Chasing the Prophecy

“Today was unusual,” Rachel said.

“Aye, and if I let unusual conditions stop me, I won’t be any help until this whole affair is over. I’m happy to admit that I’m in way over my head. I never expected to get involved with the high matters of great men. But I made two promises to Lord Jason: to help Galloran fight his war, and to watch over you.”

“You’ve done great so far,” Rachel assured him. “The war is on schedule and I’m doing fine.”

“Keep me near, if you can,” Tark urged. “I want to be of service.”

“I’m glad to know I can count on you,” Rachel replied, a hand on his arm.

Tark sniffed uncomfortably and looked away. “Now, don’t go relying on me too much. I’ll give you my best, but don’t forget to keep practicing that Edomic of yours.”

“Deal.”

* * *

The coronation featured even more pageantry than the procession into the city. Simply to stand at the back of the throne room for the ceremony cost no less than a hundred drooma.

Trensicourt had celebrated nonstop ever since the procession. For two days the streets had remained mobbed by revelers, regardless of the hour. Citizens thronged the plaza outside the castle to hear heralds recite the words spoken within.

Rachel sat in the throne room at the front of the elevated gallery. Tark was seated on one hand, Io on the other. Galloran had appointed the two men as her personal bodyguards for the duration of their stay at Trensicourt. Io looked handsome and dignified in his finery. Strange how much he had matured in half a year. Not just in appearance—his attitude had become more serious, although he remained very considerate. She tried not to think ahead to his hair going gray by winter.

While waiting for the ceremony to begin, Tark and Io kept stealing sidelong glances at her—as if she didn’t already feel conspicuous enough! Yesterday Rachel had been fitted for a special outfit: a fine, dark robe with a veiled, broad-brimmed hat and black lace gloves. Nollin had come up with the idea. The goal was to make her appear mysterious, and the tailors had succeeded. The ensemble looked like an eccentric, stylish funeral outfit. Her attire attracted much attention, but at least the veil enabled her to avoid eye contact. When she turned her head toward the onlookers gazing her way, all eyes wandered elsewhere. Nobody wanted to get caught staring.

A hush fell over the room as a herald announced Galloran, complete with a dozen titles such as Protector of the Realm, High Commander of the Army, and Crown Prince of Trensicourt. Regal and tall, Galloran strode into the room, the train of his robe dragging behind like a cape designed for a giant. Three young attendants followed, holding the trailing ends of the purple garment.

Silence reigned as Galloran ascended the dais, shed his robe, and sat on a small, ornate chair before the Grand Duke of Edgemont, a husky man with a forked beard and costly attire. Dolan sat on the dais as well, as did Copernum and several other high lords of Trensicourt.

Rachel felt happy for Galloran. He looked very regal, and he had certainly earned this moment of glory.

Dolan arose and spoke to the assemblage. The speech struck Rachel as long-winded, as if he were trying to exhaust every possible way to express his joy at the return of the heir to the throne, all the while missing no opportunity to compliment the job he had done as regent in preserving the realm through the kingless years.

Next, Copernum stepped forward and spoke of his support for Galloran and his relief that the kingdom was whole again. Thankfully, his speech was shorter.

At last the Grand Duke of Edgemont issued a long ceremonial proclamation. Rachel was glad for the veil, because it allowed her to secretly yawn during the plodding recitation. Toward the end of the pronouncement a boy in a fancy doublet brought the crown to the Grand Duke of Edgemont on a silk pillow. Still reciting ceremonial words, the grand duke lifted the crown from the cushion, held it high, then deposited it on Galloran’s head. A flourish of trumpets followed as Galloran accepted his royal scepter.

The Grand Duke of Edgemont retreated, and Galloran arose. The room erupted with cheers. Rachel hooted and hollered as loudly as anyone. The jubilation maintained a deafening volume for at least thirty seconds. Galloran raised both hands. As the applause subsided, Rachel could hear the sustained murmur of distant cheering from outside the castle. Word had traveled quickly.

“Fellow citizens of Trensicourt,” Galloran began, raising his voice as best he could. A hush fell over the room. “I come to the throne more than a decade too late. Most of you are aware that I am no friend of the emperor, Maldor. I have spent the past years in active defiance of his ambition to dominate Lyrian. Some of those years were spent actively fighting him, some in the dungeons of Felrook, and the most recent years were spent gathering intelligence in preparation for a final stand against his bid for absolute power.

“The kingdoms taken by Maldor have fallen under the heavy yoke of his tyranny. His lust for dominion knows no bounds. As his power grows, he squeezes ever tighter, shrinking freedom and limiting opportunity. He rewards cowards and traitors willing to prosper by informing on friends and allies. He raises the cruel, the ruthless, and the treacherous to the highest offices. He limits the spread of knowledge to make his subjects ignorant and more docile. He will live for centuries. Left unchecked, his rule will usher in the darkest era in the long history of Lyrian. Civilization will continue to regress until most of the natural joy has been crushed from life. Those he rules will live in constant fear, mistrusting one another, unable to pursue excellence in any endeavor without risking his interference.”

Galloran paused. The room was silent except for the low rustle of people shifting uncomfortably. Clearly, nobody had spoken this candidly about Maldor in Trensicourt for years.

“Contrary to what he would have us believe, the emperor has not yet captured the continent. Although he is well on his way, the kingdom of Kadara continues to tie up the majority of his armed forces along the eastern coast as they lay siege to the cities of Kadara, Highport, and Inkala. The drinlings remain free, as do the Amar Kabal in the Seven Vales. And though we may have made some unwise compromises, Trensicourt also remains a free kingdom.”

Galloran paused again. Was he hoping for a reaction from the audience? Everyone was listening intently, but nobody cried out.

The freshly crowned king raised the fingertips of one hand to his temple. “There has been considerable speculation about my eyes. Yes, the spies of Maldor are watching as I gaze upon you. Maldor took my sight when I was captured. He offered to restore my vision by grafting in the eyes of displacers. The offer involved no pledges of fealty. I felt that I needed my sight to wage war against him, so I accepted his gift. This is why, when dealing in sensitive matters, I wear a blindfold. In combat I am happy to let Maldor watch me slay his servants.”