Reckoning (The Empyrean Chronicle)

by Siana, Patrick

  As such, all of the gentry from Houses large and small, were invited to Lucerne to bear witness. All came dressed in their best feast day finery, and so cloths of silver and gold, sashes of silk and bejeweled ceremonial swords, abounded in a veritable who’s who of Galacia.

  Blackwell and many other Red and Whiteshields, those both fallen and alive, had been named to the newly appointed Order of the Hart for their valiant service to the crown. Not even little Seven Winters was excepted, who received an honorific for his part in Elias’s escape along with a promise to be taken into the Redshields when he was of age.

  Elias watched the ceremony with his companions, as the queen, resplendent in the crimson and gold of House Denar, spoke at some length about the storm Galacia had weathered and the valor of her people. At last, she turned to the party of companions that had aided in her escape, and served in the secret brotherhood of the Sentinels. One by one, she summoned them up to the throne dais to stand in a line before her, with the exception of Ogden, who stood at her side, and would be excepted from the accommodations to protect his identity as the Archmagus of the Sentinels.

  Eithne first called Phinneas to step forward to the foot of the dais. Phinneas cut a dashing figure with his long white hair, a collared and silver-buttoned woolen tunic, close fitting black breeches, and knee-high swashbuckler boots. He sketched a bow in the antiquated style, with a deep fold from his waist and one arm thrust loosely forward.

  “Good Doctor,” began the queen, “you have served Galacia bravely, and well. You began your service under my father during the Quarter Century War where you saved many lives with your skills both as a physician and tactician.

  “Your service to House Denar, and Galacia, continued into my reign, and during your retirement, no less. You are a most…” the queen smiled warmly and her hazel eyes sparkled “…unique physician and counselor. I confer upon you the title of Magnus, so all may know of your status as the premier crown physician and a most trusted advisor. In like spirit, I name you to the Order of the Magi, to signify your wisdom and the strength in defending Galacia, not with your steel but with your mind.”

  Eithne nodded to Ogden who stepped forward and hung the two medals about Phinneas’s neck, with a sly wink for his old friend. Beaming and scarlet with pride Phinneas stepped back into line with his companions.

  Next the queen called Lar forward, who had the look of a barbarian genteel, clothed as he was in a linen shirt and a cloth of silver waistcoat. He still marveled that the suit of clothes that Ogden presented him with earlier in the week was worth more coin than he made in a year.

  “Master Fletcher,” said the queen, “your dogged pursuit of the enemies of Galacia and loyalty to your friends and queen, illustrate the very best qualities in a subject, and a man. For valor in battle at great personal sacrifice, I bestow upon you our military’s greatest honor—the Medal of Valor, and thus name you to the elite Order Valorus.

  Further, I confer upon you the rank of Marshal, being the second newly appointed in nigh four decades, but the second of many as I plan to restore the Marshal Order to its former glory as the arbiter of the queen’s law.”

  Ogden pinned a Marshal’s shield to Lar’s waistcoat and hung the medal of valor about his neck. To his credit, Lar didn’t fidget under all the attention of the gentry, even when the chamber buzzed at the queen’s pronouncement of the reinstatement of the Marshal corps.

  When Lar rejoined his companions, Eithne fixed her gaze upon Bryn and smiled warmly. “Cousin, come forward.” Bryn was a radiant jewel in a shimmering gown of House Denar crimson and gold, with gossamer thin straps that did little to conceal the creamy expanse of her shoulders and throat.

  “Aside from being the best of kin, Lady Denar, you have quite literally been the pillar that has held our House aloft. You have saved your queen’s life, and have long been well-loved by her as a sister. Now, you shall be loved by her as her heir as well.” A tide of murmurs swept through the throne room. “Bryn Denar, cousin of mine, daughter of Prince Vance, I name you the Princess of Galacia, and my rightful and true heir, until such a time as I have a child of twenty winters old. As such you have a permanent seat on the Council of the Six, with all the rights and privileges granted a High Lord.”

  The murmurs and rustling of the court redoubled, but was promptly silenced by Blackwell, who struck a mailed fist to his ceremonial white shield.

  After Ogden passed Bryn the ceremonial scepter of the crown regent, a platinum and gold rod capped with a fist-sized ruby, he said, “Lord Vundi, will you approach the queen?” The gentry bristled that their queen would elect to show such deference to a barbarian from the north, but Blackwell’s admonishment remained fresh in their minds and they stayed silent. Agnar took a single, long step toward the throne and bowed deeply, torchlight reflecting off his golden hair, which was pulled back from his angular face in two long braids.

