The Knight: A Tale from the High Kingdom (39 page)

15

The following morning, beneath Yssaris’s tranquil gaze, Lorn did something he had not done for a long while. Unsure if he even believed in the divinity of the Great Dragons, and without addressing any one of them in particular, he prayed, kneeling in his armour before a window in the pale light of a fragile dawn. He did not pray for himself or to be forgiven, but for the souls of those who had faith and were going to die, unaware of the lies of Destiny.

In less than an hour, an Yrgaardian war fleet would enter the port of Saarsgard.

16

The ceremony lasted three hours and proceeded without incident.

It commenced with the entrance of Queen Celyane and the princes to the sound of brass trumpets, and their solemn speeches before an impatient but respectful audience. Then the ambassadors, together with their delegations, presented themselves one by one at the royal dais before regaining their assigned seats. All of them saluted the queen as though she had just been crowned and now reigned over the High Kingdom. This was not said openly, but Esteveris had carefully arranged for the ceremony to have all the trappings of a coronation, and no one was left in any doubt on that point. Celyane’s reign was being celebrated and her authority recognised. Each homage paid to her by the representative of a foreign power confirmed her regency and conferred an additional layer of legitimacy upon her.

Other treaties were even signed.

The one the High Kingdom and Yrgaard were about to conclude effectively disrupted existing coalitions and required prior adjustments. For centuries, the High Kingdom’s entire diplomacy had been founded on its antagonism towards Yrgaard. Every accord – diplomatic, commercial, or other – it had previously made contained clauses hostile to Yrgaardian interests. It was therefore necessary for the High Kingdom to sign new treaties – or amend older ones – with its historic allies, so that nothing should contradict the conditions for peace with the Black Dragon. No one knew what would happen now that the two most powerful realms of Imelor claimed to be enemies no longer. But each kingdom, each foreign province, each free city, would be forced to redefine the terms of its alliances with the High Kingdom.

So the ambassadors came forward again and the queen signed ‘Celyane, Queen of the High Kingdom’ on the various documents that had been hammered out in prior negotiations and were now presented to her, one after another, opened to the last page. Immediately after signature, the seal of the High Kingdom was solemnly affixed next to the queen’s. Only the High King’s seal, stamped in black wax, was missing.

But the queen seemed to have no concern about that.

Happy and radiant despite the natural haughty coldness which she never managed to completely shed, she had a kind thought, a compliment, a smile for each and every diplomat. To her left stood the king’s empty throne. To her right was another seat, also empty, reserved for the dragon-prince who would soon be making his entrance. She was therefore the focus of all attention, sitting proudly in the middle, wearing her crown and a low-cut gown that clasped her waist and straightened her back while lifting her bosom.

She was beautiful, and savouring her triumph.

Having also taken his place on the dais, Prince Yrdel cut a pale figure in comparison. Reserved and austere, he seemed ill at ease. Prince Alderan looked positively unwell. Although he forced himself to keep up appearances and act as befitted his rank, his smiles were artificial and his gaze often distracted. To the point that some, among the ambassadors and foreign dignitaries, were already asking themselves if Alan opposed the treaty with Yrgaard. Or did he have another reason not to share his mother’s joy? He had distanced himself from the court for more than two years, which he had spent travelling and educating himself. What role would he play in the High Kingdom, now that he had returned? And what exactly was his relationship with the First Knight of the Realm?

Lorn was standing behind the High King’s vacant throne, as if forbidding anyone from sitting there. He had the right to take the seat himself, thanks to the signet ring on his finger. But he’d told Esteveris that he preferred to remain in the background. The minister had seen it as a gesture of appeasement, a willingness to assert his rank discreetly, without causing friction. The queen, for her part, had been pleased that she would thus occupy centre stage with the two princes. Some mean-spirited observers would interpret the vacant seat as a sign of the king’s disapproval, but who would care about that for much longer?

She was not wrong on that score.

Having initially drawn gazes and provoked interest, Lorn’s presence behind the throne, unmoving and impassive, was soon forgotten. The court only had eyes for the queen and for the magnificence and dignity of the ambassadors and other royal emissaries.

