Valour and Victory (40 page)

This was
another first and some of the more conservative among the nobility
had been heard to murmur against the innovation. However, as all
their objections hinged on the complaint that it had never been
done before, nobody was taking much notice.

Who would act
as Regents for the four under-age Dukes? Who would Elliot give the
governance of the Duchy of Sahara to? All the adult royal princes
were dead. Elliot had not divulged this information. At the back of
the hall a nervous Zilla waited. She caught Robain’s eye and he
winked.

The ceremony
would begin with the swearing of the fealty oaths.

One by one the
Dukes approached the throne, placed their hands between those of
their King and swore their oath of allegiance. The first of the boy
dukes, young Charles Cocteau, swore his in a clear piping voice and
Elliot dropped his first bombshell of the day.

In a voice that
carried to the very back of the hall he announced that it would be
young Charles’s mother, the Dowager Duchess Tamsin who would guide
her son during the years of his minority and would take the Cocteau
seat on Conclave.

The hall
erupted as Tamsin stepped forward. Never before had a woman sat on
Conclave and there were three other boy Dukes. Were the other
mothers to be accorded the same accolade?

They were.

Harriet of
South Baker, Bethany of Duchesne and Petra of Smith all knelt in
their turn before Elliot and swore the oath.

When the eight
nobles who had been appointed to the Council of Advisors spoke
their own oaths it was an anticlimax, even when Baron John
Merriman, who was not descended from one of the ducal houses was
declared Chairman.

Elliot had not
told the assembled who was to take the Sahara position on Conclave.
Was the final seat to be held by another woman? His mother, the
Dowager Crown-Princess Susan perhaps?

Old Baron
Allstrom grew so agitated at the thought that he had to be led from
the hall. He left, shouting imprecations about the end of the world
and much to the embarrassment of his family.

From the throne
Elliot surveyed the scene. It was time to drop the second
bombshell.

He cleared his
throat.

“Lords and
Ladies, I have given much thought as to the person who will govern
the Duchy of Sahara during the difficult years ahead.”

He stood up as
his eyes searched the hall. “I have decided that the Duchy of
Sahara should have a hereditary duke; a duke of its very own.”

The hall
erupted into more excited talk. Who would it be? Which one of the
ducal houses would provide the new house? The audience was finding
it impossible to contain itself. The hall erupted into a crescendo
of noise as they voiced their opinions to one another.

The Seneschal
banged on the floor with his staff demanding silence but his
request was ignored.

Elliot decided
to wait until the noise died down. He did not even try to stem the
flow. He had learned this tactic from his father. He had always
said that it was much better to let noise die down naturally.

Elliot raised
his hand when he decided enough was enough and the hall grew
silent. One or two heads of the cadet branches of the ducal houses
began to rehearse their words of acceptance.

“I declare that
Captain Robain Hallam, my trusted friend, shall, from this day
forth be known as and be accorded the respect and due rank of Duke
of Sahara as will his children after him. Duke Robain, will you
come forward to give and take fealty?”

An embarrassed
Robain began to make his way through the crowd. He knelt on the
carpet in front of Elliot and bowed his head.

He placed his
hands between Elliot’s and said the words he had rehearsed. “I
Robain, Duke of Sahara do swear by my honour and my life to serve
and obey you and those of your House until death take me.”

“And I, Elliot,
King of Murdoch do take you for my liegeman and swear to protect
you and yours until death take me. Now rise up My Duke and take
your place amongst your equals.”

“I’ll get you
later for this Elliot,” whispered Robain as he got up from his
knees, “embarrassing me like this. You were not supposed to declare
your intention today!”

Elliot
chuckled.

Now for the
final bombshell.

“Is Zilla
ready?” Elliot whispered to Robain as the latter began to back
away.

“At the rear of
the hall,” he whispered back. “One of your mother’s ladies is with
her, a Kellessa Anne. She’ll give Zilla a shove in the right
direction.”

Elliot cleared
his throat again.

