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Tis complicated to explain.
Never mind, Lord Renald said with a shrug. I know enough about feuds. They
never stop, and they can consume you if you are not careful.
Dain said nothing, just gazed steadily at the man.
Very well, King Dain, Lord Renald conceded with a sigh. I will witness your
oath service and see you rightfully placed as chevard. If you fail at being a
king, perhaps you can come back and run this hold, eh?
Dain s smile soured a bit. As an endorsement of support, it wasn t much, but
he supposed he should be grateful that Lord Renald was agreeing at all.
I thank you, he said formally. Come, let us eat together. Then as soon as
the ceremony is finished, I
will direct you to Prince Gavril s camp.
He will hate us both for this, Lord Renald said with a sigh.
Aye, he will, Dain agreed. But I, at least, am used to it.
Despite the brightness of the midday sun, the wind blew cold. The banners of
Thirst Hold snapped in the breeze while a trumpet rang out and drumbeats
rolled.
In solemn procession, the knights of Thirst marched forth from the guardhouse
before an awestruck crowd of servants, villagers, and serfs. Each knight wore
full armor and carried arms. Each knight led his charger, with his shield tied
to his saddle. The horses were caprisoned for war with armored saddlecloths
and head plates. Their iron shoes scraped and rang on the paving stones as
they filed into the innermost courtyard. The knights came in order of rank.
Sir Bosquecel led the line, followed by Sir Alard and the other first-rank
knights, then the middle-rank knights, then the sentry-rank knights, and at
the rear, the elderly or battle-maimed knights who no longer rode to war but
served light duties as door guards and strategists. Behind this procession
came the delegation of squires, squirming and nervous in their dark green
tunics and wool cloaks.
Atop the stone steps leading to the Hall, Dain sat in a tall-backed chair. He
still wore his mail hauberk, but had donned one of Lord Odfrey s dark green
surcoats for the occasion. His thick black hair had been braided up the back
of his skull, war-rior fashion, revealing his pointed ears. A narrow circlet
of gold a gift from Prince Spirin before Dain left Savroix rested on his brow
for the first time. His magnificent ruby ring gleamed on his finger.
Behind his chair stood Sir Terent, looking pale and drawn but proud. Sir
Polquin was beside him, with his bullish shoulders drawn back and his head
high. It was a king s right to have two protectors if he chose, and Dain had
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just named Sir Polquin to the second position a few minutes earlier. For once,
the master-at-arms had been struck speechless, but his eyes were shining over
the honor bestowed on him.
To Dain s left stood Lord Renald with his small band of Lunt knights. To his
right were the priest and
Thum, who kept grinning despite his attempts to stay solemn.
The procession of knights halted at the foot of the steps, and the drums fell
silent.
The herald stepped forward. By the right of inheritance and the warrant of
his majesty, King Verence, this man Faldain is proclaimed Chevard of Thirst.
According to law, the oaths of service which bind these assembled men of arms
to Odfrey, Lord of Thirst, are hereby dissolved and void.
Some of the knights bowed their heads. Dain s keen ears caught the faintest
murmur of whispering among the house servants and pages looking on.
This was the moment, Dain told himself, where everything could go awry. Freed
of all allegiance, the knights could now ride forth from Thirst and pledge
their service elsewhere. No one could forcibly bind them to Dain, whether he
was the lawful chevard or not. He sat there trying to look impassive, but his
mouth was dry and his heart was thumping hard inside his chest. If he had not
been eld he would not have been much worried, but uplanders were notoriously
prejudiced against those of his kind.
The claims of Faldain begin, the herald announced, his voice ringing forth
across the assembly. He is knight-at-arms, Chevard of Thirst, and uncrowned
King of Nether. He asks for your oaths of service, which you may give or
withhold by the laws of Mandria.
The drumbeats resumed.
Dain rose to his feet and went down the steps to where the knights stood in a
long row before their horses. Behind him, Sir Terent and Sir Polquin followed.
It was required that Dain go to each knight in turn, the action a symbol of
his humble supplication. Once the oaths were given, his every command would
have to be obeyed without question or hesitation, but until then he was to
think of how bereft and insignificant he would be without his men. The
ceremony and its meanings had all been explained to him, and he felt nervous
and stiff in the knees.
As he reached Sir Bosquecel, he stopped and turned to face the man, who stared
back from beneath his upraised visor.
Ask the question, Sir Terent mumbled in Dain s ear.
Thus prompted, Dain said, I come to you in need, Sir Bosquecel. What am I
given?
The hold commander drew his sword and knelt before Dain to lay his weapon on
the ground between them. I give you my sword in service, loyalty, and honor,
he replied, his voice firm and clear. I swear to obey and fight in the name
of Faldain, until my days be ended.
Aelmn.
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