Chapter 24: A Matter of Crowns

Five days after Jaomin had slaughtered the desigarg, King Akinwrath had commanded the young man to appear before him. Jaomin's insides had been twisted into a series of knots at the prospect. It was terrifying to anticipate such an event, to meet someone he had heard about and been taught to pray for all of his life.

But the interview, when it had occurred, had been remarkably bland. The King had thanked him, but seemed almost disinterested. He hadn't asked about the flying horse or the sword. It was a very short and strange discussion. Jaomin felt as if he were being thanked for having picked up and returned a coin of very little value. The King, Jaomin couldn't help noticing, did not once look him in the eyes.

Now he was to speak to Prince Anakara.

You would think, Jaomin said to himself, that after speaking to a king a prince would be no problem. So why did he feel like his stomach was doing a jig?

The request had come early in the morning. Jaomin noted that it was a request and not a command. Prince Anakara 'requested' him to come to his tents. Perhaps, Jaomin reasoned, you can't command people who aren't your subjects. Figuring that his brother, a soldier, would already be awake, he made off to Ganarth's tent as quickly as his injured leg would allow.

"Ganarth!" Jaomin began as soon as he limped into his brother's tent. "What do you say to a prince?"

"When?" said Ganarth looking up from some papers.

"When he asks you to come to his tent at '...your earliest possible convenience'."

Ganarth shrugged, "As little as you can. Call him Prince Anakara. Speak when you're spoken to. Don't slouch. Bow when you enter and when you leave. Don't leave until you're dismissed. Anything else you want to know?"

"Yes. What does he want to talk to me about?"

"Probably wants to congratulate the Hero of Grenwilde," his brother said lightly.

"Why? How does he even know me?"

"Everyone's telling the Virikrians what you did, Jao. You've got to expect that. Soldiers love to talk, especially about women and brave deeds."

Jaomin slumped down on the cot, "I wish there were more women around here," he remarked morosely.

Ganarth laughed. "Don't like being discussed; is that it, brother?"

"I just wish people would leave me alone." Sitting there, with his broken leg sticking straight out, he looked vulnerable and miserable.

Ganarth, being his elder brother, felt a responsibility towards Jao. He could well imagine how it might weigh on the young lad to be thrust into prominence, for he knew that Jao was a private sort of person.

"You can't ride a flying horse and be unnoticed, Jao. Just slow down and don't let it fret you."

"Well," said Jao philosophically patting his broken leg, "I can't move much slower than I am right now." He hesitated and then added, "Ganarth, would you mind coming with me?"

Ganarth looked at him and shrugged, "No, of course not, Jao. But we'd better go now if you agreed to come as quickly as possible. I'll let Adran know where we're going."

~ ~ ~

Jenna had caught on. As long as she didn't imagine anything or wish for anything she was fine. However, for Jenna controlling her imagination wasn't so easy. It was particularly hard not to wish for the journey to end. But every time she did so she saw mountains and heard Lutetrees.

She had learned that the best thing to do was to look straight at the Dove and follow him. As long as she did that nothing...

Oh no, now the mountains were back, and Jenna hadn't even thought about the end of the journey! Strange as it might seem, for the first time she felt fear; she had just come to terms with the world she discovered herself in and now found it was changing its rules. But her feeling of fear rose to alarm as in the next moment she realized that the Dove was no longer in front of her!

~ ~ ~

"You do not begin to understand, brother," Prince Anakara said earnestly. "What man who is truly anointed to reign, holds his crown tightly in his own hands? Is it not a gift? If the Creator requires your crown, should you not give it with joy?"

Akinwrath writhed under this speech. What nonsense! Trash! He could hardly say so, however. The prince had ten men to his one, and he couldn't afford him as an enemy. Instead he tried to use reason.

"Would you, Prince?" King Akinwrath said, making an effort at self-control. "If I brought you a tale of visions, dreams and what-not, would you hand your crown lightly to another?"

Prince Anakara looked directly at his eyes. "Yes," he said.

Akinwrath threw his hands up in anger, "Then give him your worthless coronet, but don't speak of mine. When did Grenwilde bow to Virikria?"