  “Lord Vundi, you are evidence not that my enemy’s enemy is my ally, but that sometimes we find the truest of hearts in unexpected places. Despite having been framed for an attempt on the Crown and wrongly imprisoned, you took up the sword to defend your ancestral enemy. Once freed you could have left us to our fate but instead you proved that the sons of Ittamar are as honorable as they are fierce. Please accept my heartfelt gratitude,” the queen gave Ogden a nod, who produced a scroll bound with a gold ribbon and bearing the royal seal, “and this signed and sealed treaty of peace and trade between our two nations, endorsed by all members of the Council of the Six.” Eithne offered Oberon and Ogressa, who skulked in the far corner of the chamber, an arch look. The two conspirators withered under her gaze.

  “Go in peace, son of winter, but know that you are ever welcome in summer lands.” Agnar bowed again and rejoined the party.

  A hush fell over the throne room as Eithne surveyed the entirety of her court. Most persons of note in Peidra were present, and packed tight against each other, jockeying for a better view of the proceedings. They spilled into the hallway beyond, and no doubt more than a few already enjoyed the amenities of the great hall, where every variety of victuals and libations from Galacian whiskey to Aradurian curried kabobs were laid out. At last Eithne’s eyes rested on Elias and Danica Duana.

  “The Duanas. Where to begin with the siblings whose quest for justice delivered a nation? A star-crossed pair whose family was torn asunder for the secrets their father carried, only to then be thrust into a game of intrigue containing every yarn from a storybook nightmare—secret assassin brotherhoods, fell sorcery, and a plot against the throne. Yet this was no dime-store novel, but like heroes from one of those lurid tales they refused to yield and overcame one impossible obstacle after another. Together they ensured their queen escaped a coup on her throne.

  “Danica, you made the greatest sacrifice of all and left behind the last member of your family to secure your queen’s escape. Elias, you sealed the royal wing and engaged a score of assassins disguised as marauding Ittamar. You gave your life to fight a duel with a master necromancer, the false Prelate, Sarad Mirengi. Yet you didn’t die, but endured imprisonment and torture that would have broken lesser men.

  “Together you stole back into an occupied palace and destroyed the greatest evil Galacia has known in centuries. While you had help from the other fine souls that have been honored this night, without you there could have been no victory and the Galacia we all know and love would be but the shadow of a memory. You have shown us that even a single flame can turn back the blackest night.”

  In a voice belied by his seemingly frail form, Ogden boomed, “Danica Duana, Elias Duana, come forward and take a knee before your queen.”

  Elias, dressed in his full Marshal regalia, and Danica, clad in the white habit of a physician, stepped forward as one and knelt before the throne. Captain Blackwell strode to the edge of the dais and presented Eithne with a silvered dueling saber, uncommonly long of blade and with the stag of House Denar embossed on the ricasso.

  “In the days o
f old,” continued the queen, “valiant and uncommon individuals whose selfless service and devotion to a cause higher than themselves were honored with knighthood. It is time that tradition was restored.” The queen took the sword from Blackwell and held it aloft in both hands. She tapped Danica on one shoulder and then the next. “With the Sword of Denar I knight thee, and name you high protector of the realm. Rise Sir Danica Duana.”

  The queen followed in kind by knighting Elias and then said, “Sir Danica, you may rejoin your party.”

  Danica bowed, and wearing a wry smile returned to stand by Lar’s side. Eithne stepped down from the dais and stood on even ground with Elias, and a great gasp went through the chamber and hall beyond, for it was unheard of for royalty to approach a subject in this manner in a formal setting.

  “Sir Elias. Marshal Duana. Warrior. Wizard. Savior of Galacia. I wonder if you return to the township of your birth, will people be able to figure out what in Agia to call you?” The queen smiled and candidly met Elias’s eyes. Her voice grew soft and those assembled strained to hear her words. “You are all these things, and more. Most of all you are my creditor, for surely I, and Galacia, are in your debt.”

  Phinneas felt Bryn stiffen by his side and he touched her hand, for she had realized the tragic truth he had come to understand weeks ago—the queen loved Elias.

  Eithne resumed her position on the royal dais. “In addition to knight of the realm, I name you First Marshal of Galacia. Let it be known that there is no law higher than Sir Marshal Duana, save that of the queen herself. Let it also be remembered,” she added with another significant look at Oberon and Ogressa, “that House Denar always settles its debts. In full.”

  The queen’s features softened. “Now, let the celebration commence.”

  The gentry required no more prodding than that, and after the queen swept through the narrow channel of crimson velvet kept clear in the center of the throne room, they hurriedly filed into the great hall.

  In honor of her friends from Knoll Creek, Eithne hired a stringed quartet proficient in the twangy, upbeat style popular in the southern duchies. While a fair part of the gentry turned their noses up initially, after a few drams of knoll whiskey even the haughtiest courtiers from House Oberon began to dance and tap their feet, excepting Oberon himself, who sat alone in his cups.

  Elias, for his part, felt content, but his was a happiness that slept with sadness. His heart still cracked for his father, and yearned for Asa, yet he found satisfaction in the knowledge that they were at peace as, at long last, was he. Though Padraic Duana was gone, Elias realized he had finally come to know his father, the man who had given up his sword and his standing to live a quiet life in anonymity with the ones he loved.

