The Book of Deacon: Book 03 - The Battle of Verril (59 page)

“Announcing, Heroine of the Battle of Verril,
Guardian of the Realm, Royal Poet, Composer, and Painter, Ivy,”
Croyden announced.

The crowd hushed to near silence as Ivy
appeared, interrupted by the occasional nervous clap. Every attempt
had been made to allow her to fit in. Her gown was made especially
for her, and was every bit the match for any in the room, save
Ether's. She walked with grace and regal bearing. Nonetheless, the
distrust of her kind was a deeply rooted one. At best, her heroics
were seen as a testament to the others for having coaxed such
greatness from her. Despite this, Ivy walked to the dais with a
wide smile on her face. If there was one thing she had learned in
the months gone by, it was that society might still hate her, but
individuals were easy to win over. As far as she was concerned it
was thus only a matter of time and patience before she was as well
liked as any other. She needed only make the effort. There was a
dash of mischief to her grin though, as she took a seat.

“I cannot help but notice that your title is
longer than mine,” Ether said as Ivy sat beside her.

“That's because I'm more talented than you,”
Ivy said.

“You most certainly are n-” Ether began.

“Shh. This is going to be good,” she said,
her grin widening as she watched Croyden swallow hard.

The herald read over the next line again, and
eyed the doors at the end of the main hall.

“Announcing,” he said. “Heroine of the Battle
of Verril, Guardian of the Realm, Myn.”

A gasp arose first from those people that
recognized the name. A moment later a few stifled screams rose from
those who didn't. Myn stepped lightly along the floor of the
banquet hall, attempting to keep a watchful eye on all around her
at once. Those nearest to the walkway shuffled and skidded their
chairs in attempts to put some distance between themselves and the
massive beast. Baubles of gold adorned Myn's head and neck in much
the way a woman might wear earrings and necklaces, and her scales
had been polished to a high gloss. She looked resplendent. Ivy
applauded enthusiastically and raised her voice in encouragement. A
smattering of the crowd weakly followed suit. Myn took her place at
the end of the dais and sat on her haunches. Ivy threw her arms
around the dragon's neck and gave her a kiss on the cheek. The
audience turned first to the four remaining seats, then expectantly
to the door.

“Announcing, Hero and Heroine of the battle
of Verril,” Croyden said, raising his voice as a standing ovation
began. “Full Master and Full Mistress of the Mystic Arts, Deacon,
Duke of Kenvard and Myranda Celeste, Duchess of Kenvard.”

The pair appeared and made their way down the
walkway hand in hand. The roar was deafening. Deacon was the other
great hero of the day in the eyes of the people of the capital, and
had been the first one offered the throne, but he had declined. The
long disused title of Duke had replaced it. In the months since, he
and Myranda had been a part of the peace talks, and helped to wipe
away as much of the remaining scourge of the D'karon as they could.
They were now equally beloved as warriors, healers, and diplomats.
They took their place among the others.

The doors opened once more, and an honor
guard of soldiers arranged themselves on either side of the
walkway. Myranda recognized most of them. Chief among them was Tus,
dressed in the unmistakable uniform of the Commander of the Royal
Guard. The rest of the guard was made up of fellow members of the
Undermine.

“Announcing, Her Royal and Imperial Majesty,
Queen and Empress of the Northern Alliance, Queen Caya the First!”
cried Croyden.

The mention of the final hero of the Battle
of Verril roused all in attendance to cheers. Half of the people in
the hall were present on that fateful day, and each told a
different version of the tale. Only two aspects of the account
remained constant. The first was that it was a glorious and
sweeping victory. The second was that two great warriors, Deacon
and Caya, were the greatest heroes of that day. While the defeat of
the generals in the mountains to the north was known only to the
heroes, stories of their deeds within the capital grew more
spectacular with each telling. The dragoyles grew in size and
number, and the nearmen gained all manner of gruesome descriptions.
Indeed the nearmen of the recollections were massive, hideous
beasts that clearly could never be confused with the soldiers that
had patrolled the city each and every day for the decades prior to
the battle.

