by Dave Duncan
the monumental fireplace on their right. The first
third of the hall was filled with tables, which servants
were hurriedly setting for the banquet, and the center
held rows of seats facing the gallery. Gerard was
the last to enter, resplendent in his multicolored
tabard. The bone-jarring thump of the great doors
closing behind him was a signal to the principals that
it was almost time to appear, but two Blades had
done the closing and remained outside to guard.
Another four were standing at the far end, keeping an
eye on everything, and a fifth in the gallery
replaced the servant Gerard had stipulated.
Blast pompous young Ambrose! At least there was
no white hennin in sight, no White Sister.
He dodged between the domestics, walked along
the narrow aisle between the rows of chairs, and came
to the small table that had the last third of the hall
to itself. He turned briefly to bow to the guests,
then opened his document case and laid out the items
he would need. When everything was ready he looked
up and nodded to the Blade in the gallery. The
Blade went out to send in the wedding party.
Gerard had never married a duke before and would have
been nervous even without his knowledge of impending doom.
As it was, when he took up the paper with the heron
watermark, on which he had written some meaningless
notes, it trembled so hard that he had to clutch it
to his belly. Either the Bael fleet had been
driven hundreds of leagues away or it was on
its way upriver at this instant.
The first to appear on the gallery was the odious
Duke of Dog Meat himself, who had elected
to come alone, although he could have squired any of
three daughters or several granddaughters. The
audience rose to its feet. As much time as you can
give us, Leofric had said. The ceremony had
started. Gerard ripped the paper in two. Between the
fog and the rain streaming over the windows, his view
of the trees in the park was too vague to show anything
smaller than eagles and he sensed nothing at
all happening--unless that had been a slight breath
of wind on his face? He had never been
sensitive to spirituality, but he was very close to a
powerful conjurement and birds were creatures of
air.
As the groom was descending the staircase, the
sixteen witnesses began to parade in along the
gallery. Ambrose led the way, of course,
escorting ancient Princess Crystal,
Charlotte's grandmother and his great-aunt.
So far everything was going perfectly. They had all
been rehearsed less than an hour ago, and even
aristocrats couldn't forget anything so simple in
that time. Uncles, brothers, sisters, children ...
Had Aeled allowed for the rain, or were his ships
wallowing helplessly in the flood?
The Duke in his fancy silks arrived on the
far side of Gerard's table, with the Order of the
White Star blazing like a sun on his hollow chest
and his hose padded to disguise spider-thin shanks.
The leprous folds of his neck were hidden inside
one of the high jeweled collars that were the latest
fad among young dandies in Grandon. He looked
over the assembly with satisfaction, ignoring
Gerard. Oh, what a surprise he had coming!
The witnesses lined up in a row across the hall,
Prince and aged Princess in the center.
Charlotte appeared in the gallery on her father's
arm, the Blade coming in behind her and closing the
door. Again there were five Blades in sight, which
meant eleven prowling the house or the grounds,
unless some were off-duty--but Gerard had a nasty
suspicion that Blades never went off-duty.
Blades weren't really human. Charlotte was
cautiously descending the stairs in her cumbersome
gown--take all the time you want! This was not the
magnificent entrance parade he had designed,
but it was not bad under the circumstances. It would have
been more imposing if they had let him rebuild the
staircase as he wanted.
Charlotte arrived at the Duke's side and
released her father's arm. She was taller than the
bridegroom; she barely acknowledged his smile
of welcome, staring fixedly over Gerard's head.
She would not descend to hypocrisy by pretending
to enjoy herself.
He waited as long as he dared. The
spectators fidgeted, the servants clinked
dishes. Aeled, where are you? Eventually both
bride and groom were frowning at him and he had
to begin.
"Your Royal Highness, Your Highness, Your
Graces, my lords, ladies, and gentlemen
..." If Aeled could take just this collection of
blue blood witnesses and hold them to ransom,
he could buy the throne of Baelmark. Perhaps the
brawny lad was planning to do exactly that, or
worse. He had not necessarily confided his
true intentions to Gerard. "You have gathered here today
to witness the"--rape of--"marriage of
Jules Claude de Manche Taisson
Everard, Duke of"--get it right!--
"Dragmont, Companion of the White Star ..."
and on and on, a huge list of honors and
titles and estates. The Dragmont family
fortune sprang from a notorious robber chief
two dynasties back, a man probably
worse than Aeled. It had been ruthlessly
increased by generations of peasant-grinding barons.
"... to the Lady Charlotte, eldest daughter of
..."
