by Dave Duncan
as if people were going in and out, and every time it opened the
sound of heavy surf surged briefly.
"Have I passed the test?" he demanded sourly.
"Am I making sense? No slobbering, gibbering,
or detectable hallucinations?"
The ship lord raised his golden eyebrows.
"All right so far. I think we can turn up the
heat a little."
"Please! Can't you find a more tactful turn
of phrase?"
Leofric chuckled approvingly. "This is
yours." It was a lump of metal. It had once
been a sword but half the blade had melted
away and the pearls were gone from the hilt.
"My grandfather's," Radgar said.
"Hang it in Cynehof if you want. When it's
rebuilt. Yes, I'd like you to do that." Fyrlaf
was another who must have died tonight in the eruption.
Leofric laughed. "See to it yourself. I think
this is yours, too."
It was a badly misshapen tangle of metal,
but before being half melted it had been the crown of
Baelmark.
"Where by the eight did you find that?" Was this why
they were all grinning like idiots?
"On your head, of course. You wore it when you
chased the firedrake out of town."
"Spirits! I did? Did I?" He could not
remember.
Aylwin guffawed. "That and nothing else. There
are seventy-seven beautiful maidens lined up
outside, all very eager to meet you."
First in when doors were opened was the Catterstow
fyrd. The leaders began chanting Rad-gar!
Rad-gar! in time with their feet--and the beat was
picked up by all the rest, a great snake of
warriors, hundred after hundred. When the front
ranks reached the circle of Leofric's werod
standing guard around the hero, they divided and
encircled it. The followers pressed in around.
Rad-gar! Rad-gar!
Radgar stood on a stool in the center and
watched the cordon grow to fill the Haligdom--
a multitude, all facing him, cheering him:
Rad-gar! Rad-gar! It was an
extraordinary sensation, far stranger than he would
have guessed. He had never been worshiped before.
His throat hurt. He could not speak. Few were
armed, for the firedrake must have melted all the
swords stacked in the porch. Behind them came
wives and children, even ceorls.
And finally came the earls and their werodu,
anxious to see what the locals were up to. They
clustered near the door, glowering suspiciously.
Big Edgar of Hunigsuge was there, and
Aelfgeat of Su`edmest, whose sneak attack on
Su`edecg had caused the witenagemot to assem-
#. With both the King and his tanist dead, there was no
king in Baelmark. At least three of the earls had
ambitions. All nineteen of them might be dreaming
of glory now. So who was in charge? Probably
Ordheah of Hyrnstan; he was senior.
The chant of Rad-gar! was being drowned out by a
rising chorus of Hlaford
Fyrlandum! That made the earls scowl even
more, for the song was a royal honor. But Radgar
remembered the last time he had heard it, the night
his father died. So he stood and wept while everyone
else rejoiced.
At last he raised his arms for silence; and the
tumult subsided to a low rumble, merging with the
volcano's grumbling. Before he could find his
voice, Aylwin bellowed at the top of his big
lungs, "Catterstow!"
"Catterstow!" roared the fyrd in response,
and there was frenzy again: "Catterstow!
Catterstow! Catterstow!"
Earl Radgar of Catterstow! Could this be real?
--the sea of faces, the acclaim? Why could his mother
not be here to see it? Or Dad? Or even
Wasp. Realizing he was going to start weeping again
if they didn't stop, he raised his arms again.
"I am deeply honored! You want me as
your earl?"
Stupid question--it set them going all over again.
Leofric gripped his arm. "Claim the throne,
too, lad. You're the only royally-born one
among them. It's yours."
Ceolmund grabbed his other wrist and tugged for
attention. His voice squeaked down near
Radgar's knee. "No, no! Wait until
they call a proper moot! You must not seem too
eager."
It so happened that both of them had managed
to find bruises to squeeze. Radgar shook
free of them.
"What are you going to say?" Leofric demanded.
He looked down to meet the stare of one eye and
an emerald. "I haven't decided yet,
thegn."
Leofric managed a smile. "Forgive me,
Aeleding. Very much Aeleding!"
"I will try to be. Thegns! Ealdras!"
His shouts brought an attentive, excited
hush. Before he could open his mouth, Aylwin, that
well-meaning sailor idiot, set the
half-melted crown on Radgar's head and
bellowed, "Haletta@th hlafordne
Fyrlandum!" [Hail the Lord of the Fire
Lands!]
More tumult--wild cheering from the Catterstow
fyrd, booing from the earls' werodu. The crown
was heavy and painfully knobbly, but Radgar left
it where it was. Yet again he gestured for
silence, and the din sank to a low surf sound.
He could see that the earls were not convinced.