  Nor, he found, could he take any pleasure in Sarad’s demise, for when he looked back on that dark architect, he felt only pity. The evil of the Scarlet Hand cast a shadow that darkened far more than his small doorstep, and in a way Sarad had been as much a victim as he. The tapestry wove on around him, and despite him, for he was but a small thread supporting a greater image.

  In his heart, however, Elias feared that while they had foiled the Hand, House Senestrati was still out there, on some distant continent, sharpening their teeth, yet burning with an unnatural hunger. They had waited millennia to sow their vengeance, so what was another handful of years to them, or even the reign of a single monarch?

  “Deep in thought, while there’s revelry to be had, Star of Galacia?”

  Elias turned from his musings to find Bryn had snuck up to him, so close that he could feel the heat of her. “What’s this, then?” he asked.

  “Star of Galacia is only the most recent of your many monikers, Sir Marshal,” Bryn said with trademark sarcasm, but her words were belied by her broad grin and sparkling eyes. “It’s on account of the magic star you summoned to drive out the evil doers. It’s enough to make people believe in magic again.”

  “Oh.” Elias took off his hat. “It’s getting rather warm in here.”

  Bryn’s grin melted and her lips pressed into a spare, coy smile. She looked up at him with lazy, yet smoldering eyes. “Is it? I hadn’t noticed.”

  “Sir Marshal Duana,” said Ronald, Oberon’s cousin and attendant, who had approached unawares to the engrossed pair.

  Elias clapped the young courtier on the shoulder. “Ronald, I am glad to find you well.”

  Ronald bowed his head and dropped to a knee. “Sir Marshal Duana, I do hereby pledge myself to you and to the service of Galacia.”

  Elias exchanged a perplexed glance with Bryn and said at once, “For God’s sake, man, stand up! What in Agia are you on about?”

  Ronald complied, but kept his right fist pressed to his heart in salute. “Sir, I studied my military history well. The First Marshal has absolute authority over the order, and as such it is your right to appoint and vest initiate Marshals and swear them in.”

  “You,” Elias said, leaving the implied, a son of House Oberon, unsaid, “wish to be a Marshal? But why?” He glanced at Bryn, who offered him only a shrug and a crooked, bemused smile.

  “Because you have taught me, and a great many others, what the true meaning of nobility is.” Ronald turned aside and Elias saw that the reedy youth was but the first of many, as a line of courtiers, guardsman of every rank, and even members of the household staff stretched out behind him.

  Ronald bowed his head. “That and you were kind to me once, even though you had no cause to be.” Ronald’s voice grew small. “Because of my station no one has ever treated me with anything but fear, or derision. House Oberon is not well-loved, even among her allies.”

  Elias loosed a deep sigh, but he smiled as he shook his head to himself. He placed both hands on Ronald’s shoulders and gave him a gentle shake. “Very well, Marshal Initiate Ronald. You are hereby accepted into the Marshal corps. We’ll figure out the swearing in later.”

  Ronald beamed and held himself to his full height. “Thank-you, First Marshal, sir. You won’t regret this, sir!”

  “Your first order of business, Initiate,” Elias said with a nod to the throng behind the courtier, “is to secure mine and Lady Denar’s escape.”

  “Aye, sir!” Ronald saluted before turning about with arms outspread to contain the mass of men and women behind him.

  Elias took Bryn by the hand, and led the laughing princess on a zigzag course across the dance floor. Their mad dash deposited them by one of many bay windows that lined the outer wall of the room. A brisk autumn breeze swept into the room and scattered the loose tresses of auburn hair that hung about Bryn’s face.

  “What’s your plan now, sir?” said a breathless Bryn, color high on her cheeks.

  Elias leaned against the window sill and looked out on the royal gardens. “I’ve given some thought to returning home, putting up the sword—at least for a time.”

  Bryn examined her slippered feet and when she looked back up at him her eyes shone wet. “The queen will be disappointed to hear that.” She smiled ruefully. “As will Initiate Ronald. But what I meant was, what is your plan for the present? Do you intend to flee your admirers all night?”

  “I’ve had about all the admiring I can take for one night.” Elias brushed a tress of hair from Bryn’s throat, and his fingers lingered a moment on her bare shoulder. He thought back to an indistinct dream he had before waking from a fitful sleep that morning. Few details remained to him, but he recalled sitting with Asa on her father’s porch back in Knoll Creek. He awoke to discover that her engagement ring had slipped from the chain that hung around his neck during the night.

  “It’s a nice night,” Elias observed as he surveyed the sparsely populated balcony and the spiral staircase that led to the gardens.

  “I do believe you are correct, sir,” said Bryn with a mock curtsey.

  Elias held out his hand. “Come, Lady,” he said, “and walk a while with me.”

  The End

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