by Matt Heppe
Handrin took a deep breath, raising his head and looking out across the silent crowd. He opened his mouth as if to speak and then closed it.
The crowd shuffled and became restless. Speak, Nidon thought. Be a king.
“My good ladies and gentlemen,” Handrin started.
Too quiet, but clear at least. The crowd stilled.
“My good ladies and gentlemen,” Handrin said again, louder this time. Silence spread across the grounds. “A hero stands before you.” He looked at Nidon and smiled. “Known far and wide as the model of knightly virtue, he kept order in the depths of the Wasting. He put down the Returnist Revolt. When my father fell at King’s Crossing, Sir Nidon took up Forsvar and struck down Akinos the Terrible!”
Nidon grimaced even as the crowd’s cheers rose to a roar. He didn’t know who had started the lie, and no matter how hard he had fought it, his denials had only been taken as modesty. Nobody wanted to hear that Akinos, the legendary evil, had been slain by a Landomeri woman.
The queen had composed herself, but before she could interject, Handrin spoke again. “And now, just returned from war, Sir Nidon has accomplished what no man has done before. Sir Nidon, six times without break, has won the title as Champion of Salador!”
The applause came again, and before Ilana could react, Handrin slipped past the guardsman next to him and ran down the reviewing stands.
Ilana’s shouted, “No!” went unheard above the crowd’s cheers. She started after him, but her eyes went to the crowd and she stopped mid-stride, her free hand reaching toward her son.
Caught between fear for her son’s well-being and her own fear of the crowd.
The guards at the base of the reviewing stand were taken by surprise as the Crown Prince dashed between them, coming to a halt just in front of the still kneeling Nidon.
Two guards, sent by the queen, pushed through behind the prince, but halted, not knowing what to do. “Bring him back,” the queen ordered, but both seemed unwilling to manhandle the prince in front of the crowd.
“Sir Nidon,” Handrin said. “It gives me great pleasure to name you Champion of Salador. Please rise and let me have the honor of being the first to take your hand.”
Nidon stood, towering above Handrin. Behind the prince, the two guards took a step back, clearly having lost their motivation to take the prince back to the queen.
“Your Highness, it is my honor,” Nidon said, clasping hands with the young Crown Prince. “And it is my great honor to once again serve as your father’s Champion and as the protector of your family and the Kingdom of Salador.”
Nidon released Handrin’s hand and raised his gaze to Queen Ilana. “And as Champion of Salador, and with the authority that rank gives me under the Law of Salador, I will now go to my king’s side and learn what he would have me do.”
Ilana stared daggers at him.
“I will go with you, Sir Nidon,” Handrin said.
“Very well, Your Highness.”
“I will send word to His Majesty,” Ilana said. “I am certain he will see you in the morning.”
“No, Your Majesty, I will see him now. The Law of Salador gives me that right.”
“You would risk the health of our beloved king?” She motioned for a nearby valet to approach.
“If my king wishes for me to depart his company, I will do so.” Nidon frowned as the queen whispered in the ear of the valet. “Rayne, bring Thunder. Right now.”
“Yes, Sir Nidon!” Rayne ran off, clutching Nidon’s helm and sword in his arms.
“Bring my horse!” Handrin shouted.
“No, Prince Handrin,” Ilana said, “you shall ride with me and the Queen’s guard.” She whispered one last command to the valet beside her, who sketched a quick bow and strode for the stairs.
“You!” Nidon shouted. “Stop there.” The valet halted in his tracks at Nidon’s command. “Understand that any man who hinders my efforts to see the king violates the Law of Salador and shall see a trial of arms against me.”
The man nodded and furtively glanced back to the queen.
“How dare you, Sir Nidon,” she said. “You presume too much.”
“I will not be stopped.”
“Please, Sir Nidon,” Fenre said as he moved to the queen’s side. “There is no need to be so rash. You have just done a great feat of arms. There should be a reception and celebration. The king will be made aware of your victory, and I am certain he will call for you.”
