The Bear would stand with him, if need be. No prize, but the best of a bad lot. He believed in laws and doing the right thing ... but how much of that was rooted in his firm belief that as senior Baron among the five, and head of the oldest and largest noble house, the right thing meant Belundrar on the throne?
It was hard to say which was the most dangerous threat: Tholone's loose-leashed magelings, Maethor's spies and poisons, or Hothal's brute blades-enough-to-reap-all. And what sort of surprise blade had Feldrin's gold been used to hire ... or was he supporting one of the others? Or were the Lords of Laothkund or other covetous foreign powers dealing with him?
Ah, it began. Striding out from among the tensely waiting warriors toward Baerimgrim came a young, black-bearded man in the green and silver of Hothal -- one of the few who'd not come to court this day full-armored for battle.
The envoy bowed low before the throne, and said, "Most gracious Majesty, all Galadorna grieves at your condition. My Lord Hothal knows deep sorrow at the fate of royal Baerimgrim but grieves also for the future of fair Galadorna if the Unicorn Throne falls empty, to be fought over at this time...or worse, offers sitting room to one whose malice or blundering ignorance will lead the realm into ruin."
"You make your concerns clear enough, sir," the king said then, his dry tones awakening chuckles all over the room. "Bring you also solutions, I trust?"
The reddening envoy responded sharply, "Majesty, I do. I speak on behalf of Hothal, Baron of Galadorna, who begs leave to take the crown at this time, peaceably"...his voice rose to ride over sounds of derision and dispute from many in the chamber..."and with fair regard for the rights and desires of others. My lord requests this honor not idly, he has been most diligent on Galadorna's behalf and has bade me reveal thus: in return for promises that bright-visaged peace and fair-handed justice shall continue to flourish in the realm, he enjoys the full support of the most puissant lord Feldrin, Baron of Galadorna, which that noble personage shall himself confirm."
All eyes turned to Feldrin, who smiled in his customarily sly, sidelong way, his eyes meeting no one's gaze...and nodded, slowly and deliberately.
"Moreover," the envoy continued, "My lord hath spoken with the enemies of Galadorna, with an eye to keeping them from our borders and out of our purses, that the land remain free and prosperous, with no shadow of war-fear upon our thresholds. In return for most favored prices on silver and iron from our deep forest mines, the Lords of Laothkund have agreed to a treaty of mutual peace and border respect."
Cries of anger, oaths, and gasps of exaggerated horror made such a din in the chamber that the envoy paused for some time before adding, "My Lord Hothal submits that as he leads a force that can best keep the realm safe and prosperous, the crown should pass to him, and...for the good of Galadorna...his rule be proclaimed as legitimate by yourself, Grave Majesty."
There was another uproar, quelled in an instant by the deep rumble of Baron Belundrar as he lurched forward to stand beside the throne. With obvious reluctance in his tone and anger in his eyes, he said, "I share the anger of many here that any Galadornan would deal in secret with the wolves of Laothkund. Yet..."
He paused to sweep the room with his glare, his green eyes fierce under his bushy black brows and his battered nose jutting like a drawn blade, before he resumed, "Yet I will support this bid for the crown, scheming though it may seem, so long as the rule of law and right be upheld. Galadorna must be ruled by the strongest...and must not become a land of knifings and monthly intrigues or executions."
As the Bear stepped back to better survey all of the doors once more, a murmur of agreement arose at his words...but again the talk stilled in a moment as another baron stepped forth and purred, "A moment, brave Belundrar! You speak as if you see no acceptable alternative to this admitted scheming, to guard the safety of fair Galadorna in the years ahead. Well, then, listen to me, and I'll provide an offer unstained by dealing with enemies in secret."
Lord Tholone ignored Belundrar's instinctive snarl and continued, turning in a slow circle with his hand out, to survey all in the room. "You've heard very real and loyal concerns for the safety of our beloved realm. I share that love for Galadorna and worry for the security of us all. Unlike others, however, I've busied myself not with dark back-passage deals, but with assembling the finest company of mages this side of the sea!"
There was snorts and spitting as many warriors expressed their disgust at any reliance on wizards... and the presence of hired outlander mages here.
