A Coronation of Kings

by Samuel Stokes

  ‘Who are you and why are you here?’ Syrion asked.

  ‘I am Kalifae am here because I am a slave. My life is not my own and has not been since I was a little girl.’

  ‘You didn’t seem a slave a moment ago,’ Syrion continued. ‘Why help Gerwold? What did you have to gain?’

  ‘My freedom,’ the woman answered her voice full of scorn.

  ‘Where are you from?’ the Astarii continued.

  ‘Empyrea,’ Kalifae answered.

  ‘I have never heard of such a place,’ Syrion replied, instantly feeling foolish, his own travels having never taken him beyond his island home.

  ‘Of course you haven’t,’ the woman responded ‘Your people do not go there.’

  ‘My people?’ Syrion queried.

  ‘Your people,’ the woman answered flatly. ‘You are Astarii, are you not? Do not lie to me, boy. I know this magic. You are a child of the stars, a Caretaker of Creation... Empyrea lies outside Creation, it is the space between.’

  ‘The space between what? And how do you know of the Astarii?’ Syrion asked, his mind racing with more questions than answers.

  ‘I tire of your questions,’ the sorceress pouted. ‘Will you grant me my freedom? Or will you attempt to bind me as others before you have tried.’ The sorceress removed a golden necklace from around her neck and began playing with it.

  ‘I know nothing of this binding of which you speak’ Syrion responded. ‘As for your freedom, I do not know. You must answer to justice for the blood you have spilled today.’

  ‘Hah!’ the woman snorted derisively. ‘At least you are honest, Syrion of the Astarii. I have no intention of facing justice for his crimes,’ she cocked her head towards Gerwold as she spoke. ‘Be well, Syrion. I imagine we will meet again.’ With that the sorceress finished playing with the golden necklace and it began to hover in the air before her. Before Syrion could even think to act, a portal had formed, framed by the golden chain. The slender woman dived through the open portal and it slipped shut behind her. The golden chain struck the floor and the prison collapsed as Syrion dispelled it, shock still written across his face at the sorceress’s sudden disappearance.

  Tristan clapped his brother on the shoulder. ‘What a bizarre woman!’ he laughed heartily. ‘Come, Brother, the battle is over and the day is won. Let us celebrate amongst friends.’

  Syrion looked at his brother. Bloodied and bruised, Tristan looked terrible. ‘You ought to get cleaned up first, Tristan.’

  ‘Oh yeah and why’s that?’ Tristan laughed, flicking his hair with his hand as if brushing it. ‘I think I look dashing.’

  ‘Not quite the word I’d have used,’ Syrion smiled before adding, ‘You really want that face to be the first one our mother sees in twenty years?’

  ‘Mother is here?’ Tristan asked, tears coming to his eyes.

  Syrion nodded gently, ‘Now let’s find you a washbowl. There has to be one here somewhere. This is a palace after all.’

  Chapter 38

  Darkness receded as the first rays of dawn rolled over King’s Court. The city was battered and scarred, but its people were resolute and rejoicing. The war was at an end and in its wake there was both merriment and mourning. Heartbreak for the dead yet joy in the freedoms that had been preserved, even at so great a cost.

  Gerwold had been buried unceremoniously in a nameless grave; the people of King’s Court determined to forget the mad king’s moment of infamy. The Baron of Fordham and the Lord of the Mizumura were both incarcerated awaiting judgment from the King’s Council for their treason. The remainder of their armies had been dispersed to their homes and once more the citizens of King’s Court knew peace, the threat of hostile armies no longer lingering over their head.

  In the aftermath of the battle, the Lady Elaina found herself reunited with her two sons. Summoned before the King’s Council, the three Listarii conversed in hushed tones. The council had been in an emergency session for most of the night.

  As the reunited remnants of the Listar family waited, they spoke of magic and dragons, Valaar and Creation. They celebrated their triumph and mourned those whom they had lost. At the mention of his father, Tristan’s eyes welled up, ‘I’m sorry there was nothing I could do.’

