Murmuring swept through the hall. “That is,” one of the Council said loudly, “The original reason we gathered today.”
“At that time, the prince was missing,” Knet’s father, Lord Farad, said, looking up and down the table. “Surely with Relam’s reappearance there is nothing to discuss?”
Relam privately agreed with him, but kept his silence, guessing that if he intervened it would be seen as meddling in the Assembly’s business.
“While it is excellent news indeed that his highness has rejoined us,” Garenes was saying now, “He is still under age, and therefore ineligible to be crowned.”
“Now wait just a moment!” a Councilman protested. He was quickly drowned out by the arguments springing up between members of the Assembly.
Lord Laurencian snatched up a gavel from the center of the Council table and banged it several times on the table. “Order!” he shouted. “We will have order!”
“I can’t speak up on my behalf,” Relam murmured to Oreius out of the corner of his mouth. “What should I do?”
“You’re asking me?” Oreius asked, surprised. “I’m just a simple warrior, what do I know?”
Relam sighed heavily, looking around the room uneasily, unsure where this would lead. The meeting had been going so well, too.
“His highness may be underage,” Lord Laurencian observed. “But he is the heir to the throne, and based on his tale has fought hard and skillfully to defend it. And, since he is on the brink of being of age anyway it seems foolish to appoint an interim king or regent until that time.”
“He is not of age,” another Council member maintained stubbornly. “The law demands that new kings be of age.”
“Why?” a lord shouted from the ranks of the general Assembly. “Why is the law written so? It seems that in times where there is only one person with a right to the throne, that person should be crowned king.”
“The law is written that way so that a young, malleable king does not come to power,” Garenes replied, pulling an ancient book across the table.
Relam stared at the book. The law of the kingdom. He had not even noticed it, sitting there harmlessly and unobtrusively, a plain book with a plain brown cover, the only ornamentation a few peeling gold letters on the surface. The pages within were yellowed and ragged edged, indicating this to be the original book of law, used for hundreds of years.
“The law says as much,” Knet’s father agreed, glancing at Garenes. “But surely an exception can be made in these . . . extraordinary circumstances?”
“If the rule of law is written to avoid a malleable king, then you might as well ignore it,” Oreius called from behind Relam.
The hall fell dead silent. Even Relam turned to look at the old warrior, who was glaring around the hall at the assembled nobles. “Don’t look at me like that!” he shouted. “All surprised and concerned, as though you are in the presence of someone who has lost his mind. I have spent more time around Relam than any of you preening-”
“Don’t you think that makes you biased?” Garenes asked.
“For once in your life, shut your mouth, my lord,” Oreius growled.
Garenes flushed angrily and opened his mouth to reply, but Oreius bulled onward.
“You know my story,” Oreius said, looking around the hall. “How selective I am about my students. Some of you have direct experience with that, having heard your sons complain about rejection. Some of you I rejected for training. But this young man, this king, I accepted.”
“Enough, warrior,” Garenes growled. “You are out of line, this is an Assembly of Nobles, not-”
“I accepted him because he was the worthiest candidate I had ever had come to me,” Oreius continued doggedly. “His character is irrefutable, and he has an ability to bring people together, even those that have wronged him. You might ask your son about that, Garenes.”
The great lord stood angrily, knocking his chair back with a screech and a clatter. “My son was more than worthy of your training,” Garenes spat. “You are blind, old man. Now, step back and be quiet. You have no place among us.”
“This man is ready to be king,” Oreius said stubbornly. “He is willing and able to lead. And he is the rightful heir to the throne. You know he will not be manipulated. He has proven that well enough by investigating and destroying a group of traitors which included extremely powerful officials of this kingdom. He held his own, persevered, and emerged victorious.”
“Perhaps a temporary arrangement could be made,” Lord Laurencian suggested. “Young Relam and the Council could rule side by side until he comes of age, then after the coronation he could take on his role of king.”
“That would allow him to gain experience without putting the kingdom at risk,” a noble in the second row called out, looking around the hall.
“You’re still depriving him his birthright!” Another man shouted from the back of the room. “Give him a chance. Long live King Relam I say!”
The hall dissolved into chaos again. Relam shook his head wearily, glaring down at the table the High Council was sitting at. They all had their heads together, whispering and muttering. Plotting.
“I’m not sure how much more of this I can take,” Relam murmured to Oreius out of the corner of his mouth.
“Then put an end to it,” the old warrior snarled. “Show them why you deserve to be king.”
Relam considered this for a moment, wondering what he should do. Shout? Yell? Call the Assembly to order? Threaten Garenes with horrible punishments if he continued to act like an imbecile?
The young prince considered his options, then, with a wild yell he launched himself from the stage and onto the Council table, landing in a kneeling position. The hall fell silent immediately, but Relam did not care. He snatched the gavel away from Laurencian and smashed it against the table so hard the handle snapped with a loud CRACK!
The sound carried all around the room. In seconds, every noble had turned his attention back to Relam, watching the future king anxiously. Some looked stunned; some had expressions of extreme disapproval on their faces. Others, lounging lazily in their seats, were grinning and nudging one another, chuckling quietly. Some looked impressed. Others nodded tacit approval. But, most importantly, they were all waiting expectantly for what was to come next.
