The High King's Tomb
Page 64
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
Before she left her quarters, she removed from a corner the ancient banner of the Green Riders, wrapped carefully about its staff, which had been presented to the First Rider by King Santanara of Eletia a millennium ago. Laren hoped these reminders of long ago friendship would not be overlooked by the Eletians.
The members of the delegation, for that’s what it was, had been handpicked by the king. He brought with him two of his most important advisors: Laren and Colin Dovekey. Castellan Sperren remained on duty in the castle to take charge if anything went awry. General Harborough, as top commander of the military, also joined them, as well as Lord-Governor Coutre to represent the interests of the provinces and that of the future queen.
Their ranks were filled out by standard bearers and armed guards, including no few Weapons who surrounded the king. All branches of the military were represented, even the navy, but the most impressive, most stunning banner of all was that borne by Connly, of the gold winged horse on a field of green rippling with life, even in the mist and against the gray sky. It was bordered with gold, and the gold embroidered with Eletian runes, which Laren had not yet had translated.
Raised highest and foremost, however, was the silver and black banner of Sacoridia, of the firebrand and crescent moon. Right behind it came Zachary’s clan banner of a white Hillander terrier on a field of heather. Slightly lower was the cormorant banner of Clan Coutre.
Folk on the Winding Way parted to the sides of the street to gawk at the grand procession making its way through the city. All members of the delegation were attired in their formal and best, the steel of weapons, buckles, and mail polished bright. The king wore black with the firebrand and crescent moon embroidered with silver threads upon his chest, a long black cloak flowing off his shoulders, and he wore the silver fillet upon his brow. Colin, too, wore black, as was his right as the chief of the Weapons. Lord Coutre was attired in the cobalt of his clan.
A shining group they were, as they rode in formation and silence down the street, the hooves of horses ringing upon the paving stones. There was scattered cheering and applause from the street, and waves of bowing citizens as the king passed by. Laren decided it was high time the citizens got to see some pageantry, which occurred too rarely during Zachary’s reign. She knew it was reticence on his part, but the populace needed to be reminded now and then of the glory of their homeland.
She looked fondly upon Zachary who, when he was a boy, was like a little brother to her. Now he was a man full grown who had truly come into his kingship, every inch of him, his expression grave and his chin set.
When finally the delegation exited the city and came upon the encampment, they found it as quiet and empty as before, but here the drizzle became less penetrating and the sky lighter, the colors around the tents richer.
Neff the herald rode forth and his voice rang out against the city wall: “His Excellency King Zachary, lord and clan chief of Hillander Province, and high king of the twelve provinces, from the eastern shores to the plains of the west, from the forests of the north to the islands of the southern coast; leader of the clans of Sacor and bearer of the firebrand, supplicant to the gods only, comes forth to meet with the lords of Eletia.”
Silence. Nothing moved among the tents, no beckoning hands appeared, no Eletian heralds emerged to welcome them. Was it the intention of the Eletians to mock them? Were they insulted the king refused to come at the time they designated? Did they hold such contempt for those other than themselves that they would ignore the presence of King Zachary and his folk?
Just as General Harborough began to whisper his disgust to the king and Colin, the flaps of all the tents parted nearly in unison. Eletians emerged bearing wreaths of flowers and laurels, and trailing garlands that were presented to members of the delegation. As Laren received a garland of lilies and roses and columbine, she marveled to see such flowers in bloom at this time of year, and so fresh and fragrant. General Harborough’s stunned expression at receiving a wreath of white flowers from a slim Eletian girl with golden hair almost made Laren laugh.
When the flowers were all handed out, a tall, slender woman emerged from the large blue tent. Her flaxen hair was pulled back into many braids, snowy feathers bound into them. Her simple dress was of ocean colors, of foamy blues and greens. She bowed slightly to the king.
“We greet you, Firebrand, great lord of the Sacor Clans,” she said in a voice that rang like music. Laren was certain this was the woman to whom she had spoken before. “If you would bring those closest to you, we may meet within.” She gestured to the blue tent.
The king chose Laren, the general, Colin, Lord Coutre, and Fastion, one of his Weapons, to accompany him. When the general argued he should take more bodyguards, Zachary said to him, “I have no need if you are there to protect me.”
General Harborough could only scratch his head, unable to come up with a response.
The chosen companions of the king followed the woman into the tent.
KING AND PRINCE AND FUTURE QUEEN
Laren followed Colin and upon entering the tent, stared in wonder. It was as though they entered a forest glade. Great white-skinned birches with golden leaves arched above them, supporting the canopy, and the space felt too vast for the confines of a tent. The trees were lined up in rows like a great hall of living boughs. Tall, emerald grasses wavered as if touched by open air, and before them, the stream that passed by the city gate gurgled through the tent-glade.