Moreover, the person who everyone was waiting to see had not yet appeared. Wrapped in a great black-and-red cloak whose hood completely hid his face, the dragon-prince had disembarked that morning from the Yrgaardian flagship and, surrounded by a large escort which prevented anyone from approaching, had gone directly to the Castel’s keep, where – still closely guarded – he had shut himself away in the quarters reserved for his use.

Only his name was known: Laedras. It was said he was ‘Third Dragon-Prince’, although no one was certain what the term actually meant. None had seen him and there was much anxious and far-fetched speculation about him, with no way to separate fact from rumour and legend.

So when the trumpets and the drums announcing his arrival fell silent, a great hush came over the immense hall as the Yrgaardian delegation made its entrance.

The great doors opened and a single gentleman appeared.

Laedras was tall and slender, athletic in build and broad of shoulder. He looked about thirty years old, perhaps less, when in fact he had already lived for a century. He wore black and red, the colours of Yrgaard, and boots and gloves of fine leather. A cape hung from the shoulders of his embossed breastplate. His hair was long and red. He was handsome and had a noble bearing. His step was firm, brave and regular.

He made a deep impression.

For many of those present, it was the first time they had seen a dragon-prince. And for most, it would be the last, as dragon-princes rarely appeared outside Yrgaard, unless they were leading armies.

Laedras preceded four drac lancers whose armour was as black and as gleaming as their scales. Then came a dozen men who bore, with the help of shafts passed through rings, two enormous carved ebony chests encrusted with rubies. Priests followed them, in rows of threes, their hands in their sleeves, wearing black-and-scarlet robes, and with their heads covered by obsidian caps that hugged the shape of their bald skulls. Four human lancers closed the march, equipped like the first but mounted on giant caparisoned lizards whose forked tongues lashed the air.

A shiver ran through the audience as the Yrgaardian procession advanced behind Laedras. A shiver of dread and excitement, like that experienced when one stands – vulnerable and unarmed – before a superb, deadly beast. The queen straightened in her seat and, aware of the moment’s importance, displayed more confidence than she felt. The princes also grew tense.

Lorn, standing behind them, showed no sign of emotion but unerringly identified what was dimly sensed by everyone else: the presence of the Dark. It awakened old echoes of feelings which were both familiar and frightening, while the stone seal on his left hand began to prickle. In the dragon-prince’s veins ran the blood of the Black Hydra, his mother. Intelligent and cruel, he was a creature of the Dark, and one of the most formidable to be found.

The queen felt a confused turmoil steal over her when Laedras, having saluted her, straightened up and directed his hypnotic reptilian gaze upon her. A man left the group of priests and advanced, his robe’s hem brushing against the thick carpet in a silence disturbed only by the hissing war lizards. He waited, and then began to translate the dragon-prince’s speech from High Yrgaardian, a language no longer spoken anywhere except in the Black Hydra’s palace, into the common Imelorian tongue. Melodious and rhythmic, the language was derived from Draconic and was primarily used for incantations.

Lorn did not listen to the dragon-prince, or to the queen’s response. Their declarations might as well have gone untranslated. Anyone who had witnessed the reception of an extraordinary ambassador would have heard them before. Moreover, the texts of both speeches had been drafted and agreed well in advance. Not a single comma was improvised. Both parties played their parts perfectly.

Lorn watched Laedras carefully, though, more curious than fascinated. He too was seeing a dragon-prince for the first time and wondered to what degree his human appearance reflected the truth. Was it his ordinary form, the one most natural for him? Or did he prefer the draconic form; the one he bore when summoning the Black Hydra’s power? That power emanated from him like an icy aura. What did it become, when he liberated it? According to the
Chronicles
, many courageous men had fallen before it, swept away by their fear.

The dragon-prince made a gesture, beckoning the porters to approach. They deposited the two chests before the queen and the princes, removing the shafts with which they had transported their burdens, and retreated without a word. Laedras gave another signal and four priests advanced. They opened the chests’ heavy locks, but waited for the dragon-prince – through his translator – to express Yrgaard’s satisfaction at finally paying ‘an old debt of honour’ as a token of good will and friendship, with no expectations regarding the future relations between the two kingdoms.