Caya was radiant. She looked every bit the
queen, dripping with jewelry, the freshly polished crown perched
upon a bun of immaculately prepared hair, and a dress made of the
rarest and most expensive of fabrics. One could easily envision her
portrait hanging among the others that lined the walls, and indeed
it very shortly would be. Her behavior, however, was another
matter. Even now, rather than the stately and stoic approach to her
seat of honor that the servants had prepared her for, Caya was
eagerly shaking the hands of the dignitaries and aristocrats.
Croyden had been carefully briefed on the proper protocol for the
occasion, and tasked with seeing to it that Caya behave
appropriately. He quickly approached her as she was nearing her
seat. Her eyes were scanning the crowd, lingering with particular
interest on the faces of those that seemed disgusted by the
creatures who had been given seats of honor. She turned to Croyden
when he arrived.

“Ah, Croyden, is it? Excellent work
announcing us. I was thinking I might address my public,” she said.
“Perhaps you would like to call them to attention?”

“Your Majesty, it is not traditional for the
monarch to speak on the day of his or her coronation. Tradition
states that, if speeches are to be given, they are to be delivered
by high ranking members of your court on your behalf,” he stated
politely but firmly.

“Is that so?” she asked.

He nodded. Caya turned to the rest of the
banquet hall.

“The good Captain Lumineblade has informed me
that tradition requires I not speak to you great people on this,
the first day of my reign. I would say we are long overdue for a
break in tradition,” she declared.

The response was an immediate and
enthusiastic roar of approval from the honor guard and many of the
other guests, and a somewhat more reluctant round of applause from
the nobles of the audience. It was rapidly becoming clear to them
that things were going to change a bit more than they would have
liked.

“Take a seat,” Caya said to Croyden,
indicating the position next to her own, which had been abandoned
by its previous occupant in favor of one a bit further from the
Myn. “You can come to expect this sort of thing.”

With that, she turned back to the expectant
crowd.

“Let me begin by making my first proclamation
as Queen. I hereby pardon the members of the notorious and
subversive group known as the Undermine for all crimes and acts of
treason committed on behalf of the group,” she began.

Once again the honor guard let up a cheer,
while the nobles and the handful of military in attendance voiced
their disapproval.

“With that out of the way, let me announce,
once and for all, that until you good people saw fit to place the
crown upon my head, I was the
leader
of the Undermine,” she
said with a grin.

Now even the cheers of the honor guard could
not be heard over the growls of disapproval.

“And yet I am now your Queen,” she declared.
“Will anyone deny that it was I and my friends that liberated the
capital from the scourge that had befallen it? Would anyone here
have done the same? War has left its mark on us in many ways. It
has thinned our cities to desertion. It has sapped the land of its
bounty, and the people of their spirit. Perhaps worst of all, it
has rendered our minds rigid and stubborn. The war only lasted as
long as it did because we knew no other way. It is time for that to
change. Look at the dais. On one side, huddled and cowering, is the
old guard. The blue blood of this land. Aristocrats, nobles, and
the privileged and wealthy. These are the people you have taken
orders from, and have looked up to. Now look at the other side.
Wizards and sages, yes, but also freaks, monsters, and rebels.
They, along with every farmer, miner, shopkeeper, and commoner, are
the red blood of this land. There are good men and women, but also
scoundrels, sympathizers, and everything you have been taught to
hate. And I gladly count myself among them. Because despite what I
have said, which side contains the heroes? The red blood is the
blood that is spilled. These people, these creatures, these great
wonderful heroes, risked everything because they saw what needed to
be done and vowed to do it. Sacrifices were made. Lives were
lost.”

She turned to the others. A single seat had
been left empty between them, a quiet nod to the hero who did not
make it. She turned back.

“Some stories will never be told,” she
continued. “But because of these hated dregs of our society the
hold of war has been broken. For the first time we turn from the
conflict we have faced so bravely to the terrifying prospect of
peace. Things will not be simple. The way is uncertain. But for the
sacrifices that have been made by your brothers, sons, sisters, and
daughters, I don't think we have any choice but to try. We owe it
to them. We must work together, as one, until the wounds left by
the blade of war are healed. Red blood and Blue blood. Monsters and
Men. Alliance and Tressor. For our parents! For our children! For
ourselves! Are you with me!”