  His mother had simply comforted him, wrapping her arms around her son, proud of the man he had become. ‘There is nothing you could have done, Tristan. Your father knew that day would come. We prepared for it for many years. The loss of his stone is unfortunate, but there is nothing you could have done against so many.’

  ‘Which stone?’ Tristan asked, ‘You mean father’s amulet?’

  ‘Yes, but it is so much more than an amulet. It was an Astarii soul stone and it contained old and powerful magic.’

  ‘How does it work?’ Syrion asked interjecting, his curiosity getting the better of him.

  ‘Rather than travelling to the plane of spirits at the moment of death, the wearer’s spirit is instead trapped in the soul stone. If the spirit is willing and the stone remains strong, the soul forge may yet grant the soul another chance at life.’

  Tristan reached beneath his breastplate and slowly lifted out the gold chain on which rested a glowing red stone. ‘You mean to tell me that Father’s soul is stuck inside of this?’

  Elaina’s eyes lit up as she caught sight of the pulsing red stone. ‘Indeed it is, and by the look of it, the enchantment has held strong. When we are done here, we must travel to the soul forge. Your father has a strong will, but even he cannot endure such a state of being indefinitely... besides that we have been apart far too long already. I miss him terribly.’

  The heavy wooden doors swung open and a page summoned the family into the hall. Evidence remained of the battle that had taken place only hours before. The bodies of the slain had been removed and palace workers had worked diligently but in vain to remove the blood stains. The ancient stonework of the throne room still bore the scars of the arcane, the visible reminder of the clash of wills between Syrion and Kalifae. Unlike earlier in the day, the King’s Council table had been restored and returned to its position before the throne. The table was occupied, at least in part, by a number of men.

  As Tristan approached the table, he could see more clearly. Each of the positions at the table had a symbol engraved in its place signifying one of the council members. Tristan noted the Wolf’s head that signified the seat of the now departed Gerwold was empty. Likewise, seats occupied by the rolling river of Fordham and the lake trout of the Mizumura, were empty, their ruling Lords still incarcerated in the prisons below the palace.

  Tristan noted with sadness the Eastern Star of Listarii near the head of the table. For a moment, he considered seating himself there, but reluctant to leave his mother he stopped and stood at the foot of the table. Tristan took note of the participating members of the King’s Council of Valaar. Dariyen, Captain of the Guard of King’s Court, sat to the right of the vacant throne. Also around the table was Alford, Lord of the Tanamere and Bjorn, War Chief of the Sisaron. The other seats were occupied by a few men Tristan did not know but from their dress and demeanor he assumed them to be men of position and influence in the affairs of the capital.

  Dariyen was the first to speak. ‘Thank you for joining us. We are greatly indebted to all of you. Your service to the Crown and King’s Court was the difference between life and death for all of us.’

  ‘Any man would have done the same,’ Tristan responded politely, uncomfortable at the scrutiny of so many people with whom he was not familiar.

  ‘No, Tristan, sadly any man would not have. We have missing from our midst three men who sought power and forsook their oaths in order to obtain it. It is the sad nature of almost all men to lust for that power. It is a sickness within that gnaws at our souls.’

  ‘I wish for none such,’ Tristan responded. ‘I swore justice for my father’s murder and the destruction of my home. I have seen that oath fulfilled. I want nothing more than to return to Listarii and rebuild the life
Gerwold took from us.’

  Dariyen smiled, ‘I know, Tristan, you told me so long ago.’

  Tristan shook his head, ‘I do not believe we have ever met. I saw you fighting today. I am sure I would not forget meeting someone of your skill, Captain.’

  Dariyen continued, ‘Ah but we have. We met the day you joined the Guild. Of course you could not see me when we spoke, but I knew you.’

  ‘You’re the Underman!’ Tristan blurted.

  ‘Indeed I am, or at least I was.’ responded Dariyen. ‘A necessary deception, our ruse lent strength to our resistance of Gerwold. The Wolf knew little of the Guild’s purpose until it was too late. To them you were simply thieves, to us you were...’ Dariyen paused looking for words, ‘our salvation. As Gerwold’s strength grew, so did his boldness and as others fell in behind him we lost the ability to enforce the Council’s will upon him.

