The Vacant Throne - Ed Greenwood [170]
There came a gasp-in some cases almost a shriek-from a hundred throats, and every eye stared at the Lady Silvertree, standing tall and alone. Not a few of those eyes were filled with dismay or even horror. Among those who looked less stricken was Raulin Castlecloaks, standing in his accustomed spot along the wall… white-faced and trembling with excitement.
At least one other person in that chamber was white-faced and trembling too. She was obviously astonished, and Embra Silvertree swallowed several times before she managed to whisper, "F-Forgive me, Majesty, but I would be forced to refuse you. I-"
Her head turned for a moment towards Hawkril Anharu, standing like a patient giant back by the doors, his face anxious and yet as sternly expressionless as he could make it, and she added, "I have already chosen."
Though she whispered, her every word could be heard clearly to the very back of that still, silent chamber. The king bowed his head to her calmly, smiled, and said, "And I would honor you for your choice. I suspected as much. Stand down, Lady, and be rightful Lady Baron over Silvertree still."
Embra bowed her head and backed from the dais, eyes downcast. Gods above, what have I done?
A black-armored arm reached out to her, and drew her smoothly around. "Take up your sword and stand with me," Baron Blackgult, the man who claimed to be her father, murmured out of the side of his mouth. Numbly, trying not to tremble with fear for the realm and for herself, Embra did so. As she took her stance beside Blackgult at the head of the aisle, their drawn swords in their hands, the Dwaer drifted out in smooth arcs to circle around them both.
"Hear then my will, loyal subjects of Aglirta," the Risen King intoned, as calmly as if nothing had happened that morn beyond his rising and sipping of something pleasant. "I shall not now return to Aglirta, and instead keep bound the darksome Serpent for time to come. Blackgult shall rule as regent in my stead, and as Lord Marshal of the Realm. He alone is allowed to assemble in arms more than a baronial bodyguard of sixty warriors. His shall be the tongue and hand that guide fair Aglirta, and all barons shall bow to his will. He can make barons and tersepts-and unmake them. Four persons only shall be free of his commands, so long as they keep the laws of the realm-four Overdukes of Aglirta, whom I hereby confirm in their powers: to judge and apply royal law as the regent does, to command warriors with authority equal to his own, and to demand funds, shelter, food, and aid as he does. These four are Hawkril Anharu, Craer Delnbone, Sarasper Codelmer, and Embra Silvertree. They stand here among us; mark them well-and obey them as you would me."
The wraithlike figure on the throne began to fade. "Fare you well, folk of Aglirta. Make this land strong and proud once more, sparing hatreds for outlanders, outlaws, and those who consort with serpents. Live in peace with Sirlptar, and stretch forth no hand to seize it nor islands elsewhere nor any other territory; instead, turn your hands to making what we have ever more splendid. Forget not these my words, lest red war and dark magic return."
And at the end of those words, the Risen King simply-vanished.
There was a long moment of astonished silence, and then one excited murmur broke forth, and-as if it had been a dam, holding back a river-flood-voices were raised excitedly, all over the chamber.
Blackgult turned his head and hissed urgent words to Embra, and together they worked magic-a swift spell so strong that the three Dwaerindim dimmed momentarily.
Then the new Regent of Aglirta smiled, ascended the dais until he stood beside the throne, and called, "Barons of the realm, to me!"
Looking down from beside the River Throne, Blackgult saw struggles here and there in the crowd, and fists flying. He smiled a little sadly, and added, "I see some of you have already discovered that blades drawn here will draw no blood, but