‘Lord Brand,’ Daran objected, ‘the people won’t accept me as their ruler. I’m too young.’
‘Your father was even younger than you are when he established the kingdom, Daran,’ I reminded him.
‘But he had the Orb, Aunt Pol.’
‘Right. And now you have it.’
He blinked. ‘Nobody but father can touch the Orb.’
I smiled at him. I suppose it was a sad smile, but the fact that I could do it at all surprised me. ‘Daran,’ I said, ‘your father put your hand on the Orb before you were twenty-four hours old. It knows who you are.’
‘Could he take the sword down off the wall?’ Kamion asked me intently.
‘I’m not entirely positive. I’ll look into it.’
That would give his Highness’ regency a visible sign of legitimacy and head off objections from any quarter.’
‘I think I’m getting a glimmer of an idea here, gentlemen,’ I told them. ‘I’ll have to speak with my Master about it – and with Riva himself – but if I’m right, there won’t be any objections to Daran’s regency from anyone.’
‘And then I can deal with the Rivan Deacon,’ Daran said, his young face hardening.
‘Would you care to define “deal with”, your Highness?’ Kamion asked politely.
‘I haven’t entirely decided yet, Lord Brand. I’m torn between running a sword into his belly and twisting it or burning him at the stake. Which do you prefer, Aunt Pol?’
Alorns! ‘Let’s get your authority firmly established before the blood-bath, Daran,’ I suggested. ‘Let Elthek worry for a while before you run your sword into him or start using him for firewood. We have other things to take care of first.’
‘I guess you’re right, Aunt Pol,’ he conceded. ‘Do you have the authority to close the harbor, Lord Brand?’
‘I suppose so, your Highness,’ Kamion replied, ‘but why?’
‘This is an island, Lord Brand. If we close the harbor, Elthek can’t get away from me.’
‘Oh, dear,’ I sighed.
It was much later when I was alone in my chambers that I was finally able to reach out with my mind. ‘Mother, I need you.’ Then I waited, growing more apprehensive by the moment.
‘Yes, Pol?’ Her voice was filled with fathomless sorrow.
‘Can Daran take up his father’s sword?’
‘Of course he can, Pol.’
‘And will the sword respond to him in the same way it responds to Riva?’
‘Naturally. What’s this all about, Pol?’
‘Alorn politics, mother. Riva can’t function just now, so Daran’s going to have to rule the Isle until his father recovers. I want to head off any arguments before they even get started.’
‘Don’t overdo things, Pol.’
‘Of course not, mother.’
It’s always been my opinion that funerals should be private affairs for just the immediate family, but my sister had been the queen of the Rivans, and that called for a state funeral.
The Rivan Deacon will officiate, of course,’ Kamion advised my nephew and me. ‘It’s unfortunate, but – ’
‘No. He won’t,’ Daran said firmly.
‘Your Highness?’
‘Elthek killed my mother. If he even comes near the funeral, I’ll chop him all to pieces. There’s a chaplain here in the Citadel. He’ll officiate.’
‘That’s your Highness’s final word on the matter?’
‘It is, Lord Brand.’ Then Daran stormed away.
‘I’ll talk to him, Kamion,’ I said quietly. ‘The Deacon won’t officiate, but I do want him to be present. Something’s going to happen that I want him to see.’
‘Secrets, Pol?’
‘Just a little surprise, old friend. I’m going to make the transfer of power very visible.’
Elthek was offended, naturally, but Kamion was smooth enough to unruffle his feathers, using such terms as ‘personal spiritual advisor’, and ‘the wishes of the immediate family’.
The formal funeral was conducted in the Hall of the Rivan King, and my sister’s bier was directly in front of the throne where Riva, sunk in bottomless melancholy, sat brooding over his wife’s pale body.
The priest who officiated was a gentle, kindly old man who was clearly not a Cultist. He gave us what comfort he could, but I doubt that any of us heard much of what he said. Elthek, the Rivan Deacon, sat near the front of the Hall, his face filled with injured pride. He was a tall, thin man with burning eyes and a grey-shot beard that reached almost to his waist. At one point during the family chaplain’s sermon, I caught Elthek glaring at me, and then his face twisted into a smirk that said volumes. He seemed almost delighted that I’d failed to save my sister’s life. He came very close to joining Belar out among the stars at that point.
Beldaran was interred in a hastily prepared royal mausoleum at the end of a long hallway inside the Citadel, and Riva wept openly as the heavy stone lid of the crypt slid gratingly over her. Then Kamion and I escorted him back to the Hall. I’d spoken with my distraught brother-in-law for a time just before the funeral, so he knew exactly what to do. ‘My friends,’ he addressed the assembled nobles and clergy, ‘I will be going into seclusion for some time. The kingdom will be secure, however.’ He went to his throne, reached up, and took his huge sword down from the wall. As it always did when he took it in his hand, the sword burst into blue fire, but it appeared that even the Orb grieved for my sister because the fire seemed to me to be a bit subdued. The grieving king turned to face the assemblage, holding the flaming symbol of his authority aloft.
There was an absolute, almost fearful silence among the mourners. ‘My son, Prince Daran, will stand in my stead,’ Riva declared in tones that clearly brooked no opposition. ‘You will obey him even as you would obey me.’ Then he switched the sword around in those huge hands, taking it by its fiery blade and extending the hilt to Daran. ‘Thus I transfer all power to my son!’ he boomed.
Somewhere a bell started to ring, a deep-toned sound that seemed to shake the very stones around us. I knew with absolute certainty that no bell on the Isle was large enough to make that sound. Daran reverently took the sword from his father and raised it above his head. The fire of the Orb burst forth, running up that massive blade and enveloping the young prince in a sort of nimbus of blue light.
‘All hail Daran!’ Kamion commanded in a great voice, ‘Regent of the Isle of the Winds!’
‘Hail Daran!’ the crowd echoed.
Elthek’s face was pale with fury and his hands were trembling. He obviously hadn’t even considered the possibility of a regency, and certainly not a regency so supernaturally accepted. Clearly, he’d assumed that the grief-stricken Riva would try to continue to perform the duties of the throne, and a situation like that would have been almost made to order for the Rivan Deacon’s gradual usurpation of power. Kamion would have been shunted off to one side, and Elthek, speaking for the distraught Riva, would have insinuated himself into a position of unassailable authority. The blazing sword of the Rivan King in the hands of Daran effectively cut