  We knew he longed for the throne. For years your father warned us that civil war would stem from Gerwold’s ambitions and he was right. Now thanks to you we remain free. We appreciate all you have done and all you have given but, Tristan, I must ask another favor of you.’

  ‘Ask, Dariyen. If it is within my power, I will do it.’

  ‘I must ask you to take your place at this table. We need your courage and strength, your youthful vigor, but most of all we need a man of your integrity. I know you long for home, but I must ask this of you.’

  Tristan looked at the man who had taken him in. When Tristan’s world was crumbling around him, Dariyen had offered refuge, a home and a family. Long as he might for Listarii, he could not say no to such a request. His shoulders sunk as he responded, ‘Aye, Dariyen, if you need me I will stay.’ Tristan moved towards his father’s seat.

  ‘Not there, Tristan. That is your father’s seat. It is my hope that Syrion might fill it in his honor.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Tristan responded puzzled. ‘I thought you said you wished me to stay.’

  ‘Indeed we do,’ Dariyen responded. ‘But we were hoping you would fill a different seat.’ Dariyen gestured to the throne at his left hand. ‘Valaar has been too long without a king, Tristan, the longer it remains vacant, the more likely we are to have someone like Gerwold seek it again. It is the Council’s wish that you will continue to lead...as our king.’

  Tristan was lost for words. ‘But, but I don’t want to be a king,’ Tristan stammered.’

  ‘And that is precisely why you are the right man for the job,’ Alford chimed in. ‘I watched you with the crown yesterday. You had it in your hands, a conquering hero with an army at your back. You could have taken it, you could have had it all and you did not. You are your father’s son and we would have you for our king. Will you serve?’

  Tristan was speechless, but at Dariyen’s insistence, he nervously sat himself on the throne.

  ‘We will attend to the Coronation in three days. I understand that you will require some time to set your affairs in order. We will be here to guide you, but ultimately the fate of Valaar will rest on your shoulders.’

  Syrion clapped his brother on the shoulder, ‘You couldn’t have chosen a better man.’

  Dariyen turned to Syrion. ‘What do you say, Syrion. We witnessed your power these last few days. Your actions saved countless lives. Will you take a seat on the council and share with us your wisdom and gifts?’

  Syrion looked at his mother before responding. ‘I wish I could, but my mother and I have a journey we must take...’

  Before he could continue the Lady Elaina interjected, ‘He will stay.’ When Syrion threw her a questioning look, she leaned close and whispered, ‘I will travel to the soul forge alone. Your brother is the first king to rule Valaar in a century. You must stay to protect him against those who would do him harm.’

  Syrion nodded his understanding and turned to Dariyen, ‘It appears I too will be staying, where my brother is, there will you find me.’

  Dariyen clapped his hands. ‘I am glad to hear it. Let us spread the word throughout the kingdom. There is once more a king upon the throne of Valaar. Even in a time of sorrow and mourning, let us find a reason to celebrate. Spread the word there will be a coronation and a feast in his honor!’

  The rest of the day passed in a blur as Tristan struggled to come to grips with what had occurred. The weight of his new responsibilities rested heavily on his brow as he considered all that lay before him. In all the world, there was only one thing that he wanted.

  Calling to a nearby page, ‘Could you attend to something for me?’

  ‘Yes, My Liege, what is it you wish?’

  ‘Bare a message to Halmir. He leads the contingent of soldiers from the Guild. As soon as he is rested, I wish him to take a guard of Guild warriors and safely escort my wife to the palace with all haste.’

  ‘At once, My Lord.’

  Tristan smiled as the confused page hurried from the room. The thought of being in Linea’s presence once more filled him with joy.

  Chapter 39

  Tristan sat quietly in the antechamber deep in thought. From the privacy of the waiting room he could hear the hustle and bustle of the thronging crowd in the adjoining throne room. The emotions of the past few days were beginning to catch up with him. The words of the King’s Council weighed heavily upon him as he pondered on the events of the preceding days.

