Spellbinder, page 53
part #2 of The Jester King Series
“What’s the matter?”
Camion pursed his lips. “I hoped for a ship job, Your Majesty. I only know ships.”
“The Harbor Master of Dyven has his own ship.”
“He does?”
“Yes, Camion. A small one.”
“Can he sail around Kelmyrr Bay?”
“Anytime he wishes.”
Camion’s eyes glazed over, and he put on a childlike smile.
“The post also comes with a house.”
“I know that house. It’s big!”
“Big enough for a man with a family … ?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. Yes, Your Majesty! Thank you, Your Majesty!”
Camion bowed, spun around, and started for the back of hall.
Billy called after him, “Wait! I have arranged an escort for you and the Guardian of Dyven for your return home.”
Camion stopped and turned around. He gave Billy a sheepish grin. “If I must wait, Your Majesty, so be it. But, please, don’t make us wait long.”
“You may leave tomorrow if you wish, but—please—stay for the feast.”
“Food? Thank you, Your Majesty.”
Billy looked about the great hall. “Wyte! Please, come forward.”
A gaunt man, who had been standing alone in the shadows under the grand gallery, stepped forward. His movements were slow but deliberate, and he stooped as if carrying a great pot of lead on his shoulders. A spear served as his walking staff, and his face was as humble and contrite as a priest. His pale skin shone like roughhewn marble, and he wore his long grey hair pulled back into a ponytail that fell from the back of his broad-brimmed helmet onto a new, blue guard’s tabard. Eyes ever down, he approached the dais and bowed.
“How are you, Wyte?”
Wyte blinked and did his best to look the king in the eyes. “Well, thanks to Your Majesty. My mind is finally free of the tyrant.”
“Is the light sensitivity any better?”
“Yes, Your Majesty, but the world has left me behind. The friends I had, the family I knew, and the king and queen I served ... they have all gone.”
“I am sorry. There are few who have lost as much as you. Because your sacrifice was great, you will be rewarded with much.”
Wyte fell to his knees. He removed his helmet and held it in his hands at his chest. “Your Majesty, I failed in my duty to your parents. I do not deserve reward. But I beg you: allow me to remain in your service.”
“Nonsense. I saw what happened, Wyte. It’s not your fault. You are a victim of the tyrant, just as much as my parents.” It felt peculiar to Billy that he should still fear to speak Ergyfel’s name aloud, even though he was dead, but he wasn’t alone in this.
“I—I should have done more.”
Billy stopped and looked around the hall. “Wyte, your accuser is dead. I alone have the authority to judge you, and I say you are innocent. In the oubliette, you put your trust in me.”
“And you have delivered me, my king.”
“Trust me now when I tell you: any shortcomings of your past are forgotten.”
The old guard cried. He held his fist to his head. “I cannot forget, my king.”
Billy sighed. “You need to forgive yourself, my friend. If you are to be of service to me, you will need to get past this.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. I guess I’m not ready yet.”
“Nevertheless, it has come to my attention that you were never officially removed from the rolls of the king’s guards, and seeing as you are still wearing the uniform, there is the small matter of back pay.”
“Your Majesty?”
“As paying you would likely sap the treasury, I hereby bestow upon you Feolaghe Tor and all lands allotted that fief. May it serve you better than its previous master. Now, as to your service. ...You are also to have the title of lord.”
“But I’m a guard, my king, not a noble!”
Billy smiled at his onetime cellmate. “You are now. You want to serve me?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Let me decide how best you can serve.”
“As you wish, Your Majesty.”
“And don’t worry. I will send you plenty of help.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”
As the new Lord of Feolaghe Tor shambled back into the shadows, the king picked through his stack of scrolls. After a moment, he called for Lord Finnalaghe. The elderly gentleman arrived with the aid of his niece.
“Lord Finnalaghe-Finney. I have no gift capable of repairing what harm was done you, nor reward enough to replace your valiant son, Sir Owein, who gave his life to save mine.”
