gathered audience couldn’t hear a word he was saying.
‘As you all well know, the ducal House of Abervenn was recently implicated in a plot to overthrow our beloved Queen Beulah, a plot backed and financed by the godless Llanwennogs.’ Looking down at his sheaf of papers, Padraig’s voice faltered slightly at these words. He glanced briefly over at her and Beulah scowled at him. Clearing his throat quietly, he continued.
‘This
unprovoked attack is an act of war on the Twin Kingdoms, and it will not go unanswered. Even now armies are being recruited and trained. We will bring the queen’s enlightened rule to the lands of the north.’
A muted ruffle of sound fluttered around the great hall, losing itself in its own echoes as the seneschal’s words were relayed from person to person. It wasn’t news to anyone: the draft had been pulling able-bodied men from villages and towns across the land for weeks now.
‘By his treason Duke Angor has forfeited all the lands and titles of Abervenn. His co-conspirators have been rounded up and executed, his wife and daughter stripped of their titles and privileges. This is the punishment any can expect who plot with our enemies.’
Beulah cast her mind out over the crowd, judging the mood as Padraig droned on. She had read his speech earlier, added to it herself the passages he seemed to have most difficulty with. Now she wished he would just hurry up and get to the point.
‘It is the right of the queen to bestow lands and titles as she sees fit, and it is for this reason that she has brought you all here today. Come forward, Clun Defaid.’
He had been standing in the front row, his nervousness at complete odds with the studied nonchalance and self-confidence of the nobles surrounding him. At his name Clun stiffened as if someone had poked him with a sharp stick. Beulah could feel his unease beginning to turn to fear, and she sent calming thoughts towards him. He still looked like a rabbit hearing the shriek of the raptor, but he seemed to pull himself together enough to take first one step, then another, and another, each one easier
than the last until he reached the podium. A low bench had been placed in front of the throne, and he knelt upon it on both knees, bowing his head.
Beulah stood and the whole hall rose with her. She looked over Clun’s prostrate figure and fixed her audience with her gaze. She paused just long enough to make people feel uncomfortable, the silence hanging heavy in the vast space of the Neuadd, then with a single thought conjured up a thin blade of light.
A palpable gasp ran through the crowd. All eyes were on her – she could feel their full attention as she reached out with the power of the throne, projecting her words so that everyone would hear as if she stood alongside them.
‘Clun Defaid. You have proven yourself selfless in service to the House of Balwen. As a warrior priest of the Order of the High Ffrydd, I would expect no less.’ Beulah noted Clun’s involuntary flinch at the inappropriate rank. She couldn’t very well introduce him to the other noble houses as a mere novitiate. Melyn might not like it, but Clun would be his equal soon, so the inquisitor would just have to promote him to a full warrior priest, and the traditions of the order be damned.
‘Your actions succeeded in foiling an attempt on my life. You took a poisoned quarrel meant for me, and now I offer you this in reward. Do you swear, in front of the assembled noble houses of the Twin Kingdoms, to serve the House of Balwen and to pledge the service of your issue from this time henceforth?’
Clun’s voice was thin, scared. It barely travelled beyond his lips. Beulah took the thought behind it and pushed it out to the audience as loud as her own words.
‘I
do so swear.’
‘And do you swear to uphold the laws of our nation, to act as arbiter in matters of justice?’
‘I do so swear.’
‘Do you swear to maintain an army of able-bodied men, equipped
‘As you all well know, the ducal House of Abervenn was recently implicated in a plot to overthrow our beloved Queen Beulah, a plot backed and financed by the godless Llanwennogs.’ Looking down at his sheaf of papers, Padraig’s voice faltered slightly at these words. He glanced briefly over at her and Beulah scowled at him. Clearing his throat quietly, he continued.
‘This
unprovoked attack is an act of war on the Twin Kingdoms, and it will not go unanswered. Even now armies are being recruited and trained. We will bring the queen’s enlightened rule to the lands of the north.’
A muted ruffle of sound fluttered around the great hall, losing itself in its own echoes as the seneschal’s words were relayed from person to person. It wasn’t news to anyone: the draft had been pulling able-bodied men from villages and towns across the land for weeks now.
‘By his treason Duke Angor has forfeited all the lands and titles of Abervenn. His co-conspirators have been rounded up and executed, his wife and daughter stripped of their titles and privileges. This is the punishment any can expect who plot with our enemies.’
Beulah cast her mind out over the crowd, judging the mood as Padraig droned on. She had read his speech earlier, added to it herself the passages he seemed to have most difficulty with. Now she wished he would just hurry up and get to the point.
‘It is the right of the queen to bestow lands and titles as she sees fit, and it is for this reason that she has brought you all here today. Come forward, Clun Defaid.’
He had been standing in the front row, his nervousness at complete odds with the studied nonchalance and self-confidence of the nobles surrounding him. At his name Clun stiffened as if someone had poked him with a sharp stick. Beulah could feel his unease beginning to turn to fear, and she sent calming thoughts towards him. He still looked like a rabbit hearing the shriek of the raptor, but he seemed to pull himself together enough to take first one step, then another, and another, each one easier
than the last until he reached the podium. A low bench had been placed in front of the throne, and he knelt upon it on both knees, bowing his head.
Beulah stood and the whole hall rose with her. She looked over Clun’s prostrate figure and fixed her audience with her gaze. She paused just long enough to make people feel uncomfortable, the silence hanging heavy in the vast space of the Neuadd, then with a single thought conjured up a thin blade of light.
A palpable gasp ran through the crowd. All eyes were on her – she could feel their full attention as she reached out with the power of the throne, projecting her words so that everyone would hear as if she stood alongside them.
‘Clun Defaid. You have proven yourself selfless in service to the House of Balwen. As a warrior priest of the Order of the High Ffrydd, I would expect no less.’ Beulah noted Clun’s involuntary flinch at the inappropriate rank. She couldn’t very well introduce him to the other noble houses as a mere novitiate. Melyn might not like it, but Clun would be his equal soon, so the inquisitor would just have to promote him to a full warrior priest, and the traditions of the order be damned.
‘Your actions succeeded in foiling an attempt on my life. You took a poisoned quarrel meant for me, and now I offer you this in reward. Do you swear, in front of the assembled noble houses of the Twin Kingdoms, to serve the House of Balwen and to pledge the service of your issue from this time henceforth?’
Clun’s voice was thin, scared. It barely travelled beyond his lips. Beulah took the thought behind it and pushed it out to the audience as loud as her own words.
‘I
do so swear.’
‘And do you swear to uphold the laws of our nation, to act as arbiter in matters of justice?’
‘I do so swear.’
‘Do you swear to maintain an army of able-bodied men, equipped
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