The boy stared at him, his face muddy and streaked with tears. “I wasn’t…” he stopped, seeming to realize that lying was useless. “I’m lost and hungry and I’m going to be punished.”
“Punished for what?” Oraeyn asked.
The boy looked at him with a considering gaze for a moment; he seemed to decide that neither of his captors meant him harm, so he continued talking, “For running away from the battle. And now I’m going to be punished even more for crying.”
“You were fighting in the battle?” Oraeyn asked.
“Yes,” the boy grew defensive, “I am young, but I am strong, and as good a swordsman as any aethalon.”
Brant did not look surprised, then he peered closer at the boy’s dirty face. Squinting a little, he asked, “What is your father’s name?”
Oraeyn looked at Brant questioningly. There was a note in the man’s voice that said he knew more than he was letting on.
“My father is Seamas, King of Llycaelon,” Jemson said quietly, his eyes beginning to fill up with tears again, “and now you have the prisoner you need most, you should know my father will not ransom me, this war...” the boy stopped and stared up at the sky, “it has consumed him. Some say he is mad, others say he is searching for something or someone....” The boy paused again, looking at Brant as if seeing him for the first time. “Wait... I took you for being from Aom-igh... you’re dressed as one of them... but surely, surely you are from Llycaelon?”
Brant nodded. “I am from Llycaelon. You have missed much, the war is over, has been for five days.”
“You say the war is over?” His eyes grew haunted. “My father?”
Brant shook his head. “I’m sorry.”
“Was it you? Were you the one... the one he was looking for?”
Brant hesitated, then he nodded. “It was I.”
Jemson seemed to understand the double meaning and he stiffened slightly. “Why?”
“It is a long story, but you should know, your father was my older brother.”
Jemson’s eyes widened. “The prophecy?”
Brant sighed and his shoulders fell as though a heavy weight had been laid upon them. “Yes.”
“Then I think I understand. Am I right in assuming that you were not the threat he thought you were?”
“You seem to know more about this than most would, at your age.”
“I was his son,” Jemson replied simply.
Brant placed his hand on the youth’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, but you have a responsibility to more than just yourself now. You answer to the people in your father’s place.”
At these words, Jemson raised his chin and nodded. Though he straightened his shoulders and followed them with strong, sure steps, Oraeyn noticed the brightness in his eyes and knew that the young man was very near tears. Oraeyn watched him with furtive glances, feeling akin to this sad boy. Though he could not remember it, he knew that when his parents had died and left him orphaned he, too, had been lost and scared. The knight who had brought him back to the palace and trained him in the ways of the Knights of the Realm had been like a father to him, and Oraeyn never forgot what his life might have been had his mentor-knight not taken pity on him. Oraeyn wondered what would become of this boy, when he returned to his own country. He did know this for certain: this boy had the best uncle in the world and was confident he would soon learn that on his own. A twinge of jealousy gnawed at Oraeyn’s heart for a span of a few heartbeats, but then he shrugged it aside. Who better to be friends with than Brant’s nephew? And what could be more pointless than wishing to be in the place of someone who had just lost his father?
When they returned to the castle, Jemson was given a room in the palace in the wing where the aethalons were staying. He washed and dressed in clean clothes, and when he reappeared, he looked every inch a prince. Brant took the boy aside and sat down to talk with him in private.
“You have gleaned much about me, and you have inferred a great deal correctly. I was meant for the throne, though it was never my desire. I had no wish to rule Llycaelon, and I had no feelings of enmity towards your father. I am sorry for what has happened, but I did all I could to prevent it. You may hate me, but your father did ask me to look after you... is your mother...?”
Jemson shook his head, and Brant looked at the boy with sympathy in his dark eyes and continued, “I am sorry, I met her, once. She saved my life.” There was silence for a moment, then Brant continued, “Then allow me to fulfill my promise to my brother and my nephew, when we return to Llycaelon.”