The tent walls rustled, their coloring that of the sky, and the more Laren gazed, the more the walls and ceiling lost definition and did become open air, as though the king and his companions had not stepped into a tent at all, but were somehow transported to another place where it was still warm, still spring, or at least the warmer days of autumn extended.
The members of the delegation, for that’s what it was, had been handpicked by the king. He brought with him two of his most important advisors: Laren and Colin Dovekey. Castellan Sperren remained on duty in the castle to take charge if anything went awry. General Harborough, as top commander of the military, also joined them, as well as Lord-Governor Coutre to represent the interests of the provinces and that of the future queen.
Their ranks were filled out by standard bearers and armed guards, including no few Weapons who surrounded the king. All branches of the military were represented, even the navy, but the most impressive, most stunning banner of all was that borne by Connly, of the gold winged horse on a field of green rippling with life, even in the mist and against the gray sky. It was bordered with gold, and the gold embroidered with Eletian runes, which Laren had not yet had translated.
Raised highest and foremost, however, was the silver and black banner of Sacoridia, of the firebrand and crescent moon. Right behind it came Zachary’s clan banner of a white Hillander terrier on a field of heather. Slightly lower was the cormorant banner of Clan Coutre.
Folk on the Winding Way parted to the sides of the street to gawk at the grand procession making its way through the city. All members of the delegation were attired in their formal and best, the steel of weapons, buckles, and mail polished bright. The king wore black with the firebrand and crescent moon embroidered with silver threads upon his chest, a long black cloak flowing off his shoulders, and he wore the silver fillet upon his brow. Colin, too, wore black, as was his right as the chief of the Weapons. Lord Coutre was attired in the cobalt of his clan.
A shining group they were, as they rode in formation and silence down the street, the hooves of horses ringing upon the paving stones. There was scattered cheering and applause from the street, and waves of bowing citizens as the king passed by. Laren decided it was high time the citizens got to see some pageantry, which occurred too rarely during Zachary’s reign. She knew it was reticence on his part, but the populace needed to be reminded now and then of the glory of their homeland.
She looked fondly upon Zachary who, when he was a boy, was like a little brother to her. Now he was a man full grown who had truly come into his kingship, every inch of him, his expression grave and his chin set.
When finally the delegation exited the city and came upon the encampment, they found it as quiet and empty as before, but here the drizzle became less penetrating and the sky lighter, the colors around the tents richer.
Neff the herald rode forth and his voice rang out against the city wall: “His Excellency King Zachary, lord and clan chief of Hillander Province, and high king of the twelve provinces, from the eastern shores to the plains of the west, from the forests of the north to the islands of the southern coast; leader of the clans of Sacor and bearer of the firebrand, supplicant to the gods only, comes forth to meet with the lords of Eletia.”
Silence. Nothing moved among the tents, no beckoning hands appeared, no Eletian heralds emerged to welcome them. Was it the intention of the Eletians to mock them? Were they insulted the king refused to come at the time they designated? Did they hold such contempt for those other than themselves that they would ignore the presence of King Zachary and his folk?
Just as General Harborough began to whisper his disgust to the king and Colin, the flaps of all the tents parted nearly in unison. Eletians emerged bearing wreaths of flowers and laurels, and trailing garlands that were presented to members of the delegation. As Laren received a garland of lilies and roses and columbine, she marveled to see such flowers in bloom at this time of year, and so fresh and fragrant. General Harborough’s stunned expression at receiving a wreath of white flowers from a slim Eletian girl with golden hair almost made Laren laugh.
When the flowers were all handed out, a tall, slender woman emerged from the large blue tent. Her flaxen hair was pulled back into many braids, snowy feathers bound into them. Her simple dress was of ocean colors, of foamy blues and greens. She bowed slightly to the king.
“We greet you, Firebrand, great lord of the Sacor Clans,” she said in a voice that rang like music. Laren was certain this was the woman to whom she had spoken before. “If you would bring those closest to you, we may meet within.” She gestured to the blue tent.
The king chose Laren, the general, Colin, Lord Coutre, and Fastion, one of his Weapons, to accompany him. When the general argued he should take more bodyguards, Zachary said to him, “I have no need if you are there to protect me.”
General Harborough could only scratch his head, unable to come up with a response.
The chosen companions of the king followed the woman into the tent.
KING AND PRINCE AND FUTURE QUEEN
Laren followed Colin and upon entering the tent, stared in wonder. It was as though they entered a forest glade. Great white-skinned birches with golden leaves arched above them, supporting the canopy, and the space felt too vast for the confines of a tent. The trees were lined up in rows like a great hall of living boughs. Tall, emerald grasses wavered as if touched by open air, and before them, the stream that passed by the city gate gurgled through the tent-glade.
The tent walls rustled, their coloring that of the sky, and the more Laren gazed, the more the walls and ceiling lost definition and did become open air, as though the king and his companions had not stepped into a tent at all, but were somehow transported to another place where it was still warm, still spring, or at least the warmer days of autumn extended.
