Michelle West - Sun Sword 01 - The Broken Crown (113 page)

"I call the Lord to witness," Sendari said, his voice
surprisingly strong. "That this, the Serra Diora, is of Marano, and she
is blood of my blood, and she is wholly mine by birth, and no other
clan has lawful claim to her.

"And I call the Lord to witness that this, the Lord's Chosen
Champion, the Tyr'agnate Eduardo kai di'Garrardi, has proved himself
worthy, in the eyes of the clans of Annagar, and of the Lord of the
Sun, of the keep of the Serra who has been the Lord's Consort.

"Therefore I, Sendari par di'Marano, grant the keep of my
daughter, Diora di'Marano, to Eduardo kai di'Garrardi, such keep to be
consummated upon the appropriate rites and observances, and further
grant that all children borne to that union are of the Garrardi clan by
birth and blood, and that Marano shall exert no claim to such
offspring."

It was, Alesso thought, a statement worthy of Sendari; no
simple sentence when addressing a crowd where a complicated one would
do.

"Who will bear witness?"

The clansmen across the plateau roared with a single breath.

"Then let it be witnessed, and let no man of honor revoke what
has been in honor offered to witnesses such as these!"

The cheering was very like the roar of the wind across the
open plains.

The Tyr'agnate bowed, and then, unsheathing his sword—the
Garrardi sword, with its subtle curve and its obvious weight—he turned
to the General Alesso di'Marente and plunged the point of the weapon
into the wooden planks. There was an audible crack, and many a
swordsmith flinched at the noise, although they were probably the only
men there to worry about the stress upon the sword, and not the stress
upon the Dominion— for by his action, the Tyr'agnate Eduardo
di'Garrardi proclaimed the General his rightful liege lord.

The General stood his ground a moment, that the clansmen who
were less quick of wit might have a chance to understand what had
occurred. Then he gripped the haft of the sword and levered it out of
the wooden platform. He strained; it was not an easy motion.

Only Sendari was close enough to see the way his eyes
narrowed, and even if Eduardo had seen the slight contraction of lids
he might not have understood how close he came to receiving the sword
back, edge first. But Alesso's temper had long since, like all else in
his life, come under his dominion; he was graceful as he returned the
weapon to this, the first and now the most famous of his servants.

There were murmurs; there would be dissent. They expected no
less. But the murmurs were weaker than the breeze on the plateau, and
the chants of the Radann—for they had begun their interminable song,
although at what exact moment he did not remember. He was pleased to
find they were to prove useful for something this Festival.

They approached, three of the four par el'Sol who served the
kai; the kai el'Sol was not present. Nor was he expected to be now,
although he should have been witness to the resolution of the Lord's
test; his place was by the waters of the Tor Leonne. The par el'Sol
were granted the right and privilege of crowning the Lord's Champion—
but only the kai el'Sol could give the power of rulership over the
Lord's Dominion to a clansman.

"General," the Radann Peder par el'Sol said, bowing with
genuine respect. "The time has come."

"Par el'Sol. Lead, in the Lord's name, and in the Lord's name,
I will follow."

At the head of the procession the Radann par el'Sol walked;
they wore robes of pure white, with gold borders and gold collars, each
embroidered in the form of the sun ascendant with eight rays, ail of
perfect fire. They seemed a brotherhood of dignity and silence,
although their swords had a history as long as the Garrardi sword, and
names as venerable. Alesso di'Marente had never seen them drawn, but he
knew their names; what clansmen did not? Five swords had been crafted
for the Radann by the Lord, and if they were not as fine as the Sun
Sword, they were more jealously guarded, for the Sun Sword alone had
its methods of destroying the hand of one not meant to wield it.

Samadar el'Sol wore
Mordagar
, Samiel
el'Sol,
Arral
and Peder el'Sol,
Saval
.
Marakas el'Sol bore
Verragar
, the least of the
five, and the Radann kai el'Sol,
Balagar
, the
greatest. It was said that when these five swords were joined, no enemy
of the Lord could stand against them— and it was said that when they
fought alongside the Sun Sword, the Sun Sword granted them a measure of
its power.

