Reckoning (The Empyrean Chronicle) (43 page)

“I can’t believe it,” Danica said, her green eyes smiling.

“Dad buried his lessons deep, but well,” Elias said as his
vision blurred.

Danica’s eyes too grew wet. “No,” she said, “I can’t believe
you solved that puzzle with the star. You almost failed geometry!”

For the first time in many, many moons the throne room of
Galacia filled with laughter.

Elsewhere in Peidra, citizens from swaddling babe to wizened
elder, were drawn from their slumber by a golden light raining from the
heavens. One by one, from pauper to high lord, they peered out their bedroom
windows to see the star of Galacia hanging over Lucerne Palace, the ancient
symbol on the heraldry of House Denar, and the herald of a new dawn.

First Marshal

Elias was amazed by how quickly Peidra returned to business
as usual once Sarad and his minions had been defeated. For the common folk,
seeing the star of House Denar lighting the night sky like a midnight sun was
enough to convince them of the legitimacy of the queen’s return. Galacians,
ever a pragmatic people—fostered Elias supposed by its tenuous position in the
center of a continent that seemed too small for all its hungry nations, and thus
no stranger to war—were content to leave magic to the arcanists and government
to queen and council as long as their sons were kept safe and bread was on the
table.

As for the gentry, none were satisfied with Oberon’s brief
reign—least of all Oberon himself, who had sequestered himself in his chapel
for a stint of self reflection and prayer since his run-in with Mirengi. As for
Vachel Ogressa, he had been keeping to his townhouse and his cups, devastated,
as rumor had it, by the betrayal of his friend and confidant, Prelate Mirengi. While
that was doubtlessly true, Elias thought shame the driving factor that kept
Ogressa cloistered. That, and a lingering chagrin that he and his coconspirator
Oberon had backed the wrong horse.

Houses Mycrum and Antares had wasted no time in forming an
alliance after the queen’s disappearance. Mycrum for one had a natural distrust
of anyone not from House Mycrum and bristled at the idea of so many swords
milling about that had exclusive loyalty to House Oberon and the church. For
his part, Josua of Antares knew that foul play had occurred, particularly when
he had not been allowed to view his niece’s body. As Oberon had withdrawn from
the public eye, their combined forces easily reassumed control over the
Blackshields and Galacian Regulars after the queen’s return. As for Rabidine,
the somber air that pervaded the capital since the queen’s disappearance more
than convinced him to receive the return of his monarch with open arms.

Captain Blackwell, who had been taken alive with the queen’s
party, and momentarily forgotten in Treacher’s Tower, was well-loved by the Red
and Whiteshields, and quickly reasserted authority over them in conjunction
with House Mycrum and Antares. He, along with several other valorous
individuals, had been honored in a ceremony in the throne room, followed by a
reception in the great hall.

The queen spared no expense or pomp, for she wished to demonstrate
that the wealth and strength of House Denar remained intact. She declared a
Hunt Holiday the day before the ceremony, opening up the Hartwood to the gentry
and common folk alike. Overnight the kitchens worked nonstop to prepare roasted
boar and venison, summer squash and sweet corn, wild rice and mushrooms,
cornbread and honeyed sweet cakes, and every other harvest bounty imaginable.

As such, all of the gentry from Houses large and small, were
invited to Lucerne to bear witness. All came dressed in their best feast day
finery, and so cloths of silver and gold, sashes of silk and bejeweled ceremonial
swords, abounded in a veritable who’s who of Galacia.

Blackwell and many other Red and Whiteshields, those both
fallen and alive, had been named to the newly appointed Order of the Hart for
their valiant service to the crown. Not even little Seven Winters was excepted,
who received an honorific for his part in Elias’s escape along with a promise
to be taken into the Redshields when he was of age.

Elias watched the ceremony with his companions, as the queen,
resplendent in the crimson and gold of House Denar, spoke at some length about
the storm Galacia had weathered and the valor of her people. At last, she
turned to the party of companions that had aided in her escape, and served in
the secret brotherhood of the Sentinels. One by one, she summoned them up to
the throne dais to stand in a line before her, with the exception of Ogden, who
stood at her side, and would be excepted from the accommodations to protect his
identity as the Archmagus of the Sentinels.

Eithne first called Phinneas to step forward to the foot of
the dais. Phinneas cut a dashing figure with his long white hair, a collared
and silver-buttoned woolen tunic, close fitting black breeches, and knee-high
swashbuckler boots. He sketched a bow in the antiquated style, with a deep fold
from his waist and one arm thrust loosely forward.

