chapter TWENTY
It was not far from there to Oberon’s throne. The king of Gesoelig held court within a clearing more than a hundred paces end to end. At its heart grew a single oak tree, its trunk reaching at least three stories high before the lowest branches broke away.
The limbs of that mighty oak stretched out over the breadth of the palace, and its peak soared high into the sky. From underneath, Corin saw the strands of gossamer draped all across its boughs, glittering with dew that twisted sunlight and cast the distant image of a man-made palace. From where he stood, the tree alone seemed far more majestic than that illusion of marble and gold.
And at the base of that elder oak, its roots rolled and crowded into a knot above the earth, taller than a man and folded lovingly around a throne carved into the tree itself. On the throne sat something like a man. Corin had expected the friendly, timeworn face he’d seen carved into the cliff. Instead, he saw a monster out of nightmares. Taller even than the elven lords and ladies, the king had the fur-clad legs of a goat. His bare chest boasted a thick mane of red-brown hair. It bristled in his beard as well, and covered his crown in thick curls. Around his brow he wore a wreath of lily blossoms, and from his temples jutted two great antlers.
Courtiers by the hundreds surrounded him, a vast sea of beautiful creatures dressed in all the shades of a flower’s petals. Ripples ran among them, whorls and eddies as they spoke among themselves or paid their tributes to the king, but clearly they were here above all else just to be here. To see and to be seen in such proximity to the king.
The king himself paid them no mind at all. He lounged within his living throne, staring out across the broad expanse beneath the oak tree’s limbs. From half a hundred paces distant, his eyes fixed on the four newly arrived, and he started to his feet.
“What is this?” he boomed, a gleeful anger in his tone. “I see the son of Kellen Strong upon my threshold. And a pair of wilting Violets! And they have brought a manling. Bring them here to me!”
At his words, two hundred courtiers turned at once toward the place where Corin stood. Lords in flowing robes and ladies with flowers in their hair surged forward like an ocean swell. They crashed around the newcomers and raised a frothy babble among themselves, asking senseless questions or conjecturing what might have brought a Kellen and a pair of Violets together.
Corin rode the wave, anxious just to stay afloat, but nothing in his life had prepared him for this. He would scarce have been at home in the court at Aerome—or even at the Vestossis’ supper table—but he liked to think he could have found his way. This, though…this was not a stately gathering of posh buffoons.
It wasn’t even what he’d come to expect of the elves—condescending lords and ladies sullying their dignity to interact with a mere manling. No, these were fairies from the stories of old. They were dreamlike chaos, animal frenzy playing at humanity. They giggled and hissed, they ogled and jeered as they chivied Corin and his three companions toward the throne of Oberon.
Corin cast for a plan. He’d told Kellen to come warn the king, but he had not expected such a crowd. It would be dangerous to denounce Ephitel before this throng. He would need a private audience. But staring at the creature on the throne, Corin wasn’t certain he could handle that.
Strong hands propelled him until at last, a dozen paces from the throne, the courtiers suddenly withdrew. The four companions stood alone, hemmed on one side by hundreds of courtiers and on the other by the beastly Oberon.
The king surged to his hoofed feet, towering twice as tall as a man. His eyes danced, manic, and his words came out wrapped within a giggle. “Kellen, son of Kellen. I was told that you were buried.”
The yeoman fell to his knees and pressed his forehead to the mossy turf. The ring of courtiers snickered, but Kellen paid them no mind. “Your Majesty, I have betrayed my command, but only out of loyalty to you.”
“Ha! Ho! How so?” The king spoke in a lilting chant, but it ended with a snarl. “Your command is mine. I am your lord. You cannot obey by disobedience!”
Corin stepped forward before Kellen could say anything more. “Please, King Oberon, we would have a private audience. It is of matters most severe and delicate.”
“Ooh. That does sound painful. But I’ve never known a private audience. One does require ears to hear.”
For a moment, Corin could only gape. This was wise king Oberon? This was their noble creator? He seemed more like a madman. But this strange beast was Corin’s only way home. If he would not allow a private hearing, let it be a public one.
“I have come to beg your aid,” he said. “Only your magic might send me home.”
“But who are you to speak to me?” Oberon asked, condescending. “Who are you to ask me anything?”
“I am your humble servant,” Corin said. “And I bring you news well worth the boon I ask.”
Oberon frowned. “What news is this?”
“Grim news, Your Majesty. The lord protector betrays your trust. He plots rebellion in dark corners.”
