| |
No mountain high nor storm from the sky
Shall keep me from my lady;
Now the Sword is at rest in the Land of the West,
And I will wed my lady
Close by my side, my battle-friends ride
To bring me to my lady.
To the Hills I go, to a land that I know,
Where shall wed lady.
-From “The Ride to Carill Don”
Dolon, Captain of the Warriors
There were impromptu festivities beginning that very evening, but though Conel first thought that it would be best if he were crowned immediately, he soon came to see that it was necessary to wait, to make proper arrangements, lest it be said that he rushed to the crown with undue haste, lest anyone should deny his right.
Of the old noble families of Asbaln, Rorick only remained. There were a few very distant cousins to the original nobles, but for the most part, the Hygerians had wrought effectively in their attempts to eradicate the leaders of the land.
There was, however, no lack of deserting men among the commanders of the war-host, and much discussion about how the borders of the land might be redrawn.
But all such speculations must wait, for Conel would not even speak of such matters until after the coronation, lest he be accused of buying supporters.
Three weeks later, the coronation was held. One week had been allotted for spreading the word to all parts of the land, two weeks for all who wished to come.
All went well. There was sufficient pomp and ceremony to assure everyone that this was a proper coronation, and there was still enough good-will toward Conel that no one grumbled over any of it. When it was done, and Conel sat on his throne, he called Phedron forward.
“Phedron, you have swung your axe well and nobly in my service, and it is in my mind to reward you fittingly. All the lands of the Seven Hills are yours, to have and hold, subject to your duties to the Crown. Will you accept?”
“Milord King, if it is your will, I will accept. I am likely, though, to prove an unhandy baron for those folks.”
“I would sooner have an unhandy baron such as yourself than one who would be unable to hold the land. The Harvatai are nosing around the borders, wondering whether this late war has made us easy pickings yet. Come, take the oath from me.”
Many others were honoured in similar ways, and when this was done, the true festivities began.
Altogether, it was not until about the middle of the fifth week after the entry into Coerl that Rorick was able to speak a private word of farewell to Conel and lead his Warriors out. Some days later, they were winding along the familiar hill-path leading into Carill Don. It was a clear bright fall day, and several of the village women were on its outskirts gathering the roots which, with the meager crops, would eke out the hunters’ meat during the coming winter. They looked up as the Warriors approached, and one exclaimed, “Rorick!”
The little column halted, and Rorick leaped down from his horse; with the Guardian’s Warriors and the Icarian women watching, the Guardian of the Sword went to meet his lady.