"So that you will clearly understand me and my motives, know that it is my intention to lay Virikria at his feet."

Akinwrath froze, utterly stunned, and stared at the prince open-mouthed.

Seeing that he had his attention, the lord of Virikria continued, "I felt, brother, that you would perhaps receive the vision in this way. That is why I have asked the lad to come here, so that you might see him made lord of Virikria; make no mistake, your crown comes to him whether you will have it so or not."

King Akinwrath recovered both his speech and anger at the same moment. Leaping to his feet he all but bellowed, "Is that a threat, Crist Anakara?"

"No," replied Prince Anakara, calmly, but also standing, "it's a fact, Arkon Akinwrath."

The two monarchs now stood only three feet apart, eying each other inflexibly.

"More of your...prophecy?" he almost spit the words at the prince.

"The application of a prophecy, rather. When he comes, whose right it is to rule, all sceptres will lie at his feet. You know the Wisdom of the King as well as I do, if you care to remember it."

"I care to live! If you plan to toss your crown about like...a child's hoop, that's your affair. You can do any fool thing you like, but don't try to involve me!"

Anakara shook his head, "He is no fool who hears and obeys his Creator."

King Akinwrath wavered, "How do you know it is the Creator?"

The prince again shook his head, "Tell me, King, do you have any trouble recognizing your mother's voice?"

At that moment Lieutenant Kylor, the prince's personal adjutant, came to the door of the tent and waited to be addressed. The prince glanced in his direction, "Yes?"

"Pardon, my Liege Lord, but the lad whose presence you requested has come, with his brother."

Prince Anakara looked back at the king. "Send him in, Kylor."

The aide bowed and left the tent.

"Well, King, will you stay to see the earnest proof of my words? He is the True King; the Creator does not lie."

King Akinwrath dropped his gaze and stared at the ground. "No, Prince, I will not. Remember this: if you hand your crown to this son of Jessef Bindaved, you hand all your authority to me. I am his Lord and he is my sworn vassal."

"You know better than that, King Akinwrath. The moment he receives the crown, he is your equal, not your vassal."

Akinwrath sneered, "When was Virikria ever the equal to Grenwilde?"

"In the beginning, when the Twelve sat on their thrones." Anakara answered calmly, "Yours is the throne of Prince Galinal the Fair, mine the throne of Prince Virikria the Valiant. You have expanded your name and your claims, but from the beginning it was not so."

"You said you came to me in peace," Akinwrath spoke coldly and with accusation. "With no ill intended to me or mine. I see it was not so. You no doubt assert your claims to the Far West, land your forbearers willingly forsook a thousand years ago! Your plan contains a thousand mischief's to me and mine."

At that moment, the two sons of Jessef arrived at the tent. Seeing the King, they bowed to both him and then to the prince.

"See where they know their duty!" Akinwrath said through gritted-teeth, then plunged out through the tent doorway, in great anger.

Ganarth and Jaomin stood looking at the ground. They had obviously interrupted an argument between the two rulers. It was not a place where commoners stood comfortably.

After Akinwrath had stormed out, Prince Anakara sighed, "Please, young and honoured warriors, please come and sit. I have much to say to you, youngest of the sons of Jessef Bindaved. Your brother, as your near kin, is welcome to hear our council."

~ ~ ~

Jenna roared out of the skies through the milky white vapours. Where was the Dove? Suddenly, just ahead, she saw a faint amber light; it illuminated the solid rock face directly in her path. As hard as her little arms could manage, she pulled back on Cloud Dancer's reins. The horse pulled up sharply. Jenna almost managed to keep her seat, but her momentum was too great for her to hang on. She found herself suddenly spinning through the air.

I'm having an accident, she thought.

She felt her arms strike the rock first, and a moment later her head smote the stone.

~ ~ ~

You do not set out on a journey of six or seven day's duration, and gallop. There is no point. But Yason, as an experienced cavalryman, reckoned they could sheer a day off their journey's time, by alternating between a walk and a canter. Jessef had given Yason his horse, Wisdom. It was the first time he had ever loaned his warhorse to anyone. Thunder had, by this time, fully recovered from his lame leg and Princess, though smaller than the two stallions, was a very game filly, carrying a much lesser payload.