Fighting firedrakes did not necessarily
qualify him for kingship.
"Before I can even think of being your king ... before
I even think of giving you my oath as earl, there
is another oath I must swear. Hear this one and
then decide if you want me. Listen!" He
might not get the words exactly right, but he could
certainly come close enough. He roared out the
ancient and most terrible of curses:
"Woe to Ambrose Ranulfing, King of
Chivial! For the evil he has done me, I
swear I will not rest from strife until his blood
has soaked the land, balefire has eaten his
flesh, and the winds have scattered his name. May I
be counted ni`eding if I show fear or mercy
to him or his."
Shock! The silence was absolute. Even the
rain seemed to have been frightened away. In real
life blood feuds were either a grave breach of the
king's fri`ed or mere romantic nonsense in
scops' ballads.
"Ambrose ordered the murder of my father. He
broke the terms of the treaty he had signed. He
perverted our ancient rights with wholesale
bribery. If you take me as your king, then you
get a war as well. The killing will come again--the
looting, raping, burning. There will be booty and
pillage aplenty, but you, ealdras," he
yelled, pointing at the earls, "will have to win your
riches honestly, by deed of arms. You heard what
Cynewulf confessed. There are traitors among
you, cowards who took the foreigner's gold."
Big Edgar had the strongest lungs in the
Haligdom. "Ar
e you calling me coward,
Aeleding?"
"Wear the skirt if it fits, ealdor.
Coward or bribe taker. Or prove me wrong
--come with me when I sail against Chivial, for
I swear that I will harry it as it has never been
harried, until it screams for mercy and
Eurania is appalled. My sword will glut
on blood until I have taken Ambrose's
head, but no more will his carrion gold fatten
cowards' bellies in secret. I do not know the
traitors' names yet, but I expect my
uncle kept a record somewhere. So, are you with
me, Earls? And if you are not then yes, I
call you cowards! And traitors. And
ni`edingas!"
Had the firedrake not destroyed the swords
stacked in the porch at Cynehof so that almost no
one was now armed, those words might have started a
massacre. Or perhaps not, because the earls'
werodu were looking deeply troubled by this talk of
bribery. The first earl to speak up was not Edgar but
another of Cynewulf's accomplices,
Aelfgeat. Shouting, "Death to Chivial! I
side with King Radgar!" he plowed into the crowd.
His werod cheered.
It was Big Edgar who made it through first, though,
hurling men aside until he could grab
Radgar's hand and swear to be his man, faithful and
true, and death to Chivial. So Radgar swore
to be his lord and worthy of trust. When he had done
that ten times, he was King in Baelmark, lord of the
Fire Lands.
The last of the nineteen was the most junior,
only a month in office and little older than
Radgar himself. When he released the man's hands,
Radgar was so shaky from sheer weakness that he
descended from his stool by falling into Aylwin's
arms. Held upright, he made appointments, good
until further notice--Chancellor
Ceolmund, Marshal Leofric, and Tanist
Aylwin. That involved more oaths.
"Now," he said, "start running the kingdom, because
your sovereign lord is going to bed now and will sleep
for a week."
Twisted Ceolmund uttered a brief but
ominous laugh. "As my lord commands. Ealdras,
in the absence of our sovereign lord, the tanist will
convene the war moot here at noon. King Radgar
expects all of you to attend on pain of death."
The earls chuckled, but even in his weariness
Radgar sensed the undertow of danger in this
raillery. Besides, the thought of Aylwin trying
to run a moot was bloodcurdling.
"It can't wait?"
"You have just declared war, lord," his government told
him blithely. "Is it your royal command that
hostilities commence immediately and without notice?
If so, you will be accused of treacherously breaking a
treaty and the Chivians will undoubtedly take
reprisals against every Bael they can catch. We
must have two hundred ships in foreign waters at
the moment. Your lordship might even consider issuing
a royal decree right now ..." And so
on.
He did not quite say that some of the earls were
planning to head straight home and send out the
foxes while the chickens were still snoozing on their
roosts. But he meant that. He implied that only
Radgar could rein them in.
Ironhall had not taught much of this.
Rain still fell on Waro`edburh, but an honest
man reigned in Baelmark. Catterstow had an
earl it was not ashamed of, the guilty had died, and
Cwicnoll was starting to sound sleepy. Things were
looking up.
On the other hand, when the new monarch hobbled out
of the Haligdom, he encountered the beginnings of a
civil war. Loyal subjects were trying
to organize a torchlight procession to carry him
home to his palace, and both earls and fyrd
claimed the right to bear him on their shoulders.