“Your Majesty’s consideration is reward enough for this old man.” Finney bowed. “I’m just happy for a shortage of gallows at the hour of my sentencing, and thankful to be forgotten in the dungeon long enough for the rightful heir to sit on the throne.”
“Here, here!” came the cheer from the assembled crowd.
Billy smiled. “As am I.”
“As for my son,” the elderly lord continued, “I am certain he feels honored to have been of service to King William’s heir.”
“Nevertheless, I hereby decree that the bridge where your son and his heroic companions lost—no, that’s not right—where they gave their lives will be rebuilt, with a monument to their courage, and a royal garrison named Owein Tor.”
Lord Finnalaghe put his hand over his heart and bowed. As a very proud niece led the old gentleman away, Lyart, the king’s herald, approached and bowed.
“What is it, Lyart?”
“Your Majesty, the Prince of Gwythia requests an audience.”
Billy nodded to Hugh, who told Lyart, “Bid him enter.”
The huge doors of the great hall creaked open, and a voice from beyond them announced in trumpet-like tones, “His Highness, Prince Hereweald of Gwythia!”
Hereweald entered the great hall, accompanied by his officers, his herald, and two of his personal guard. The crowd opened to allow the foreigners to pass through their midst. Fifteen feet from the dais, the men stopped and bowed to Billy in unison. He bowed his head to Hereweald and greeted him with a smile.
“Welcome, Prince Hereweald! And welcome to your men. It is good to see you all again.”
Hereweald stepped forward. “The greater pleasure is ours, Your Majesty.”
“I trust your stay with us is pleasant.”
“Very pleasant, Your Majesty, though I must confess, I miss that curious red and gold banner that flew atop Orgulous on our first day. Odd as it was, it reminded me of home.”
Billy smiled. “Well, even as cozy as Orgulous can be, it’s still a bit drafty, and Lord Bonting’s legs were getting cold!”
The assembly laughed.
“They’re still cold!”
Billy tilted his head and stretched up on his throne to look over the crowd. “What’s that, Bonting?”
“I said, they’re still cold, Your Majesty. Your herald kept my hose. Said he was going to display them with the trophies in the feasting hall!”
The hall exploded in laughter again.
“Apologies, Bonting. That was my idea. I think they’ll make for an interesting story on a cold winter’s night. Allow me to make it up to you.”
Billy turned to his scribe. “Take note to write a decree declaring a feast day to celebrate the ‘Savior of Orgulous,’ Lord Bonting. And we’ll have a song written for Lord Bonting’s legs!”
Amid the laughter and cheers, Sir Malcolm shouted, “I don’t think Lord Bonting’s legs can sing!”
“Why not, Bonting?” Billy asked. “Too cold?”
“Aye, Your Majesty.”
Lady Bonting put her arm around her husband. “Don’t take it personally, sire, I’ve been trying for years just to get them to dance!”
After the crowd had its fill of laughter, Billy turned to Hereweald. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to get so distracted.”
“It is well, Your Majesty. May every day of your reign have room for laughter.”
“Thank you. What can I do for Your Highness today? Do you want to see the prisoner?”
“No, Your Majesty. I do not wish to see Snegaddrick until we leave for home.”
“Of course, Prince Hereweald. We will hold him for as long as you like.”
“Your Majesty, I will leave soon for Gwythia, but before I do, I wish to offer the use of my engineers and five hundred handpicked men to aid in rebuilding Dyven.”
“Handpicked?”
“All of good temperament—some are skilled carpenters.”
“How long would they stay?”
“Until Dyven is mended and back on its feet.”
“Yes. Perhaps, our people working side by side, mending walls and homes together, can help mend our relations. I welcome your help, Prince Hereweald. Thank you. Speaking of mending: how is the arm?”
Hereweald looked down at the arm he still bore in a sling. “The arm is improving, Your Majesty. However, I have a request.”
“Please, tell me.”
Hereweald glanced at Lady Myrredith then back to Billy. “Your Majesty, I would like to request the hand in marriage of a lady who has been instrumental in my rehabilitation.”
“Marriage? Why are you asking me?”
