan away, and pulled the caan from its sheath. The way the elf worked the blade it was easy to tell that despite his cloistered appearance, he knew weapons.
The quartermaster frowned as he pushed the sword back into its sheath. “Ryah!” he yelled.
A female aide came rushing in. “Yes, Sir?”
He tossed the sheathed weapon to her. “Give that to Garamesh, make sure he knows that this was given to Lord Starfist during his commission ceremony.”
Brow furrowed, she looked at the weapon in her hand for a moment. “Yes, Sir,” she bobbed and ducked out.
Alvaar let out a breath. He went to another rack and pulled out a matched set of jeweled sheaths; the formal dan and caan swords worn for royal ceremonies. He handed them over one at a time as Bannor clipped them on his belt. “Not much I can say,” the elf said with a grimace. “I’d watch your back until things are sorted out.”
“Yes, thank you, Kul’praelor,” Bannor said.
Alvaar saluted and Bannor responded in kind.
“On the bright side,” Laramis remarked as they walked out and down the stairs. “At least not all of them are in on it.”
Bannor rubbed the back of his head. “That’s something I suppose.” All he needed to do was get through the day without a calamity. The rest of the mess could be resolved later.
With all the pre-ceremony details finally taken care of, Bannor and Laramis started making their way toward wedding site. Beneath the thick canopy of trees, he welcomed the shade and cooling breeze. He followed the winding path, mindful of possible ‘entanglements’. He waved back to numerous passersby that greeted him, smiling and trying to act relaxed. Of all the possible problems that might have faced him today, he had not expected it to come from the militia. He was friends with many of the regulars, and had, what he thought, was a good reputation among them. Sarai was almost universally respected and liked among the regiments because of her service record. He would have thought being favored by her would have accorded him some defense.
That did not seem to be the case however. That meant that this was likely coming from higher up, not from any dissent or umbrage directed at him from among the ranks. Unfortunately, there really wasn’t much he could do at this point but be prepared and try to sidestep any nastiness that came his way.
The two of them stopped briefly at a stall where he purchased a small bag of sweet-water from a wide-eyed elf matron who refused to accept payment. The dewy nectar soothed his throat as they climbed the winding path toward the glade of joining. Hundreds of spectators had already streamed into the trees, no doubt trying to catch a glimpse of the proceedings.
Several guards challenged them as they approached the private “back path” reserved for members of the wedding party. After verifying his identity and that of Laramis, a squad led them the rest of the way to the “noble’s alcove” near the glade. There in the cool seclusion of the rocks a veritable army of courtiers waited.
He and Laramis parted as they were led off to separate preparation areas. The half dozen maids and stewards drew him to a circle of carved boulders. He was urged to sit on a padded stone bench and given some water to drink. He closed his eyes, breathing the scent of the forest, listening the rustling of the leaves overhead.
The elf costumers moved around him whisper quiet. He did his best to relax and let them go about their business, moving how they directed and trying not to twitch too much as they fussed with his hair, skin, hands, and clothing. Stewards took last moment measurements, and adjusted the fit of his costumes. In addition to the courting raiment he was currently wearing, he had three changes during the ceremony, the vestments of nature, the oath robes, and the regalia of promising. He had been measured for all four, but had yet to try any on because some had not yet even been made. Fortunately, the vestments and robes were designed to go over the courting costume, so the final fitting was a simple process.
He heard a jingling come up behind him. “So, how are you, Brother-to-be?”
Bannor looked up and saw Ryelle dressed in the extensive layered gown of the first princess. Her translucent hair gleamed and shimmered as she moved in the shadows, a half dozen maids followed in her wake holding up the trailers and her cloak to prevent them from being soiled.
A steward placed a bench next to the chair where the maids were still working on him. The princess settled with her usual grace and smiled at him.
He nodded to her. “Rye, good morning. You look beautiful.”
The first princess dipped her head and smiled. “Thank you.”
“As to how I am—I’m fine, the morning has been very interesting.”
Lips pursed, she rubbed at the platinum braid around her throat. “Father told me you handled it well.”
“I managed not to make a scene. There were people prepared to do their worst i
n that crowd though.”
“Aye,” she returned with scowl. “If not for Lady Senalloy, they might have tried for you.”
“What does Sen have to do with it?”
“She scares them—as well she should. They’ve lost some very valuable operatives trying to get rid of her. With her only a few steps away, anything that didn’t end you right off would fail. You have a reputation for being notoriously hard to kill.”
He grimaced. “Something of a dubious honor.”
Ryelle leaned forward and touched his shoulder with a jeweled hand. “Well, I for one am glad of it,” she said with a serious expression. “If not we would have lost you many times over. Not just for Sarai’s sake, I have come to be rather fond of you. I quite enjoy our chats. I can speak openly of things with you that I cannot with my sisters.”
For some reason he found that surprising. He guessed with them both being Shael Dal there was no question of trust. That and she already knew he had no ambitions on the throne. His loyalty to Sarai was a given, so that probably made him safe in her eyes.
“I’m glad that I haven’t been too burdensome,” he said looking into amber eyes.
“A burden?” The princess shook her head. “It is true there have been trials, but our family is stronger for it. We have never been more close than we are now. Mother has always been fond of you.”
“She’s forever scolding me,” he grumbled.
“Brother-to-be, that’s just her way. It will change some after the wedding, it would not be so unexpected for her to favor her only son-in-law.”
He smiled. “I look forward to being favored.”
The princess grinned and looked at him with one eye closed. “One never knows. A mother that favors you might be more scary than one that constantly scolds.” She drew a breath. “Well, on to the business I am here to conduct. Mother wanted me to admonish you to focus entirely on the ceremony, and not allow our opponents to disrupt the proceedings.”
His brow furrowed. “Pardon?”
“There may be distractions. Things done to deliberately unsettle or startle you including something like a false emergency. You need do nothing other than perform your part of ceremony, trust that everything else is covered—I do mean everything. Mother and Father have many friends among the Shael Dal now, and a few casks of Dolandil centurion wine can win favors that whole armies cannot defeat.”
Reality's Plaything 5: The Infinity Annihilator Page 72