“We will not wait,” Nidon said. “And any man who halts me in my course will face my sword.” He regretted the last words, as at that moment he only had a dagger at his waist. He ran a perilous course, but what could the queen do with Handrin at his side and the crowd behind him?
Fenre waved a valet close and whispered in his ear. The valet dashed from the lists, disappeared behind the reviewing stand.
“No one is above the law,” Nidon said.
Fenre bowed. “Of course not, Champion.”
Rayne arrived with Thunder, his rounsey trailing behind as well. Nidon’s helm and gauntlets were suspended from the high pommel. His longsword hung in its sheath from the saddle.
Good lad. You’ll make a fine valet.
“Where is my horse?” Handrin demanded.
“It has been sent for, Your Highness.” Fenre said.
“You must ride with us, Prince Handrin,” Ilana said. “It is for your safety. We will depart as soon as our entourage can be made ready.”
“I must go now, Prince Handrin,” Nidon said.
“Please, Champion Nidon,” Handrin implored. “I must go with you. I wish to see my father.”
“You may ride my horse then,” Nidon said. “I will take Dust.”
“No, Champion, I will ride your squire’s horse.”
“Rayne, help the Crown Prince to mount.” Nidon held the reins to both horses as Handrin approached the nervous page.
“Your High-highness,” Rayne said, bowing to Handrin. He cupped his hands so that the prince could step into them and mount. As soon as the prince was up, Nidon took his sword belt from Thunder’s saddle and handed it to Rayne.
Rayne soon had it belted around Nidon’s waist. As he finished the buckle, Nidon said, “Follow us to the keep.”
“Yes, Sir Nidon.”
Nidon vaulted into the saddle, eliciting gasps and murmured praise from those nearby. How long since I was last able to do that? Another debt to Morin.
Fenre stepped close and took a hold of Thunder’s bridle. “Sir Nidon, this is most unseemly,” he said in a low voice. “Surely it would be proper to ride back in the queen’s company.”
“Sir Fenre, there is something foul here,” Nidon said, keeping his voice equally low. “And it must end. Now leave off my horse.”
With only a moment’s pause Fenre released the bridle and Thunder leapt forward. Queen’s Guardsmen scrambled out of the way as the warhorse threatened to plow through them. Nidon glanced over his shoulder to make certain Prince Handrin was with him.
“Follow them,” Ilana ordered as they passed the stage. “Protect my son!” Men scrambled to find mounts, but Nidon ignored them. He urged Thunder to a canter as they broke free of the crowd.
“There is no time to waste, Prince Handrin. Ride close.”
“I will!” A broad grin broke across the boy’s face. His red Knight of the House cloak fluttered behind him and to Nidon he looked as if he couldn’t be happier. But how long would it last? What would they discover when they reached the king?
They turned onto a long, straight avenue, and far ahead Nidon saw a blue-cloaked rider racing ahead of them on a cantering horse. He had assumed the valet had simply been told to delay the prince’s horse, but it appeared the queen had hatched some other plot.
“Shall we gallop after him?” Handrin asked.
“Not on a paved street, Your Highness. A broken leg and all is lost. We’ll catch him at a fast canter.” It was frustrating not being able to charge after the valet, but still they man
aged to close the distance.
They would have caught him, if the valet hadn’t, by happenstance, glanced over his shoulder. The man put his heels to his horse and, heedless of the danger, raced ahead. Even then, he barely made it to the keep before them.
The valet shouted something to the guards at the gate and the portcullis slammed down. Four men-at-arms and a knight stood outside, their arms held ready for a fight with the onrushing riders.
Nidon pulled up hard, Thunder’s horseshoes skidding on the cobbles. “Open the gates!” Nidon commanded as he dismounted.
“On whose orders?” the knight demanded.
“Mine!” Prince Handrin said as he pulled his horse up. “But it should not have to be my order. This is Sir Nidon, Champion of Salador.”
“My Prince!” the knight and men-at-arms all took a knee, although the valet ignored them and made for the sally port.