“Because you are her king, and she is of your family, Majesty.” Hereweald’s eyes flitted to Lady Myrredith once again when he mentioned the king’s family.
“My family?” Billy shot a surprised look at Myrredith.
Myrredith returned his expression with one of panic.
“Yes,” Hereweald said.
Billy’s eyes danced between Hereweald and Myrredith. “Are you sure you do not wish to discuss the matter in a more private setting?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. I have already spoken to the lady.”
Again, Billy and Myrredith exchanged a volley of looks.
“Have you?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“And ... what did she say, Highness?”
“Well.” Hereweald rubbed his chin. “You are king and the highest ranking member of her clan. She will comply with your wishes.”
“Well then, perhaps I should speak privately with the lady myself.”
Lady Aderyn of Hillshire slipped through the crowd to stand next to Prince Hereweald. “That won’t be necessary, Your Majesty.” Myrredith’s cousin beamed as she bowed to her king. “Your Majesty, I am in complete accord with Prince Hereweald on the matter.”
“You are?” Still confused, Billy glanced at Hereweald, whose usual stony face was grinning as he stared at Aderyn. The lady stared back, her radiant expression a mirror to the prince. Suddenly, Billy’s brows lifted. “Oh! You are. ...You are?”
“Oh yes, Your Majesty. Very much in accord.”
Billy shared a smile with Myrredith. “Well, in that case, I have no choice but to grant you both my blessing!”
The lady and her prince kissed, and the court applauded. Immediately after, they adjourned to the waiting feast, in the inner ward, where Billy led the court in drinking the first toast to the prince and his fiancée.
The feast was quite sumptuous for a country a few days out of a war. There were also musicians and acrobats for entertainment. However, in years to come, the two most memorable events of the feast would be an impromptu juggling display by the king and Sir Malcolm, which started as an overzealous but friendly exchange of salt and pepper shakers, and the hour or so of enthusiastic dancing after Myrredith placed a lute in the king’s hands.
During the feast, Precilla, the Egyptian seer from Dyven, appeared to Sir Hugh from out of the crowd. She bowed to him. “At last, I have found you, my champion.”
Hugh stepped back. “I thought you never wanted to see me again.”
“My apologies, sir. I was afraid.”
Myrredith raised an eyebrow. “Why would you be afraid of Sir Hugh?”
Hugh turned to Myrredith. “Because I was slain by Gwythian soldiers in Dyven and brought back to life through black magic.”
“What?” Myrredith exclaimed.
“No, no, no!” Precilla put up her hands. “Yes, there was some black magic, but I was wrong! That is why I followed you here.”
Hugh furrowed his brow. “Wrong about what?”
Precilla looked down and took a deep breath before she began to tell her tale.
“I didn’t feel right about what happened, so I went to see Adwythane, to get to the bottom of it.”
“The wizard?” Myrredith put her hands on her hips. “I thought he was dead.”
“Not yet, milady. We have had some minor dealings in the past, so he allowed me to enter when he saw I brought with me a few bottles of wine I had saved from the Gwythies. I got him drunk, and he admitted he had not stolen you from the clutches of Death. I have no doubt you were more in the grave than out, but you were still alive when the boy brought you to him. He made a big show of it and tricked the boy into giving up his eye ... for nothing.”
Again, Hugh was perplexed. “Why would he do that?”
“As it turns out, Adwythane held a grudge against the boy’s father. Derian stole some locket from him long ago, so he took his cruel revenge on the boy.”
“But how did he know Stitch was Derian’s son?”
“The wizard saw half the locket around the boy’s neck.”
“So, everything I’ve been sensing … strange shadows in battle … even the lives I’ve taken ... they’re just coincidence?”
“Much of life appears coincidence until the plan is revealed.”
“Whose plan? The Reaper’s plan?”
Precilla sighed. “Such things are possible, but now I sense his owl has left you.”
“Am I cursed?”
“Show me your hands.”
Hugh stuck out his palms, and Precilla examined them. She smiled. “Far from cursed, Sir Hugh. The darkness over you is all but gone. I see before you a great destiny. You will—”
“Stop!” Hugh pulled his hands away. “I don’t want to know anything more of my future. My father is restored, my king’s heir is restored, the kingdom is restored, and I am restored.”
