The Charnel Prince - J. Gregory Keyes [119]
“I beg your pardon?” Leoff blurted.
But Gramme already had turned back to the crowd. “Fralet Ackenzal is nothing if not modest, my friends, and it won’t do to embarrass him too much, nor would it do for me to keep him to myself, when so many of you wish to visit with him. But this is my house, after all, and I’m allowed a few liberties.”
She smiled through the chorus of laughter that followed her statement. Then, when she spoke again, her voice was suddenly serious.
“This hall is full of light,” she said. “But do not be fooled. Outside there is darkness, whether the sun is shining or no. These are hard days, terrible days, and what makes it worse is that our own courage seems to have deserted us. Adversity crowns heroes, isn’t that the old saying? And yet who has been crowned here? Who has stepped forth from the shadows of our tragedies and taken a strong hand against the rising evil? I—like you—have despaired that such men no longer seem to be born in this world. And yet this man, a stranger to our country, not even trained as a warrior, has been our savior, and I hereby crown him our hero! From hence, let him carry the title of Cavaor!”
Something settled on Leoff’s head as the crowd began cheering again. He felt it and realized it was a metal circlet.
The crowd suddenly stilled again, and Leoff waited nervously to see what would happen next.
“I think they’d like a word from you,” the lady said.
Leoff blinked, surveying the waiting faces.
He cleared his throat.
“Ah, thank you,” he said. “It is most unexpected. Most. I, umm—but you haven’t got it quite right.”
He glanced at Gramme nervously, and his tension increased when he saw the small wrinkle that appeared between her eyes.
“You were at Broogh, weren’t you?” someone shouted.
“I was there,” Leoff said. “I was, but I wasn’t alone. That is, no credit goes to me. Duke Artwair and Gilmer Oercsun, they deserve the credit. But lady, I have to disagree with you. I haven’t been here long, but this country has many heroes. A townful of them. They died for you at Broogh.”
“Hear, hear,” a few shouted.
“There is no doubt of that,” Gramme said. “And we thank you for helping us to honor them.” She shook her finger at him as if scolding a child. “But I was present when Duke Artwair gave his report, and if there is one man in this kingdom who does have the courage and sense of his ancestors, it is the duke. Indeed, I wished to have the duke here tonight, but it seems he has been ordered to the eastern marches, far from the court and Eslen. Still, in his absence, I will not dispute his word, Cavaor Ackenzal, and should hope you would not either.”
“I would never do that,” Leoff said.
“I did not think so. Well, enough of my talking. Be at home here, Leoff Ackenzal—you are among friends. And should the mood strike you, I hope you will try my new hammarharp, and tell me if it is as well-tuned as I am assured it is.”
“Thank you, milady,” Leoff said. “I’m really quite overwhelmed. I’ll examine it right away.”
“I don’t imagine you will,” she said, “but you are welcome to try.”
She was right. He’s gone only a few steps before a young woman of perhaps sixteen had taken his arm.
“Won’t you dance with me, cavaor?”
“Ah . . .” He blinked stupidly at her. She was pretty, with a friendly, oval face, dark brown eyes, and red-gold hair hanging in ringlets.
The music had started again, a whervel in triple meter.
He glanced around. “I don’t know this dance,” he said. “It seems a bit lively.”
“You’ll pick it up,” she assured him, taking his hands. “My name is Areana.”
“It’s my pleasure to meet you,” Leoff said, fumbling at the steps. As she said, it wasn’t difficult—very much like the country rounds of his youth—soon he had it.
“I’m fortunate to be the first to dance with you,” Areana said. “It’s good luck.”
“Really,” Leoff said, feeling his neck burn. “Too much has been made of this. Tell me of yourself, rather. What family are you?”
“I’m a Wistbirm,” she replied.
“Wistbirm?” He shook his head. “I’m new to this country.”
“There’s no reason you should have heard