CHAPTER
11
THE MESSENGER KNELT
IN THE CENTER OF THE room, breathing hard, words spilling out in a
rush as he described the Queen’s entrance into the city. He paused
to swallow, gulping in air.
“Go easy, lad.” Lord
Durst lifted a frail hand, and his wife came forward with a glass
of wine. “Get your breath, then tell us what you saw.”
The boy slurped the
wine and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Sorry, Lord. Ran from the
main gate.”
“And I thank you for
it,” Lord Durst said. “You were very prompt. Tell me again. She
walked into the city?”
“Aye, Lord.” The
lad’s eyes were wide. “She’s all dressed in white, with something
glittering on her ear.”
“And the Warlord
stayed with her? With how many men?”
“Men and women,
Lord,” the lad answered. “Not more than twenty.”
Lord Durst nodded,
listening carefully to the descriptions. “My thanks,” he said
finally. “A few coins for your troubles.”
The lad bobbed his
head over the silver and darted out of the room.
“Well, that didn’t
work. It’s clear that they expect an attack as she makes her way
through the city.” Lanfer spoke from the corner.
Lord Durst eyed him.
Lanfer’s face was awash in vivid bruises, centered on his nose.
“Let them.” Durst looked off into the distance. “Let them expend
their energies on wasted efforts. Sword to sword, we lose. Our
attacks will be unsuspected and unseen, and all the more powerful
as a result.”
Beatrice, his sweet
wife, seated herself in one of the chairs off to the side and
reached for her sewing. Durst smiled at her head, bent over the
white cloth that filled her lap. “We shall distract them from the
real threat,” he continued. “No bastard of the Plains shall rule in
Xy.”
“Your plans risk
being too subtle,” Lanfer said. “And Browdus—”
“We will discuss that
later,” Durst replied. “For now, let us go to the throne room and
prepare to welcome Xylara home.”
Lanfer snorted, then
reached out a hand to help him stand.
EVEN SEATED IN THE
CART, LARA WAS STILL AN impressive figure. The cheers and flowers
continued as they made their way to the gates of the
castle.
Heath increased the
pace slightly, now that he was no longer leading a pregnant woman
on foot. Lara had made her point; no reason she couldn’t travel the
rest of the way in comfort.
There were a few
delays along the way. Someone had organized a chorus of singing
children, dressed in their finest and piping a hymn to the Sun God.
Heath stopped the procession so that Lara could listen and accept a
tiny bouquet of mangled flowers from the smallest of
them.
Lara thanked them
all, and Heath got the procession started again. The children ran
behind the cart for a time, laughing and skipping. Heath feared
they’d startle the pony. But Detros had the bridle firmly in his
hands, and the animal was a steady goer. It just flicked an ear.
The children scattered to their parents for praise and reassurance,
and the procession continued on.
There were other
faces, familiar ones, in the crush of people. At one point Lara
spotted Kalisa, the old cheesemaker, bent over next to her cart,
selling her good cheese and crackers. Kalisa held her old crippled
hands up, as if to show them to Lara. Lara laughed and waved
back.
Then there was the
old bookseller, Remn—a short ball of a man, standing on the edge of
the crowd, looking so very pleased. The Warlord pulled his horse
over and leaned down in the saddle. The little man looked up with a
smile, and they spoke for a moment or two before Keir urged his
horse back into place in the procession.
The gates of the
castle were wide open when they arrived. The outer courtyard was
crammed with people. The cheers and cries of welcome rang against
the stone walls as Heath led them in. He watched carefully, making
sure that the contingent of castle guards entered with them. No one
blocked their entrance, and those blue uniforms melted into the
crowd without any comment that he could hear.
Keir dismounted and
then offered his hand to assist Lara down from the cart. She took
his hand, smiling and waving to the crowd, and then looked to
Heath.
Heath took the lead,
walking through the open doors to the throne room beyond. The halls
and rooms were lined with people, with a wide path for the
procession. They knelt as Lara and Keir approached and rose as they
passed by.
Kendrick, Herald of
Xy, stood at the doors, waiting for them. The old man was looking a
bit tottery as he leaned on his staff, but he looked determined to
do his duty. He straightened and pounded his staff three times on
the floor. “Lord and ladies, all hail Keir, Warlord of the Plains,
Overlord of Xy, and Xylara, Queen of Xy, Warprize . . . and Master
Healer.”
Lara choked off a
laugh. The Herald’s face remained impassive, but there was a
twinkle in his eye.
Heath led the way,
scanning the crowd as everyone knelt. There were the regular lords
and ladies, and to his relief, Plains warriors as well. But the
best sight was his mother, Lady Anna, in her best court dress, with
a baby in her arms.
He heard Lara’s gasp
of pleasure and smiled. The baby was Meara. Her parents had died of
the Sweat, but Lara had managed to save her. Meara was babbling,
her cheeks pink with excitement. The child was too young to
understand the fuss, but her giggles were a joy to hear. The babe
had been sent to Water’s Fall and placed in Anna’s care. Heath’s
mother had been saddened by Lara’s departure, but she’d smiled when
Meara had been placed in her arms.