Which was a way of formally indicating that Yrgaard was not paying for Angborn. This was a war tribute, delivered after some delay but paid in accordance with the treaty signed following the reconquest of the Free Cities, whose clauses Yrgaard had never fulfilled completely. The hypocrisy was blatant but appearances were thereby saved for the High Kingdom: it was not selling its city. And Yrgaard was not buying it.

No one was fooled.

The priests opened the two chests at the same time, and the gold coins and jewels which filled them to the brim shone in the light with the same victorious gleam as could be seen in Queen Celyane’s eyes. She was looking at a fortune. Enough to replenish her kingdom’s coffers. Enough to finance a war. Enough to serve her ambitions and impose her authority, by fire and sword if necessary.

A murmur of surprise and wonderment ran through the gallery, the terraced seats and then the rest of the chamber. In the audience, those unable to see jostled their neighbours for a glimpse. There was the beginning of a crush, quickly calmed by the Azure Guard.

Lorn only saw the price of a city and its inhabitants.

The price of the High Kingdom’s honour.

Smiling, the queen bowed her head and thanked Yrgaard in the precise terms agreed in advance, which the dragon-prince received with polite indifference. The priests withdrew, leaving the chests open before the royal dais. It had been agreed that they would remain there until the end of the ceremony.

Finally, the moment had come for the cession treaty.

More formal speeches were exchanged, and then one of the Yrgaardian priests brought forward a casket encrusted with precious stones which he held like a reliquary. Placing a knee upon the ground before the queen, he opened the casket, whose sides fell away while the base lifted to reveal a heavy parchment scroll, which the Black Hydra had already signed with her claw, next to her seal.

The desk appeared again, along with an inkpot and a large gold and blue quill which Esteveris dipped into the ink before handing it respectfully to the queen. Measuring each of her gestures to better savour the solemnity of the moment, convinced she would be celebrated in the
Chronicles
for concluding peace with Yrgaard and restoring the High Kingdom to its state of glory, Queen Celyane thanked her minister with a cold smile, took the quill and, as the kingdom’s seals and wax were being conveyed to the desk, she prepared to sign, when …

‘One moment, pray …’

The queen froze, speechless.

Then, incapable of accepting what she had just heard, she shook her head and placed the quill upon the parchment, as if she had fallen victim to some illusion, as if the astonished hush which had fallen over the hall were another figment of her imagination.

But Lorn stepped forward and said:

‘Ma’am, if you please?’

The queen turned to him.

‘You! By what right do you dare to speak?’

‘By right of being First Knight of the Realm, ma’am. And because the High King himself speaks through my mouth.’

Dumbfounded, the queen stammered a few words which died upon her lips. Then she turned to her minister:

‘Esteveris?’

It was an appeal for help, to which the minister was at a loss to reply. Muttering, he shrugged his shoulders haplessly.

‘Ma’am, I only know—’

The queen’s furious gaze, however, forced him to summon all his wits. He swallowed and asked Lorn:

‘Knight, what is the meaning of this?’

But his voice was covered by the noise from the hall, where incredulous murmurs were gathering in strength. A hubbub was rising beneath the vaulted ceiling and echoed there. It was already difficult to be heard and the uproar simply added to the confusion.

‘Silence!’

The order rang out and was immediately obeyed, although the source took some time to identify.

It was the dragon-prince.

‘Who are you?’ he demanded, staring at Lorn.

He spoke perfect Imelorian.

‘I am Lorn Askarian, First Knight of the High Kingdom.’

‘So?’

Laedras’s voice was glacial. Sharpened by scorn, his response cut like steel.

‘This treaty will not be signed,’ announced Lorn.

He descended from the dais, passed between the two great chests and planted himself before the dragon-prince.

‘The High King is opposed to it,’ he added.

‘But that can’t be!’ exclaimed the queen, rising to her feet. ‘You can’t claim that … Knight! Do you hear me! I order you to—’

‘BE QUIET!’
shouted the dragon-prince.

Stunned, the queen fell silent and retreated as if she had been slapped.

She sat back down.

Scandalised, Alan tried to intervene but Yrdel restrained him.

‘No. Wait,’ he murmured.

The dragon-prince called out to Esteveris: