The Vacant Throne - Ed Greenwood [172]
"Yes," Raulin replied quietly, turning to follow the guard's pointing arm and go out by the doors. "They said the same to me, too."
" 'They,' lad?"
"Hawk and Craer, and the Lady Embra. And sad old Sarasper. The-the overdukes. They said I'd be needed… all too soon."
"Sure they did, lad," the guard said, gentle disbelief clear in his tone. "Sure they did. You've been looking a little too long at the moonlight, you have, dreaming of being a hero."
Raulin turned back, outside the doors, and drew himself up, slender and tall. "I know," he replied with dignity, "but that's what bards do."
He turned on his heel and walked away, down the Inner Court. The guard shook his head, smiled, and reached for the door.
Ilibar Quelver was getting old, but not slow, and he was almost too swift in closing the portal to see it: from out of nothingness, in the darkest part of the hall, ghostly light shimmered… and became the Risen King, raising his hand in salute.
The boy went to his knees on the tiles-and as the guard gaped, King Kelgrael shook his head, smiled, and faded away. The boy rose with as much dignity as if he'd been knighted, and strode on.
That end of the Inner Court was dark, but moonlight from nowhere shone about the lad's head and shoulders, and old Quelver stood with his hand on the door and a cold prickling running through him, and did his best to remember and whisper aloud every last prayer to the Three that he'd ever heard.
Moonlight was bright white and silver as it fell on the Wildrocks-and, in a particular high hollow above what was now Brightpennant again, upon four bare bodies.
The Band of Four lay beside their dying fire, and felt no chill from the night breezes, thanks to the Dwaer.
It floated, as ugly and nondescript as ever, in the air above Embra's breast, flickering as it wove protective wards around them, driven by her will. With one fingertip the sorceress beneath it was wonderingly tracing the angry red half-healed line that snaked along Hawkril's forearm, as they lay together on one side of the fire, with Craer and Sarasper on the other.
Suddenly Embra sat up. The three men stiffened, reaching hastily for the swords that were never far from their hands. "What is it?" Craer hissed.
"The Dwaer shone like stars, too bright to look at, as Bla-as my father summoned us all to gather!" the Lady of Jewels murmured almost fiercely. "Remember?"
"Aye," Hawkril rumbled, as the others nodded. "We all saw it… What of it?"
"They can only do that," Embra told them in a voice barely more than a whisper, "when all four Dwaerindim are very close together-little more than a few paces apart."
None of her companions was slow-witted. "So the fourth Stone is held by someone now among the Barons of the realm… and held in secret," Sarasper said into the sudden darkness, as a swift-scudding cloud covered the moon.
"But who?" Craer asked the night.
Somehow, they could all hear Hawkril shrug before he spoke. "Whoever he is, our royal mission remains unfinished. We start looking for him in the morning."
Craer and Sarasper heard Embra's disgusted groan and the playful slap she gave the armaragor at her side, but Hawkril could act in uncanny silence when he needed to; they heard nothing of his reaction until the Lady of Jewels gave a low, delighted gasp that became a chuckle, and then sank back into being a gasp again.
"So, healer," Craer remarked conversationally to the glittering stars, "did I ever tell you about the time I unintentionally stole someone's left boot in Sirlptar? He's probably got mine, and may still be tracing me by it, for all I know…"
"No, Most Exalted Overduke Delnbone," Sarasper replied with bright heartiness, as the moon came out again, and they heard a growl and a stifled laugh from the other side of the fire, "I don't believe you did…"
Dramatis Personae
ADELN, ESCULPH: Baron (Lord) of Adeln, a handsome, ruthless and unprincipled ruler of a wealthy barony that boasts a large army; an enthusiastic conspirator against