by Byron Preiss
Mesor nodded. “Yes, but unfortunately it is more important to win a victory over the Fondorans than to see the Ruby bestowed. The Fandorans still remain in the hills, Princess; so we have been told.”
“They are fools,” said Evirae, admiring her bejeweled coiffure in the mirror. “I have seen a Fandoran. We have no need to worry. They will never reach the forest; they represent no danger.”
“You forget Thalen,” replied Mesor. “Obviously he did not view them as casually as you do.”
These words stung Evirae, and she turned angrily from the mirror. “That was not my fault!” she shouted.
Mesor replied in what he hoped was a calming tone. “Nobody accuses you, Princess, but you must understand why your husband is absent. He is defending Simbala, but he also seeks justice for the murder of his brother.” Mesor looked nervously at Evirae.
“I understand it fully,” Evirae replied. “Do you think the burden of the loss has escaped me completely?”
“No, Princess, but you—”
“Queen!” Evirae shouted, snatching a hand from the manicurist and pointing a gleaming nail at Mesor. “You must call me Queen!” As she spoke, the door to her chamber opened and a messenger appeared.
“I bring news of Monarch Hawkwind’s return,” he said. “He has entered the Kameran Valley with the troops of the Southland.”
“Returned?” cried Evirae, paling. “Who spreads such a vicious rumor?”
“ ’Tis no rumor! I saw him myself! He has gone with the army to stop the invaders!”
“Impossible!” Evirae leaped to her feet, overturning the fingerbowl. She gripped the windowsill for support. “Hawkwind deserted the troops! Kiorte is now in charge!”
“No longer,” the messenger said. “I saw it myself.”
Evirae took several deep breaths; for a moment it appeared to Mesor that she would faint, but she rallied and, dismissing the manicurist with a gesture, spoke in a low tone to the messenger.
“Does any other member of the Family know of this? Does Monarch Ephrion know?”
“To the best of my knowledge, he does not,” the messenger said. “I slipped away as soon as Hawkwind arrived, and rode hard to deliver the tidings to you.”
Evirae pressed several took as into his palm. “Remain hidden until after the coronation,” she warned, “and do not speak of what you have seen to anybody.” The messenger nodded and left.
Evirae turned slowly and glared as Mesor. “Why did you not anticipate this?” she demanded.
Mesor spread his hands. “How could I have? You heard the messenger—he is the first to bring the news to Overwood.”
Evirae paced nervously. “Hawkwind is still Monarch until the Ruby is upon me! Should he return before then, he can challenge the Family’s decision! We must hurry, Mesor! We must not wait! The procession is to start at once!”
“Do not panic!” Mesor responded. “Did you not tell me that the coronation is a formality only? There is no need to worry. You are already Queen.”
Evirae kicked the fingerbowl across the jeweled floor of the chamber. “Fool!” she shouted. “Do you believe everything you hear?”
Mesor fumbled his words, desperately searching for a way to convince Evirae not to panic. If she rushed now, the Family’s suspicions would be aroused. “According to law,” he said, “you are to be the last to arrive! You cannot leave now, Princess! How will it look to the Family if you reach the dais before them?”
“Fool! Have you not been listening? Hawkwind is coming! What matters protocol now?” She turned and exited the room in a flurry of silk and perfume. Mesor sighed and rose to follow, then paused for a moment and stared through the window at the palace. He could see the carriages of the Family awaiting their riders, and the people that lined the wide avenue. He knew the populace was fickle. The people had shifted allegiance to Evirae, but if Hawkwind defeated the Fandorans, they would easily be swayed to his side again. Perhaps she was correct. If they did not move too quickly, Evirae’s anxiety might seem nothing more than her usual demanding behavior.
He joined her in her black coach, which moved at a smart pace down the road to Monarch’s March. “This is Ephrion’s doing!” Evirae muttered. “He sought to postpone the coronation long enough for Hawkwind to return.” She stared out nervously through the window, waving perfunctorily at the people. Many looked shocked to see the Princess’s coach hastening ahead of the less important dignitaries’, but the gossip it caused was a welcome change from the grim news of the war.
Evirae gripped the seat of the coach tightly. Although the cheering outside comforted her slightly, she expected at any moment to see a stallion charging down the road, the dark-haired miner astride it.