“You will open the gate and let us through,” Handrin said. “Sir Nidon has won the Champion’s Tournament and will see the king.”
“Your Highness, we have orders from the queen that the keep be closed until she arrives.”
“By the Law of Salador I order you to open the gate.” Nidon put his hand to his sword.
“But the queen—”
“Open the gate!” Handrin commanded, his voice high.
“But—”
Handrin put his fist in front of the knight’s face, and his hand erupted in flame. “I am the Elementar Prince and you will not deny me!”
The man shied back from the flames, his eyes wide with fear. “Yes, My Prince!” He turned to the gate. “Open the portcullis!”
“The sally port,” Nidon said. “It is faster.”
Handrin nodded, the flames instantly disappearing. Nidon glanced at the child-prince. Just a young boy, but born with such a power. A power too easy to forget until you saw it wielded.
Nidon ran to the sally port as the portcullis chains pulled taut and the iron bars rose. “Move aside,” he ordered the valet. “You are under arrest. You will stand here until I decide what to do with you. Move and it is a death warrant.”
As Handrin joined him the sally port opened. For good or ill, they would see the king.
“Champion?” Handrin asked.
Nidon took a deep breath. “Everything is in order. Let’s see your father.”
There was no attempt to stop them. Twice Queen’s Guards confronted them as they passed barred doors. But on both occasions the guardsmen balked in the face of the Crown Prince and Champion of Salador.
At a third, unguarded door, Handrin was forced to use his elementar magic. He was not subtle about it and they left a shattered stone lintel behind them.
And then they arrived at the final door.
“Ready?” Nidon asked.
“I am,” Handrin said. He wrung his hands and then straightened his red arming coat.
Nidon knocked on the door. He thought he heard a low moan, and some motion. He caught the strong scent of flowers and incense.
“Your Majesty, it is Nidon, and Prince Handrin. We have come to see you.”
Another low moan.
A servant holding a lantern appeared at the end of the windowless hall. There were others, maybe guardsmen, with them. The same direction the queen had come from on their previous attempt. How long until she appears again? This time she won’t stop us.
Nidon tried the door, but it didn’t budge.
Handrin placed both hands on the stone lintel and closed his eyes. There were sharp snaps and pops and then a large piece of stone broke free. Handrin placed it on the floor. The bolt lay exposed. He looked up at Nidon, fear and anticipation plain on his face.
“My Prince,” Nidon said. “I do not know what we will find. May I go first?”
Handrin stepped aside. Nidon pushed the door open. The powerful scent of herbs, flowers, and incense nearly drove him back. His eyes burned as he blinked away the potent air.
Bright, colorful afternoon light streamed through stained glass windows. It took several heartbeats for Nidon’s eyes to adjust after the keep’s darkness.
A large canopy bed dominated the room. Heavily engraved wood supports, black with age, held sheer linen curtains. From within, Nidon spied a supine form.
Someone moaned, but the sound did not come from the bed. Nidon pushed into the room, his hand on his sword. His eyes narrowed as he caught sight of a nearly naked man chained to the wall.
The man cowered back, uttering a thick, guttural moan as he caught sight of Nidon. A straw pallet, a chamber pot, and a tray with the remnants of a meal all lay along the wall.
“Stay back,” Nidon said, not wanting Handrin to see the wretch.
Despite the beard and wild hair, Nidon knew for certain the wraith wasn’t King Boradin. But what was his purpose here? Someone to eat the king’s food and make noise as if the king were present?
“They are coming,” Handrin said from the hall.
“Armed?”
“Not that I see.”
“Who are you?” Nidon asked the wretch. But he just cowered further and gibbered. “Do you understand me?”
The man shook and drooled. A madman. Nidon spied a stout chain leading from his ankle to the wall. The chain was too short to allow him freedom to move about the room. His place was by the wall.
Nidon strode to the canopy bed. The smell of herbs was even more potent here.