Only Radgar himself could settle that argument, so
he demanded a horse instead, earls to follow in
single file and order of seniority on the right,
ship lords likewise on the left and everybody
else shut up! Life was going to be full of
tricky decisions like that from now on. Men ran
to obey.
The air reeked of ashes. Even over the
muttering rumble of the crowd, he could hear faint
chanting as casualties were treated in the smaller
elementaries. Huge areas of Waro`edburh must
lie in ruins, although he could see no fires still
burning. His the task of rebuilding his capital.
He also had a war to launch, a government
to organize, family estates to run, a mother
to mourn. As he drooped there in the drizzle,
waiting for the horse to appear, he wondered why in
the world he had been such a fool. For Dad? For a
mother who would have been so proud to have a king for a son?
His father would have reserved judgment, he thought, saying
he had not won the crown honestly but this would not
matter if he wore it wisely.
Where, by the eight, was the accursed horse? He
could have walked to the palace sooner. He was
swaying on his feet, yet men kept chattering at
him--bowing, fawning, even kneeling in the mud
to kiss his hand, reminiscing about their adventures
foering with his father, daring to comment how much my
lord looked like my lord's honored
father. He must be the first man in history to win a
kingdom on the shape of his ears, but many of those
bloodthirsty old monsters were weeping with joy, and
every one of them must be answered courteously and
hailed by name if possible.
Then a disturbance, a man trying to break through the
mob: "Radgar! Radgar! Radgar!" That was
Aylwin's bullhorn voice. Perhaps he had
brought the seventy-seven beautiful maidens?
No. He heaved a few more earls aside and
appeared, flushed in the flickering light of the
torches, panting but maidenless. "Radgar--I
mean my lord--he's asking for you! He's hurt but
they think he'll live. Wants to see you.
He's hurt quite bad, Radgar. This way--"
"Belay! Now, from the beginning. Who's asking for
me?"
Aylwin had paused only to suck in one more
enormous breath, and now he blew it all out in
another torrent of words. "They found him floating
facedown in the harbor but the healers were sure he
was a thrall because he was a foreigner and he had
nothing on and besides they were sure he was dying and they
only just got around to treating the thralls and then he
told them what he thought of them and they realized he
wasn't a thrall at all and-- What? Oh, that
Chivian hoeftniedling of yours. Yes,
sir, er, lord, I do mean Waeps Thegn."
It was one of those spring mornings when the whole
world erupts with life--lambs bouncing, birds
screeching insults at one another from every bush, and
butterflies flying complex colored patterns in
/>
the hedgerows. After a two-week tantrum,
Cwicnoll had repented of his ill humor and
gone back to sleep for another generation or so,
trailing hardly a wisp of smoke from his fancy
new cone. The woodlands of Hatburna had never
seemed lovelier. King Radgar slid down from
Isgicel's back and looped his reins around a
sapling. Then he continued along the path on
foot. It was possible that the patient was still
asleep. ...
He wasn't. Outside the royal cabin lay
Wasp, stretched on a couch, staring at the boughs
overhead and covered from toes to chin by a fleecy
rug. He had not heard Radgar's approach
over the noise of the waterfall. He
looked up and scowled. Visitors not welcome.
Kings could ignore such hints. Radgar
dropped to his knees on the grass. "Came
to ask if you want to go riding!" Royal grin.
"No."
Royal frown. "Bathing, then?"
"I can't swim. I doubt if I could even
get on a horse. Go away!"
"What do you want?"
"To be alone."
That was all he ever wanted.
Radgar sighed. "Anything except that. I
need some fencing practice. I'm getting
rusty."
Wasp looked straight at him for the first time.
His pallor was not so extreme as it had been. His
physical injuries had pretty much healed, according
to the doctors--other than the loss of his arm, of
course, but even enchantment could not replace a
missing limb. Mental ... That was more tricky,
the healers agreed, and then they would mumble. They
thought he would recover in time. They hoped he would.
"A one-armed fencer?" the patient sneered.
"My balance is hopeless. Just walking I stagger
and trip over my feet. You have ten thousand
pirates--go and practice on them."
Radgar tried the grin again. "I don't dare.
They might learn Ironhall technique from me
and then challenge. Come on, Wasp! So you lost
an arm? You'll learn a new balance soon
enough. It wasn't your fencing arm. It wasn't the
hand you write with. And you saved a king. Anything
I can give you is yours. Just name it, friend. Land?
Tell me you like Hatburna and I'll give it
to you. Ships? Money? Slaves? Women?"
"Women?" Wasp snapped, displaying some
welcome emotion. He heaved himself more upright with his
right arm--his only arm. "Explain to me why this
patch of woodland is swarming with pretty girls
all of a sudden. Redheads, brunettes,