* * *
The balance of the procession departed a short time later. In a large white coach rode Tolchin and Alora, who had returned from the merchants’ quarter to accompany Monarch Ephrion to the dais. The elder statesman was unusually quiet, and the Baron took this as a possible rebuke to his continued support for Evirae’s future as Queen.
“There is no alternative,” he said, in an attempt to console himself and Ephrion. “There is no other candidate from the Family with as much support among the people as Evirae. I will be glad when this is done, Ephrion. Then we will act on your suspicions about the dragons.”
Ephrion did not reply. He seemed lost in his thoughts. He opened the silver chest on his lap and looked at the Ruby upon the silk cushion within it. The jewel would not be worn on Evirae’s forehead as it had been on Hawkwind’s. Her hair dress was too tall for Ephrion to slip the diadem over it, and so the artisans of the palace had made a new and longer chain for him to fasten about the Princess’s neck.
Ephrion closed the chest and sighed. However she wore it, he thought, she would not wear it well. Of that he was sure.
* * *
The procession arrived to find Evirae already there, nervously tapping her foot on the gleaming surface of the dais. People who had come early for a good viewing were looking at her in amusement, annoyance, or both, at this contravention of procedure. The chorus that was to provide music for the affair had started uncertainly when Evirae arrived, then tapered off into disorganized silence when it became obvious that she had come early. In her haste Evirae had forgotten that the coronation could not take place without Monarch Ephrion.
At last the large white coach of the Monarch Emeritus arrived before the dais. The chorus once again started a wordless tune, a cappella, a lilting combination of tones that was in keeping with the simplicity of the event.
The people crowding into the clearing maintained a respectful silence as Ephrion, followed by the Family and selected members of the Circle, mounted the steps to the dais. Evirae held her breath as she studied Ephrion’s face. His expression was set and he did not look at her, but he seemed resigned to his duty as former Monarch.
Lady Tenor, whose duty it was to announce the beginning of the ceremony, took her proper place on the dais. Much fuss was made over the gowns and costumes of the members of the Family. Whispered compliments floated from Eselle to Alora to Jibron, and Evirae thought she would go mad waiting out the social manners of those in attendance. Spurred beyond endurance and good sense, she turned to Lady Tenor and whispered, “Hurry! The ceremony must be started!”
Lady Tenor stared at the Princess. “This cannot be rushed,” she replied with disdain. “You would do well to savor this moment, young woman. A Queen must count patience among her virtues. It is a rare event when the Ruby is bestowed upon a Princess.”
“It will not happen at all if you wait any longer,” Evirae said beneath her breath. General-Emeritus Jibron and Lady Eselle, already startled by their daughter’s untoward behavior, looked at her rebukingly. Evirae nodded at them and smiled as if she had suddenly remembered where and to whom she spoke. She glanced up at the sky. Kiorte, she wondered, why are you not here to support me?
At last, all the members of the Family on the dais had taken their proper places.
The singing of the chorus swelled to a final burst and stopped. In the silence that followed, Lady Tenor said, “By decision of the Royal Family, meeting in closed session, let it be known to the people of Simbala that Hawkwind, for reasons considered traitorous to Simbala, has been ordered removed from the Monarchy.”
Evirae closed her eyes and filled her heart with the welcome words. At last! she thought. Obviously Ephrion did not know Hawkwind had returned. The formal part of the coronation would not take long. Then the Ruby would be hers!
Lady Tenor continued. “In accordance with the laws of Simbala, this removal will be made final by the appointment of a new Monarch.” She looked at Ephrion, and he stepped forward, holding the small silver box that contained the Ruby. Evirae glanced at him, but Ephrion’s eyes were distant, as if fixed on another time. At that moment, she felt sorry for him. He had fought against her, but he had lost.
Lady Tenor said, “If any person has reason to deny or gainsay Evirae, daughter of Jibron and Eselle, candidate to the monarchy, that person now must be heard.”
Evirae held her breath. The silence in the clearing was intense. It was the longest moment Evirae had ever endured. She was sure that Hawkwind had somehow slipped unseen into the crowd and would now speak. But to her delight there were no cries against her. Lady Tenor continued to wait for a reply.