Charlotte had demanded the shortest possible
ceremony. He was making it the longest possible.
were the Baels disembarking yet? When they were
sighted and the alarm went up, how long would it be before
the racket was detectable inside this stone
mausoleum? What if nothing at all happened
and he had to complete this awful farce? The next
item was supposed to be the taking of the vows but that was
the actual marriage and he must not let things go so
far. The alternative was to name the witnesses first.
"... in the presence of His Royal Highness,
Crown Prince Ambrose Taisson Everard
Goisbert of the House of Ranulf ..." and so
on. Charlotte was glaring at him. The Duke of
Dirt Muck was scowling. And so it went. Without
a flaw, unfortunately. And it could not last
forever. He came to Charlotte's youngest sister and the
list was over. He must proceed now to the actual
rites.
"Repeat after me: I, Jules Claude de
Manche Taisson Everard, Duke of Drain
Mouse, Viscount ..."
The smelly old man did not seem to notice
the slip. "I, Jules Claude de Manche
Taisson Everard, Duke of Dragmont ..."
Panic! Somewhere in among his notes, Gerard
had lost the paper with the ship watermark. He
gathered the whole bundle and tried not to let them
shake.
>
The groom repeated the final words of his oath.
Pity.
"Repeat after me. I, Charlotte Rose--"
There was a noise in the kitchens.
Gerard stopped and frowned in that direction.
Nothing more happened. Sigh. "Where were we? Oh
yes. Repeat after me, I, Jules
Claude--"
"We already did that!" Dragmont flashed
fire at him.
"We did? Oh, I am sorry. Well,
my lady, repeat--"
There was another noise in the kitchens, louder.
Now everyone looked that way.
The door in the minstrel gallery flew open and
two Blades came running in to join the one already
there. "Baels!" they shouted. "Raiders!"
Two of them raced for the stair and one leaped over the
rail, landing like a cat. The four against the wall
surged forward, all frantic to reach their ward.
The audience screamed. Gerard ripped the sheets
he was holding--
--and froze.
He could not even move his eyes. He could
barely breathe. The moving Blades pitched
headlong, with the two on the staircase rolling and
sliding horribly all the way to the bottom.
Ambrose and many others were caught off balance and
toppled over. From the servants at the far end of the
hall came a fearful crashing of glassware. In
the resulting silence, faint screams and
metallic clatters drifted in from the rest of the
mansion. A low, stifled moaning arose from the
congregation, the best that frozen throats could do.
The Blades broke free. As a duck's
plumage repels water, so their binding resisted
the conjuration. Like men fighting their way out of
molasses they struggled to their feet and in moments
they were all active again, except for one of the two
who had fallen down the stairs. The rest swooped
on the petrified Prince and lifted him
bodily.
"The window!" one shouted, but they moved only a
few steps before they came to a cursing halt.
Gerard could not turn to see what they were seeing, but
he assumed the grounds were filling up with redheaded
raiders. One of the kitchen doors crashed open and
three more Blades raced in, swords drawn.
They, too, converged on their ward; through the
doorway behind them came sounds of chaos and
slaughter.
The giant To`edbeorht came marching out on
the minstrel gallery, huge and terrifying with his
shield and battle-ax, his steel helmet concealing
his face, his great chest and shoulders matted with wet
red fur. Behind him came half a dozen men armed
with crossbows.
"Blades!" he roared. "We intend no harm
to your ward." Aeled must have chosen him for volume,
because his voice reverberated like thunder.
"We have not come here to molest Prince Ambrose.
Stand him in a corner--"
Two of the Blades raced to the stair to get at
the threat, leaping over their fallen comrade. The first
was already halfway up when a crossbow cracked and
put a bolt through him and into the steps. He fell
forward on top of it. The other one stopped where he
was.
"I said," To`edbeorht bellowed, "to stand your
ward in a corner and no harm will come to him. The
bowmen will stay up here. Look to your injured,
Blade."
Glowering, the Blade on the stair sheathed his
sword and bent to examine his comrade. The rest
rushed their ward into the safe ground under the gallery
and surrounded him with a human shield. Their faces
were ashen with fury. In a moment two more rushed in from
the kitchens, one of them limping and trailing
blood, but they went to be with the others. Aeled had
foreseen this--the Blades would be no threat to him as
long as he left their ward alone.
"As for the rest of you," To`edbeorht bellowed,
"we did not come here to hurt or kill or
enslave anyone. You will be released from the conjuration
very shortly. Stay where you are and you will not be harmed.
