by Matt Heppe
With a groan, Hadde pulled on the tight shoes. “I’ll do it this once.”
“And your cap.”
Hadde glanced around the room. “I…ah left it in the library.”
“Oh, no. I don’t have another that will match.”
“So I won’t wear one.”
“No, you must. We’ll do the best we can.”
They started down the hall but stopped at Maret’s door. The girl stepped inside and returned wearing her own cap and another for Hadde. “It’s black, and doesn’t go well with the dress.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Hadde replied. “It’s all the same to me. I’d rather wear my Landomeri clothes.”
At the end of the hall stood four squires. Two guarded the door while two waited for Hadde and Maret.
“Hello, Hadde of Landomere,” a squire said.
“Squire Melas!” Smiling, she stepped forward to hug him.
He recoiled, eyes wide with fear.
She halted mid-step. Saladorans don’t hug, she reminded herself. “Squire, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”
“It’s my pleasure as well, Hadde.” He spoke formally, but she thought she spotted a hint of a smile on his face.
The squires led them through a maze of hallways. She soon lost all sense of direction. A group of ragged servants stood aside as Hadde’s party passed. All were thin and pale. She was certain they were staring at her.
“I’m walking like I’m crippled, Maret,” she whispered.
“You’re doing fine.”
They marched down a corridor larger than any Hadde had seen before.
“We’re almost there,” Maret said.
Hadde nodded and swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. Two knights guarded the open entrance to the chamber. After saluting the knights, the squires departed. Maret took Hadde by the elbow and led her into the room.
Six men lounged in the chamber.
Hadde sucked in her breath at the sight of Earl Waltas. He glared at her as she entered the room. Purple bruises rimmed his eyes and his nose was crooked and swollen. She had not noticed his injuries when he had first arrived.
“What's wrong, Hadde?” Maret asked.
Hadde shook her head and turned away from the earl. Relief flooded through her at the sight of Sir Nidon speaking to one of the knights guarding the massive inner doors. The Champion appeared unconcerned with the presence of his battered enemy sitting just strides from him.
Nidon glanced at Hadde and nodded in recognition before returning to his discussion. She wondered at his calmness. But what did he have to fear? He was huge and strong, and she had seen his skill and bravery as he fought the varcolac. She couldn’t imagine a greater warrior.
Two oddly-dressed men sat in chairs set along the right hand wall. Where Nidon and Waltas both wore fine, thigh-length tunics and trousers bloused into the tops of their high boots, these men wore long billowing robes of incredible richness. The closer man’s robe was white, embroidered with hundreds of red and green flowers. The other wore black, decorated with golden scrollwork. Narrow-brimmed, peaked hats matched their robes. They paid Hadde little attention.
A short man in a red surcoat stepped up to Hadde and Maret as they entered the room. He looked at Hadde with disapproval. “You must be Hadde of Landomere,” he said. “I’m Sir Fenre, Steward of the Court. I’ll present you to the king. You’ll follow the others and be presented last. Don’t presume to speak to the king. You’ll speak only when spoken to. Never turn your back on his highness.”
Hadde nodded.
“Maiden Maret, you were not called,” Fenre said.
“No, sir,” she responded and curtsied. “I came only to accompany Lady Hadde.”
“Lady Hadde?” Waltas snorted. “Ignorant girl, she’s no lady. She’s a commoner. A commoner of the lowest sort.”
Maret turned toward the earl but kept her eyes lowered to the floor. “My apologies, my lord. I knew only that she had been sent to stay in the Maiden Hall and that I was to attend her.”
Waltas laughed a harsh laugh. “Then you’ve been attending a commoner. What would your parents say?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
Waltas took a step toward them. “I see you’ve learned how to dress,” he said to Hadde. “No longer the naked savage, are we?”
“Leave off, Earl Waltas,” Nidon rumbled.
Waltas cast Nidon a hate-filled glance and stormed back to his chair.
“Maiden, take your charge and be seated over there,” the steward said to Maret. He motioned to where the two robed men sat. Hadde and Maret put three empty chairs between themselves and the men.
