David Drake: The Fortress of Glass

A fence of palings and rope picked out with tufts of scarlet wool marked off an area the width of a bowshot around the pyre. There were no guards to enforce the boundary. Either the peasants of First Atara were unusually obedient folk, or they understood just how big the blaze would be and had better sense than to come too close.

Tenoctris fixed the chamberlain with her quick eyes. "Do the ceremonies you've mentioned involve wizardry?" she asked.

"Oh, good heavens, no!" Martous said. "We're not that sort of people here on First Atara."

He paused, connecting what he'd just said with what he and the visitors knew of the late king. "Ah," he said. "Well, King Cervoran was, of course, but that was him. His father raised show rabbits, you know. My first job in the palace was as Page of the Rabbits. Ah. Really, there was no harm in the king, just, well, interest. And there's nothing of the sort in the apotheosis ceremony, not at all."

Patting his hands together to close the discussion in his mind, Martous continued, "The ceremony actually started before you arrived in Mona. A delegation of nobles carried the late king from the palace while choruses of boys and girls lined the path to the pyre, singing hymns to the Lady."

He frowned. "The boys' chorus might've been better rehearsed," he admitted, "and there was some difficulty with the staircase up the front of the pyre, but I think things went well enough given how short my time was. Quite well!"

Sharina smiled. The staircase Martous mentioned was a steep contrivance with notched logs for stringers and treads also fashioned from logs with an adze rather than a saw. Cloth runners-muslin dyed shades of red ranging from russet to pale pink-made the stairs presentable from a distance but also made them harder to climb.

Sharina supposed it hadn't seemed reasonable to waste effort on the details of something meant to burn in a day or two. The person making the decision-probably the chamberlain himself-might've considered the problem a group of out-of-condition country squires would have climbing the structure while carrying a laden bier, however.

"Tomorrow morning at the ceremony," Martous continued, "Prince Protas will light the pyre. I do hope it goes well. The brush had to be bundled while it was still green, I'm afraid. If only we'd had more notice about the king's health so that we could've started preparations sooner!"

"King Cervoran appears to have been very remiss," Sharina said. She was making a pointed joke to remind the chamberlain tothink about what he was saying. He merely nodded agreement, too lost in his own concerns to have any awareness of the wider world.

"After the fire's been lighted," Martous said, "Protas will throw on a lock of his hair. I've already had one prepared by the palace hairdresser so that there'll be no problem there. The chief nobles will file across the front of the pyre and sprinkle incense."

He looked sharply at Sharina as though she'd sudden become interesting. "How many of you Ornifal nobles will be joining the procession? A rough number, if you please?"

"None," said Sharina. "And I must remind you that we're the delegation of the kingdom, not of the Island of Ornifal alone. I, for example, am Princess Sharina ofHaft."

"Ah," said Martous. "Ah, yes."

He turned his face toward the plaza, pressing his lips out and in several times. At last he continued, "The choruses will perform during the ceremony. Ido hope we won't have a repetition of the regrettable business with the boys singing that they're 'impure with vices' as they did during the presentation. Anyway, when nobles have finished casting incense and the pyre is burning properly, a dove symbolizing the late king's soul will be released from beside Prince Protas' throne-"

"From the throne rather than from the pyre itself?" Tenoctris asked. "When I've seen this sort of ceremony in the past…?"

"Well, there was a problem with the cage opening during the rites of the late king's father," the chamberlain admitted. "In fact, some of the… the more superstitious members of the populace ascribed King Cervoran's devotion to wizardry to, well, that problem. This is foolishness, of course, but I decided not to take a chance on having it happen again."

Tenoctris nodded. "My parents would've been glad of an excuse on which to blame my interests," she said. "In their hearts, I'm sure they were afraid it was their fault. Though so far as I've ever been able to tell, there's nothing more mystical about skill at wizardry than there is in preferring fish over mutton."

"As soon as the dove has flown…," Martous said. He was looking at Tenoctris as he spoke, his eyes wide, but he suddenly flushed and jerked them back to the pyre. "As soon as that's happened, I say, Prince Garric will stand and crown Prince Protas with the ancient topaz diadem-he'll be holding that through the rites. There'll be a general acclamation. I hope-"

He looked coldly at Sharina.

"-that we may expect theroyal party to join in the acclamation?"

"You may," Sharina said in a neutral voice.

Lord Martous took a deep breath. "Then," he said, clasping his hands, "I believe we're ready for the ceremony. Except for the seating arrangements. If you don't mind, I'll take my leave now. I need to talk with the master of the boys' choir."

"I hope your discussions go well, milord," Sharina said, but the chamberlain was already halfway to the door.

She knew she should feel more charitable toward him. Only a fussy little fellow concerned with trivia could've made a good chamberlain. Given that, Martous was more than competent.

Tenoctris faced the pyre, but Sharina couldn't tell where the old wizard's mind was. "How do the arrangements strike you, Tenoctris?" she asked.

"What?" the wizard said, falling back into the present. "Oh. The arrangements seem perfectly regular. A little ornate for so-"

She smiled.

"-rural a place, but one finds that sort of thing in backwaters… if you'll forgive my prejudices. I've always been more comfortable in communities that value books over turnips."

"I'm glad to hear it's all right," Sharina said. "I was worried that something might happen."

"So am I, my dear," Tenoctris said. "The human arrangements are regular, as I said; but I'm by no means sure that we humans will have the final say in what happens tomorrow."

The combined signallers of the royal army, some fifty men with either straight trumpets or horns coiled about their bodies, stopped playing at a signal from Liane. It seemed to Garric that the plaza still trembled. Even so there was only an instant's pause before the combined signallers of the fleet, fifty more men determined to outdo their army counterparts, took up the challenge.

Garric groaned, looking down at the topaz crown resting on a pillow in his lap. The images in the heart of the yellow stone danced in the play of the sun. He hid a grimace and leaned to his left, bringing his lips close to Sharina's ear. He had to be careful because he was wearing his dress helmet, a silvered casque from which flared gilt wings.

"I should never have allowed them to do this," Garric said. "It was Lord Tadai's idea, a way that we could contribute something unique to the funeral ceremonies, but it'sawful."

"The locals seem to like it," said Sharina. He more read the words on her smiling lips than heard them. "I'm sure they've never heard anything like it before."

Neither had Garric, though some really severe winter storms had been almost as deafeningly bad. The signallers were skilled beyond question, but they and their instruments were intended to blare commands through the chaos of battle. It was remarkable what they could do when grouped together and filled with a spirit of rivalry.

But as Sharina'd said, the islanders filling the plaza seemed to love it. That went for both country folk and the residents of Mona itself. City-dwellers on First Atara tended to sew bright-colored ribbons on their dress garments, but there wasn't as much distinction between urban and rural as there would've been on Ornifal or even Haft.