The crowd roared back in a single voice,
leaping to its feet. It didn't die down until well after the meal
had been served. With her words still burning in their veins, the
guests looked to one another, then to the delegates from Tressor.
Over the course of the meal, complements, discussions, and debates
began to flow in fractured Northern and fractured Tresson. Wine was
poured, hands were shaken. Over such delicacies as could be offered
by the broken land of the North, ancient animosities were, for the
moment, set aside. The road to a lasting peace was a long one, but
on that night, the first steps were taken.

Caya was not one to let a good celebration
end, let alone one in her honor. The sun was coloring the horizon
before the final celebrants staggered to their rooms. Aside from
the ubiquitous servants, only the Chosen, the Queen, Croyden, and
the Ambassador remained. The latter had been impressed with Caya's
command of the language. Furthermore, Croyden had proven to be
skilled in diplomacy as well.

“I thank you again, your Excellency. I look
forward to meeting with you again over the peace discussions. I
would very much like to have an official treaty signed. Armistices
are a bit fragile for my tastes,” the Queen said as a servant led
him away.

“Until then, your majesty,” he said.

When he had left, Caya turned to Croyden.

“Well, Captain Lumineblade. I must say I was
quite
impressed with how you conducted yourself today. You
are quite an able diplomat. And if the tales you told about your
military exploits are any indication, you are quite the soldier as
well,” Caya said.

“Why thank you, your majesty. I am honored to
-” he began.

“Call me Caya,” she interrupted. “If you will
excuse me, though, I must have a word with the other Guardians of
the Realm. I shall see you tomorrow. Over dinner, perhaps?”

“Yes, your maj- Yes, Caya,” he said, taking
his leave and shutting the door behind him.

“Flirting isn't a terribly royal activity,”
Myranda remarked.

“Bah. Queen is just a title. Besides, it is
very important to ensure the royal succession,” she quipped.
“Lumineblade . . . Isn't that the scoundrel Desmeres’ surname?”

“Yes,” Myranda replied.

“Brother or son? It is difficult to tell with
elves,” she mused. “Eh, regardless, it looks as though some things
run in the family. Speaking of which, the Und-, er,
Royal
Guard
have been complaining of weapons going missing. I must
look into that . . . “

Ivy, rising from her seat, made her way over
to the others. She had a vaguely yellow glow about her, and an
unsteady swagger to her walk. Somehow, though, she managed to make
even staggering seem graceful.

“Thank you for inviting me to your party!”
slurred Ivy as she stumbled into a hug.

“Had a bit of wine, has she?” Caya asked.

“Yes. Thank heavens she is a happy drunk,”
said Myranda, helping to disentangle the two. “Ether, look after
Ivy, would you?”

Ether's response was a stern, unmoving
gaze.

Myranda sighed. “Myn, would you?”

The dragon looked up from a third cauldron of
mashed potatoes and licked some errant specks of it from her nose.
Ivy scrambled to Myn's back and mumbled something about going out
flying as the beast lumbered out the massive entry way.

“What is next for you, shape shifter?” Caya
asked. “Now that the D'karon are gone, what will fill your
days?”

Ether stared coldly at the Queen for a few
moments, then shifted quickly to wind and whisked away without a
word.

“She still hasn't mastered the art of social
discourse, it would seem,” Caya said, adjusting her tousled
hair.

“I am worried about her. She shows up when we
need her, but mostly she spends her time at Lain's End, alone,”
Myranda explained.

“Lain's End? Ah, the hole in the ground in
the mountains. That's right. I wish you would have allowed me to
acknowledge him more properly than naming the place of his death
after him. He was despicable, to be sure, but he had a role in
this,” said the Queen.

“Lain spent his life in shadow. It seems
wrong to reveal him now. Better to let him remain the legend he
built for himself. It is what he would have . . . “ she began,
trailing off as a realization entered her mind. “No, there
is
something. Lain had spent his life trying to give the
lives back to slaves, indentured servants, anyone who was forced
into a life of servitude against their will, or without choice. If
you could . . . “