Relam stood, flinging the broken pieces of the gavel to one side. “Thank you,” he said mildly. “Now, I don’t know many of you, but I daresay you all know me. That’s one of the side effects of being a member of the royal family.” He paused as several nobles chuckled.
“You know where I come from, as well. You knew my mother, who was gentle and caring. She was strong of will and character. You knew my father, who was king before me. Tough, indomitable. And stubborn.”
“And you know me,” Relam said, looking around at the sea of faces. “You know me. You know what I have accomplished in these past months. You know that I have trained with some of the greatest sword masters ever. You know that I have shadowed my father in important meetings on occasion. Some of you witnessed those meetings or took part in them.”
“And you know,” Relam continued angrily, his voice rising. “That now, of all times, we need a strong king and a unifying ruler. The chaos of the last few months has set the people of Etares on edge, wondering what is to come next. Do we give them a weak, divided, temporary government to reassure them? No, we give them their king!”
Relam looked down at the nobles clustered around his feet. “This meeting has gone on long enough,” he announced. “Let us have a decision from this body so we may adjourn for the evening.”
Garenes would not meet Relam’s gaze, nor any of the other lords on Council. They did not take instruction well, Relam realized. He would have to take the initiative.
“All in favor of postponing this decision to a later date?” Relam called.
The High Council was nearly unanimous, their hands shooting into the air. The sight made Relam’s stomach twist around unpleasantly. But ther
e were few hands among the general Assembly. Very few, Relam realized with a spark of hope.
“All those in favor of crowning the rightful king?” he asked, looking around the hall.
Hands went into the air, a few at first, then a dozen, a score, then too many for Relam to count. Far more than had agreed to postpone the decision.
“It is decided,” Lord Garenes said helplessly, looking around at the rest of the Assembly. “All hail King Relam, ruler of the Sthan Kingdom!”
The Assembly rose to its feet and knelt as one in a rustle of fabric. The Council rose as well, bowing low instead of kneeling. Several glared openly at Relam as they did, Lord Garenes included. But they bowed anyways, submitting to their new king for the time being.
Relam nodded, suddenly exhausted, then turned and mounted the stage once again, returning to his guards and Oreius. His guards were smirking openly at the kneeling and bowing nobles, but Oreius was smiling gently.
“Well done,” he whispered. “And congratulations, your majesty.”
“I couldn’t have done it without you,” Relam said, smiling slightly.
“Perhaps,” Oreius agreed, shrugging. “But you’ve earned it.” The old warrior knelt, and the others on the stage followed suit. “We wish you all the best in your reign, your majesty.”
Chapter 47
For the next two days, Relam did not leave the Citadel. His rooms in the palace were still uninhabitable as a result of the fire, and much of the cleanup activities related to D’Arnlo’s scheme were at the Citadel anyways. During those two days, Relam interviewed dozens of Citadel guards, trying to separate the loyal ones from those who had participated in the short-lived rebellion. It was no easy task, and there were hundreds of Citadel guards, every one of them a suspect.
Relam also spent endless amounts of time in meetings with nobles and party planners, trying to pull together all the details for his impending coronation. The young warrior wanted to be crowned as soon as possible, to give the kingdom an undisputed leader once again. As long as the throne remained empty, there was a vacuum of power, even with a clear heir.
Between those meetings and the interviews with guardsmen, Relam had little time for anything else. The other lordlings hung around the Citadel frequently enough, helping supervise the cleanup from the battle and sparring with each other on occasion. And Relam still saw plenty of Tar, Yavvis, and Narin, who had taken over the Citadel. They all helped as best they could with cleaning out the traitors.
Oreius, on the other hand, had all but disappeared. The old warrior had spoken up for Relam at the Assembly meeting, proclaiming him ready to rule, then retreated into anonymity. Finally, on the third day after the battle at the Citadel, Relam went looking for his aging mentor.
He found Oreius easily enough. The old man was right where he always was. Sitting on the stone bench in his garden, eyes closed, breathing lightly and evenly.
“Some things never change,” Relam called, stopping a few steps behind the bench.
Oreius nodded slowly. “Aye. I can still hear you coming a mile away. Pity we didn’t have time to work on that a little bit during your training.”
Relam took a few steps forward, rounding the end of the bench and looking down at his master. “There is much we didn’t have time for,” he observed. “I still have much to learn.”
“But you are prepared for what lies ahead,” Oreius replied. Then, he opened his eyes and looked up at Relam. “You have what you need to succeed.”
“Thanks to you,” Relam added, bowing slightly.
Oreius shook his head, smiling slightly. “No. I just taught you to be a better fighter. Everything else you needed, you already had. Diligence. Determination. Perseverance. Leadership. A strong king is not necessarily skilled with a blade. Nor does he have to be particularly wise or benevolent. But he does have to be a leader if he wants to hold his throne.”
Relam nodded thoughtfully. “So, is this it?” he asked after a moment of silence. “Our training is ended?”
