Elaine Cunningham - The Best of the Realms, Book I

" 'Tis too true," the king said sadly,shaking his head. He paused a moment, as though listening to some silent voicewhisper behind his throne. "I am pressed by convention, Paramore, togrant her hand to Lord Ferris."

Sir Paramore sheathed his sword and crossed angry armsover his chest.

"Come out, wicked mage," said the knight,"from your place of hiding in the shadow of this great man. Your whisperingscannot dissuade my lord and monarch from granting what his and mine and theprincess's hearts desire."

With that, Paramore touched the handle of his mightysword, Kneuma, to dispel whatever enchantment Dorsoom might have cast on theking. Then he snapped his fingers, and the tiny percussion of his nails strucksparks in the air. The king's retinue and the king himself, as though awakeningfrom a dream, turned toward the shadow-garbed mage. Dorsoom sullenly answeredthe summons and moved into the light.

"Milord, do not be tricked by the puny magic ofthis-"

"Hush, mage," replied King Caen evenly,regarding Dorsoom through changed eyes. He turned, then, to address thethin nobleman. "Lord Ferris, I know the hand of my daughter has beenpledged to you since before you could understand what that pledge meant. Buttime has passed, as it does, and has borne out a nobler man than thee to takethe princess's hand. Indeed, he has taken her heart as well, and mine too, withmany great deeds that not a one of them is equaled by the full measure of yourlife's labors."

"But-"

The king held up a staying hand, and his expressionwas stern.

"I am now convicted in this matter. You cannotsway me, only spur me to anger, so keep silence." His iron-hard visagesoftened as he looked upon Sir Paramore. "By royal decree, let the word bespread that on the morrow, you shall wed my darling child."

A cheer went up from all of those gathered there save,of course, Lord Ferris and the mage, Dorsoom. The joyous voices rung the very foundationsof the palace and filled the stony vault above.

It was only the plaintive and piercing cry of onewoman that brought the hall back to silence.

"My Jeremy!" cried the noblewoman, wringinga light blue scarf in tender, small hands as she came through the doors."Oh, Sir Paramore! I've looked and looked through all this crowd and evenchecked with the door guards, and he is not here. Where is my Jeremy?"

Sir Paramore stepped down from his rightful placebefore the king and, tears running down his face, said, "Even I could notsave your son, with what these butchers had already done to him…."

"And her cries were piteous to hear," thecloaked man muttered low, and the crowd in the pub soaked in the sibilantsound of his voice, "so that even evil Dorsoom shut his ears-"

"That's it, then. No more ale for any of you. Idon't care how strong the gale's ablowin' out there; there's a stronger one inhere, and it's ablowin' out this stranger's arse!"

It was Horace, fat Horace who'd tended the bar in thattiny crevice of the Kryptgarden Mountains and fed eggs and haggis to thegrandfathers and fathers and sons of those gathered there. In all that time,the good folk of Capel Curig had learned to trust Horace's instincts aboutweather and planting and politics and people. Even so, on that singular night,regarding that singular man, Horace didn't strike the others as their familiarand friendly confidant.

"Shut up, Horace," cried Annatha, afishwife. "You've not even been listening, back there banging your pots soloud we've got to strain our ears to hear."

"Yeah," agreed others in chorus.

"I hear well enough from the kitchen, well enoughto know this monstrous man's passin' garbage off as truth! He makes out KingCaen to be a dotterin' and distracted coot when we all know he is strong andjust and in full possession of himself. And what of Dorsoom, cast as somemalicious mage when in truth he's wise and good? And Lord Ferris, too?"

Fineas, itinerant priest of Torm, said, "I'm allfor truth-as you all know-but bards have their way with truth, and barkeepstheir way with brandy. So let him keep the story coming, Horace, and you keepthe brandy coming, and between the two, we'll all stay warm on this fiercenight."

The stranger himself extended that trembling left handthat did the work for two and said with a rasping tongue, "It is yourestablishment, friend. Will you listen to your patrons' desires, or turn meout?"

Horace grimaced and said, "I'd not throw a rabiddog out on a night like this. But I'd just as soon you shut up, friend. Asidefrom lyin', you're puttin' a dreamy, unnatural look in these folk's eyes, andI don't like payin' customers to go to sleep on me."

That comment met with more protests, which Horacetried unsuccessfully to wave down.

"All right. I'll let him speak. But, mark me: he's got your souls now. He's worked some kind of mesmerizin' magic on you withthe words he weaves. I, for one, ain't listenin'."

Nodding his shadowed and dripping head, the strangerwatched Horace disappear into the kitchen, then seemed to study him hawkishlythrough the very wall as he continued his tale.

"Though Lord Ferris's forked tongue had beenstilled that morning before the king and nobles and children, his hands wouldnot be stilled that night when he stalked through the dim castle toward SirParamore's room.

"But one other child of the night-the ghost ofpoor dead Jeremy-was not allied to the sinister plans of Ferris. Indeed, theghost of Jeremy had sensed evil afoot and so hovered in spectral watch on thestair to Paramore's room. When he spotted Lord Ferris, advancing dark at thefoot of the stair, Jeremy flew with warning to the bed foot of his former bosomfriend, Petra…."

Petra was a brown-hairedgirl-child and the leader of the pack of noble children. Jeremy found her abedin a castle suite, for the children and the parents had all been welcomed byKing Caen to spend the night. Poor Jeremy gazed with sad ghostly eyes on theresting form of Petra, sad ghostly eyes that had once gazed down on his ownstill body, lifeless and headless.

"Wake up, Petra. Wake up. I have terrible newsregarding our savior, Sir Paramore," the child-ghost rasped.

His phantom voice sounded high and strained, like thevoice of a large man pretending to be a child.

And Petra did wake. When she glimpsed her departedfriend, her brave girl-heart gave a start: unlike greater ghosts decked indiaphanous gossamers, poor Jeremy had no body upon which to hang such raiment.He was but a disembodied head that floated beyond the foot of her bed, and eventhen his neck slowly dripped the red life that had once gushed in buckets. Sogrotesque and horrible was the effect that Petra, who truly was a brave child,could not muster a word of greeting for her dead companion.

"It's Lord Ferris," the ghost-child saidurgently. "He plots to slay our Sir Paramore where he sleepstonight."

Petra managed a stammerand a wide stare.

"You must stop him," came the ghost's voice.

She was getting up from the feather mattress, arrayingthe bedclothes around her knees. With the sad eyes of small boys-who see smallgirls as mothers and sisters and lovers and enemies all at once-poor Jeremywatched Petra's delicate hands as she gathered herself.

At last she whispered, "I'll tell Mother-"

"No!" Jeremy's voice was urgent, strident."Grown-ups won't believe. Besides, Sir Paramore saved your life thismorning. You can save his life now, this evening!"

"I cannot stop Ferris alone."

"Then get the others," Jeremy rasped."Awaken Bannin and Liesle and Ranwen and Parri and Mab and Kara and theothers, too. Tell them to bring their fathers' knives. Together you can saveour savior as he saved us."

Already, Petra was tying the sash of her bedclothes ina cross over her heart and breathlessly slipping sandals on her feet.

"Hurry," commanded Jeremy. "Even now,Lord Ferris is climbing the stair toward Sir Paramore's room!"