A Time of Omens - Katharine Kerr [42]
Emryc hurried off so fast that Bellyra found herself wondering if perhaps Nevyn’s grandfather had been a sorcerer after all, and if the grandson had inherited a bit of his talent. The old man hardly looked magical at the moment; he was eating cheese and sipping ale, and yawning every now and then, too.
“It is getting dark in here, Your Highness,” he remarked. “Must be nearly sunset outside.”
“So I’d think, truly.”
“Good.”
“Is somewhat going to happen at sunset?”
“Wait, Your Highness. That’s all I can say.”
She had no choice but to do just that, wait and watch in an agony of impatience, as Lord Tammael made his slow round of the great hall, lighting the rush torches in their sconces and ordering the servants to push aside the chunks of sod in the hearth and mend up the fires that had been smoldering underneath all the warm day. When the light flared up, sending long shadows like spears across the hall, the warbands fell oddly silent, and Caradoc broke off his conversation with Tieryn Elyc to turn in his chair and look at Nevyn. The old man merely smiled, as bland as bland, and helped himself to more cheese.
“Do you bar the dun gates at sunset, Your Highness?”
“We don’t, not till the midnight watch, because some of the townsfolk work in the dun and don’t leave till late.”
“Ah. Very good.”
The torches suddenly seemed to burn brighter. Although there wasn’t a trace of a breeze in the great hall, they flared up, and flames rose straight and steady with only the barest traces of smoke. Distantly, from somewhere out in the ward, she heard voices—no, it was chanting, and the sound of a soft drum. All at once bronze horns shrieked and blared.
“Priests!” Elyc whispered. “What by every demon in hell is happening out there?”
Before he could get up to see, the huge carved doors into the hall were flung open. The horns rasped out another shriek; the drums pounded; the chanting swelled. Walking four abreast the priests of Bel came marching into the hall, so many that Bellyra could only assume that every temple from miles around had assembled there in Cerrmor. They were shaven-headed and dressed in the long plain linen tunics of their calling, and round every neck was a solid gold tore, and at every waist glittered a golden sickle. In a long line they maneuvered their way through the crowded hall in time to the pounding drums and the long wailing chants from the Dawntime. At their head was Nicedd, the ancient leader of the temple, so old that he rarely walked abroad anymore, but that night he stepped as firmly as a young man up to the dais. Shaking a little, Tieryn Elyc rose to confront him.
“Your Holiness! Why are we honored this way?”
“Save your words, Regent! Where is the one true king?”
“What, Your Holiness? I don’t know—I only wish I did—-but I don’t know.”
“You lie! All the omens say that at this moment the one true king of all Deverry dwells within this dun; Where is he?”
The horns shrieked once; the drums fell silent. Every man in the great hall turned to stare at Elyc as if accusing him of the worst treason. The regent could only stare back, bewildered and terrified both.
“Bel has spoken this very day. Bel has given us omens. Bel has blessed us with true speaking.”
“Blessed be the name of the Holy One,” murmured the priests behind him. “Blessed be the Light of the Sky.”
“When the Lawgiver speaks, all men and in truth all women too must listen. The one true king is within these walls, Regent.”
Elyc tried to speak but failed miserably, and sweat was beading his forehead. Bellyra found herself considering her detailed knowledge of the dun; surely if the king was being held prisoner in some hidden chamber, she’d be the one to puzzle it out. Then she realized that during this mind-gripping ceremony Nevyn had slipped away from the table, and for the second time that evening, her heart started thudding in her throat. As Nicedd climbed up the three steps to the dais, the gold sickle swinging at his belt like a weapon, Elyc sank to his knees.
“Where is the one true king of all Deverry?” The priest turned