Amantha: second-oldest child of King Lyra of Chenameg and, therefore, heir to the throne if Tarkal is dead (as he is presumed to be).
At dawn on his wedding day, Sarazin was woken by a big, sloppy wet kiss. 'Gaaa!' shouted Sarazin, flailing wildly.
Chuckling, Glambrax ducked and dodged. Sarazin leapt out of bed and pursued him. But, by the time he had driven Glambrax into a corner, the dwarf had armed himself with Sarazin's chamber pot. Which was far from empty. 'I'll let you off this time,' said Sarazin.
'Just as well,' said Glambrax, 'for dead dwarves are the worst of luck at a wedding feast. As it is, the omens are not the best.' 'What do you mean?' said Sarazin.
In answer, Glambrax waddled to the shutters and threw them open. The sky was bruised black and orange. It was raining blood.
'Call off the marriage,' said Sarazin. 'We'll try again tomorrow.'
The next day brought another sodden dawn. But at least this time the rain was water and not blood. 'Today's the day,' said Sarazin.
Since the Great Hall of the House of Chenameg had been burnt by anarchists, Amantha and Sarazin were married in a barn. The roof leaked, but strategically placed buckets caught the worst of the drips. First the wedding guests gathered in the barn, then Sarazin and Amantha entered.
Sarazin wore his battle-leathers. Thanks to his upbring- ing in the Rice Empire, he still thought of leather as an ugly, uncouth, obscene material – but nothing better was to be had in Shin. So, though uneasy, he made do with what he had.
Amantha, for her part, arrived at the barn dressed in a bright-hued sontag, which was comely enough, but did not match his imaginings, for he had dreamed of her arrayed in silks and gorgeous with diamonds. She looked somewhat sullen, which made him uncomfortably aware that she was not marrying him for the glamour of his cock, but as a matter of pure survival.
As Sarazin entered the barn with Amantha, the guests cried: Ave Amantha! Ave Sarazin!'
He could not help resenting the fact that they called Amantha's name before they called his.
The wedding ceremony then commenced, but they had got no further than sacrificing a chicken to the Household Gods When there was a crash of thunder and the door to the barn split asunder.
Then into the barn walked a heavy figure, bringing to the shocked assembly a reek most foul. It was King Lyra! His scalp dangled from his skull, there was mud in the sockets of his eyes, yet he was on his feet, walking, pointing, trying to speak. 'Og-gorog,' said King Lyra.
Upon which Thodric Jarl hurled a hatchet. It took the dead king in the head. The skull exploded in a spray of dirt, stench, pulp and shattered bone. King Lyra's corpse swayed on its feet then crashed to the ground. Amantha screamed hysterically. She did not stop until Jarl slapped her across the face. Once. Twice. Three times. Then: 'Get that thing out of here!' said Jarl.
Two of his men each grabbed a leg of the corpse and dragged it outside into the rain. Jarl turned to face the silent audience.
'A corpse walking,' said Jarl. That's no great trick. I've seen it done often enough before. It takes but little power – any tenth-rate necromancer can arrange as much. Such a one must have chosen to play a practical joke on these young lovers here. But that tells us nothing of the king's opinion, for the corpse is not the king himself.' But one of the stable hands spoke up and said:
"The king is angry because Sean Sarazin has never made the quest.'
And others, muttering, said as much themselves. Where- upon Sarazin, realising what he was talking about, said:
'I take upon myself the duties of the heirs of Chenameg as well as their rights. I will make the quest. Ten days hence I will set forth just as Tarkal in his day set forth. I will quest beyond Drangsturm to the terror-lands of the Deep South. I will dare the dangers of the Swarms until I find the tectonic lever and throw the same.'
He meant what he said. He felt drunk with his own heroism, and Jarl's frown did not dampen his exultation. Certainly Sean Sarazin had said the right thing as far as the audience was concerned, for cheers greeted his proclamation.
The rites proceeded without further interruption, and Sean Sarazin was duly married to Amantha of Chenameg. Since he had wed the only surviving daughter of the ruling house of Chenameg, and since there was no male heir in evidence, he was, of course, now king of Chenameg himself. It was true!
Yes, Lord Regan was right. You can have whatever you want. You can get whatever you wish for. You can be whatever you want to be. The will is free, so all things are possible. All that you need is ambition.
With ceremony done, feasting began, the slaughter of sick horses having provided plentiful meat for the same. After feasting came dancing to the tune of various in- struments musicking. Then, finally, late in the evening, Sarazin and Amantha were bundled through the rain to the Great House, there to take their nuptial rites to their logical conclusion.