The young man gazed at him steadily while he was told all of this. He nodded gravely to show that he understood but could not yet give an answer. There was a sadness in the strength of this young boy, and Brant recognized this as the blessing and curse of the House of Arne. Jemson truly was a son of kings. He wanted desperately to restore this boy to the joy of youth, but wondered if that would ever be possible.
❖ ❖ ❖
The next thing that needed to be attended to was the trial of the prisoners. Prince Elroy’s trial was a quick affair. He was tried for treason against his own country; for plotting against Aom-igh, which was clearly a breach of the alliance between their two countries; and for conspiring against his other allies: the other countries that made up the barrier islands. There were many people who came to testify against the Prince of Roalthae, but there was no one to testify for him.
King Arnaud gazed at Elroy dispassionately as he declared the final verdict: “Prince Elroy of Roalthae,” he said, his voice booming throughout the hall, “you have been declared a traitor to the realm, and you will be treated accordingly. You are hereby stripped of your title, your crown, your lands, and your wealth. You are now nothing but Elroy. However, since that is not the end of your long list of offenses, you shall also face the headsman’s axe.”
Elroy’s face blanched, but he squared his shoulders and raised his chin, staring King Arnaud in the eye. Arnaud met his gaze coolly until Elroy was forced to look away. Then the king spoke again.
“Justice has been meted out. Let Elroy and all his followers be treated in the same manner.” King Arnaud then stepped down from his chair and walked out of the room.
Oraeyn noted how the king walked slowly, as though he were carrying a great burden upon his shoulders. He suddenly felt a rush of sympathy for the man. The king was known for his love of peace, and Oraeyn was struck with a deep consciousness of how much he must hate passing such a sentence.
Arnaud left the court hall quickly and went to his room. Zara was there, rummaging around in several boxes. She looked up as he came in and immediately grew concerned. She stood up and walked to Arnaud.
“What’s wrong?”
Arnaud shook his head. “I am not the right man for this job.” He sighed and sat down, weariness etched in every line on his face.
Zara smiled at him, a quiet smile. “Then who is?”
He looked at her and shrugged. “Not me.”
“Someone like Seamas, who believes that he is the right man?” Zara asked, “or like Elroy, who doesn’t care about his people, or who he hurts so long as he gains a throne?”
Arnaud shook his head. “No, of course I don’t think that. The throne needs to be held by a good man, someone who cares about his people but not about power. The throne needs to be held by a strong man, but also by a kind man.”
“And how does any of that disqualify you?”
“I never wanted this! I never wanted all of this responsibility. I am a simple man, I hate living in the palace, I hate the laws of the court, and I hate the power I hold. It is not right that I hold so much!” Arnaud burst out, then he calmed, seeing Zara’s gentle smile. “You are laughing at me,” he accused, but there was a smile tugging at the corners of his own mouth.
Zara shook her head. “No,” she managed to get out before she collapsed into giggles.
Arnaud tried to stare at her sternly, but he could not keep the solemn e
xpression on his face, and he began to laugh himself. Arnaud finally stood up, getting his laughter under control.
“We need a banquet,” he declared.
Zara stopped laughing and gazed up at him with a puzzled expression on her face. “What?”
“We need a banquet, a great gathering of peace. The people need something to rejoice over, and the country needs healing. We need to find a way to put this bloody war behind us, and focusing on the future is the only way that I know of to do so.”
“When?” Zara asked.
“How long do the cooks need?”
Zara thought for a moment. “Two weeks,” she said quietly, “preparing food for so many is no easy task.”
“Splendid!” Arnaud declared. “The Banquet of Peace will take place in two weeks’ time. I will send out the declaration. Brant will understand the time that needs to be taken, and his people will stay as long as he does. We must put things back to rights around the castle; the banquet hall must be ready for this great event! There will be dancing and food and music and stories. Did not a minstrel come with your sisters when they arrived?”
Zara smiled, catching his enthusiasm. “Yes.”