“My mother is with them,” Handrin said. Nidon didn’t need to turn to know that the prince had entered the room. “Who—who is that?”
“Some poor soul,” Nidon said. He pushed the bed curtain slightly aside, blocking Handrin’s view with his body.
The corpse was desiccated. The king had died months ago, maybe a year. His skin was taut, stretched tight against his face. His hands were gnarled, clenched in ungainly fists.
He lay in state, with fine robes and his unsheathed sword on his breast. Rock salt, herbs, and flowers lay mounded around and even atop him.
And despite the queen’s best efforts, under the potent floral scent, was the stink of death and decay.
“Is it him?” Handrin asked. “Is it my father?”
Nidon closed the curtain and turned to the prince. No, not prince. King.
“It is your father, Your Majesty. He has passed.”
Handrin showed no emotion, simply nodding at the news.
Two varcolac with drawn swords entered the room first. They made no move to attack, but even so Nidon gently pushed the young king to the side.
“Where is he?” Ilana demanded from the hall. “Where is my son? All of you stay back! Leave the hall.” The queen swept into the room, her eyes going right to her son. Two varcolac remained with her.
“His Majesty the King is here and safe,” Nidon said.
Tendrils of power flashed from Forsvar and Ilana pulled Handrin into an embrace. “Nidon should not have brought you here,” she said.
“My father is dead. You didn’t tell me!” Handrin tried to pull away, but his mother held him too close.
“It was for your safety,” she said. “If they knew they would conspire against you. You are too young.”
“Who would conspire against him?” Nidon asked.
“I should have you clapped in irons,” she shot back.
And with those words Nidon knew that he was safe. “I have done nothing against the law. I serve the king. The new king, King Handrin.”
She shook her head and hugged her son closer. “He’s not ready.”
“It doesn’t matter. The Kingdom of Salador is secure. There are people who will support him. There’s no doubt that he is the rightful Elementar King.”
“You are such a fool, Nidon. Thinking is not your game.”
“I care little what you think of me, Your Highness. I care for what is right.”
“Let me go, Mother,” Handrin said. “I want to see my father.”
Reluctantly, she released him, her hand lingering on his shoulder even as he pulled away.
Handrin made his way to the bedside. The room was silent but for the low moans of the chained man. Nidon pulled the curtain aside as Handrin stepped close.
The boy did not flinch. For a dozen heartbeats he looked upon his dead father. “It isn’t right that you left him like this. He must have a proper pyre.”
“It should be done tomorrow,” Nidon said. “Before your coronation. The people must be told.”
“It is too fast,” Ilana said. “Preparations must be made.”
“It’s not too fast,” Nidon said. “In fact, it is much too late. You have lied to the people of Salador, Your Highness.”
“I have saved them.” Her voice rose. “Danger surrounds us. It threatens us from within Salador and without. I have kept those dangers at bay. I have protected my son. And now you jeopardize everything, rushing about like a bear on fire.”
“I know I am young,” Handrin said. “But you will help me, Mother. As will Sir Nidon. You will be my wisdom and Nidon will be my strong right arm.”
Nidon thought of Hadde and the green forest of Landomere beckoning him. And then he glanced at the glowering, silver eyed varcolac and the paranoid, hate-filled Ilana.
I am so tired.
“I am your man, King Handrin,” Nidon said.
Chapter Twenty-five
Squire Errol and the valet, Pator, led Maret and Kael back into the keep. Enna had cried herself out and had thankfully fallen asleep. Orlos sat contentedly in Kael’s arms.
Kael helped Maret from her horse. “You think she got away?” Maret asked. She knew she had asked him the same question several times before, but she couldn’t help herself.
“She’s either been… captured, or she’s made the forest,” Kael replied. “In either case Grax and the others will soon arrive. Let me escort you to the keep.” He motioned across the bailey and they started toward the open doors. “In either case it is over now. You’ll keep the children and be a great lady.”
“No. I’ll be treated well enough, but in truth I’ll be a scarred dowager.”