by Brandon Mull
Ferrin led Rachel away from the balcony and out of the luxurious residence. On the way down a stairway he leaned close to her. “What did you take from that?” he whispered.
“Be wary of Copernum,” she replied softly.
“Could you feel him cuddling up to us like a snake?” Ferrin asked. “Like a constrictor maneuvering for a deadly hold before the squeezing begins.”
“He tried to kill Jason,” Rachel said. “He tried to kill you. He tortured Nedwin for years. He’s only acting nice until he has another option.”
“Exactly right. He suspects we might be valuable. Did you notice how he tried to plant doubts and build trust? During such conversations, I like to imagine flattering words as a noose being tied round my neck. He gently tried to make you feel he appreciated your worth more than Galloran does. He tried to portray himself as a wise confidant. Nothing too drastic. He settled for patiently nudging our minds toward certain conclusions.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll never trust him.”
Ferrin walked beside her in silence for a moment. “Do you trust me?”
“Not completely.”
“Good.”
* * *
Rachel didn’t get to talk to Galloran on the day of his procession until the companions who had set out together from Mianamon gathered for a private evening meal in the royal chambers. After the parade Galloran had met with a variety of nobles, merchants, scholars, artists, and other influential members of society. Everyone seemed desperate for his attention, and he had patiently greeted the endless flood of well-wishers, giving each as much personal interaction as circumstances permitted.
Galloran had saved Rachel a seat immediately beside him. For the first time that day he put on his blindfold. “We can speak freely here,” he said. “I won’t chance spies reading your lips through my eyes.”
“Did anyone ask about your eyes?” Nollin inquired.
“Not a soul,” Galloran replied. “Everyone noticed. Nobody spoke of it. The lack of commentary suggests they assume I’m ashamed, which I probably should be.”
“No reason to feel shame,” Nedwin said. “You did what was necessary to stay in the fight.”
“I’ll address the matter after my coronation,” Galloran said.
“The coronation will proceed on schedule?” Nollin asked.
“Day after tomorrow,” Galloran replied. “Dolan has already announced my legitimacy. The grand duke will do the honors.”
“This has been a long time coming,” Nollin said. “How do you feel?”
“Like a stranger in my own home. Most of the people I once admired are gone. Many honorable men could once be found among the nobility of Trensicourt. Not so anymore. Those who remain are cautious and compromising at best, plotters and backstabbers at worst. But the kingdom will be mine, and with it a substantial host of soldiers, and that is what we most need at present.”
“Good food,” Io commented.
Rachel had been so attentive to the conversation that she had neglected to start eating. The table was burdened with crispy fowl, peppery venison, delicate fillets of trout, pots of soup, baskets of bread, platters of fruit, and trays of vegetables. A feast fit for a king, which Rachel supposed made sense under the circumstances.
“I’ll agree,” Ferrin said, spreading soft white cheese on a dark hunk of bread. “The road has its charms, but meals like this are scarce. The pleasure of city food prepared by experts nearly excuses the exhausting politics.”
“You had it easy today, displacer,” Kerick grunted. “The sun was hot during the procession, and the progress slow.”
“At least you benefited from better company,” Ferrin countered.
“Am I that boring?” Rachel complained.
“Not you,” Ferrin clarified.
Galloran leaned toward Rachel. “I have meant to ask how you enjoyed the companionship of the acting chancellor.”
Rachel swallowed a bite of bread. “Ferrin compared him to a snake.”
Ferrin bobbed his head. “Copernum was everything you expected, Galloran. He has a definite fixation on Rachel.”
“Unsurprising,” Galloran replied. “His master has shown uncommon interest in her. I don’t want Rachel ever left alone with him. Or anyone, really. Trensicourt is infested with treacherous manipulators. The sooner we’re off to war the better.”
“Agreed,” Io seconded heartily.
“It’s fine with me,” Rachel inserted. “I’d much rather avoid guys like Copernum.” She at least wanted the appearance of having some say in the matter.
“Will the more prominent schemers let you mount a war?” Nollin asked.