“As I predicted, my champion.”
“Look, I want to enjoy discovering the future in the same manner as everyone else.”
“‘... for I have learned to be content, whatever the circumstances may be,’” Precilla quoted. Then she bowed and backed away.
“Wait! I have a favor to ask.”
Precilla smiled. “Don’t worry, my handsome champion. I shall never tell the boy—ever.” She bowed one last time and disappeared into the crowd.
Myrredith grinned. “That was unusual.”
Hugh turned to her. “Promise me you won’t tell Stitch.”
“About his eye?”
“Yes. He sacrificed his eye for me. I won’t take that away from him. In truth, I owe him more than an eye.”
Myrredith raised her eyebrows and did her best to copy the Egyptian woman’s accent. “I shall never tell the boy—ever.”
Billy continued to make announcements and read decrees throughout the celebrations, which included the building of monuments to Lady Enaid and Sir Sedgemore in Nyraval; to Sir Aonghas on the King’s Road near Hillshire; to his adopted father John, his wife Moira, and their son William in the Valley of the Yew.
“And now for the architects of this great feast ... Gryff and Dana, please come forward!”
Gryff and Dana looked up from their serving duties in surprise. They stared at their new king and each other, as Billy beckoned them and their children forward. The sometimes-tempestuous couple joined hands and approached the large feasting dais, looking more like devoted newlyweds than the squabbling pair they were prior to Ergyfel’s reign.
Billy sat and dangled his feet off the front edge of the dais. “Gryff, Dana. Like a dessert, I have saved your reward for last. It took me some time to come up with a fitting reward for all you did and suffered for my sake. The best news, of course, is that you and your children are back together after your ordeal.”
Gryff lifted their youngest in the air as the crowd applauded.
“The second best news is this: I am giving to you and your children my father’s inn, The Valley’s Finest, in the Valley of the Yew where I grew up. Sadly, it was burned to the ground, but that will only make it easier to rebuild it to its proper grandeur as the kingdom’s first Royal Inn.”
The crowd cheered, and then Billy continued. “Complete with a royal charter and yearly stipend. The carpenters and masons who are repairing our beloved Orgulous will build it using the finest materials available. The royal architect, with some direction from me, has already begun on the designs and is expecting to meet with you tomorrow morning.”
“Thank you, Sire!” Gryff gave a bow. “I always wanted to run my own inn.”
Billy winked. “I remember.”
Dana bowed and wiped the tears from her red Irish cheeks. “Thank you, sire. I hope the architect won’t mind meetin’ in the kitchen. We’ve got a lot to do tomorrow.”
Billy laughed. “Dana, you no longer need to worry about our kitchen. Starting now, you are an innkeeper.”
“But, who is gonna—?”
Billy held up a scolding finger to silence her. “Eh-eh-eh! Innkeeper! The other servants have already voted on your replacements, and I have approved.”
“But I—”
“Eh!” Billy pointed to her, and then to himself. “Innkeeper ... king. Now, I suggest you drop the spoon, take off that apron, and give the old man a spin around the dance floor, because I intend to play my fingers off!”
Billy strummed the first few notes on his lute and nodded to the other musicians to join him in a fast-paced dance tune known as “Cow Kicked the Rooster.” The spoon dropped from Dana’s hand as she looked at her husband and their children standing behind him. She plucked the tie on her apron, tossed it into the air, and grabbed Gryff by the arm.
***
Camion and Derian Stitch left for Dyven the next day. Wyte left for Feolaghe Tor the day after, and the day after that, it was time for Billy to say goodbye to Finney. So it was that the week following his coronation was a week of farewells for the new King of Lyonesse.
Billy spent much of his time between audiences and sendoffs studying Ergyfel’s collection of magical tomes—a collection he hoped would lead him to the discovery of a spellbinder and an end to the perpetual winter plaguing Tirn Aill. Finding the collection had only taken a day, but each day spent delving the dark pages hung on him like a week.