Both boys were armed with swords. They also wore their breastplates and helmets. At least, Yason did. Maric was wearing his father's, for, of course, he had loaned his own armour to Jaomin.

They also decided not to make direct tracks towards the Wilderness Way, for Maric had discovered, some days back, that the desigarg raiders had come to the farm following along the line of Jaomin's earlier outward trail. Maric had, of course, destroyed the tracks of his brother and the desigarg to forestall any other gargs finding the farm by that method. They therefore went due west, across the fields and wilderness, for a half-day before cutting down to the Wilderness Way. They were also very careful to obliterate all trace of their tracks once they arrived at the road.

Once they had achieved the highway they made all the speed they could towards the Western Hills.

~ ~ ~

Akinwrath made his swift way back across the hills towards his tent. Lord Torba struggled to keep up, following along like a breathless over-weight lap dog.

"The fool!" muttered the king, "The complete fool!" He was deciding what the wisest course would be. He felt certain that Prince Anakara really did intend to give away his crown. It was foolishness, but the man truly believed God had spoken to him.

Should he try to exercise power over the boy by appealing to his loyalty? His mouth twisted into a bitter grimace; he knew that loyalty ran very deeply in the Bindaved's!

Perhaps, instead, he should forestall the matter by having the boy killed? That would not answer, for if he did such a thing and the prince found out, it would certainly mean war. For, of course, the prince would regard him as the rightful king. Besides, whom could he induce to kill the Hero of Grenwilde?

Was there a third option? He didn't think so. Suddenly he stopped. Should he go back and offer the crown to the boy? Perhaps it was the will of the Creator. Both Gamarad and the Virikrians seemed to think there was something kingly about the whole Bindaved clan. There was no way to resist him if he should decide to take the crown by force. He had destroyed an army forty times the size of Akinwrath's pathetic force already. Furthermore, as Prince of Virikria, he would have the backing of Anakara and his ten thousand troops.

As the king stood ruminating, two things happened. First, Luna Torba caught up - gasping - from behind. Secondly, the enormous and terrifying figure of Nagara Diserac stepped out from behind a tree, with his sword levelled right at Akinwrath's throat.

~ ~ ~

Gamarad did not know that the blood link had been broken by Chion's confiscating the Seeing Crystal. Nor, for that matter, did he know that the Seeing Crystal had come to its rightful Lord. He only knew that when he sought to trace the blood connection with Diserac, it was voided. So the toad had assumed that Diserac was dead. He therefore did not know, as he withdrew the desigarg to Darga Dran (the closest desigarg strong-hold in the Lands of Desolation) that Diserac was at large in Grenwilde pursuing his own ends.

True, there was not much that Gamarad could have done to stop him. And had he been in Diserac's position, he certainly would not have reported back to his superior.

In fact, during the retreat to Darga Dran, Gamarad was reflecting on just that fact as it related to himself. Would Lord Nihilos not destroy him as soon as he had leisure to do so? For although the Dark Lord manifestly did not care about the campaign against Grenwilde, he never tolerated failure.

For a failure the magnitude Gamarad had experienced there was only one possible punishment.

Was it time to explore a bit further the weakness of Lord Nihilos? Had it not become evident to him during the seven-day hiatus, after the conquest of the Great Wall and the destruction of the vulgraths, that Nihilos had - for a brief season - almost no access to his mind?

Could he reverse the flow along the path of the child crystal, attack and over-throw his Master? He was not sure, but he knew that he was between two desperate alternatives and must make up his mind very soon.

~ ~ ~

Light playing on flowers, the dance of butterflies, the lithe movement of flames, all these and much more is in the music of the Lutetrees of Loridan. All these washed over the tiny princess as she lay upon the hard rock of the Maybe Mountains.

Jenna stirred and moaned softly, Cloud Dancer licked her face and gently nudged her with his nose. Very gradually the darkness got less; putting one hand to her forehead she sat up.