“I have a last
announcement to make - the name of my Queen Consort. My choice will
surprise many of you. It is a girl I fell in love with a long time
ago. Yesterday, this girl accepted my proposal of marriage. Lords
and Ladies, please welcome my future bride, Zilla of Argyll!”

With an
encouraging push Kellessa Anne Fullarton directed Zilla
forward.

“Go on,” she
hissed and watched, heart in mouth as Zilla stumbled down the hall
and towards the throne-dais.

The aristocracy
of Murdoch watched open mouthed as the velvet clad northerner
walked forward to claim her king.

The cheering
began, resounding through the Great Hall and beyond.

In the royal
chapel, the bells began to peal, adding their deep tonal canopies
to the tumult.

Zilla heard and
saw nothing. Her eyes were fixed on Elliot. She had ears only for
his voice.

Elliot took her
trembling hands in his and whispered, “my darling Zilla, at least
you’re not wearing your nightclothes!”

* * * * *

Rilla

“What’s so
important about this pony?” asked the stable boy as he placed the
halter on Lightfoot’s head and fastened the chin-buckle. “He’s
nothing special to look at though he’s got a nice nature.”

Lightfoot’s
ears twitched forward and his teeth nibbled at the boy’s arm.

“I ain’t got a
clue,” answered the head groom of the livery stables. “I only know
that he and that little black are to be led to the port where
they’re being shipped south. No expense spared neither.”

“Does he belong
to that Vada girl then?” persisted the boy, “her that paid you to
go get them from the Garda stables? Her that came the other day and
took him for a ride?”

“Must be,” the
man said, “and less questions young Mak, curiosity killed the cat
remember?”

“I suppose we
won’t never know,” said Mak, patting Lightfoot, who leant into his
caress, eyes half-lidded with enjoyment.

“They’re to be
at the dockside at Seventh Bell. You can take them. They won’t be
no trouble, they’re both well trained. I’ll go get the loading
papers and then you can get off. Get the halter on the little
black. Vadeln Rilla and her Lind Zawlei said they’ll meet you at
the ship to make sure they’re loaded properly and to say
goodbye.”

“I suppose they
must have been her ponies once, before she joined the Vada, she’s
taking so much trouble,” hazarded Mak. “She looked very smart in
her uniform. I think I’d like to join the Vada.”

“You just be
content with what you have,” advised the man. “Vada’s a dangerous
place. The two of them were in that battle in the south. A battle’s
no place for a sensible person.”

“How do you
know?”

“She’s wearing
the bronze star,” he answered, raising his eyes to the stable roof
in exasperation, “don’t you know that all the Vada who were there
wear it?”

“I didn’t
notice,” confessed Mak.

“Don’t notice
much, do you, unless it’s got four hooves, a mane and a tail.”

Mak grinned,
not a whit abashed.

Rilla and
Zawlei were waiting at the dockside when Mak, riding little black
Blunder and leading Lightfoot on a long-rein, arrived at the horse
transport which was due to sail that evening with its cargo of
horses destined for the horse fair held by the Dukes of Gardiner
every winter.

Lightfoot and
Blunder would not be attending the fair. Rilla had arranged though
her brother-in-law, Matt Urquhart whose merchant house did business
with the Ducal House of Gardiner that the two ponies would be met
on their arrival and taken by easy stages to Fort.

Lightfoot and
Blunder were Rilla’s wedding present for Zilla.

As Mak stopped
in front of her, Rilla dismounted Zawlei as Mak slithered down from
Blunder’s back. She patted the little pony’s broad nose and
approached Lightfoot. He whickered as he recognised her scent
although he flicked a nervous ear in Zawlei’s direction. Both
ponies were unsettled and looked surprised at their
surroundings.

Rilla murmured
sweet nothings in Lightfoot’s ear whilst Mak stood beside Blunder
giving him soothing pats.

“You be a good
boy,” whispered Rilla. “Zilla’s waiting for you.”