Astonished gasps and murmurs ran like ripples through the crowd, but Corin’s attention was all on Oberon. The king glanced up sharply at Corin’s pronouncement. The dark, animal eyes flashed surprise and fear, but not, Corin realized, at the news. It was at the courtiers’ reaction.
Corin saw perfect understanding in the king’s eyes. Oberon thought as Corin had before: it would have been far better if these tidings were not shared out loud, but anything at all was better than silence.
Still, Corin stepped closer and lowered his voice. “I apologize, Your Majesty, but we could not afford—”
The king cut him off. Oberon tossed his mighty antlers, threw back his head, and brayed a laugh that sawed against the nerves. That silenced the courtiers. They watched the king as he danced a little jig, clip clip clop, then Oberon fell exhausted back onto his throne and looked on Corin with those wild eyes again.
“What is this manling who brings such tales to my court? Is he a pet of yours, A. Violet? Or pretty M.? Do you bring him to entertain me with a farce?”
Kellen staggered to his feet. “It is no farce, Your Majesty.”
The king arched one bushy eyebrow, and that was enough to silence the meek warrior. Oberon spoke in a whisper that might have carried to the farthest corner of the hall. “No more words from you, Yeoman Kellen. We will have words, but the time is not yet come.”
The warrior paled and shrank away, hiding behind Corin. Maurelle found the courage to step up in his place. She curtsied low, then cleared her throat. “He is no pet, my king. He is an emissary from your druids. Lord Ephitel tried hard to stop him coming here—”
Oberon clapped his hands together with a boom that left her mute. His eyes glittered with fury, but he spoke with that same mad glee he had shown before. “Ooh, a complicated performance. See how well they set the stage? I’d no idea the House of Violets was now a troupe. How far you’ve fallen. And are you a trouper in their ranks, too, Kellen, telling tales since you no more troop for me?”
Avery snarled. “My sister tells no tales. She has risked much for you, who did nothing to protect us. Do not—”
This time Corin interrupted before the king could. He threw wide his cloak in a grand flare that just chanced to muffle Avery. Then Corin turned to bow toward the audience. He turned back and bowed to the king. “Aye, my lord, you have the right of it. We are a complicated band with a chilling tale to tell. Would you hear it?”
Those eyes…one moment they danced with madness, and the next they cut like knives. They fixed on Corin now, even as the king feigned a wide, long yawn.
“No,” he moaned. “No, I tire of your antics. I can’t believe you bring me tales I haven’t heard before.”
There. It was an invitation. For all his wild appearances, the king was shrewd.
And terrified.
This was all a sham. Corin saw it in an instant. This whole court, perhaps Oberon’s whole persona, was a sham to buy him time. If he was weak and wild, Ephitel need not rush to overthrow him. The traitor could take his time. Corin could not guess how many months the ploy had bought, but it was spent now. Ephitel was moving.
So Corin pressed his case. “Good king,” he cried, “you have heard wild tales and speculation. You have heard myths before, and silly rumors. But I bring you news! I bring you tidings of great change. The story of a revolution grim and gory.”
Oberon hesitated, weighing his decision. Fear won out. Or caution. Either way, he shook his head. “I have no time for tragedies.”
“But mine—” Corin tried.
“No buts! No tragedies. No trials. Go away, and I will watch you slip the noose. I will see how you outrun the dogs. That will entertain me enough, I think.”
Corin understood—or thought he understood—the hidden meaning. They were free to go. Oberon would see them off, unmolested by Ephitel. It was almost a generous offer.
But Corin had nowhere to go. He needed Oberon to send him home. Wasn’t that why he had come here? Delaen had sent him…with instructions…
He’d forgotten her instructions. Corin met the mad king’s eyes and said, “No tragedies, my liege, but may I tell a fantasy? It is a dream made real! I am not just a storyteller. I am a traveler. I am an anomaly.”
“I’ve made my choice,” Oberon said, but Corin spoke over him.
“I am a man out of time,” he said. “And I bring a tale you’ve been waiting for.”
Silence fell within the strange cathedral. All the courtiers watched to see how their king might discipline the impudent manling. Avery looked curious, too. Maurelle and Kellen trembled. Corin only watched the king.
Oberon leaned back, lounging in his throne. He feigned another yawn, then shrugged one shoulder.
“Tell your tale, little man. If I do not enjoy it, I’ll feed your entrails to my dogs.”