"Oh, ouch," Jenna said aloud. Her head hurt very badly. For a moment or two she had no idea at all concerning her whereabouts. She pulled herself into a seated position. Gradually, the whole thing became plain to her and she remembered where she was.

As she looked beside her she saw the same amber light that had warned her - a little too late - that she was approaching a rock face. It was pouring out of the same passage way from which issued the wonderfully strange music of Loridan.

She felt stupid.

She had lost sight of the Dove and thought the rocks unreal - when all the time the Dove had undoubtedly come towards this entrance. The rocks - she thought ruefully and rubbed her head - were very real!

Suddenly her eyes brightened. She'd had a 'for real' accident! Would she ever have something to tell Hector, John and the others!

With a great deal of effort - pain being something strange to her - Jenna managed to stagger to her feet and walk the few steps to the aperture of the passage way. It was so small that not even a pony, let alone Cloud Dancer, could fit in it.

"Well, Cloud, I'll see you real soon, O.K.?"

So saying, and with no hesitation, Jenna ducked down and squeezing her sore body into the crevice, began the second leg of her journey.

~ ~ ~

"My mother, Prince Anakara?" Jaomin said in stunned amazement, "How did you know her? Are you sure it was her...sir, er Prince?"

"It's very simple, Jaomin Bindaved; she told me."

Ganarth leaned towards the Prince, "Could you tell us the whole vision, my Lord? You see we've had no word of our mother in twelve years, Prince."

Prince Anakara raised his brows at this piece of news. He seemed about to comment, but something restrained him. Instead he indicated his entire willingness to relate the vision given him by the Creator.

"I was asleep on my bed and the visions of night filled my mind. And in the vision, I looked and I saw a woman rise out of the plains of Grenwilde. She was hunted by a great winged creature, but there was given to her two wings. With these she flew into the wilderness of the North, where the Lord shielded and sustained her. I saw then that the winged creature went in anger to devour the woman's offspring, but the woman forged weapons in prayer against him. And he wearied himself in searching while her offspring were hidden from his eyes.

"Then in my dream I saw a child born in Rama-gil - the city of the north. And the Spirit said to me, 'To him belongs your sceptre.' Then I saw that the winged enemy knew the child had been born and in anger he poured fired from the heavens and consumed the town of the child's birth. Yet I saw that the child had escaped.

"Now in my dream I found myself watching the woman I had seen at first. She was peering into a lake and seeing visions by the Spirit of Joy. And I looked and in the lake I saw a throne, and the face of a young boy.

"Then in my vision, the woman turned and looked directly into my eyes. She said, 'My son has need of you.'

"Immediately, when she had said this, I found myself awake. On the instant that I awoke, a Rune came to me, from the Wisdom of the King, When he comes, whose right it is to rule, all sceptres will lie at his feet.

"And so, son derived from noble parents, I am eager to fulfil the word which the Creator caused to be written in the first generation of our world; and I here and now lay the Princedom of Virikria at your feet."

So saying, the noble Prince of Virikria, took off his coronet and laying both crown and sceptre at Jaomin's feet, also knelt before the one whom he believed to be the True King.

It need hardly be said that Jaomin and Ganarth had followed the story in rapt fascination.

However, when the prince knelt, Jaomin gasped, "It isn't me, Prince! Really it isn't me."

"Nonsense," said the prince looking steadily at Jaomin, "Yours is the very face - the exact face - I saw in the lake. Does not your mother have your eyes, my Lord? For the great lady I saw was the image of yourself, with long black hair."

Ganarth nodded, "As I remember, and have been told by my father, my brothers all have the same eyes as my mother. A gift," Ganarth added smiling, "that was withheld from me. But, Prince Anakara, do you not think that for a Rune to be fulfilled, every particular must match."

"And does it not, Ganarth Bindaved?"

"No, Lord, it doesn't. For you see, Jaomin was born in Cair Galinal, as was I and were all my brothers. None of us was born in Rama-gil."

Prince Anakara looked perplexed and shocked.

Jaomin laughed, "But there is a Bindaved born in Rama-gil, Prince. Ganarth you don't know this, or have forgotten if I mentioned it, but Chion the son of Yason and Regine was born in Rama-gil! In fact," Jaomin stopped smiling, "Yason and Regine told me that they reckon they missed the burning of Rama-gil by mere days or even hours. This vision, at least much of it, applies to my nephew, Prince Anakara, not me."