“I spent the day investigating attitudes on the subject,” Galloran said. “Some won’t want to make it easy. If I intended to wait a month to start a campaign, it might not be possible. But riding the current tide of high emotion, I expect to succeed. My most cunning enemies will rejoice to find Trensicourt mobilizing for war. The cleverest among them will gladly hurry me out of town. They will find many opportunities in having me away on a doomed offensive.”
“How do you intend to counter them?” Nedwin asked.
“I’ll do what I can,” Galloran replied. “Who knows how the war will progress? Who can say how long it will last? Many options close to us if Trensicourt falls. I’ll leave a trusted steward in command, along with a reliable aide or two. Apart from that I’ll have to lay aside my concerns about the politics of Trensicourt for a season. According to the prophecy, an assault on Felrook is the key to dethroning Maldor. Until that goal is achieved, all other matters are secondary.”
Looking around the table, Rachel wondered who Galloran might leave behind. Hopefully, none of the group who had set out together from Mianamon. She had already said good-bye to too many friends.
“I will grant you one thing,” Nollin said, wadding a napkin and tossing it aside. “You are not asking your allies to assume the greatest risk. Your present course will leave Trensicourt quite vulnerable.”
“This offensive is our last hope,” Galloran said. “I intend to pursue it with every resource I can muster. Sacrifices are inevitable.”
After Rachel finished her meal, she noticed Tark sitting alone at a small table away from the others. She went to him. “How did you enjoy the parade?”
“Not much,” he replied in his deep, raspy voice. “I would have been happier blowing a sousalax than trotting astride an overgrown pony. I disliked leaving you alone with Copernum and Ferrin, but it didn’t seem my place to protest.”
“Copernum wouldn’t have done anything to me with Galloran around,” Rachel said.
Tark lowered his voice. “Isn’t just Copernum I worry about.”
Rachel gave a small grin. “I’m not totally defenseless. I know a few tricks.”
“I’ve seen you knock people flat with a word,” Tark said. “And I saw you set the walking dead aflame. But I vowed to Lord Jason that I would protect you, and I mean to keep my oath. I did that duty poorly today.”
“Today was unusual,” Rachel said.
“Aye, and if I let unusual conditions stop me, I won’t be any help until this whole affair is over. I’m happy to admit that I’m in way over my head. I never expected to get involved with the high matters of great men. But I made two promises to Lord Jason: to help Galloran fight his war, and to watch over you.”
“You’ve done great so far,” Rachel assured him. “The war is on schedule and I’m doing fine.”
“Keep me near, if you can,” Tark urged. “I want to be of service.”
“I’m glad to know I can count on you,” Rachel replied, a hand on his arm.
Tark sniffed uncomfortably and looked away. “Now, don’t go relying on me too much. I’ll give you my best, but don’t forget to keep practicing that Edomic of yours.”
“Deal.”
* * *
The coronation featured even more pageantry than the procession into the city. Simply to stand at the back of the throne room for the c
eremony cost no less than a hundred drooma.
Trensicourt had celebrated nonstop ever since the procession. For two days the streets had remained mobbed by revelers, regardless of the hour. Citizens thronged the plaza outside the castle to hear heralds recite the words spoken within.
Rachel sat in the throne room at the front of the elevated gallery. Tark was seated on one hand, Io on the other. Galloran had appointed the two men as her personal bodyguards for the duration of their stay at Trensicourt. Io looked handsome and dignified in his finery. Strange how much he had matured in half a year. Not just in appearance—his attitude had become more serious, although he remained very considerate. She tried not to think ahead to his hair going gray by winter.
While waiting for the ceremony to begin, Tark and Io kept stealing sidelong glances at her—as if she didn’t already feel conspicuous enough! Yesterday Rachel had been fitted for a special outfit: a fine, dark robe with a veiled, broad-brimmed hat and black lace gloves. Nollin had come up with the idea. The goal was to make her appear mysterious, and the tailors had succeeded. The ensemble looked like an eccentric, stylish funeral outfit. Her attire attracted much attention, but at least the veil enabled her to avoid eye contact. When she turned her head toward the onlookers gazing her way, all eyes wandered elsewhere. Nobody wanted to get caught staring.