“Good Doctor,” began the queen, “you have served Galacia
bravely, and well. You began your service under my father during the Quarter
Century War where you saved many lives with your skills both as a physician and
tactician.

“Your service to House Denar, and Galacia, continued into my
reign, and during your retirement, no less. You are a most…” the queen smiled
warmly and her hazel eyes sparkled “…unique physician and counselor. I confer
upon you the title of Magnus, so all may know of your status as the premier
crown physician and a most trusted advisor. In like spirit, I name you to the
Order of the Magi, to signify your wisdom and the strength in defending
Galacia, not with your steel but with your mind.”

Eithne nodded to Ogden who stepped forward and hung the two
medals about Phinneas’s neck, with a sly wink for his old friend. Beaming and
scarlet with pride Phinneas stepped back into line with his companions.

Next the queen called Lar forward, who had the look of a
barbarian genteel, clothed as he was in a linen shirt and a cloth of silver
waistcoat. He still marveled that the suit of clothes that Ogden presented him
with earlier in the week was worth more coin than he made in a year.

“Master Fletcher,” said the queen, “your dogged pursuit of
the enemies of Galacia and loyalty to your friends and queen, illustrate the
very best qualities in a subject, and a man. For valor in battle at great
personal sacrifice, I bestow upon you our military’s greatest honor—the Medal
of Valor, and thus name you to the elite Order Valorus.

Further, I confer upon you the rank of Marshal, being the
second newly appointed in nigh four decades, but the second of many as I plan
to restore the Marshal Order to its former glory as the arbiter of the queen’s
law.”

Ogden pinned a Marshal’s shield to Lar’s waistcoat and hung
the medal of valor about his neck. To his credit, Lar didn’t fidget under all
the attention of the gentry, even when the chamber buzzed at the queen’s pronouncement
of the reinstatement of the Marshal corps.

When Lar rejoined his companions, Eithne fixed her gaze upon
Bryn and smiled warmly. “Cousin, come forward.” Bryn was a radiant jewel in a
shimmering gown of House Denar crimson and gold, with gossamer thin straps that
did little to conceal the creamy expanse of her shoulders and throat.

“Aside from being the best of kin, Lady Denar, you have
quite literally been the pillar that has held our House aloft. You have saved
your queen’s life, and have long been well-loved by her as a sister. Now, you
shall be loved by her as her heir as well.” A tide of murmurs swept through the
throne room. “Bryn Denar, cousin of mine, daughter of Prince Vance, I name you
the Princess of Galacia, and my rightful and true heir, until such a time as I
have a child of twenty winters old. As such you have a permanent seat on the
Council of the Six, with all the rights and privileges granted a High Lord.”

The murmurs and rustling of the court redoubled, but was
promptly silenced by Blackwell, who struck a mailed fist to his ceremonial
white shield.

After Ogden passed Bryn the ceremonial scepter of the crown
regent, a platinum and gold rod capped with a fist-sized ruby, he said, “Lord
Vundi, will you approach the queen?” The gentry bristled that their queen would
elect to show such deference to a barbarian from the north, but Blackwell’s
admonishment remained fresh in their minds and they stayed silent. Agnar took a
single, long step toward the throne and bowed deeply, torchlight reflecting off
his golden hair, which was pulled back from his angular face in two long
braids.

“Lord Vundi, you are evidence not that my enemy’s enemy is
my ally, but that sometimes we find the truest of hearts in unexpected places. Despite
having been framed for an attempt on the Crown and wrongly imprisoned, you took
up the sword to defend your ancestral enemy. Once freed you could have left us
to our fate but instead you proved that the sons of Ittamar are as honorable as
they are fierce. Please accept my heartfelt gratitude,” the queen gave Ogden a
nod, who produced a scroll bound with a gold ribbon and bearing the royal seal,
“and this signed and sealed treaty of peace and trade between our two nations,
endorsed by all members of the Council of the Six.” Eithne offered Oberon and
Ogressa, who skulked in the far corner of the chamber, an arch look. The two
conspirators withered under her gaze.

“Go in peace, son of winter, but know that you are ever
welcome in summer lands.” Agnar bowed again and rejoined the party.

