The Elder Lands

Chapter 34: Mantles

Chapter 34: Mantles

“It’s madness.”

“If it is the only choice we have left, then perhaps it is, Father,” Lucan said. At his request, his father had retreated with him to their chambers in the middle of the feast.

“And madness has consequences,” his father said. He was pacing the room, back and forth “What do you think the consequences of making a spectacle of the prince could be?”

“The enmity of a prince that won’t be King, for once?” Lucan said.

Sir Golan stopped and gave him a sharp glare. “It’s not something to be done lightly.” He paused. “Or at all.”

“I don’t think there’s anything light about our position, Father. It’s why such a drastic measure is needed to begin with.”

His father shook his head and went back to his pacing. “I already made one mistake. I don’t want to make another, and so soon after the first. We need time.”

“I doubt we have it.”

“So you want me to humiliate a royal,” Sir Golan said. “And why? Because the princess advised you that it would be wise? Perhaps you don’t understand how deep politics can go in this court. Perhaps you believe she gave you this advice out of the goodness of her heart. Or…perhaps you have taken a fancy to her?” His eyes fixed themselves on Lucan, searching for a fatal mistake, but he soon found nothing and Lucan could swear he saw relief overcome his face. “Nothing is given for free here, Lucan. Nothing is given out of kindness.”

“Believe me, Father. I know,” Lucan said, remembering the last few words he exchanged with the princess before leaving her. “I’m already on my path to repayment.”

“Yes,” his father scoffed. “With this Labyrinth affair.”

“It’s still an opportunity.”

“You have not even been told the ‘particulars’ of what’s required of you yet, and already you’ve passed your judgment?” His father gave him a derisive glance.

“I–” Lucan paused. “I know it will come with its own pile of trouble, but I believe there’s still something to gain for me and the men.”

His father’s rebuttal was interrupted by a knock on the door. Sir Golan strode towards the door and opened it. Lucan heard a few whispered words then his father received something and shut the door. He then turned around, came up to him, and handed him a rolled-up parchment. “It’s for you.” He crossed his arms and waited for him to open it.

Lucan received it with a great deal of confusion until he unrolled it. As he read it, his face fell slightly. Still, the contents weren't too surprising. It wouldn’t be a service for the princess if it didn’t come with its own set of conditions.

“Well?” his father’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

“It’s from the princess. I’m to put the interests of the princess’s two ‘friends’ above our own. I’m also reminded,” he raised the letter, “that this venture into the Labyrinth is mainly for their benefit. Their safety ought to be my first concern, kept even above that of my men.”

His father raised a brow.

“I won’t abandon any of our own, Father.”

“And if it happens that you have to make a choice?”

“It won’t come to that. I’ll be cautious. The princess instructed that I have to get her people what they need. She mentioned nothing about swiftness.”

His father sighed. “So you’re intent on doing this?”

“Yes, Father,” Lucan said. “I’m still uncertain, though. Why me? Why not someone with experience in the Labyrinth?” Of course, there was the little scheme she’d puppeteered them into to get them access to the Labyrinth. But she couldn’t have planned to meet them in Arpague. She’d simply been given the opportunity by chance, and for some reason, she’d taken it.

“Perhaps there’s no one else,” his father said.

Lucan nodded. He gave his father a beseeching glance. “Will you duel him?”

His father released another sigh, a long-suffering one. “If that is your choice, son. I’m not certain it will help you, but if it could, I will.”

Lucan bobbed his head. “Thank you, Father,” he said, knowing that his father didn’t mind bearing the consequences of his previous conduct by himself but was agonizing over sharing it with him. Now he was simply giving Lucan an opportunity to find his own way free of the mire he’d gotten them into.

He could only hope that his methods were better than his father’s.

Lucan and his father returned to the great hall soon after finishing their discussion. The servant hadn’t only come with the letter, but had also told his father that the King would be emerging soon. Everyone had to be there to receive him of course.