Myth and legend—folklore which had never been, would never be,
proved. And what was proof to any but one Widan-trained? Something cold
and hard, a weapon. And a weapon's only place in the heart was to still
it.

He joined the Radann in their long, slow walk, feeling, as he
followed them, the weight of the Dominion's history. This was the
triumphal march, and in truth he was triumphant, but he felt out of
step with the Lord's will, and it disturbed him greatly. Markaso kai
di'Leonne had been, and would have continued to be, a weak Tyr; a man
with more control over his harem and his serafs than he could ever
exert over either his Tyrs or his enemies. He had called one war in his
life, and failed to win it, losing both precious land and face in the
process. No doubt he would have been forced to call another, and that,
too, he would have lost.

Alesso did not intend to lose any game he played, be it war or
no. But he did not have the authority of time and tradition. He did not
have the blood.

What of it? He squared his shoulders, and felt the new skin
pull across the breadth of his chest. Beneath armor, beneath silk,
beneath things visible. It was enough. He brought his hand to the hilt
of
Terra Feure
, and he followed the slowly
growing shadows of the Radann.

The path that wound in and around the Tor Leonne took on an
edge of clarity that it had never had. His shadow was sharp as he
walked the winding footpath, seeing each upturned leaf, each blossoming
flower, each plant that, uprooted from its desert clime, still sought
to deny the sun's heat by closing its armored petals, before he
realized what the flowers were: Nightblossom. Odd, to see the Lady's
flowers in the citadel of the Lord, on this Festival day. He frowned,
thinking that serafs would have to be found and dispatched, if serafs
were indeed the ones who had chosen so poorly. If Serras, then he would
tread more carefully.

The waters of the Tor Leonne opened up as the procession
reached the peak of the path. The path itself had widened, and
stonework, tended and kept free of the creeping plants that alone
seemed to require no work, had been laid. No natural wonder here, no
hidden dell or quiet recess. This was the seat of power, and in the
Dominion, power did not hide.

But the face it wore was not painted and pretty; it was not
overly ornate. To the east of the lake was the dwelling which the
Tyr'agar claimed as his own; it was recessed into hill and surrounded
by trees, but it stood, thick-beamed and pale, as the most important
edifice by the lake. The roof's wind chimes caught the breeze and made
of it something delicate and soothing as they danced above the
treetops. Elegance and simplicity were the rules of the Tor Leonne, and
they were followed nowhere so closely as here. Gold? The light of the
sun was brighter. What need of color, of banner, of flag? No man could
mistake this building—or the man who dwelled within it—for anything
other than it was. The home of the Tyr'agar towered above all else.

But it was not to the Tor Leonne that the procession went,
although it slowed in its passage in silent respect. The edifice was,
officially, empty of all but its ghosts. And ghosts held no sway
beneath the height of the sun.

There was the platform by which the waters could be viewed in
the dawn's light; the platform by which the moon could best be seen as
its face rippled in pleasant reflection; the platform by which the
waters, under the open sun, could be seen beneath the cover of trees
that just—barely—obeyed the edicts of height.

The procession came to none of these, but instead followed the
path to the rocky shore of the lake itself. There were stones here that
were smooth as glass, but harder, and stones that were larger across
than a prone horse. But there were smaller stones and beneath them
sand, and the lake lapped their edges in the silence of the day.

Standing, his feet a sword's edge from the water, was a lone
man. And he wore sunlight as if it were raiment, and as he turned to
greet them the lake caught his reflection. Above his brow, light
glittered, and behind his head; his hair was the dark brown-black of
the Annagarian clans, except where light touched and streaked it.
Across his chest, burning like fire, the sun ascendant; across his
wrists, for as he lifted his hands, the sleeve of his robe fell away,
the white tracery of fire, of the fire's test.

The Radann par el'Sol—all of them—fell to their knees at once,
their movements neither graceful nor practiced. Alesso understood this
because his own knees bent in reflex, as if someone had placed firm
hands on either shoulder and pushed him forcefully down.

To the feet of the Radann kai el'Sol. He rose as the kai
el'Sol nodded, and he approached this man, this sudden stranger.

The General was not a man who liked surprise.