A hush fell over the room as a herald announced Galloran, complete with a dozen titles such as Protector of the Realm, High Commander of the Army, and Crown Prince of Trensicourt. Regal and tall, Galloran strode into the room, the train of his robe dragging behind like a cape designed for a giant. Three young attendants followed, holding the trailing ends of the purple garment.
Silence reigned as Galloran ascended the dais, shed his robe, and sat on a small, ornate chair before the Grand Duke of Edgemont, a husky man with a forked beard and costly attire. Dolan sat on the dais as well, as did Copernum and several other high lords of Trensicourt.
Rachel felt happy for Galloran. He looked very regal, and he had certainly earned this moment of glory.
Dolan arose and spoke to the assemblage. The speech struck Rachel as long-winded, as if he were trying to exhaust every possible way to express his joy at the return of the heir to the throne, all the while missing no opportunity to compliment the job he had done as regent in preserving the realm through the kingless years.
Next, Copernum stepped forward and spoke of his support for Galloran and his relief that the kingdom was whole again. Thankfully, his speech was shorter.
At last the Grand Duke of Edgemont issued a long ceremonial proclamation. Rachel was glad for the veil, because it allowed her to secretly yawn during the plodding recitation. Toward the end of the pronouncement a boy in a fancy doublet brought the crown to the Grand Duke of Edgemont on a silk pillow. Still reciting ceremonial words, the grand duke lifted the crown from the cushion, held it high, then deposited it on Galloran’s head. A flourish of trumpets followed as Galloran accepted his royal scepter.
The Grand Duke of Edgemont retreated, and Galloran arose. The room erupted with cheers. Rachel hooted and hollered as loudly as anyone. The jubilation maintained a deafening volume for at least thirty seconds. Galloran raised both hands. As the applause subsided, Rachel could hear the sustained murmur of distant cheering from outside the castle. Word had traveled quickly.
“Fellow citizens of Trensicourt,” Galloran began, raising his voice as best he could. A hush fell over the room. “I come to the throne more than a decade too late. Most of you are aware that I am no friend of the emperor, Maldor. I have spent the past years in active defiance of his ambition to dominate Lyrian. Some of those years were spent actively fighting him, some in the dungeons of Felrook, and the most recent years were spent gathering intelligence in preparation for a final stand against his bid for absolute power.
“The kingdoms taken by Maldor have fallen under the heavy yoke of his tyranny. His lust for dominion knows no bounds. As his power grows, he squeezes ever tighter, shrinking freedom and limiting opportunity. He rewards cowards and traitors willing to prosper by informing on friends and allies. He raises the cruel, the ruthless, and the treacherous to the highest offices. He limits the spread of knowledge to make his subjects ignorant and more docile. He will live for centuries. Left unchecked, his rule will usher in the darkest era in the long history of Lyrian. Civilization will continue to regress until most of the natural joy has been crushed from life. Those he rules will live in constant fear, mistrusting one another, unable to pursue excellence in any endeavor without risking his interference.”
Galloran paused. The room was silent except for the low rustle of people shifting uncomfortably. Clearly, nobody had spoken this candidly about Maldor in Trensicourt for years.
“Contrary to what he would have us believe, the emperor has not yet captured the continent. Although he is well on his way, the kingdom of Kadara continues to tie up the majority of his armed forces along the eastern coast as they lay siege to the cities of Kadara, Highport, and Inkala. The drinlings remain free, as do the Amar Kabal in the Seven Vales. And though we may have made some unwise compromises, Trensicourt also remains a free kingdom.”
Galloran paused again. Was he hoping for a reaction from the audience? Everyone was listening intently, but nobody cried out.
The freshly crowned king raised the fingertips of one hand to his temple. “There has been considerable speculation about my eyes. Yes, the spies of Maldor are watching as I gaze upon you. Maldor took my sight when I was captured. He offered to restore my vision by grafting in the eyes of displacers. The offer involved no pledges of fealty. I felt that I needed my sight to wage war against him, so I accepted his gift. This is why, when dealing in sensitive matters, I wear a blindfold. In combat I am happy to let Maldor watch me slay his servants.”