He lipped at
her tunic and stamped his hoof.

Rilla laughed
and planted a farewell kiss on his muzzle. He whickered and lipped
at her nose. It was if the little pony knew Rilla was saying her
final goodbyes. Tears prickling, she stepped back.

“Off you go,”
she said and Mak led Lightfoot and Blunder towards the sailor who
had been watching this touching scene with unconcealed impatience.
He took Lightfoot’s halter and began to lead him up the low, wide
gangway and on to the ship.

* * * * *

The
Guildmaster

Master Annert
and the other lai-riding volunteers returned to Stewarton with the
Garda, all twenty had survived the short but bitter fight in the
sky above the ridge. They all had decided to wait until everyone’s
wounds were healed and return home together.

The journey
home took a lot longer than the flight south had done. They took it
in easy stages. First there had been a bumpy wagon ride from the
ridge to Port Duchesne. They waited some days for a ship to become
available. When it came it was the
Mayflower
, the small
cargo vessel that had taken Hilla Talansdochter and the other
Officer Trainees to the war, but Master Annert did not know
this.

They could have
waited for one of the passenger ships but the Guildmaster wanted to
get home. He was tired of adventuring.

They docked at
Port Settlement after a rough crossing, the early winter currents
making their passage on the unpleasant side of nasty. Master Annert
realised a day out from Port Duchesne that he was not a good sailor
and decided to never sail again for as long as he lived.

If I can’t
fly,
he thought,
I’m going nowhere.

Journeyman
Jhonas agreed with his Master although Jeannie seemed to revel in
the swing and the buck of the little ship as she tacked this way
and that, in an attempt to gain headway.

From Port
Settlement they went on to Settlement and stayed at the Guildhouse
there. It was run by a dour man of sober disposition and no humour
who made it obvious that he resented this influx of Guildmaster and
companions into his neat and well ordered hall.

To Annert’s
great astonishment the man was not interested in what had been
happening in the southern continent and did not want to listen to
the story Annert was keen to tell him about his adventures.

“He has no
drive, no inquiring mind, no ambition,” said Annert to Jhonas that
night, resolving to make sure that when he retired this man would
not be elected in his place.

The twenty left
Settlement as soon as they possibly could.

They took the
direct route to Stewarton although Annert did consider taking the
Southern Trade Route but it would have taken him through Dunetown
and he would have felt duty bound to stop by and speak to Tala
Talansdocher’s parents.

He found it
hard to accept that she would not be waiting for him at Stewarton.
He was proud, so very proud of her but that did not make the ache
of her loss any easier to bear. She had had so much talent and now
it was gone forever.

One day he
would visit but not yet.

Annert, Jhonas
and Jeannie arrived home one cold evening, shivering wet and
desperate to get to a warm fire and to eat one of Miggi’s kura
hotpots, made only as she knew how.

Annert was
greeted by his tearful maid who after she had made sure he was
actually here and in one piece began to berate him in a loud voice
about his foolishness on going to the southern continent, saying
that he should have known better.

Annert accepted
her scolding with indulgent meekness and allowed himself to be led
in the direction of a hot bath and supper in bed much like a child
of ten.

“Now we can get
back to normal,” said Jhonas with satisfaction as he watched Annert
follow Miggi out of the room.

“Normal?”
Jeannie bestowed on him an arch look, one eyebrow raised in enquiry
and challenge. “Depends what you consider normal.”

Jhonas smiled
at her.

“Care to join
me for a spot of supper before you go home?” he asked, “Miggi has
left some out for us.”

Jeannie smiled
triumphantly as she allowed him to lead her into the solar.

* * * * *

Zilla, Elliot,
Robain and Rilla

“You look
beautiful,” breathed Rilla, “no wonder Elliot fell for you.”

“The feelings
are mutual I can assure you,” Zilla responded with a self-conscious
laugh as she looked at herself in the mirror, twisting this way and
that, making sure her dress was exactly right.