A Dragon's Ascension - Ed Greenwood [130]
"Hawkril!" someone cried, from a ruined doorway. It was a bedraggled, smudge-faced Flowfoam gardener, with his fellows behind him-and, by the looks of once-grand finery, one or two courtiers who'd been hiding wherever the gardeners had taken refuge, too. "King Hawkril! Long live King Hawkril, and Aglirta with him!"
A few servants peered hesitantly into the ruined throne chamber through other doors, now-and took up the cry.
Hawkril shook his head and turned to Blackgult, holding out the crown.
The regent shook his head, too. "None of the barons will agree to me ruling them longer-or, unless I read them but poorly, accept any from among their ranks, either. Someone new is needed." He looked right back at the huge armaragor. "A man such as Hawkril Anharu."
The warrior overduke shook his head again-and then, suddenly, turned to Embra. "Lady," he said gently, holding out the crown to her. "This is more your calling man mine."
The Crown of Aglirta glittered in his hand, before her.
Embra looked down at it, and then back up at him. "The people have named you," she said softly. "Take up your throne, Hawkril. Let the good folk of Aglirta be heard and heeded, for once. Rule well, Hawk."
Hawkril backed away from her, his eyes almost pleading. "What, sit on a throne and grow old, waiting for the day when someone decides to ride in and hew me down? Nay, let us have something different for Aglirta! The Serpent's dead, and the Risen King, too. Blackgult sired you, of Silvertree-Embra, take the Crown and rule as Queen of Aglirta!"
Embra shook her head, and there were tears in her eyes again. "It's not that simple," she said in a rough voice, and then cleared her throat and said steadily, "As Sarasper said to me: it's never that simple."
The points of drawn swords ringed the last wizard, who was gasping and shuddering, his face growing more lined and cavernous by the minute. The barges seemed almost to fly along, though, and the tersepts raised a cheer as they rounded one last bend and caught sight of Flowfoam in the distance.
"Can't… go on," the mage gasped then, his face a dripping mask of sweat. Ribbons of blood were running from his nose and mouth now.
A hard-faced tersept put his sword to the wizard's throat. "Do it," he snapped, "or die. In the new Aglirta, wizards will know their place at last, and do our bidding-or pay with their lives."
"Knowing wizards," the old man gasped, "I cannot help but conclude that you'll soon have an acute shortage of persons who can work magic." And with those words, his eyes rolled up in his head, and he toppled forward to the deck planks, landing with a heavy crash.
The barges slowed to a stop very swiftly, turned a little in the water… and then started to drift backwards in the tug of the Silverflow.
"We're almost there! Start rowing!" Baron Cardassa shouted, dancing with rage-then, with a little scream of fury, he swung his magic blade, slashing at the tersept who'd threatened the wizard. As promised, it sliced armor like eel flesh on a cutting board-and blood sprayed from the tersept's opened throat.
Gurgling, the man reeled and fell out of the barge, the Silverflow swallowing him with the smallest of splashes.
"Any other fools?" the baron roared, looking murderously around the boat. No one met his eyes or replied-but when he strode to the prow, growling, his back prickled under the weight of all the murderous glances that were directed back at him.
"Whoever reigns," the Regent of Aglirta growled, "his-or her-rule must begin with the fealty of the barons. Let's have them here." He stretched out his hand to the Dwaer Embra held, and it flashed.
Flashed, and flashed again. With each burst of light, someone new stood in the room, blinking around in bewilderment-and then, with awe, at the devastation. Baron Maevur Cardassa was one of the first. The Tersept of Bladelock appeared beside him, and they exchanged sharp looks-what of the barges? And all their armsmen? What now?-ere. the Tersepts of Ironstone, Varaedur,