From behind came the Lord's Chosen Champion, the bloodied and
unbowed Eduardo di'Garrardi. At his side, taking care not to bloody the
intricate, perfect dress she wore, was the Lord's Consort, the Flower
of the Dominion. The Radann par el'Sol receded, for they remained on
their knees as these three, the man who would be ruler and the two
Chosen of the Lord, stepped forward.

In his raised hands, the kai el'Sol carried the simple crown
with which the Leonne Tyrs had been proclaimed since the founding. The
Northern crowns were ornate, and they were golden, and they were
covered in etching and gem work and runes. This crown, this emblem was
different: It was of one piece, and it was not fashioned of gold. It
was made of steel, and in shape it looked exactly like a sword might
had the blade been blunted and turned in on itself, in a circlet.

This was the only crown that Leonne the Founder would wear,
and it had been protected from the ravages of time by the arts of
Voyani long dead. It should have looked ridiculous, and perhaps to
foreign eyes it did. But the clansmen were a better breed.

"General Alesso di'Marente," the Radann kai el'Sol said, his
voice carrying far in the hushed silence of lapping water and
stillness. "The Lord's law
is
law. The rulership
of the Tor Leonne has passed, kai to kai, by the bloodline that the
Lord decreed.

"But where there is no living member of the line, the Radann
must deliberate and decide. The Hand of the Lord holds the Sword, and
it seeks no man too weak to bear the crown in these times. There is,"
he said, his eyes dark and unblinking, "a darker time ahead than any of
us have yet seen."

Alesso's eyes narrowed as he met the Radann's flat gaze,
hearing beneath the words all of the accusations that the kai el'Sol
had never dared—and would never dare— to make.

Or so he had thought. Yet this man, this man was the very
Radann, the wielder of
Balagar
, and until this
moment, beneath the open sky, with the end of his long struggle
balanced between two hands, he had forgotten it.

It was not his way to make such a mistake.

"The Lord's will," Alesso said softly, so softly that the
words carried only to the Radann and the two who stood beside him.

"The Radann have made their decision. Step forward, Alesso par
di'Marente. Step forward and receive this, the crown of Leonne. Receive
it in glory, and understand the weight that it places upon you."

Alesso was not a short man, but in such ceremony— and only in
this one—he was not required to kneel to receive the benediction of the
Radann.

Fredero kai el'Sol bent, and with so much care the gesture
seemed oddly gentle, he lowered the crown into the waters of the Tor
Leonne. His lids closed over dark eyes; his brow creased. He whispered
the words of the water, and then he rose.

"Step forward, General."

Alesso di'Marente took a breath and then stepped into the
waters of the lake. They were cool, but not cold, as they ringed his
ankles with ripples that traveled into the stillness at the heart of
the water.

Water.

The kai el'Sol had to reach, but Alesso did not bow his head
to accommodate the Radann; instead, he sought the sun as drops of water
trickled down steel to touch his brow, his cheeks, his eyes.

This was his moment.

"Tyr'agar," the kai el'Sol said. He turned, then, and before
Alesso could reply, he cried out, "The Radann have chosen General
Alesso par di'Marente as their Tyr. To him, the Tyr'agnate will pledge
their allegiance—and from him, receive their commands.

"From this day forward, let there be the clan Alesso, and let
this man, Alesso the Founder, be known as Tyr'agar until his death.
Thus, the will of the Radann!"

There was silence, and then, beneath it, a murmur.

The Tyr'agar, Alesso the Founder, turned; the sun was at his
back and above his head. Clansmen, one by one, drew sword as they met
his gaze; the quiet of the lake was disturbed, again and again, by the
sound of metal against metal; the unsheathed sword.

The first of these clansmen was also the most powerful:
Tyr'agnate Jarrani kai di'Lorenza. He stepped forward, leaving the
semicircle that had made a ragged wall across the flat stones and the
sparse shore. His sword was
Bane
, dressed in
ceremonial scabbard until the moment of the crowning.

"Tyr'agar," the Tyr'agnate said, and pushed the sword, point
down, into a space between the rocks. It was a gentle movement, one
unlikely to damage either sword or pride, as different from the gesture
of the Lord's Chosen Champion as the Lady from the Lord.