Camion pursed his lips. “I hoped for a ship job, Your Majesty. I only know ships.”
“The Harbor Master of Dyven has his own ship.”
“He does?”
“Yes, Camion. A small one.”
“Can he sail around Kelmyrr Bay?”
“Anytime he wishes.”
Camion’s eyes glazed over, and he put on a childlike smile.
“The post also comes with a house.”
“I know that house. It’s big!”
“Big enough for a man with a family … ?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. Yes, Your Majesty! Thank you, Your Majesty!”
Camion bowed, spun around, and started for the back of hall.
Billy called after him, “Wait! I have arranged an escort for you and the Guardian of Dyven for your return home.”
Camion stopped and turned around. He gave Billy a sheepish grin. “If I must wait, Your Majesty, so be it. But, please, don’t make us wait long.”
“You may leave tomorrow if you wish, but—please—stay for the feast.”
“Food? Thank you, Your Majesty.”
Billy looked about the great hall. “Wyte! Please, come forward.”
A gaunt man, who had been standing alone in the shadows under the grand gallery, stepped forward. His movements were slow but deliberate, and he stooped as if carrying a great pot of lead on his shoulders. A spear served as his walking staff, and his face was as humble and contrite as a priest. His pale skin shone like roughhewn marble, and he wore his long grey hair pulled back into a ponytail that fell from the back of his broad-brimmed helmet onto a new, blue guard’s tabard. Eyes ever down, he approached the dais and bowed.
“How are you, Wyte?”
Wyte blinked and did his best to look the king in the eyes. “Well, thanks to Your Majesty. My mind is finally free of the tyrant.”
“Is the light sensitivity any better?”
“Yes, Your Majesty, but the world has left me behind. The friends I had, the family I knew, and the king and queen I served ... they have all gone.”
“I am sorry. There are few who have lost as much as you. Because your sacrifice was great, you will be rewarded with much.”
Wyte fell to his knees. He removed his helmet and held it in his hands at his chest. “Your Majesty, I failed in my duty to your parents. I do not deserve reward. But I beg you: allow me to remain in your service.”
“Nonsense. I saw what happened, Wyte. It’s not your fault. You are a victim of the tyrant, just as much as my parents.” It felt peculiar to Billy that he should still fear to speak Ergyfel’s name aloud, even though he was dead, but he wasn’t alone in this.
“I—I should have done more.”
Billy stopped and looked around the hall. “Wyte, your accuser is dead. I alone have the authority to judge you, and I say you are innocent. In the oubliette, you put your trust in me.”
“And you have delivered me, my king.”
“Trust me now when I tell you: any shortcomings of your past are forgotten.”
The old guard cried. He held his fist to his head. “I cannot forget, my king.”
Billy sighed. “You need to forgive yourself, my friend. If you are to be of service to me, you will need to get past this.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. I guess I’m not ready yet.”
“Nevertheless, it has come to my attention that you were never officially removed from the rolls of the king’s guards, and seeing as you are still wearing the uniform, there is the small matter of back pay.”
“Your Majesty?”
“As paying you would likely sap the treasury, I hereby bestow upon you Feolaghe Tor and all lands allotted that fief. May it serve you better than its previous master. Now, as to your service. ...You are also to have the title of lord.”
“But I’m a guard, my king, not a noble!”
Billy smiled at his onetime cellmate. “You are now. You want to serve me?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Let me decide how best you can serve.”
“As you wish, Your Majesty.”
“And don’t worry. I will send you plenty of help.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”
As the new Lord of Feolaghe Tor shambled back into the shadows, the king picked through his stack of scrolls. After a moment, he called for Lord Finnalaghe. The elderly gentleman arrived with the aid of his niece.
“Lord Finnalaghe-Finney. I have no gift capable of repairing what harm was done you, nor reward enough to replace your valiant son, Sir Owein, who gave his life to save mine.”
“Your Majesty’s consideration is reward enough for this old man.” Finney bowed. “I’m just happy for a shortage of gallows at the hour of my sentencing, and thankful to be forgotten in the dungeon long enough for the rightful heir to sit on the throne.”