This earned a ripple of laughter that spread through the room and expanded into applause.
“A long road has taken me home to Trensicourt. I have seen much, learned much. My daughter, Corinne, the current heir to my throne, is living for the present in exile, alive and well.”
Enthusiastic cheers followed the announcement. Galloran waited for the furor to calm before continuing.
“I have been to the oracle of Mianamon. She has passed away, but she shared a final prophecy with me before she expired. She told me how Maldor can be defeated. There were many witnesses present. Starting tomorrow, Trensicourt will be aggressively at war with Felrook.”
Rachel did not think the room could have become quieter. Everyone seemed to be holding their breath.
“We will not stand alone. The drinlings will stand beside us. And after long years of neutrality, the Amar Kabal will be entering the fight.”
This announcement drew excited discussion rather than cheers. Galloran held up his hands.
“Naturally, I cannot share the specifics of our strategy. There will be other allies as well, including some who wield powers not seen in Lyrian for generations.” Rachel caught Tark looking over at her. When he noticed her attention, he hurriedly glanced away.
“We must begin preparations for war within the hour,” Galloran continued. “We will not wait to be besieged after Kadara falls. We will not bend our knees to Felrook and fade timidly into an age of darkness and oppression. Instead, we will move faster than our foes will believe possible. We will march out in force and seize the last real opportunity to fight back. This will be the final chance to stop Maldor from overrunning the continent, and I mean to take it.” Emotion built to a climax in his voice. “The oracle has foreseen that we can triumph! I have fought the emperor for years from the shadows. Now, at last, we finally have the right allies and the right opportunity. The hour has arrived for me to lead us to victory in open battle!”
Here the crowd exploded with cheers. Rachel’s heart swelled with his stirring words. His defiant enthusiasm was contagious.
“Too long has Trensicourt watched and waited. Ours is a proud heritage of victory in warfare. We are just as brave
and capable as those who preceded us. Braver. More capable. Rested and ready. Other kingdoms have wondered what has kept us out of the fray, much as we have all wondered why the Amar Kabal have not emerged from their strongholds to confront the greatest threat our peace and prosperity has known. We were waiting for the right moment, as were they. That moment is upon us. If we continue to wait, the opportunity will pass us by. Instead, we will strike alongside the same allies who overthrew Maldor’s master. The emperor will not steal our freedom. He will not control the lives of our wives, of our children, or of our unborn generations. We will not let him!”
Now the room thundered with approval. Rachel found herself wanting to rise to her feet. The power of his message touched her deeply, and most around her clearly felt likewise. There was determination and anger in the tumult. The nervous tension that had sustained the earlier silence was releasing. Rachel looked around. These people were hearing words that should have been spoken long ago. Words they might not have believed from anyone less than this storied figure, their exiled king, standing before them in glittering raiment, fortified with legendary prowess and cunning, his bold words spoken with certainty.
It took some time for Galloran’s raised hands to quiet the clamor. “Some may wonder why I share my intentions so openly. I mean to lead you honestly, as my father did before me. When we charge into battle, I will be at the front. Also, there will be no way to hide our preparations for war. The endeavor will be massive, and no matter what precautions we adopt to conceal our intentions, word of our efforts will reach the emperor. So why hide? He would not have had time to counter the attack I intend if I had warned him last month. He has planned like a commander confident that no further trouble awaits him. The placement of his forces is sloppy and lopsided. We will capitalize on this mistake with blood and victory!”
Again the room went wild. Io and Tark were standing. Rachel felt herself being swept up in the excitement. The people believed, or at least wanted to believe.
“I will issue this warning once,” Galloran continued. “Any sympathizer of Maldor has this day only to get out of my kingdom. Starting tomorrow, any individual employed by him will be guilty of treason and sentenced to death. This includes all the minor governors and lawmakers in the outlying towns within the boundaries my father ruled. This includes any man or woman wearing an imperial uniform. Imperial servants are the enemies of this kingdom, and I authorize the citizens of Trensicourt to execute the sentence I have prescribed. Throw off your imperial yokes. We have larger battles to fight.”