Hadde turned to ask about them, but Maret looked away. “Maret?” The girl sat unmoving. “What’s wrong, Maret?”
Maret wheeled and glared at Hadde with narrowed eyes. “Is it true? You’re common?”
“I don’t know, Maret.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know?” Tears welled in her eyes.
“In Landomere we have no commoners or nobles. We’re all the same.”
“But that lord, he said—”
“Rise for Prince Morin,” the steward called out.
Hadde stood and faced the door. The tall prince stood at the chamber’s entrance, a hint of a smile on his face. Unlike Waltas, his black clothing was immaculate. His gaze swept the room. For a moment Hadde’s eyes locked with his. The Maidens didn’t fawn over him without reason. He had chiseled features and dark, penetrating eyes. He strode into the room as if he owned it. As arrogant as Waltas, Hadde thought.
“Champion,” Morin said, nodding to Nidon before turning to Waltas.
“Earl Waltas, it has been many years.”
“Too long, Prince Morin,” Waltas said, his face neutral.
“Not late, am I, Fenre?” Morin asked the steward.
“Of course not, my lord. The Landomeri just—” A fanfare of horns interrupted him. “It’s time, gentlemen,” the steward continued. “If you would…” He motioned to the inner doors. Morin took position at the head of the group. Nidon and Waltas stood behind him, followed by the two robed men, and Hadde in the rear. "Maiden Maret, you are dismissed," he said with a dismissive wave.
Hadde glanced at Maret as she departed, but the girl didn't look back as she hustled from the room. When all were in place, the steward stepped in front of the party and nodded to the guards. The knights pushed the doors open, revealing the Great Hall beyond.
Hadde stifled a gasp. Long Meadow would fit in the huge chamber. Giant pillars rose to a vaulted ceiling decorated with hundreds of pennants and streamers. High rectangular windows lining the walls illuminated the hall. A massive round window at the opposite end of the room lit a raised stone dais.
Hadde ignored her throbbing feet and concentrated on keeping her strides even as she approached the dais. Hundreds of people stood and watched as the group slowly progressed down the hall. She couldn’t bear to look at them; instead she kept her eyes on the back of the black-robed man in front of her.
Reaching the far end of the Great Hall, the party stopped. The robed man in front of Hadde stepped aside, revealing the dais and the two royals. Boradin’s face had a grim set to it. Hadde balked at the unfriendly gaze. Over his red tunic and trousers the king wore a matching red cloak trimmed with white fur. The clothing, while luxurious, sagged on his tall, gaunt frame. The shield, Forsvar, rested against his knees.
For a moment Boradin’s gaze rested on Hadde, but he gave no sign of recognition. The queen reached over and touched his arm and he turned to her. Hadde watched as the two exchanged words.
The queen was the most elegant woman Hadde had ever seen. She felt like an awkward child in comparison. Two long auburn braids ran down the front of the queen’s close fitting white dress. A white cape draped her shoulders. A silver circlet crowned her head.
The queen smiled and nodded as she spoke with the king, but to Hadde her cordiality seemed forced. Two knights in full armor stood to either side of the king
and queen. Both stood at rigid attention with halberds held in front of them. At the base of the dais stood two more knights, each with a long handled torch. Hadde thought them odd in the well-lit room.
The steward’s voice boomed out, “Your Royal Highnesses, Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, Prince Morin.”
Applause and a few loud cheers greeted the prince as he stepped to the base of the dais. As Hadde’s eyes flitted back and forth she noticed that some in the crowd had failed to clap at all. She wondered at their lack of enthusiasm for the prince. Bending to one knee, Morin bowed his head.
“Prince Morin, welcome home,” Boradin said.
“Thank you, brother.” He rose to his feet.
“Another successful campaign against the savage Tyskmen?”
“It was, brother. Another season and their strength will be broken and the Namiri saved from their depredations.” Scattered applause followed his words.
“And then what? From whom will you save us next?”
“I would be loath to announce my next target. We wouldn’t wish to give them more time for their preparations, would we?”