“I am sure he would be willing to sing a few tales for us, minstrels always like to be asked to play at occasions like this,” Arnaud continued, planning out loud.
“I will go and alert the chefs.”
“Yes, certainly,” Arnaud replied. “I will ask Brant to delay his departure and then send out the proclamations.”
The Great Banquet of Peace was declared throughout the countryside. All were invited. This, Arnaud proclaimed, was to be the largest and finest banquet ever held. Craftsmen, seamstresses, shopkeepers, and cooks were kept busy long into the evenings in preparation for this great festivity. Excitement and genuine delight filled anew the streets of Ayollan as the people turned from grief to celebration. As the day approached, the entire countryside was abuzz with anticipation, and King Arnaud glowed with delight at the smiles and laughter he saw among his people.
Brant sent the aethalons ahead to Llycaelon, as they would need to make preparations for his return. However, he stayed behind with his nephew, as well as a score of aethalons who insisted on staying as his honor guard, for the celebration of peace.
At last the day of the banquet arrived. Thousands of people gathered inside the castle walls while tens of thousands more gathered in the courtyard and the surrounding palace grounds. Even the myth-folk were invited as honored guests, and they attended in human form. They too were ready for a celebration and a renewed association of peace above ground.
❖ ❖ ❖
It was very odd, Kamarie thought to herself, to be standing in her own room again. It was as though she had never left, and yet she felt she was no longer quite the person she had been. There was something stronger, something braver, and something wiser about the girl who now stood in Princess Kamarie’s chambers.
She gazed at herself critically in the mirror. Whoever this new person was, she had been completely hidden within yards of satin, strings of pearls and other assorted jewelry. She was dressed like the princess that she was, but for some reason, for the first time in her life, she did not feel like one. The green satin dress was brand new, and the circlet on her head had been polished until it shone as brightly as though lit by a fire that glowed from within. Her maids had spent hours doing her hair, complaining all the while that no princess’ hair should have so many tangles in it, and didn’t she even comb her hair while she was off gallivanting across the countryside? Though she loved her maids dearly, Kamarie was glad when they finally left. She lifted a fold of satin and sighed, the person in the mirror was hardly even recognizable.
Kamarie looked longingly at the outfit that was lying on her bed. The comfortable, light brown tunic with the dark green belt; the soft leather breeches; and the high, soft-soled brown boots. Her maids had been about to throw the clothes away, but Kamarie had threatened to knock them into the moat if they touched her traveling wardrobe. Her tailor had sighed the deep sigh of one who has suffered much and been asked to do the impossible, and then he had taken the clothes away to be washed and mended. They were returned in perfect condition, although there was a very stubborn stain on the left sleeve that refused to come out. Kamarie smiled; she liked that the clothes were a little worn and unable to be mended.
Kamarie considered, looking at her reflection once more. She wrinkled her nose and stuck out her tongue at the mirror. Then she sighed again and walked out into the hall, making her way towards the rooms where the banquet was being held. She really was looking forward to the banquet; she just wished she could go in something more comfortable.
chapter
TWENTY-ONE
The great banquet hall was filling up quickly. Servants carried platters of food into the hall and set it on the great long tables. Many of the squires had been given the duty of serving the tables, but Oraeyn had been exempted from that task as he was one of the honored guests.
He found it very strange to be sitting in the huge banquet hall, at a table full of hundreds of people, especially when some of those people were Dark Warriors. Aethelons, he reminded himself sternly. King Arnaud was using this gathering of all who were present as a great send-off before the Aethelons returned to their own country. He called it the Banquet of Peace, but Oraeyn sensed there was more to it than that. King Arnaud had been too quiet lately, and Oraeyn wondered what the King was planning for this Banquet of Peace.