  ‘How can I lead this people?’ he wondered to himself. As King of Valaar his Kingdom stretched from his childhood home in the East all the way to the western provinces of the Tanamere. The welfare of a million souls weighed on his mind as he thought of the state of King’s Court and Valaar. Ravaged by war with winter fast approaching, his problems were far from over. Poverty and privation were the bitter companions of war and Valaar would need time to heal its wounds.

  A door opened and Linea was ushered into the room, the sight of his new bride caused his heart to skip a beat. Beautifully attired in a flattering silver dress she was stunning to behold. The look in her deep brown eyes conveying both elation and trepidation as her attendants guided her into the room. Standing Tristan crossed the small chamber to greet his bride. Embracing her Tristan inquired, ‘Are you ready to be a queen?’

  ‘I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready, my love. It took these poor ladies almost an hour to fit me into this dress. I hope you like it.’

  ‘The sight of you makes my heart skip a beat.’

  Linea smiled and looked upon her new husband. Her robes were a stark contrast to his simple attire. At his insistence Tristan’s battle leathers had been cleaned and restored, his only adornment was his father’s breastplate, the Eastern Star of the Listarii shining brightly in its centre. Linea knocked gently on the breastplate, ‘Are you sure this is entirely necessary, surely we are safe here?’

  ‘Safe? Most certainly, I wear it for a different purpose.’ Tristan smiled content to save the explanation for a later time.

  A herald hurried into the room. Affecting a sweeping bow and gesturing to the door leading to the throne room he addressed Tristan, ‘My Liege, if you are ready? Your kingdom awaits you.’

  ‘How can one be ready for something such as this?’ Tristan asked genuinely searching for a response.

  The herald smiled ‘Your Father Lord Marcus was as loved within these walls as he was in Listarii. You are his son. That should be preparation enough.’

  Tristan smiled at the thought. Taking Linea by the arm Tristan moved towards the door. The herald nodded to the King’s Consuls that stood guarding the door. At his sign the doors were thrown open.

  The throne room was packed to capacity. Hundreds of Nobles and Aristocrats were packed into the throne room itself while more still sat packed into the gallery overlooking the expansive throne room. A solid wall of King’s Consul’s lined the edge of the crowd. Others still formed a guard of honor at the door. In the gallery above Tristan made out Maneron leaning on his bow.

  Near the throne Tristan made out the other members of The Underman’s Council along with a contingen
t of guild warriors in battle leathers. It appeared the Guild would brook no interference in the day’s affairs.

  As Tristan and Linea made their way nervously into the room a series of gasps and nervous chatter erupted. All eyes were drawn to the young monarch. His battle regalia caused a sensation amongst the gathered nobles; the armour was far from the high fashion they had become accustomed to in the capitol.

  As the voices began to grow in volume the herald launched into his oration, ‘Citizens of Valaar, we are gathered here today before gods and men to witness the coronation of Tristan Listar, Hero of the battle of King’s Court, Heir to the late Marcus, Lord of the Listarii. We are a free people today because of his courage and valor on our behalf. At the behest of the King’s Council he stands before you today to be crowned as first of the New Kings of Valaar.’

  The assembled crowd dropped to their knees in reverence. Tristan and Linea moved towards the throne. Waiting just before the throne was the High Priest of the Order of the Allfather in his robes of office. In his hands was an ornate red cushion on which rested the Crown of Kings.

  As Tristan and Linea arrived in front of the High Priest they knelt before him. The High Priest placed the Crown of Kings gently on Tristan’s brow. ‘Tristan Listar, after much deliberation and at the direction of the King’s Council we have taken their decision before the Allfather. Before these witnesses here today I give my sacred oath that this Coronation has his blessing.

  As Tristan arose he could feel the eyes of everyone in the room upon him.

  The herald broke the silence. ‘Lords and Ladies, citizens of King’s Court. I present to you Tristan Listar, the People’s Sword and Hero of the Battle of King’s Court, first of the New Kings of Valaar.

  The Throne room erupted with jubilant cheers. Tristan escorted Linea to a gilded throne that had been erected beside the Golden Throne. As his queen took her throne Tristan turned to the cheering crowd. Raising a hand for quiet the assembled crowd slowly hushed.