Keir extended his arm
and Lara accepted his aid as she walked up the two steps to stand
before the throne. Keir stood to one side, folding his arms over
his chest, looking damned impressive.
Heath took his
position on Lara’s other side as she sat. Everyone in the crowd
rose to their feet.
“Our thanks to our
people for such a welcome,” Lara began. “We rejoice to have
returned to Xy after our travels.”
Heath snorted to
himself. It wasn’t clear if she was using the royal we or including Keir in her statements. Clearly the
nobles weren’t sure. And Lara wasn’t about to clear their
confusion.
“We return to Xy to
take up our duties and to bear our child in the Castle of Water’s
Fall as time and tradition dictate.”
“We extend our
deepest gratitude to our Council and Lord Othur, for keeping our
throne and people safe in our absence.” Lara frowned. “We
understand that Lord Othur has taken ill recently. We miss his
honest face and wise presence at our side.” Lara glanced at Heath,
her eyes twinkling. He kept his face impassive, but that look
usually meant she was up to something.
“Within the next few
days, we will reestablish our will and law on the land. We will
reconvene the interrupted Justice to continue the work of our
Warden. Any and all who have claims may bring them at that
time.”
Lara stifled a yawn
that seemed to catch her by surprise. There was a murmur in the
crowd as she blinked a bit sleepily at them. Heath thought it
artfully done.
“For now, we are
pleased to have returned to our home. We—”
She could not stifle
the next yawn that caught her in mid-sentence. A definite chuckle
ran through the crowd this time.
Keir stood. “The
Queen is weary after her journey. Lady Anna, have our chambers been
prepared?”
Heath’s mother
stepped forward, beaming. “Yes, Overlord.”
“If you would lead
the way.” Keir looked at Lara, who was yawning yet
again.
Lara laughed. “I fear
you are right, my Warlord.”
Keir assisted her as
she struggled up, and then held out his arm. Lara placed her hand
on his wrist. They stood for a moment, a queen all in white, with
her black-clad Warlord at her side. Lara looked out over the room.
“One final thing. My condition, and the health of our Warden,
cannot be allowed to delay the business of the Crown. Therefore, we
appoint Heath, son of Othur, to serve as Seneschal until Othur’s
health is restored. Look to him for answers, for he has our full
confidence in all things.”
With that Lara and
Keir strode from the room, leaving Heath standing by the throne,
unable to breathe. He felt as if the floor had suddenly disappeared
beneath his feet. The entire room was as silent as the marble
walls. Heath felt the impact as every eye regarded him, and he
braced himself for an onslaught.
But the Herald
stepped forward and struck the floor with his staff. His voice
might be a bit shaky, but it carried with it the weight of
tradition.
“This audience is at
an end.” The Herald stood right in front of Heath, almost as if the
older man was giving him a few minutes to collect his
wits.
Heath drew a breath
as the room began to buzz with talk. He wasn’t quite sure where to
begin, or how.
Detros was over by
the side door, looking his way. Heath caught his eye and lifted his
chin.
Detros nodded and
disappeared for a moment. Heath watched as Detros sent a number of
the Guard his way through the departing crowd.
First things
first.
ATIRA HAD ACCOMPANIED
THE WARPRIZE AND Warlord into the throne room. She’d hung back,
staying in the crowd, watching as Lara made her
announcement.
She could understand
the look on Heath’s face as he was thrust into a position of power
and responsibility. But the stunned look disappeared fairly quickly
as he summoned the Guard to his side. Atira knew that he would make
the safety of the castle his prime concern. She would have liked to
have aided him, but she’d been given a different duty.
As the lords and
their ladies began to leave from the throne room, Atira scanned the
room, finally spotting some Plains warriors off to one side. She
worked her way over to them, hailing one as she drew close. “Zann,”
she addressed him quietly.
“Atira,” Zann greeted
her with a curt nod. “Seems there is news of the Plains, and not
all of it good. Would you share your truths with us?”
Atira nodded. “I
would do so, if you can guide me to Elois of the Horse. I was told
she’d sheltered a Xyian child. The Warlord has sent me to learn her
truth in the matter.”
“Aye.” Zann looked
about. “Come. I will take you to her.”
Atira followed, as
did a few of the others.
“It is said that Keir
is no longer Warlord,” one of them asked softly as they
walked.
“It is a truth,”
Atira replied. “Before it was sundered, the Council of Elders
faulted the Warlord for events beyond his ability to control. But
the details must be told under the bells.”
“So, that on top of
the rest. It has not been easy,” Zann growled under his breath.
“Living in stone tents, dealing with the food, the snow, and the
ways of these people.”
“Especially after
what Simus of the Hawk did,” another said, rolling her
eyes.
“What did Simus do?”
Atira asked, although she knew Simus and could only
imagine.
“That can wait until
we are under the bells,” Zann said. “But to learn that Keir has
lost his status . . . that is not well, Atira.”
“Wait, Zann,” Atira
said softly as they started to climb a set of stairs that wound
around it. “The Warlord’s truths should come directly from him, not
me.”
“As you say.” Zann
shrugged, but nodded as the door swung open.
There, in a bright
circular room, was a small girl dressed in a chain shirt, lunging
at a Plains warrior with a sharp dagger, her teeth bared in
defiance.