Angus Wells - The Kingdoms 03 (19 page)

 
          
Fortunately,
Bethany
spoke in time to forestall his amusement,
commencing the ancient ritual.

 
          
“Do
you come forward, Kedryn, Prince of Tamur, and Wynett of
Andurel.
”

 
          
They
walked toward the dais, halting within arm’s length of the trio standing on the
lowest step.

 
          
“Do
you, Kedryn, and you, Wynett, swear loyalty to the Three Kingdoms?” Bedyr
intoned.

 
          
“Aye,”
they said together, “we do so swear.”

 
          
“Do
you swear to defend these Kingdoms?” Jarl demanded.

 
          
Again
they said, “Aye, we do so swear.”

 
          
“Do
you swear to defend and uphold the honor of die lLady?”
Bethany
asked.

 
          
“Aye,
we do so swear.”

 
          
“On
what do you swear?”

 
          
“We
swear this in the name of the Lady and on bur honor.”

 
          
“Kneel,”
Bedyr commanded.

 
          
They
knelt as Yrla and Arlynne came forward, each bearing a cushion on which rested
a medallion of office, silver chains supporting disks of the same metal on
which the tripartite crown was raised in gold. Jarl took one and Bedyr the
other, handing it to Bethany, who placed it about Kedryn’s neck, saying, “In
the name of the Lady, Kedryn, I pronounce you king.”

 
          
“In
the name ofTamur,” said Bedyr, “I pronounce you king.”

 
          
“In
the name of Kesh I pronounce you king,” said Jarl.

 
          
He
handed the second medallion to Bethany, who hung it about Wynett’s neck,
pronouncing the same formula, echoed by Bedyr and Jarl.

 
          
“Rise,”
said the Sister, “and govern wisely with the Lady’s blessing.”

 
          
A
cheer arose then as they got to their feet and climbed the three steps to the
makeshift thrones, stilled by Bedyr’s upraised arms. “Let there be no dissent
on this day or any other,” he declared. “Who speaks for Ust-Galich? Let him
come forward.”

 
          
Gerryl
Hymet stepped from the crowd, his thin face nervous, pale above a surcoat of
green and gold.

 
          
“Do
you speak for Ust-Galich?” Jarl demanded.

 
          
“I
do,” Hymet said.

 
          
“Is
there any here who would dispute this man’s right?” asked Bedyr.

 
          
There
was silence and Bedyr added, “Then do you, Gerryl Hymet, in the name of
Ust-Galich declare Kedryn your crowned king, Wynett your queen?”

 
          
“In
the name of Ust-Galich I pronounce Kedryn our king, Wynett our queen,” said
Hymet, his voice high. He cleared his throat, achieving a deeper tone as he
added quickly, “And I do swear my Kingdom’s loyalty, in the name of the Lady
and upon my honor.”

 
          
“Well
said," Jarl approved.

 
          
“So
do I proclaim Kedryn king,”
Bethany
announced.

 
          
The
cheering that Bedyr had stilled rose up now, echoing off the walls. Gerryl
Hymet turned to rejoin the Galichian contingent, but Kedryn rose to his feet,
beckoning Hymet to stand before the throne. He placed a hand upon the man’s arm
and motioned for silence. Curious feces looked toward him and he felt a moment’s
alarm as he realized that he was about to make his first proclamation as
monarch.

 
          
“I
thank you,” he said firmly, “and I announce to all here present that from this
day Gerryl Hymet be Lord of Ust- Galich.”

 
          
Hymet’s
long face paled further, his adam’s apple bobbing m his throat as he swallowed.
“My Lord,” he gasped. “I do not know what to say.”

 
          
“Thank
him,” suggested Jarl, his green eyes twinkling.

 
          
“I
do thank you,” Hymet said earnestly, “and I swear to serve you well. Ust-Galich
is loyal, Lord Kedryn. While I live there will be no more ...”

 
          
He
broke off, aware that there were those present who had followed Hattim
Sethiyan, a roseate blush suffusing his features. Kedryn smiled and clapped him
on the shoulder. “And I thank you for your pledge,” he declared, “
you
have our confidence.”

 
          
Hymet
smiled then and took Kedryn’s hand.

 
          
A
moment later all was confusion as the gathering clustered about the thrones,
the nobles vying to present themselves to the new-crowned pair and swear
personal oaths of loyalty. Bedyr clasped his son, murmuring, “That was well
done, Kedryn,” then his place was taken by Yrla, who hugged him with tears in
her eyes. Kedryn put an arm about Wynett’s shoulder, drawing her close as Jarl
and Arlynne added their congratulations. Ashrivelle hugged her sister and
planted
a moist lass
on Kedryn’s cheek. Tepshen Lahl
put hands upon their shoulders, nodding without speaking, fierce pride in his
dark eyes. Brannoc, grinning hugely, took their hands and said, “I swear you
make the prettiest monarchs these Kingdoms have known.” Nobles pressed in from
all sides, adding their felicitations and swearing their loyalty, parting as
the vast bulk of Galen Sadreth cut through their ranks like some great ship
surging through a flotilla of lesser vessels. “The Lady
bless
you both,” he declared, engulfing them within the compass of his massive arms.
“Do we eat soon?”