Oraeyn was sitting near the head of the table, to the left of Queen Zara. Kamarie was sitting between her parents, and Brant was sitting on Arnaud’s right. Dylanna and Leila sat to Brant’s right. Yole was on Oraeyn’s left, and the boy was trying very hard not to squirm. Jemson was sitting next to Yole. Oraeyn liked Yole well enough, but he was intrigued by the young aethalon and had hoped to be seated next to him at the banquet. Yole had shifted back into his human form after the battle, but Oraeyn saw the look of longing in Yole’s eyes whenever the boy looked up towards the sky.
The table was laden with a feast of every kind of food that Oraeyn could think of. He stared, sure that he had never seen so much food in one spot at one time. Actually, most of the people in the room were thinking the very same thing. Everyone attending was dressed in their best finery. The knights did not wear their full armor for it was too heavy, but they were dressed in light vests of mail that gleamed from much polishing. The farmers and tradesmen were all wearing brightly colored scarves or sashes. But most bedazzling of all were the outfits of the courtiers. Oraeyn had not known that such colors could be woven into fabric or that any one outfit could contain such brightness. But none were quite so grand looking as Kiernan Kane. The minstrel sat near the great fireplace, strumming his mandolin with seeming indifference, but the music was achingly pure and every note perfect. The minstrel himself wore a maroon tunic and black trousers with a silver sash tied around his waist. He looked reserved and formal, and the courtiers had been eyeing his stylish, yet regal, outfit with envy all evening.
Arnaud stood, and a hush fell across the banquet. He surveyed the great assembly in silence for a moment. He raised a hand, and the room fell silent.
“Let the Banquet of Peace begin!” King Arnaud’s voice thundered through the marble room, but it was a cheerful sound, not a menacing one.
With that, the silence was broken, and the people who were sitting at the tables began eating heartily. There was much laughter and chatter as the feast wore on. Several great stone fireplaces lighted the rooms that had been opened for the banquet, and they cast a romantic red and gold glow throughout the halls. There was a sense of friendly companionship and safety that filled the air. Comfortable, that was how Kamarie would have described it.
She gazed around the room at her people in wonder. Everyone was at ease, the tensions of the past few months flowing away upon the wind, distanced from memory for a time. The cheerfulness of the people struck her deeply, and she
realized that this peace was all that many of them had to look forward to. Tomorrow most of them would return home and return to the mourning of their dead, but today they could relax and enjoy life and feast upon a banquet that offered them so much more than food. It was not only for the banquet that these people had come; it was for the opportunity to lay down their burdens, great and small, and leave them at the door for a short time.
The Dragon’s Eye began to set, and the feasting slowed. The people sat back in their chairs, full and satisfied, with smiles on their faces as they continued to talk and joke and laugh with their neighbors. It was then that Kiernan began a dancing reel, his fingers moving swiftly across the strings, the music swelling out into the hall.
King Arnaud stood up and offered his hand to his wife. “May I have this dance?” he asked her with an air of debonair gravity.
Zara covered her mouth politely with her napkin to keep from laughing. “You may,” she said smiling as she took his hand and allowed him to lead her onto the dance floor.
The music grew and intensified, so light and cheerful that soon others joined the King and Queen as they danced. Soon the great ballroom floor was crowded. The people smiled and laughed as they danced across the floor, keeping time to the fast pace of the music. Oraeyn looked around to find Kamarie, but saw that she was already dancing with Yole. He smiled to himself and turned to Dylanna.
“May I have the honor?” Oraeyn asked, offering his arm.
Dylanna grinned at him, having seen his glance towards Kamarie. “Of course,” she said laughing. Together they glided out into the crowd.
Not all joined in the dancing, however. Brant had moved back to stand in the shadows of the fireplace. He had not danced, seemingly satisfied to stand back and watch the others on the ballroom floor. The look on his face was both calm and content. His arms were crossed and he leaned against the marble wall, looking more relaxed than he had in all of the past few months combined.
“Why do you not join in the dancing?” a young, sweet voice asked from the shadows near him.
King's Warrior (The Minstrel's Song Book 1) Page 40