“You will not have time once you are crowned,” Oreius said, shrugging. “You’ve been busy enough the past couple days as it is. Besides, there is little more that I can teach you. Most of what you have left to learn is best done through experience I think.”
“So, you will stay here? Quietly disappear again?” Relam asked, just to be sure.
“Oh, I won’t disappear,” Oreius assured the soon-to-be king, laughing. “Not entirely anyway. I’ll keep a hand in, listen to the news and maybe quietly intervene every now and again. But I can do all of that from my garden here. After all of this madness, I think we have all earned a little . . . peace.”
Relam sat down beside Oreius, gazing down the slope to the river. A few small craft were plying the freezing waters this morning, but all was relatively calm. He breathed deeply of the cold, crisp smell of winter and smiled contentedly.
“Yes,” he agreed, stretching out his long legs in front of him and leaning back. “We have earned a little peace.”
They sat together in companionable silence for the rest of the morning. Around noon, Relam forced himself to return to the Citadel and continue work, meeting with Tar, Yavvis, and Narin to compare notes on some of the guards. There were inconsistencies in the stories of several men, prompting another round of interviews, at the end of which Relam locked up three guards on suspicions of treason. The real question was how many of D’Arnlo’s men still ran free?
By the end of the day, the preparations were finished. The coronation would take place the next morning, and Relam would become king. He lay awake in his borrowed bed in the Bastion at the Citadel most of the night, wondering and worrying about what his days as king would hold.
Would he fail? Would he make terrible mistakes? Would he make mistakes that cost the lives of his people? Would the Assembly be too much for him to handle, young as he was? So many questions, each with the potential for disastrous answers. Relam tossed and turned on the hard bed, sleep eluding him for the better part of the night.
Finally, he jumped out of bed and dressed, wrapping himself in his cloak. He buckled on his weapons and pulled on his boots, then began the long descent to ground level. He encountered no guards in his path until he reached the main gate of the Citadel, where Narin had posted a dozen men.
“Your highness!” the leader of the squad called, bowing. “Soon to be your majesty. Can we help you?”
“I’m leaving for a bit,” Relam said. “Visiting a friend. Would you open the gate?”
“At this hour?” the guard asked uncertainly, glancing at his comrades for support.
“How late is it?” Relam asked.
“After midnight, your highness.”
“Great,” Relam muttered, raking a hand through his tousled hair. “Well, get that gate open anyways. I’ll be back in time for the coronation.”
The guards hesitated a moment longer.
“Should I do it myself?” Relam asked pointedly, glancing at the guard room that held the windlass.
“No, your highness. Sorry,” the guard replied quickly. “You four, on the windlass. The rest of you stand guard, just in case there’s someone out there.”
“Thank you,” Relam said quietly as the gate began to open ponderously, admitting a chill wind from outside. “Winter is here it seems,” he added, shivering.
“It’s going to be a long one,” the guard predicted, leaning on his halberd. “Never did see the cold start this early and stick. Mark my words, we’re in for a long, hard season.”
“Consider them marked,” Relam said drily. “Good evening, men.”
“Shall we hold the gate open for you?”
“No, seal it again. I won’t be back for a while.” Relam pulled his hood forward and stepped into the night, hunching his shoulders against the wind.
The city was still and quiet. Anybody with any sense was indoors, out of the cold. Relam proceeded along the streets, alone. No guards, no subjects jostling for position on the road. Just Relam. By h
imself.
The young prince moved slowly through the city, taking each step deliberately, looking around, drinking in every detail. And always moving closer to the palace.
He had not been there since the morning that he fled to Oreius’ house, seeking answers and looking for help against an unknown threat. He would finally set foot in that place again after his coronation, but this time as a king.
Relam circled the massive building but did not enter. There would be guards in the palace that would want to know what he was up to, and he did not want to talk to them. There was no one he wanted to talk to really, but there was something he felt he should do.
So the prince moved around the palace, passing glittering houses belonging to nobles until he passed the main building of the palace. One side of the road was now bordered not by the multi-story home of the royal family but by the lower wall that surrounded the palace gardens. Ahead, there was a small iron gate in the wall. Relam stepped up to it and peered through the bars. A palace guard stood a few feet inside the gate, scanning the gardens.
“Your majesty!” he exclaimed when he saw Relam. “Is everything all right?”
“Everything’s fine,” Relam assured the man quietly. “I just need some time to think, and the gardens seemed like a good place for that. Can you open the gate?”
“Of course,” the guard replied, producing a key. He unlocked the gate quickly, swinging it open to let Relam in. The prince nodded gratefully, then moved into the gardens alone, the guard securing the gate behind him once more.
To Relam’s right, the Furnier River rushed past at the end of the gardens furthest from the palace. Here, close by where it joined the sea, the river was unfrozen and swift. The sound of flowing water soothed Relam as he walked past beds of winter-blasted flowers, delicate things planted for their beauty, not their longevity or hardiness.
Relam moved silently passed the flower beds, past the decorative trees that were suffering nearly as badly in this weather. He kept moving until he reached the stone path that led to the palace and turned right, towards the river. He followed the path to his goal: the stone table.
The Prince (Heirs of Legacy Book 1) Page 55