 
          
Kedryn
laughed then, for the riverman’s blunt question lent a welcome normality to the
unreal proceedings and reminded him that he was, indeed, mightily hungry.

 
          
“Must
we wait?” he asked Wynett. “Or may we command?” His new-crowned queen turned a
flushed face toward him, her smile for him alone, and said, “I believe it is
arranged, though we have a duty to perform first.”

           
Kedryn sighed, remembering the
protocols Yrla had discussed with him, and moved toward the doors. With his arm
still about Wynett’s shoulders he crossed the outer hall and the courtyard
beyond, their progress greeted with salutes and good wishes from the soldiery on
guard. They climbed the narrow steps to the catwalk of the walls, looking out
to the avenue and gardens, which were a solid sea of expectant faces. A
cheering akin to thunder burst forth as they appeared, dying away as Bethany,
her gown of Estrevan blue light as the sky, raised her arms and called out,
“Let all the Kingdoms know we have a king, and that he has a queen. May the
Lady bless us
all.
”

 
          
The
cheering reverberated afresh. Kedryn and Wynett raised arms heavy from waving
to wave again, smiling down on their enthusiastic subjects, who shouted their
names and called on the Lady to bless them. It went on and on, Kedryn felt his
stomach grumble, reminded of food by Galen’s question. Wynett said, “That does
not sound particularly regal,” and Kedryn, still smiling, answered, “I fear my
belly does not know it now belongs to a king.”

 
          
The
crowd could not hear the exchange, but the expression on Wynett’s face as she
began to giggle was clear enough and produced a louder chorus of cheers.

 
          
Finally,
when it seemed to Kedryn he must spend the remainder of the day on the wall,
Bedyr suggested that they might decently adjourn to the dining hall and they
turned about, descending the stairs with the tumult still ringing in the
background.

 
          
By
now the dining hall was returned to its usual function, the tables replaced and
minstrels ready in the gallery. Kedryn seated Wynett and took his own place,
amused to see that none moved to raise their glasses until he had lifted his in
toast to the woman beside him.

 
          
“To
my queen,” he murmured.

 
          
Wynett
smiled and lifted her own goblet: "To my king.”

 
          
They
drank, their toasts echoed by all present, and servants trooped from the
kitchens with great platters of food.

 
          
The
feasting saw out the day’s light and Kedryn’s hunger, and by the time it was
ended he wanted nothing more than to retire with Wynett to the privacy of their
chambers, but could not, for no sooner had the tables been cleared than the
minstrels struck up a lively tune and he was reminded that that part of the
celebrations he had, perhaps, dreaded the most was arrived.

 
          
They
wait on us,” Wynett murmured, indicating the expectant faces turned toward the
high table.

 
          
Kedryn
nodded and whispered, “I felt more confident when we faced the Messenger.”

 
          
“You
cannot disappoint them,” Wynett replied, her smile mischievous, and Kedryn
sighed and rose to his feet, offering her his hand.

 
          
She
took it and he led her down to the floor.

 
          
“The
king is about to look foolish,” he murmured.

 
          
“As
king you may set a new fashion,” she answered, cheerfully implacable. And
Kedryn took her in his arms and began to dance.

 
          
They
circled the floor once and then, to Kedryn’s immense relief, Bedyr brought Yrla
down to join them, Jarl and Arlynne close behind, so that he felt less isolated,
though nonetheless clumsy. Soon Ashrivelle appeared on Kemm’s arm, and then
Gerryl Hymet with his red-haired wife, and before long the hall was filled with
dancing couples and Kedryn felt his faltering steps were hidden by the press of
bodies.

 
          
Wynett
forced him to remain for what she considered a reasonable time and then agreed
that they might resume their seats, though she did not stay long for Brannoc
claimed her and showed himself an accomplished dancer. Kedryn found himself
alone with Tepshen and Galen Sadreth, the formality of the evening forgotten
now. The kyo filled a glass and handed it to the younger man, the hint of a
smile on his thin lips.

 
          
“So,
you are king.”

 
          
“Aye,”
Kedryn nodded, sipping the wine. “It feels strange.”

 
          
“You
bore yourself well,” said Tepshen. "That matter of Gerryl Hymet was well
done.”

 
          
“Thank
you.” Kedryn smiled, pleased by the rarely given praise. “It seemed as well to
settle the question swiftly.”

 
          
Tepshen
ducked his head in confirmation and added solemnly, “But you should learn to
dance.”

 
          
Kedryn
spluttered wine and Galen bellowed laughter, pounding his goblet against the
table. It was as well, Kedryn
thought, that
Sister
Lyassa had declared herself too old to travel to Andurel, for she would surely
have had sharper words to say on the matter of his Terpsichorean abilities,
having spent so much time with him in Caitin Hold striving to teach him what
she deemed the “courtly arts.” He wiped his mouth, looking over the swirling
throng, and experienced a renewal of alarm as he saw Ashrivelle approach.

 
          
Her
color was returned and her blue eyes shone, her full lips parted in a smile as
she curtsied and asked, “Will you dance with me, Kedryn?”

 
          
Feeling
it would be uncouth to
refuse,
he nodded and escorted
her onto the floor. The minstrels had slowed the pace of their tunes as the
night grew older and he found himself holding Wynett’s sister close, aware of
the perfume she wore and the way she gazed at his face. He remembered