Unable to endure any more delays, Evirae whispered, “Continue!”
Lady Tenor stepped back with annoyance and Evirae turned quickly to face Ephrion. She was trembling with eagerness. In a moment, it would be done!
Ephrion opened the chest and removed the Ruby on its chain. He kept his eyes averted from Evirae’s face, not wishing to see the look of triumph there. He tried to speak, to say the words expected of him before he placed the chain about her throat, but the injustice of the whole affair overwhelmed him then, and he could not speak. Two bright tears trickled down his wrinkled cheeks.
A murmur went up from the crowd, as the ceremony halted.
“Ephrion,” Evirae said softly and tensely. “You must speak.”
Ephrion finally whispered, “By agreement of the Royal Family . . . ” but his voice faltered. He could not bear to bring the removal of Hawkwind to pass.
Evirae glared at him now. He was purposefully delaying the coronation!
“Go on,” she whispered angrily. “You must finish!”
Their eyes met for a moment, and then suddenly Ephrion looked past her to the clearing behind the crowd.
“Continue!” seethed Evirae, but now the delay had drawn the attention of the Family.
Ephrion lowered his hands, the Ruby within them. There followed a scream, a shriek that at first sounded to some as if Evirae, in her impatience, had made it. Then it was repeated, echoing through the clearing. The crowd looked back in bewilderment, but the elder statesman of Simbala caught the glimmer of recognition in Evirae’s eyes.
“Yes,” he whispered too softly for any but the Princess to hear, “the hawk.”
“No!” Evirae looked up, terror frozen on her face. Above the crowd, soaring swiftly into the clear blue sky, was the hawk. It circled, shrieking, and Ephrion smiled.
“Hawkwind!” he exclaimed proudly. “Hawkwind has returned!”
The Family watched the clearing with suspicion as the crowd turned in unison toward the rustling in the woods behind them.
“No!” screamed Evirae. “Heed not this trick! He wishes only to delay my coronation!” Her father bounded quickly to her side to support her. “Get on with the ceremony, Monarch Ephrion,” he warned. “You have defied our decision long enough.”
Ephrion did not budge. As he watched, from the edge of the clearing eight riders burst forth, the first holding a banner silver and black.
“Look!” Ephrion shouted. “He comes now!”
There were gasps and cries of excitement as a dark stallion broke through the clearing behind the eight riders and headed for the crowd. Astride it, dressed in a silver-and-black robe, rode Hawkwind.
“He has returned!” Ephrion shouted again, and then he smiled broadly as the red-cloaked figure of Lady Ceria, on Lady Tenor’s horse, followed the Monarch toward the crowd.
Evirae, with a cry of incoherent anger, reached out and snatched the Ruby from Ephrion’s grasp. Yet as she held it, preparatory to fastening it about her neck, the hawk dived straight toward her in a blur of wings. Evirae stumbled backward into her father’s arms, screaming in fright and holding the Ruby out instinctively. The chain tore from her grip as the hawk seized it in its talons and soared back into the sky, the dangling jewel sparkling in the rays of the sun. Evirae wailed, watching the Ruby being carried beyond her reach. Then, drawing herself up and stepping away from Jibron, she turned to her personal guards and shouted, “Seize them! Seize the miner and the Rayan! They are traitors to Simbala!”
The riders had broken through the crowd now to make way for Hawkwind and Ceria. The guards started toward them, but Ephrion ordered them to stop. Whether the authority in the former Monarch’s voice or Evirae’s own histrionics made them hesitate was unclear, but they did not continue.
This cannot be happening, Evirae thought. The strain has been too much. I am dreaming! She closed her eyes, but when she opened them again, Hawkwind and Ceria were still coming toward her. Evirae watched in helpless rage as Hawkwind swung down from his steed and approached the dais.
She would not be defeated! Evirae looked about wildly. There had to be some way to trap Hawkwind, to stop him. She looked up at the sky, hoping to see Kiorte’s windship, but the sky was empty, save for the hawk flying overhead. Ahead of her, more and more of the crowd were cheering Hawkwind!
Evirae watched as the miner took a black pouch from the Rayan and stepped closer to the dais. He raised his arm defiantly, and the hawk circled down to land gently, the chain of the Ruby clenched now in its beak.