“Here, here!” came the cheer from the assembled crowd.
Billy smiled. “As am I.”
“As for my son,” the elderly lord continued, “I am certain he feels honored to have been of service to King William’s heir.”
“Nevertheless, I hereby decree that the bridge where your son and his heroic companions lost—no, that’s not right—where they gave their lives will be rebuilt, with a monument to their courage, and a royal garrison named Owein Tor.”
Lord Finnalaghe put his hand over his heart and bowed. As a very proud niece led the old gentleman away, Lyart, the king’s herald, approached and bowed.
“What is it, Lyart?”
“Your Majesty, the Prince of Gwythia requests an audience.”
Billy nodded to Hugh, who told Lyart, “Bid him enter.”
The huge doors of the great hall creaked open, and a voice from beyond them announced in trumpet-like tones, “His Highness, Prince Hereweald of Gwythia!”
Hereweald entered the great hall, accompanied by his officers, his herald, and two of his personal guard. The crowd opened to allow the foreigners to pass through their midst. Fifteen feet from the dais, the men stopped and bowed to Billy in unison. He bowed his head to Hereweald and greeted him with a smile.
“Welcome, Prince Hereweald! And welcome to your men. It is good to see you all again.”
Hereweald stepped forward. “The greater pleasure is ours, Your Majesty.”
“I trust your stay with us is pleasant.”
“Very pleasant, Your Majesty, though I must confess, I miss that curious red and gold banner that flew atop Orgulous on our first day. Odd as it was, it reminded me of home.”
Billy smiled. “Well, even as cozy as Orgulous can be, it’s still a bit drafty, and Lord Bonting’s legs were getting cold!”
The assembly laughed.
“They’re still cold!”
Billy tilted his head and stretched up on his throne to look over the crowd. “What’s that, Bonting?”
“I said, they’re still cold, Your Majesty. Your herald kept my hose. Said he was going to display them with the trophies in the feasting hall!”
The hall exploded in laughter again.
“Apologies, Bonting. That was my idea. I think they’ll make for an interesting story on a cold winter’s night. Allow me to make it up to you.”
Billy turned to his scribe. “Take note to write a decree declaring a feast day to celebrate the ‘Savior of Orgulous,’ Lord Bonting. And we’ll have a song written for Lord Bonting’s legs!”
Amid the laughter and cheers, Sir Malcolm shouted, “I don’t think Lord Bonting’s legs can sing!”
“Why not, Bonting?” Billy asked. “Too cold?”
“Aye, Your Majesty.”
Lady Bonting put her arm around her husband. “Don’t take it personally, sire, I’ve been trying for years just to get them to dance!”
After the crowd had its fill of laughter, Billy turned to Hereweald. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to get so distracted.”
“It is well, Your Majesty. May every day of your reign have room for laughter.”
“Thank you. What can I do for Your Highness today? Do you want to see the prisoner?”
“No, Your Majesty. I do not wish to see Snegaddrick until we leave for home.”
“Of course, Prince Hereweald. We will hold him for as long as you like.”
“Your Majesty, I will leave soon for Gwythia, but before I do, I wish to offer the use of my engineers and five hundred handpicked men to aid in rebuilding Dyven.”
“Handpicked?”
“All of good temperament—some are skilled carpenters.”
“How long would they stay?”
“Until Dyven is mended and back on its feet.”
“Yes. Perhaps, our people working side by side, mending walls and homes together, can help mend our relations. I welcome your help, Prince Hereweald. Thank you. Speaking of mending: how is the arm?”
Hereweald looked down at the arm he still bore in a sling. “The arm is improving, Your Majesty. However, I have a request.”
“Please, tell me.”
Hereweald glanced at Lady Myrredith then back to Billy. “Your Majesty, I would like to request the hand in marriage of a lady who has been instrumental in my rehabilitation.”
“Marriage? Why are you asking me?”
“Because you are her king, and she is of your family, Majesty.” Hereweald’s eyes flitted to Lady Myrredith once again when he mentioned the king’s family.