“Of course not, Prince Morin. Your wisdom is equal to your strength.” At a sign from the king, Morin bowed and strode to the right side of the dais where he joined another man. Hadde recognized him as Astor, the knight who led the cheer for Morin upon their arrival. He, like the prince, wore black and had a small white sword emblazoned upon his cloak. It struck her again that the two looked more like brothers than did Morin and the king.
“Your Royal Highnesses,” Fenre called out. “I present to you, Sir Nidon, Champion of the Realm.” Loud applause greeted Nidon as he strode to the base of the dais. There were no cheers, but the clapping was universal. Nidon took a knee.
“Sir Nidon,” the king said, “I’m pleased you’ve returned safely. Your journey was long and difficult. I give you my thanks for accomplishing it so well.”
“I exist to serve.”
“Rise, Champion. Your faithful service is a tribute to the knighthood of Salador.” Nidon took his place at the king’s side. The knight who had been there saluted Nidon and marched from the dais.
“Your Royal Highnesses,” the steward announced, “I present to you Earl Waltas of House Valen.” Waltas stepped forward and took a knee. Stony silence greeted him.
“Earl Waltas, welcome to Sal-Oras,” the king said.
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”
“You’re here representing Duke Avran of Del-Oras?”
“Duke Avran of the South Teren, Your Majesty,” Waltas corrected.
Hushed gasps escaped the lips of many onlookers. The king leaned forward. “Yes, of course, of the South Teren.” He paused a moment. “And the South Teren is a duchy of the Kingdom of Salador.”
As Waltas started to stand the king put out his hand. “I didn’t give you leave to rise.”
Waltas paused, and then stood. A murmur rolled through the audience. “The South Teren does not fear you, King Boradin,” Waltas said. “You might keep Sal-Oras in line with your illusions and magic tricks, but we do not fear you.”
Boradin still held his hand outstretched. A frown crossed his face. “You doubt my magic?”
“I do.”
Boradin clenched his fist and Waltas lurched forward, falling to his knees. Just as quickly he sprang to his feet. “A trick!” he shouted. Waltas snatched up a slate from the floor and tossed it at the base of the dais. “A loose slate and a trap lever. Just tricks!”
The king thrust his hand at Waltas and a blast of air struck the earl, staggering him back. The gust struck Hadde and she caught her breath at its strength. This was real magic.
“More trickery!” the earl shouted, but to Hadde he sounded less certain. “There is—there’s a billows under your throne.”
Hadde scanned the dais, but couldn’t see any sign of a billows or a hole through which the wind could have blown.
“Bring me that torch,” Boradin ordered. As soon as the knight handed the king the torch, he stood and hurled it at Waltas’s feet.
Waltas laughed. “That’s your magic? You toss—”
Boradin made a claw with his fist and aimed it at the torch. Waltas leaped back as a fireball erupted from the flames. The king twisted his hand and the fireball turned into a tornado of flame and surged toward the earl. With a cry of fear, Waltas leapt aside, stumbled, and fell to the floor.
Hadde and everyone assembled stepped back from the fiery display as a wave of heat washed over them.
Waltas scrambled away from the flames, but the tornado turned and pursued him. But with each passing instant it faded in strength. Unable to escape, Waltas curled into a ball as the last of the flames danced over him.
Hadde looked away at the last moment and her eyes fell on Morin. The prince wasn’t looking at the fiery display; instead he stared at his brother. The king didn’t notice his brother’s gaze, but Nidon did. As Hadde watched, Nidon stepped closer to the throne, his right hand rested casually on his sword’s pommel.
The king collapsed back into his throne. His breath came in ragged gasps, his face flushed bright red. “There’s your magic, Earl Waltas,” the king managed. “But it is not my place to kill you.”
Waltas groaned and rolled to his knees. The fire had apparently done him no physical harm, but Hadde could see the fear on his face. She felt fear as well, even though the king’s wrath hadn’t been aimed at her. The stone on the floor, and the gust of wind could have been tricks, but the flame? There was no explaining that. The king was an elementar.