If you do as you are told you will keep your lives
and freedom." He glanced around at the couple
who had just appeared in the gallery and then boomed out
like a herald, louder than ever: "Her Majesty
the Dowager Queen Maud of Baelmark!"
Her escort was Aeled, of course, in
smock, leggings, and cloak, a sword at his
side. Gerard had not met the tall woman on his
arm before, but he recalled hearing talk of her.
The enchantment vanished as suddenly as it had
come, leaving a momentary giddiness. Gerard staggered
and leaned on the table for support. Others less
fortunate reeled and grabbed at neighbors, in
some cases dragging them down with them. Those who had
fallen earlier struggled to their feet, and a huge
wail of alarm reverberated back from the roof. The
witnesses rushed together into family groups--
Charlotte going with her parents and brothers and
sisters, and the Duke with his children. Scores of armed
Baels had taken control of the hall, herding the
servants into a compact huddle, blocking all the
doors, and even lining up at Gerard's back
to block any effort by the wedding party to join the main
congregation.
Ambrose was on his feet, scarlet
and cursing, but firmly jammed into the corner by a
living wall of Blades, who would not let him
leave that spot as long as the bowmen remained on the
gallery overhead. Baels gathered up the wounded
Blades and delivered them to their comrades.
Gradually an uneasy quiet fell, as everyone
waited to hear what their captors wanted.
Gerard caught Charlotte's eye. What he
saw in it was fury, although she was sickly pale.
She knew who had been babbling about Baels.
She could not know what was going to happen next. He
hoped that she would feel better when she did;
actual forgiveness might have to wait a long time.
Aeled and his mother descended the staircase together.
Although it was centuries since Chivial had seen
such garments, their quality and richness were obvious.
Queen Maud was not young, but flowing veils concealed
her hair and neck, and her height and grace
made her the equal of any woman in the hall.
Her son, of course, was capable of dominating
all men. His belt, sword hilt, baldric,
and shoulder brooch flamed with gold and jewels.
His copper braids hung to his shoulders. On
reaching the bottom of the stairs, he paused and
looked to Gerard.
"Herald!"
Gerard's heart lurched; he hurried over and
bowed. "Highness?"
"You may present these nobles to my royal
mother."
After one glance at the seething knot of
Blades, Gerard chose to go no closer. Who
took precedence? He bowed to Queen Maud.
"Your Majesty, I am honored to present His
Royal Highness, Crown Prince Ambrose of
Chivial."
She cocked her head expectantly.
Ambrose just glared. His bodyguard had not left
him enough room to bow anyway, but he showed no
signs of wanting to.
Gerard tried again, although the college's texts
on protocol contained little guidance for such a
situation and the titles did not translate
exactly--an atheling was less than a prince,
an ealdormann more than an earl, about a
duke. ... "Your Royal Highness, I have the
honor to present His Highness, Atheling Aeled,
Earl of Catterstow."
Aeled bowed.
"Pirate!" Ambrose bellowed.
"You will pay for this outrage with your head."
The pirate grinned. "I was twelve when I
learned not to make vain threats."
Apparently he wanted the charade to continue, so
Gerard turned to the Candlefen group, which contained the
next in precedence, Princess Crystal. He
proclaimed her titles. Bless her!--the old
lady curtseyed solemnly to the visiting
Queen.
Maud smiled. "We are honored by your
respect, Your Highness."
"We are grateful to you for enlivening a most
boring morning, Your Majesty." The old
lady's eye twinkled.
Aeled was presented and bowed low to her. Then it
was the Duke's turn, but his diamond-studded star
had disappeared and when Gerard tried to present him
to the atheling, he turned his back.
Aeled bared his teeth. "If those are Chivian
manners, I will teach you Baelish. Goldstan,
take that man outside and throw him in the
cesspool. Empty his pockets first." As two
burly Baels hustled the screaming Duke from the
hall, the Earl raised his voice and the echoes.
"I came here on personal business. It is
my intention to marry--and take home to Baelmark
as my wife--the fair Lady Charlotte."
In the resulting chorus of screams and wails,
he led his mother over to the bride and bowed to her. For a
moment they just stared at each other. Then Aeled
bowed again.
"Word of your beauty has crossed the oceans,
my lady, although words cannot do it justice. I
understand that this hasty wooing must be a shock to you, but
I swear that my intentions are to treat you with all the
honor due the wife of an earl, to cherish you all
my days, and--if the spirits of chance favor me--
to make you queen in my land."
Charlotte, still ashen pale, looked again at
Gerard and the accusation in her eyes needed no words.