A cold-eyed Tholone raised his purring voice a notch and continued firmly, "Only my mages can guarantee the peace and prosperity we all seek. To those who mistrust magic, I ask this: if you truly want peace, do you hire and consort with battle-hungry warriors? Galadorna scarcely needs such bloody folk as its lords."
He left a little silence then for murmurs of agreement but heard instead, in that roomful of fearful courtiers and simmering warriors, only stony silence and quickly added, "I command magic enough to make Galadorna not only safe but great...and to deal with any traitors in this chamber who plan to put other interests before the security and rebuilding of the Realm of the Blood Unicorn."
"Bah! We'll have no twisted sorcerers ruling the realm!" someone shouted from the press of armored men around Baron Hothal, and several voices echoed, "Twisted sorcerers!" in tones of anger. The king and the Court Mage Ilgrist, who was standing by the royal shoulder, exchanged glances of rueful amusement.
The tumult, which had reached the point of daggers glinting here and there as they were drawn, fell abruptly still and silent once more.
The most handsome of the barons of Galadorna had stepped forth, the smile that charmed Galadornan ladies all too often flashing forth like a deft and graceful sword. Baron Maethor might well have been a crown prince, so richly was he dressed, so perfect his flowing mane of brown hair, and so smoothly confident his manner. "It grieves me, men of Galadorna," he said, "to see such anger and open lawlessness in this chamber. This blustering of those who walk around with ready swords, and the merciless will to use them, is the very thing that must be stopped if the Galadorna we all love is to be saved from sinking into ... a land not worth saving or dwelling in, just another warlord's den."
He turned to look around the room, ruffled cloak swirling grandly, every eye upon him, and added, "Therefore, my duty to the realm stands clear. I must and shall support Lord Tholone..."
There was a gasp of surprise, and even Tholone's jaw dropped. Maethor and Tholone were considered the two strongest barons by many, and everyone in the realm knew they were far from friends.
"...the one man among us who can make a difference. I must go to bed this night knowing I have done my best for Galadorna … and I can only do that if Lord Tholone willingly gives the most trustworthy of us all, good Baron Belundrar, the post of seneschal of Nethrar, in sole charge of all justice throughout the realm."
There was an approving murmur, Belundrar blinked at Maethor. The pretty boy baron wasn't called "the Silver-Tongued Poisoner of Galadorna" for nothing. What was he up to?
Maethor gave everyone a last smile and glided quickly back within his protective ring of handsome aides in silks and leathers, with not-so-hidden daggers ready In their lace-wristed hands.
A stir of excited talk arose at this surprising...and to many, bright in promise...offer. A stir that rose sharply, only to fall away into tense silence once more, as the last baron slipped through his supporters to scuttle close to the throne, causing guards to stiffen and turn until Ilgrist waved them back.
Feldrin's big brown eyes roved around the chamber. His hands fluttered as nervously and as restlessly as always, as their thin, weak-looking owner bent near the ear of the king. Feldrin's fine but ill-fitting clothes were drenched with sweat, and his short black hair, usually straight-plastered to his skull, looked like a bird had been raking it for nesting material. He was almost dancing with fearful excitement as he whispered in the royal ear. On the other side of the throne, Ilgrist bent close to listen too, evoking one nervous glance from Feldrin...but only one.
"Most Just and Able Majesty," Feldrin breathed, along with a strong scent of parsley, "I too, in my not-so-bold way, love Galadorna and would at all costs see her escape the bloody ruin of war between us barons-moreover, I have good information that at least three ambitious lordlings of Laothkund will ride here with the best mercenaries they can muster if we do take up arms 'gainst each other, to carve away all of Galadorna that they can hold. These three have a pact, their men shall never turn on each other whilst any of us live."
"And so?" the king growled, sounding very much like Belundrar in his dislike of threats and whispered schemes. Feldrin wrung his hands nervously, his brown eyes very large as they darted this way and that, peering to see who might be close enough to hear. He lowered his voice still further and leaned close, Ilgrist pointedly raised one fist and let the ring on its middle finger gleam and glow for all to see. If Feldrin drew dagger on the king, it would be the last thing he ever did.
"I, too, will support Lord Tholone, if you, sire, can agree to my conditions...which you will appreciate must needs be kept secret. These are two: that Hothal be executed here and now...for he will never accept Tholone where you sit now, and will harry us all for years, spilling the best blood of the realm..."