Boradin sat on his throne, one hand raised, a finger pointing at Waltas. “This spring you refused a royal call-to-arms. You challenge my rightful rule over the South Teren. You break my laws by attacking a foreign ambassador. You are not fit to be a knight of Salador. I declare your lands forfeit and your titles lost.” Boradin wiped his sleeve across his sweaty face.
Waltas rose unsteadily to his feet. He clenched his shaking hands behind his back. He had to be terrified, Hadde thought. She wished she could take more pleasure in it, but it wouldn’t be long before she stood in front of the king. Dread filled her.
“These charges are unjust,” Waltas said. “You just hope to cow the other lords of the South Teren into submission with me as an example.”
“I have spoken. You are dismissed.”
“No.” Waltas stood taller. “I demand a trial.”
“Then you shall have it.” Boradin smiled. “And since you demand one, it is my prerogative to choose its manner. You shall fight a trial by combat with Sir Nidon on the morning.”
Waltas glanced at the champion and then around the hall as if looking for an escape. He took two steps back and then said, “You can’t make me fight. It’s the King’s Peace until a week past the Festival of Spring.”
Boradin paused a moment before replying. “So it is. You seem to know my laws well when it suits you. You will meet the Champion of Salador the day after the King’s Peace. Now leave my sight. Or do you wish to be carried out?”
Waltas bowed and retreated from the chamber. Boradin waited until the doors closed behind the earl and then waved his hand for the steward to proceed.
“Your Royal Highnesses,” Fenre announced, “I present to you the Dukes Emle and Giula of Arossa." The two robed men standing beside Hadde stepped in front of the dais. They didn’t touch their knees to the ground, but instead bowed their heads.
“Duke Emle,” the king nodded at the black robed man. He turned to one in white, “Duke Giula, welcome to Sal-Oras. Please excuse the churlish display by Earl Waltas.”
“Please, Your Majesty,” said Duke Giula, “it was a pleasure to see your display of elemental might.” He reached inside one of his billowing, flower-decorated sleeves and produced a scroll, which he handed to Emle.
Hadde barely understood the duke’s strong accent. His words all seemed to drone together. “High King Boradin of Salador,” Emle said, “the nobles, burghers, guilds, and people of A
rossa present this letter of thanks to his Royal Majesty the King of Salador, and to the people of the Kingdom of Salador, in appreciation for unselfish aid in our recent time of crisis.”
“It was our pleasure,” Boradin replied as the Sir Fenre received the scroll. “The restoration of peace in Idoria is of great importance to us all.” The king turned to Giula. “You’ve done your country a great service. I regret your tenure as ambassador is at an end.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty. But I’m certain you’ll find Duke Emle my superior in all ways.”
“I look forward to a long and fruitful relationship.”
The two men bowed and stepped aside. Hadde found herself standing alone in front of the king. She tried to clear her throat, but couldn’t.
“Your Royal Highnesses—,” the steward started but the king’s raised hand stopped him.
“Hadde of Landomere,” the king said, “come closer.”
Hadde’s heart felt as if it were trying to leap from her chest as she walked to the dais. The crowd’s murmurs came as an indistinct hum. She remembered Maret’s admonition to curtsy, but Hadde doubted that she would do it right. Deciding that she must do something, she imitated the bent knee of the men who had gone before her. The murmurs from the crowd grew.
“Welcome to Sal-Oras, Hadde,” Boradin said.
“Thank you… Your Majesty,” she mumbled.
“Rise, Hadde.”
As she attempted to stand, she suddenly pitched forward, whirling her arms for balance. Too late, she realized she had stepped on the skirt of her dress. She toppled clumsily to the ground and rolled to her knees. Laughter rolled across the audience.
Prince Morin was suddenly next to her, helping her to her feet. “Are you hurt?” he asked.
“I’m fine. I’m sorry,” she said, blushing.
“No need to apologize,” he said, and then he returned to his place beside Astor.
Despite the cold air in the Great Hall, beads of sweat gathered on Hadde’s brow. Lowering her gaze, she saw a tear in the hem of her dress.
Boradin silenced the crowd with a raised hand. The king leaned forward in his chair and regarded her. “You are the ambassador of your people?”