The great hall was crowded with nobles from all around the Kingdom. Prince Oswin’s party of followers were still grouped up around him, listening to his stale jests and exaggerated stories. Prince Esmond, the youngest of the royal sons, still stood with his own retinue of unknowns, as silent as ever. In a way, he looked as though he was resigned to waiting for his order of execution.

Lucan panned his eyes over the hall and saw the princess who gave him a meaningful glance. He nodded at her in acknowledgment and she quirked a smile.

Lucan soon noted a glare pointed their way. He honed in on the source and saw a tall man, even taller than his father, with wide shoulders and a thick angular face. He had dark hair and a small, deep scar between his cheek and nose. The man kept his glare on them for a while then shifted his eyes away.

“Sir Ward,” his father said softly. “He’s never shown us anything but unwarranted contempt. Perhaps he’s heard of you extending your road a bit too far into contested territory.” He glanced at Lucan. “Contempt can quickly turn into animosity. We ought to be careful.”

Lucan nodded, but his mind was elsewhere, worrying about the problems they needed to handle here in the capital.

On one end of the great hall, there were three steps up which led to large double doors carved with immaculate artistry. All of the other doors into the hall, from which everyone present had entered, were more modest and small. Those grand double doors suddenly opened and a well-dressed servant strode out until he was upon the steps.

In an echoing voice, he announced, “His majesty, protector of river and valley, sovereign of Barwalis by pact and blood, King Athelstan Baroun, approaches.”

In moments, every man and woman in the hall turned fully to face the opened door through which the King was expected to emerge. And he did, the King strode out in full regalia, most prominent of which was the goldsteel Crownmask. Its features were mute but perfectly proportioned in gold grained with black, giving it a shade of gold bright enough to show its value but dark enough to appear regal. Attached to the mask’s brow was a crown of jeweled leaves that wreathed the King’s gray hair. His beard was nowhere to be seen, somehow tucked into the mask. A mantle hung over the King’s shoulders, a rich purple river flowing down his sides and back.

Everyone in the hall lowered themselves into a deep bow, and no one missed it when Prince Dane Baroun stepped up beside the King in the middle of their bow.

“Rise.” The King’s voice echoed from his position atop the stairs.

Lucan rose and listened as the King began his speech.

“Honored vassals of the Kingdom,” his voice echoed out, soft but deep. “Even though the call was not one of gravity, you have honored me by accepting it and being here today. My thanks to all those who have arrived and even those whose health or circumstance have forced them to send representatives. Barwalis is healthier and stronger than ever with you. The bonds of loyalty, the weight of honor, and the mastery of wisdom are what built our strength. Loyalty that binds vassals,” he gestured with his hands expansively around the hall, “to their liege. Honor that binds vassal and liege both to act righteously. And Wisdom that one who shoulders the mantle of power must possess.”

The words of the King were only interrupted by his own brief silence and the concurring nods of most of those listening to him.

“For this reason, I have found it my duty to choose from among my children the one who possesses the keenest measures of wisdom and courage, even should they all possess them in abundance as they do, to carry the mantle of this Kingdom after me.”

The hall erupted in suppressed whispers. The duke and his faction were wearing stony faces, though not surprised ones. But Oswin Baroun, the first prince, was not as unsurprised with this revelation as the rest of them, it seemed. His party had a nervous current passing through them. The hand with which the prince carried his drink was shaking, but fortunately, the goblet was not full this time.

The King gave no heed to the obvious commotion and continued.

“I have trust in Dane Baroun, my son and, from this day, my heir. I trust that he will rule this Kingdom with wisdom and intellect, that he will lead you with courage and strength, and that he will judge you fairly should you err. In the presence of every family of noble blood in this Kingdom’s land, I name Dane Baroun,” he gestured at the prince who stood beside him. A young man of average height, modest build, and sharp eyes, “Crown Prince.”