A hush fell over the throne room as Eithne surveyed the
entirety of her court. Most persons of note in Peidra were present, and packed
tight against each other, jockeying for a better view of the proceedings. They spilled
into the hallway beyond, and no doubt more than a few already enjoyed the
amenities of the great hall, where every variety of victuals and libations from
Galacian whiskey to Aradurian curried kabobs were laid out. At last Eithne’s
eyes rested on Elias and Danica Duana.

“The Duanas. Where to begin with the siblings whose quest
for justice delivered a nation? A star-crossed pair whose family was torn
asunder for the secrets their father carried, only to then be thrust into a
game of intrigue containing every yarn from a storybook nightmare—secret assassin
brotherhoods, fell sorcery, and a plot against the throne. Yet this was no
dime-store novel, but like heroes from one of those lurid tales they refused to
yield and overcame one impossible obstacle after another. Together they ensured
their queen escaped a coup on her throne.

“Danica, you made the greatest sacrifice of all and left
behind the last member of your family to secure your queen’s escape. Elias, you
sealed the royal wing and engaged a score of assassins disguised as marauding
Ittamar. You gave your life to fight a duel with a master necromancer, the
false Prelate, Sarad Mirengi. Yet you didn’t die, but endured imprisonment and torture
that would have broken lesser men.

“Together you stole back into an occupied palace and
destroyed the greatest evil Galacia has known in centuries. While you had help
from the other fine souls that have been honored this night, without you there
could have been no victory and the Galacia we all know and love would be but
the shadow of a memory. You have shown us that even a single flame can turn
back the blackest night.”

In a voice belied by his seemingly frail form, Ogden boomed,
“Danica Duana, Elias Duana, come forward and take a knee before your queen.”

Elias, dressed in his full Marshal regalia, and Danica, clad
in the white habit of a physician, stepped forward as one and knelt before the
throne. Captain Blackwell strode to the edge of the dais and presented Eithne
with a silvered dueling saber, uncommonly long of blade and with the stag of
House Denar embossed on the ricasso.

“In the days of old,” continued the queen, “valiant and
uncommon individuals whose selfless service and devotion to a cause higher than
themselves were honored with knighthood. It is time that tradition was
restored.” The queen took the sword from Blackwell and held it aloft in both
hands. She tapped Danica on one shoulder and then the next. “With the Sword of
Denar I knight thee, and name you high protector of the realm. Rise Sir Danica
Duana.”

The queen followed in kind by knighting Elias and then said,
“Sir Danica, you may rejoin your party.”

Danica bowed, and wearing a wry smile returned to stand by
Lar’s side. Eithne stepped down from the dais and stood on even ground with
Elias, and a great gasp went through the chamber and hall beyond, for it was
unheard of for royalty to approach a subject in this manner in a formal
setting.

“Sir Elias. Marshal Duana. Warrior. Wizard. Savior of
Galacia. I wonder if you return to the township of your birth, will people be
able to figure out what in Agia to call you?” The queen smiled and candidly met
Elias’s eyes. Her voice grew soft and those assembled strained to hear her
words. “You are all these things, and more. Most of all you are my creditor,
for surely I, and Galacia, are in your debt.”

Phinneas felt Bryn stiffen by his side and he touched her
hand, for she had realized the tragic truth he had come to understand weeks ago—the
queen loved Elias.

Eithne resumed her position on the royal dais. “In addition
to knight of the realm, I name you First Marshal of Galacia. Let it be known
that there is no law higher than Sir Marshal Duana, save that of the queen
herself. Let it also be remembered,” she added with another significant look at
Oberon and Ogressa, “that House Denar always settles its debts. In full.”

The queen’s features softened. “Now, let the celebration
commence.”

The gentry required no more prodding than that, and after the
queen swept through the narrow channel of crimson velvet kept clear in the
center of the throne room, they hurriedly filed into the great hall.

In honor of her friends from Knoll Creek, Eithne hired a
stringed quartet proficient in the twangy, upbeat style popular in the southern
duchies. While a fair part of the gentry turned their noses up initially, after
a few drams of knoll whiskey even the haughtiest courtiers from House Oberon
began to dance and tap their feet, excepting Oberon himself, who sat alone in
his cups.

Elias, for his part, felt content, but his was a happiness
that slept with sadness. His heart still cracked for his father, and yearned
for Asa, yet he found satisfaction in the knowledge that they were at peace as,
at long last, was he. Though Padraic Duana was gone, Elias realized he had
finally come to know his father, the man who had given up his sword and his standing
to live a quiet life in anonymity with the ones he loved.