Kulgan moved to Rodric’s side “My King, may I attend?”
The King struggled to see who was speaking. His eyes seemed to lose focus for a moment, then became clear. “Who is speaking? The magician? Yes, Borric’s magician. Please, I am in pain.”
Kulgan closed his eyes, willing his powers to ease the King’s suffering. He placed his hand upon Rodric’s shoulder, and those nearby could see the ruler of the Kingdom visibly relax. “Thank you, magician. I feel more at ease.” Rodric struggled to turn his head slightly. “My lord Brucal, please bring Lyam to me.”
Lyam was in his tent, under guard, and a soldier was sent to bring him out. Moments later the young man knelt before his cousin. “My liege, your wound?”
Kulgan was joined by a Priest of Dala, who agreed with his assessment of the wound. He looked at Brucal and shook his head slowly. Herbs and bandages were brought, and the King was cared for. Kulgan left the priest to his ministrations and returned to stand where the others looked on. Katala had joined them, holding William in her arms. Kulgan said, “I fear it is a mortal wound. The skull is broken, and fluids seep through the crack.”
In silence they watched. The priest stood to one side and began praying for Rodric. All the nobles, save those commanding the infantry, were now arrayed before the King. More horsemen could be heard riding into camp. They joined the others who stood watching and were told what had happened. A hush fell over the assembly as the King spoke.
“Lyam,” he said in a faint voice. “I have been ill, haven’t I?” Lyam said nothing, his face betraying conflicting emotions. He had little love for his cousin, but he was still the King.
Rodric ventured a weak smile. One side of his face moved only slightly, as if he could not control the muscles well Rodric reached out with his good right hand, and Lyam took it. “I do not know what I have been thinking of late. So much of what has happened seems like a dream, dark and frightening. I have been trapped within that dream, but now I am free of it.” Sweat appeared upon his brow, and his face was nearly white. “A demon has been driven from me, Lyam, and I can see much of what I have done was wrong, even evil.”
Lyam knelt before his King. “No, my King, not evil.”
The King coughed violently, then gasped as the attack subsided. “Lyam, my time grows short.” His voice rose a little, and he said, “Brucal, bear witness.” The old Duke looked on, his face an implacable mask. He stepped over next to Lyam and said, “I am here, Your Majesty.”
The King gripped Lyam’s hand, pulling himself a little more upright His voice rose as he said, “We, Rodric, fourth of that name, hereditary ruler of the Kingdom of the Isles, do hereby proclaim that Lyam conDoin, our blood cousin, is of the royal blood. As oldest conDoin male, he is named Heir to the throne of our Kingdom.”
Lyam shot Brucal an alarmed look, but the old Duke gave him a curt shake of his head, commanding silence. Lyam bowed his head, and his sorrow was heartfelt. He tightly gripped the King’s hand. Brucal said, “So do I, Brucal, Duke of Yabon, bear witness.”
Rodric’s voice sounded faint. “Lyam, one boon do I ask. Your cousin Guy has done what he has done at my command. I grieve for the madness that drove me to have Erland deposed. I knew his going to the dungeon was his death warrant, and I did nothing to halt it. Have mercy on Guy. He is an ambitious man, but not an evil one.”
The King then spoke of his plans for the Kingdom, asking that they be continued, though with more regard for the populace. He spoke of many other things: of his boyhood, and his sorrow that he had never married. After a time his speech became too slurred to understand, and his head fell forward upon his chest.
Brucal ordered guards to attend the King. They gently raised him and carried him inside. Brucal and Lyam entered the tent, while the other nobles waited outside. More new arrivals were gathering, and they were told the news. Nearly a third of the Armies of the Kingdom stood before the commander’s pavilion, a sea of upturned faces extending down the hill. Each stood without speaking, waiting out the death watch.
Brucal closed the tent flap behind and shut out the red glow of the sunset. The Priest of Dala examined the King, then looked at the two dukes “He will not regain consciousness, my lords. It is only a matter of time.”
Brucal took Lyam by the arm and led him to one side. In a hushed whisper he said, “You must say nothing when I proclaim you Heir, Lyam.”