by Brandon Mull
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 ceremony 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 fi
nally 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.”
Galloran waited again for the approval to subside.
“If any man would care to challenge my right to rule, or to call us to war, or to denounce the emperor, speak now and face me in combat.” Galloran gazed solemnly over the multitude, one hand on the hilt of his sword. Nobody stirred.
“Let the celebrations of the previous days suffice. Now is the hour to make ready for war. Lords, call your vassals. Summon your knights. Ready your soldiers. Heralds, take my words to the far reaches of our kingdom and beyond. Call the men of Lyrian to arms. Now is the hour to prepare, for our host will march before the week is out. As your king, I am honored to serve alongside you in this monumental cause. The future generations of Trensicourt will look back on this day with reverence. We stand at one of the great turning points of history. We must not fail! We will not!”
Galloran turned and left the dais, leaving the room in a state of enthusiastic pandemonium. Years of uncertainty and oppression had combined with the elation of their king’s return into a more fervent atmosphere than Rachel had expected. She realized that many of those present had been desperately hoping to hear words like Galloran had spoken. People around her who had seemed nervous minutes ago were clapping one another on the back, emboldened by the prospect of taking action behind a leader such as their new king. A minority in the crowd brooded, arms folded, expressions clouded, but even the most pensive onlookers tried to look positive as they were jostled by their neighbors.
Down on the dais Rachel noticed Copernum, eyes roving the assemblage from beneath his large, tricornered hat. He surveyed the scene calmly, as if gathering data. From across the wide space his sharp, calculating eyes found her, seeming to penetrate her veil. His small frown bent into a faint smile, and with a swirl of his cloak he exited the room.
CHAPTER 8
HIJACKERS
Nia burst into the small bedroom. Jason jerked his head up and squinted at her, tense from being startled awake.
“Are we under attack?” he blurted.
She was smiling. “No, it’s good news! The Valiant has been spotted on the horizon.”
“About time,” Jason said, relaxing. The ship was three days behind schedule. Everyone had been getting really antsy. He blinked and wiped his eyes.
“Sorry to disturb you,” Nia said. “I thought you’d want to know.”
“I’m glad you told me.” The room had no window, so he lacked outside light to help him gauge the time. “Is it morning?”
“Not quite daybreak,” she said. “You can go back to sleep if you want. In fact, you probably should. Tonight is the night!” Nia exited, closing the door.
Jason sagged onto his side and closed his eyes, but he failed to sleep. Eventually he went and found some breakfast. There was a new energy among the drinlings. Concerns had been expressed that the Valiant might have been diverted because somebody had caught wind of the planned hijacking. Every day their strike force had remained in hiding had increased the chance for somebody to discover them. But now it looked like all would proceed as designed.
Jason stewed all morning and into the afternoon. He spent a lot of time on his feet—testing the weight of his new sword, aiming the crossbow Aram had given him, foraging for snacks, listening for news. Pacing. Fretting.
Tonight’s endeavor would be like nothing he had ever done. Hijacking a ship in the middle of the night? This was a big town, surrounded by high walls. The ship would be guarded. There would certainly be fighting. If he and his friends messed up, they would all die.
Nobody expected much of him. According to what Jason knew of the plan, he was basically cargo. After the ship was secure, Drake and two drinling escorts would hustle him aboard. But so much could go wrong. What if they ran across a stray patrol on the way to the ship? He would have to help them fight their way clear. If an alarm was sounded before they boarded the ship, soldiers could come rushing to the waterfront, and he might end up in the thick of the battle.
Jason had practiced for months so that he could contribute in a fight. But since learning to use a sword, he had never confronted an opponent with his life on the line. That test might come tonight, meeting an enemy in combat, no blunted edges, no practice gear . . . no second chances. Skill would be involved, as would composure, as would luck. Either he or the opponent would survive. The prospect sent nervous thrills tingling through his body.
Jason knew he would not be fighting alone. Drake and others would probably be there to bail him out. But anything could happen. Worst-case scenarios could leave him alone in a sea of enemies. No matter how he tried to distract himself, he could not stop anticipating the possibilities.
Not long before sunset, somebody knocked on his door. Jason had his sword out, dueling imagined enemies. He hastily tossed it aside. “Come in.”
Aram entered, still small, and glanced from Jason to the sword on his bed. “Restless?”
“Not too bad,” Jason lied.
Aram smirked. “My room is directly below yours. I could hear you clomping around.”
Jason was not one to blush, but the sudden warmth in his cheek
s hinted that this might be an exception. He looked away from the undersized half giant. “I was just doing some exercises.”
Aram plopped down on the edge of Jason’s bed. “Truth be told, I’m a bit edgy myself.”
“Yeah?”
“This is a major operation. With so many people involved, I can hardly believe we haven’t given ourselves away already. These drinlings deserve a lot of credit. They have discipline.”
“Think we can pull it off?”
Aram hesitated. “You know I used to work as a smuggler.”
“Right.”
“I’ve taken plenty of chances in my day. Risk was part of the job. But the risks were carefully measured. Thanks to my precautions, the chances of getting caught remained low. I stayed in situations where nine times out of ten, if I did get apprehended, I would be able to bargain my way out of serious trouble. Even among the officials appointed by Maldor, most consider smuggling necessary to some extent. The service fills a need. I was careful about where and when I operated. I was careful about who I worked with. Careful about what goods I moved. Careful about who I bribed.”
Jason could see where Aram was headed. “And now we’re rushing into something crazy?”
Aram shook his head. “Not necessarily. Not overly crazy. This could work. How do I put this?” He stared down at his clasped hands. “During my career, I occasionally came across opportunities for a really bold mission. A job that might produce a mountain of money overnight or really enhance my reputation. A big score—a chance for glory, riches, or both. These types of jobs almost always involved harming the interests of the emperor in one way or another. Or else they had the potential to draw his attention.
“I created workable plans for several of those missions. I devised strategies that made the projects feasible, kept the risk within reason. But the price of failure in those instances was much too high, so I played it safe. I never implemented those plans. Chasing the big score gets greedy men killed.”