“My family?” Billy shot a surprised look at Myrredith.
Myrredith returned his expression with one of panic.
“Yes,” Hereweald said.
Billy’s eyes danced between Hereweald and Myrredith. “Are you sure you do not wish to discuss the matter in a more private setting?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. I have already spoken to the lady.”
Again, Billy and Myrredith exchanged a volley of looks.
“Have you?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“And ... what did she say, Highness?”
“Well.” Hereweald rubbed his chin. “You are king and the highest ranking member of her clan. She will comply with your wishes.”
“Well then, perhaps I should speak privately with the lady myself.”
Lady Aderyn of Hillshire slipped through the crowd to stand next to Prince Hereweald. “That won’t be necessary, Your Majesty.” Myrredith’s cousin beamed as she bowed to her king. “Your Majesty, I am in complete accord with Prince Hereweald on the matter.”
“You are?” Still confused, Billy glanced at Hereweald, whose usual stony face was grinning as he stared at Aderyn. The lady stared back, her radiant expression a mirror to the prince. Suddenly, Billy’s brows lifted. “Oh! You are. ...You are?”
“Oh yes, Your Majesty. Very much in accord.”
Billy shared a smile with Myrredith. “Well, in that case, I have no choice but to grant you both my blessing!”
The lady and her prince kissed, and the court applauded. Immediately after, they adjourned to the waiting feast, in the inner ward, where Billy led the court in drinking the first toast to the prince and his fiancée.
The feast was quite sumptuous for a country a few days out of a war. There were also musicians and acrobats for entertainment. However, in years to come, the two most memorable events of the feast would be an impromptu juggling display by the king and Sir Malcolm, which started as an overzealous but friendly exchange of salt and pepper shakers, and the hour or so of enthusiastic dancing after Myrredith placed a lute in the king’s hands.
During the feast, Precilla, the Egyptian seer from Dyven, appeared to Sir Hugh from out of the crowd. She bowed to him. “At last, I have found you, my champion.”
Hugh stepped back. “I thought you never wanted to see me again.”
“My apologies, sir. I was afraid.”
Myrredith raised an eyebrow. “Why would you be afraid of Sir Hugh?”
Hugh turned to Myrredith. “Because I was slain by Gwythian soldiers in Dyven and brought back to life through black magic.”
“What?” Myrredith exclaimed.
“No, no, no!” Precilla put up her hands. “Yes, there was some black magic, but I was wrong! That is why I followed you here.”
Hugh furrowed his brow. “Wrong about what?”
Precilla looked down and took a deep breath before she began to tell her tale.
“I didn’t feel right about what happened, so I went to see Adwythane, to get to the bottom of it.”
“The wizard?” Myrredith put her hands on her hips. “I thought he was dead.”
“Not yet, milady. We have had some minor dealings in the past, so he allowed me to enter when he saw I brought with me a few bottles of wine I had saved from the Gwythies. I got him drunk, and he admitted he had not stolen you from the clutches of Death. I have no doubt you were more in the grave than out, but you were still alive when the boy brought you to him. He made a big show of it and tricked the boy into giving up his eye ... for nothing.”
Again, Hugh was perplexed. “Why would he do that?”
“As it turns out, Adwythane held a grudge against the boy’s father. Derian stole some locket from him long ago, so he took his cruel revenge on the boy.”
“But how did he know Stitch was Derian’s son?”
“The wizard saw half the locket around the boy’s neck.”
“So, everything I’ve been sensing … strange shadows in battle … even the lives I’ve taken ... they’re just coincidence?”
“Much of life appears coincidence until the plan is revealed.”
“Whose plan? The Reaper’s plan?”
Precilla sighed. “Such things are possible, but now I sense his owl has left you.”
“Am I cursed?”
“Show me your hands.”
Hugh stuck out his palms, and Precilla examined them. She smiled. “Far from cursed, Sir Hugh. The darkness over you is all but gone. I see before you a great destiny. You will—”
“Stop!” Hugh pulled his hands away. “I don’t want to know anything more of my future. My father is restored, my king’s heir is restored, the kingdom is restored, and I am restored.”