In desperation she cried, “Hawkwind is a traitor! He abandoned the army in the midst of battle! He seeks now to deceive us again!”
These words rang hollow with the crowd, and Evirae glanced anxiously for support from the Family. Stunned by the turn of events, none would help. Only her parents stood silently at her side. She was baffled. What did Hawkwind possess within the pouch? What had the Rayan found in her escape from Overwood? In her ignorance, the Princess cried out again. “Hawkwind seeks to deceive us with the aid of the Rayan!”
Hawkwind watched her, his expression unwavering, unreadable. He was confident of victory now. He looked up at Ephrion, standing beside General Jibron. There was pride evident upon the old man’s face.
Hawkwind faced Evirae. “Your husband and I have brought the war to an end,” he said. “The desertion with which you have charged me was a mission to find the troops we had sent to the Southland. By reuniting them with the contingents of Overwood, we launched a single assault on the Fandorans together. With the support of the windships, we have driven the invaders out of the hills!”
A cheer went up from the crowd. Hawkwind had returned in peace!
Evirae could not believe these words. The miner working with the windships? It could not be possible unless Kiorte . . .
“No!” she screamed. “Do not listen to him! It is a trick. He wishes only to retain his title!”
This charge was greeted by several boos from the crowd. Evirae panicked. Her guards defiant, the Family unsupportive, she now feared that Kiorte himself had abandoned her. “I call for justice,” she cried pitifully. “Arrest Hawkwind!”
Hawkwind watched her. “There will only be justice when Lady Ceria is no longer viewed as a traitor!” he said. “She did not flee Overwood to betray us—she was sent on a mission by Monarch Ephrion to find this!”
Hawkwind withdrew a gleaming jewel from the pouch and held it high above his head as a gasp went up behind him. “It is a Dragonpearl,” he said, “a jewel of legend! With it we may learn the secrets of the dragons—the reason for their attack against Simbala!”
He stared at Evirae. “It is you w
ho are the traitor, Princess! It is you who have betrayed the trust of our people with your petty schemes and lies! It is you who harbored a Fandoran spy in the tunnels beneath Overwood! Do not deny it!”
“These are all lies!” Evirae cried. “A conspiracy concocted by you and the Rayan! You hold nothing but a shiny stone in your hand!”
Even as she spoke, Ceria, standing behind Hawkwind, concentrated her thoughts upon the Dragonpearl. A swirling and clearing of the rainbow clouds within it followed. Then a billowing darkness became a miniature landscape of gray cliffs and a black spire.
“Look!” Lady Tenor cried. “Look at the jewel!”
Again shouts and exclamations filled the clearing, as the scene within the jewel was glimpsed by many near the front of the crowd. Excited rumors drifted back quickly that the sight within the orb was indeed the lost land of the dragons. Ephrion was silent, transfixed by the phenomenon. Ceria had succeeded in her mission!
“The dragons attacked the Fandorans,” Hawkwind continued. “Then the Fandorans attacked us, thinking we were responsible! The real threat to us both is the dragons!”
Ceria, too tired to maintain the image any longer, breathed deeply, and the rainbow clouds returned to the Dragonpearl. The picture she had summoned up was different from those she had seen in Shar Wagon. She would have to try to find it again after conferring with Monarch Ephrion.
Hawkwind stepped forward, Ceria at his side, the hawk now resting upon his arm, as the crowd quieted. Then slowly, with the knowledge of the support behind him, he ascended the steps to the platform.
“We may not both govern Simbala,” he said, approaching Evirae. “It is obvious whose acts have been traitorous to Simbala. Concede honorably, Evirae, or you will be disgraced.”
“Never!” She glared at Hawkwind and Ephrion, who had stepped forward to take both the hawk and the Ruby from the young Monarch.
“Then I must order your arrest!” He turned to the guard behind him. “Take her!” he said.
Ephrion did not protest the order, but before the guard could reach the Princess she spied a small dark cloud moving against the distant sky. “Kiorte!” she shouted. “My husband returns! He will see that justice is done! Do not dare touch me! Prince Kiorte will make clear the menace you pose to Simbala!”