"Including that of one Feldrin?" the king muttered, a smile almost creeping onto his face.
"I...I...well, yes, I do suppose, ahem-hem, and that brings us to the second hazard: the greater danger to Galadorna is the smiling snake yonder, Maethor. I need your royal promise that 'an accident' shall very soon befall him. He has been a tireless and always untrustworthy spinner of intrigues, master of lies and shadows and poison, the land has no need of him, no matter who holds the throne." Feldrin was almost panting now, streaming with sweat, out of fear at his own daring.
"And one Feldrin most assuredly has no need of such a pretty rival at scheming," Ilgrist murmured, so quietly that perhaps only the king heard.
King Baerimgrim thrust out a hand suddenly and caught hold of Feldrin's chin. He pulled, dragging the baron around to face him, and murmured, "I agree to these two conditions, so long as you stand steadfast and no one else dies by your hand, direction, or maneuverings. For your own good, I place one condition upon you, clever Feldrin: when you straighten up from here, look worried...not pleased."
The king thrust the whispering baron away, and raised a voice that held a quaver of enfeeblement, yet also the snap of command: "Lord Tholone! Attend us here, for the love of Galadorna!"
There was a momentary excited stir...in some corners of the throne room, almost a shout...then breathless silence.
Out of the heart of that waiting, watching stillness Lord Tholone came striding, face a pleasant mask, eyes wary. There was a faint singing in the air around him, his mages had been busy. No doubt daggers would prove futile fangs if thrown his way now or in the near hereafter.
If...given the number of wizards and warriors ready for battle and on edge with excitement...there would be a hereafter for anyone in this room.
The silence was utter as Tholone came to a stop before the Unicorn Throne, separated from the king only by the crimson and gold expanse of the Blood Unicorn banner.
"Kneel," Baerimgrim said hoarsely, "on the Unicorn."
There was a collective gasp of indrawn breath, such a bidding could mean only one thing. The king reached to his own head, and slowly...very slowly...did off the crown.
His hands did not tremble in the least as he raised it over Tholone's bent head...a head that had grown a triumphant, almost maniacal smile...and said, "Let all true Galadornans gathered here bear witness this day, that of my own free will, I name as my rightful heir thi..."
The crack of lightning that burst from the crown at that moment deafened men and hurled them back hard against the paneled walls. Baerimgrim and the Unicorn Throne were split in twain in a blackened, writhing instant, the crown ringing off the riven ceiling. As the blazing limbs of what had been the king slumped down amid the sagging wreckage of the throne, the golden unicorn's head that surmounted it sobbed aloud.
The court mage looked astonished for the first time, and snatched out a wand as he looked sharply at the painted wooden head … but whatever enchantment had made it speak had fled, and the head was cracking and collapsing into falling splinters.
Ilgrist glanced swiftly around the room. Feldrin was lying lifeless on the floor, his arms two scorched stumps and his face burned away, and Tholone was on his back, dawing feebly at gilding from the smoldering banner that had melted onto his face.
The court mage fired over them, calling forth the fury of the wand in his hand, and a veritable cloud of magic missiles sang and snarled their blue-white death around the room. Not a few of Tholone's magelings crumpled or slid down the wall, wisps of smoke issuing from their eyes and gaping mouths...then the air was full of curses and swords flashing in the hands of running men.
Fire leaped up in a circle around Ilgrist then, and the wand in his hand spat forth a last trio of magical bolts...they struck at mages who still stood, and one fell...before it crumbled.
The court mage let its ashes trickle from his hand as he looked calmly around the ring of angry armed men and said, "No, Galadorna is too important for me to allow such a mistake. Baerimgrim was a good king and my friend, but... one mistake is all that fells most kings. I trust the rest of you, gentlesirs, w..."
With a roar that shook the room, Belundrar the Bear launched himself through the flames, heedless of the pain, and leaped at Ilgrist.
The wizard coolly took a single step back, raising one hand. The knife in the baron's grasp, sweeping sidelong at Ilgrist's throat, struck something that broke it, amid sparks, and sent the Bear's arm springing back involuntarily, to hurl the hilt into the balconies. The fire that blossomed in the wizard's hand caught the Bear full in the face, and his roar became a gurgling for the brief instant before his blackened, flaming body crashed face first into the floor.