“As I predicted, my champion.”
“Look, I want to enjoy discovering the future in the same manner as everyone else.”
“‘... for I have learned to be content, whatever the circumstances may be,’” Precilla quoted. Then she bowed and backed away.
“Wait! I have a favor to ask.”
Precilla smiled. “Don’t worry, my handsome champion. I shall never tell the boy—ever.” She bowed one last time and disappeared into the crowd.
Myrredith grinned. “That was unusual.”
Hugh turned to her. “Promise me you won’t tell Stitch.”
“About his eye?”
“Yes. He sacrificed his eye for me. I won’t take that away from him. In truth, I owe him more than an eye.”
Myrredith raised her eyebrows and did her best to copy the Egyptian woman’s accent. “I shall never tell the boy—ever.”
Billy continued to make announcements and read decrees throughout the celebrations, which included the building of monuments to Lady Enaid and Sir Sedgemore in Nyraval; to Sir Aonghas on the King’s Road near Hillshire; to his adopted father John, his wife Moira, and their son William in the Valley of the Yew.
“And now for the architects of this great feast ... Gryff and Dana, please come forward!”
Gryff and Dana looked up from their serving duties in surprise. They stared at their new king and each other, as Billy beckoned them and their children forward. The sometimes-tempestuous couple joined hands and approached the large feasting dais, looking more like devoted newlyweds than the squabbling pair they were prior to Ergyfel’s reign.
Billy sat and dangled his feet off the front edge of the dais. “Gryff, Dana. Like a dessert, I have saved your reward for last. It took me some time to come up with a fitting reward for all you did and suffered for my sake. The best news, of course, is that you and your children are back together after your ordeal.”
Gryff lifted their youngest in the air as the crowd applauded.
“The second best news is this: I am giving to you and your children my father’s inn, The Valley’s Finest, in the Valley of the Yew where I grew up. Sadly, it was burned to the ground, but that will only make it easier to rebuild it to its proper grandeur as the kingdom’s first Royal Inn.”
The crowd cheered, and then Billy continued. “Complete with a royal charter and yearly stipend. The carpenters and masons who are repairing our beloved Orgulous will build it using the finest materials available. The royal architect, with some direction from me, has already begun on the designs and is expecting to meet with you tomorrow morning.”
“Thank you, Sire!” Gryff gave a bow. “I always wanted to run my own inn.”
Billy winked. “I remember.”
Dana bowed and wiped the tears from her red Irish cheeks. “Thank you, sire. I hope the architect won’t mind meetin’ in the kitchen. We’ve got a lot to do tomorrow.”
Billy laughed. “Dana, you no longer need to worry about our kitchen. Starting now, you are an innkeeper.”
“But, who is gonna—?”
Billy held up a scolding finger to silence her. “Eh-eh-eh! Innkeeper! The other servants have already voted on your replacements, and I have approved.”
“But I—”
“Eh!” Billy pointed to her, and then to himself. “Innkeeper ... king. Now, I suggest you drop the spoon, take off that apron, and give the old man a spin around the dance floor, because I intend to play my fingers off!”
Billy strummed the first few notes on his lute and nodded to the other musicians to join him in a fast-paced dance tune known as “Cow Kicked the Rooster.” The spoon dropped from Dana’s hand as she looked at her husband and their children standing behind him. She plucked the tie on her apron, tossed it into the air, and grabbed Gryff by the arm.
***
Camion and Derian Stitch left for Dyven the next day. Wyte left for Feolaghe Tor the day after, and the day after that, it was time for Billy to say goodbye to Finney. So it was that the week following his coronation was a week of farewells for the new King of Lyonesse.
Billy spent much of his time between audiences and sendoffs studying Ergyfel’s collection of magical tomes—a collection he hoped would lead him to the discovery of a spellbinder and an end to the perpetual winter plaguing Tirn Aill. Finding the collection had only taken a day, but each day spent delving the dark pages hung on him like a week.
