Magician (Riftware Sage Book 1)

Pug saw Arutha whisper a short word to Fannon, and the old Swordmaster in turn spoke to Sergeant Gardan. Both looked about tensely, hands near sword hilts, watching everyone in the room.

 

Pug could see no sign of Martin. He whispered to Kulgan, “Perhaps Martin has decided to avoid the issue.”

 

Kulgan looked about. “No, there he is.”

 

Pug saw where Kulgan indicated with a bob of his head. By the far wall, near a corner, a giant column rose Standing deep within its shadow was Martin. His features were hidden, but his stance was unmistakable.

 

Bells began to chime, and Pug looked to see the first of the Ishapian priests entering the great hall. Behind, others followed, all walking in unison at the same measured pace. From the side doors came the sound of bolts being driven into place, for the hall traditionally was sealed from the start of the ceremony to its end.

 

When sixteen priests had entered the room, the great doors were closed behind. The last priest paused before the door, a heavy wooden staff in one hand and a large wax seal in the other. Quickly he affixed the seal to the doors. Pug could see that the seal bore the seven-sided device of Ishap inscribed upon it, and he felt the presence of magic within it. He knew the doors could not be opened save by the one who affixed the seal, or by another of high arts, and then at great risk.

 

When the doors were sealed, the priest with the staff walked forward between the lines of his brother priests, who waited, incanting soft prayers. One held the new crown, fashioned by the priests, resting upon a cushion of purple velvet. Rodric’s crown had been destroyed by the blow that had ended his life, but had it survived, according to custom it would have been interred with him. Should no new King be crowned today, this new crown would be smashed upon the stones of the floor, and no new one made until the Congress of Lords informed the priests they had elected a new king. Pug marveled how much importance could be attached to such a simple circlet of gold.

 

The priests moved forward, to stand before the throne, where other priests of the lesser orders were already waiting. As was the custom, Lyam had been asked if he wished his family priest to officiate at the investiture, and he had agreed. Father Tully stood at the head of the delegation from the Temple of Astalon. Pug knew the old priest would be quick to take charge of things without question, regardless of which of Borric’s sons took the crown, and counted it a wise choice.

 

The chief Ishapian priest struck his staff upon the floor, sixteen even, measured blows. The sound rang through the hall, and when he was done, the throne room was silent.

 

“We come to crown the King!” exclaimed the head priest.

 

“Ishap bless the King!” answered the other priests.

 

“In the name of Ishap, the one god over all, and in the name of the four greater and twelve lesser gods, let all who have claim to the crown come forth.”

 

Pug found himself holding his breath as he saw Lyam and Arutha come to stand before the priests. A moment later Martin stepped from the shadows and walked forward.

 

As Martin came into view, there was a hissing of intaken breath, for many in the hall had either not heard the rumor or not believed it.

 

When all three were before the priest, he struck the floor with the heavy staff. “Now is the hour and here is the place.” He then touched Martin upon the shoulder with his staff, resting it there as he said, “By what right do you come before us?”

 

Martin spoke in a clear, strong voice. “By right of birth.” Pug could feel the presence of magic. The priests were not leaving the claims to the throne subject to honor and tradition alone. Touched by the staff, no one could bear false witness.

 

The same procedure was repeated and the same answer given by Lyam and Arutha.

 

Again the staff rested upon Martin’s shoulder as the priest asked, “State your name and your claim.”

 

Martin’s voice rang out. “I am Martin, eldest son of Borric, eldest of the royal blood.”

 

A slight buzzing ran through the hall, silenced by the priest’s staff striking the floor. The staff was placed upon Lyam’s shoulder, and he answered, “I am Lyam, son of Borric, of the royal blood.”

 

A few voices could be heard saying, “The Heir!”

 

The priest hesitated, then repeated the question to Arutha, who answered, “I am Arutha, son of Borric, of the royal blood.”

 

The priest looked at the three young men, then to Lyam said, “Are you the acknowledged Heir?”