The prince, leaving the sceptre and crown where they lay, stood up and flopped back on his chair, wearing on his face the look of one watching a slight of hand display and trying to discover the trick of it.

Seeing his scepticism, Jaomin added, "He has the same eyes, Prince Anakara. Abba - Father - says so, so does everyone."

"Your nephew?" the prince breathed out at last. "Strange, peculiar."

Both Jaomin and Ganarth nodded agreement to that thought.

"Will you take these tokens," here the prince pointed to the sceptre and coronet, "in lieu of my giving them to...Chion?"

Jaomin frowned, "But they aren't mine, Prince."

"Nor, any longer, are they mine, Jaomin Bindaved."

Jao sighed, "Are they mine to do with as like with, on behalf of my nephew?"

Prince Anakara nodded, "You are the one Joy has appointed to bring great deliverance to his people."

"Good!" said Jaomin; "in that case, I give them to you. Until such time as my nephew himself shall require them of you."

For a moment, the prince sat staring at Jaomin with no expression whatsoever. Then he shook his head, ever so slightly. "I think, Jaomin, that I begin to see why King Joy chose you and your family."

At that moment a great roaring sound was not only heard but also felt; the tent shook and nearly collapsed. All three men were suddenly only men - frightened men. They jumped up and ran out of the tent. What on earth was happening?

~ ~ ~

King Akinwrath, his arms tied behind his back was trudging across the fields east of the Western Hills. He was walking along the southern verge of the forest in which Nagara Diserac had earlier taken refuge. He was being force?marched as a prisoner and found himself - rather unnecessarily - being pushed forward after every five or six paces by his desigarg tormentor. But Akinwrath was too frightened to protest.

Nagara Diserac had put him in the custody of one of the three gargs he had managed to round up. This creature the captain had strictly charged to bring King Akinwrath, alive, to Targa Gamarad. He warned the garg - who was part wolverine and extraordinarily vicious - that if Akinwrath was killed he would be himself immediately eaten by the Over-General.

And so it was that King Akinwrath had been taken alive by ambush. He had now given himself up completely for lost, and moreover cared very little. He was frightened at the prospect of pain, but death he rather welcomed.

By noon, they had already crossed the East Hills - and it puzzled Akinwrath to see signs everywhere of evacuation. Where were the desigarg? Surely one defeat could not have caused them to give up so completely. But the farther they walked the more certain it seemed that the enemy had completely retreated. The whole thing was becoming a rather bitter medicine for Akinwrath to swallow. Here he was being led away captive after victory had apparently been won.

Suddenly Akinwrath laughed.

The garg found this exhibition of humour completely unacceptable. He forthwith laid the king out flat on his stomach with a sharp blow to the small of his back.

"Miserable human food. What makes you laugh on your way to supper?"

Akinwrath rolled over and looked up, "I'm laughing because your leader thinks I may have some value in gaining terms from Grenwilde. If he thinks so he is a great fool, as great a fool as I myself have been."

The garg was about to respond, when suddenly an ear splitting roar broke over their heads, bringing them both instantly to the edge of terror. In the next moment it seemed as if they were on the top of an enormous blanket being violently shaken by a giant. The ground rolled under them in waves. The trees of the forest they had been skirting swung around like buoys at sea.

Before he could react or cry out a tree was thrown down on top of the desigarg crushing him flat.

After the violent shaking and roaring had spent itself, King Akinwrath found himself lying on the ground: stunned but completely unhurt. A minute later he had managed to extricate the dagger from his former captor's belt. He then cut the rope binding his hands, cutting himself as well, but not dangerously.

Three minutes after the earthquake had ended, King Akinwrath, the last King of Western Grenwilde stood on a small hill staring towards the east. He knew this hill well and had sometimes come here in the summer to enjoy the view of the Wall, the Wall in which he took so much pride. The King, staring as if his eyes would fall from their sockets, looked at that view now - but there was no wall to be seen.