Roger Taylor - The call of the sword

One of the dogs whined a little. Eldric breathed out a sigh of resignation and turned to the messenger.

‘You are…?’ he asked quietly.

‘Hrostir, Lord. Second son of the Lord Arinndier. Serving with his High Guard.’

Eldric nodded in acknowledgement and turned his gaze forward again. The tension seemed to have gone from him a little, but the pulse still throbbed in his temple.

‘I recognize you now, Hrostir. You’ve grown a great deal since I last saw you. How is your father?’

‘Well when I left him, Lord, but that was some time ago. I’ve been on Palace duty.’

Eldric nodded, then his face twisted momentarily into a spasm of distress, and his hands tightened once more on the wooden heads of the chair arms. Leaning forward, he took up the document that Hrostir had given him, and looked at it for the second time.

‘You’ve done well, Hrostir,’ he said, his deep voice regaining its normal tone of command. ‘Very well. Your father can be proud of you.’ He raised his hand and indicated the table. ‘Join our meal. Take what you want, then rest yourself. I’ll need to talk to you very shortly.’

‘My horse, Lord,’ said Hrostir.

‘It’s being tended, Lord,’ volunteered the servant who had brought the insistent messenger into the hall. Eldric nodded to the servant and then again to Hrostir, to indicate that he could now eat with a clear con-science. Hrostir bowed and made his way to one of the empty seats that were always left at the Festival table.

Eldric rested his head on his hand thoughtfully for a moment and then beckoned the servant. The man bent forward to receive his instructions and then left the hall quickly. Eldric turned his attention to his guests, his bearded face a mixture of anger and sudden weariness.

‘My friends,’ he said. ‘It’s said to be a good omen when an unexpected guest arrives at the First Feast of the Grand Festival. And I consider it particularly auspicious that the guest is the son of my old friend. However, we’re in need of such an omen, for he’s brought… grim news. His disturbance of our feast is our pleasure, but I fear the paper he’s brought will disturb us less pleasantly.’

He paused as if reluctant to say the words out loud. Then, sensible of his duties, and like a man who must kill a wounded horse, swiftly and cleanly, leaving the mourning for another time, he spoke.

‘The King has suspended the Geadrol. The Great Council of Lords is to sit no more.’

His tone was a mixture of defiance and resignation, and its cutting edge severed the tension in the hall. A hubbub of disbelief, anger and shock rose up from his guests. Eldric sat back in his chair with his head bowed until the babble faded away as one persistent voice spoke all their questions.

‘What does it mean, Lord?’

The questioner was Tirke, a friend of Eldric’s son Jaldaric, currently seconded, like Hrostir, to the King’s service in the capital of Fyorlund, Vakloss. Eldric did not like Tirke. He considered him to be impatient, rash and arrogant, and his assessment was indeed accurate as far as it went. However, for his son’s sake he tolerated him, aware that if he forbade the friendship it might continue clandestinely and the guilt of this would probably bring Jaldaric further under Tirke’s influence.

He remembered a vulgar barrack-room epithet about it being better to have someone inside the tent ‘looking’ out rather than outside ‘looking’ in, and the thought made him smile unexpectedly. The smile coloured his view of Tirke. He was, after all, only a young lad, and we all do foolish things when we are young.

‘It means, Tirke, what it says. The Geadrol is sus-pended. The King will rule without the benefit of the advice of his Lords.’

‘And restraint,’ said a voice to his left. Eldric nodded a worried acknowledgement.

‘He can’t do that,’ burst out Tirke, banging his hand on the table. Several voices were raised in agreement. Eldric picked up the paper and brandished it.

‘He has done it,’ he said. ‘I’m no lawyer, but I imag-ine this edict is legal and within the Law. Rgoric has had many troubles in his reign and much personal sadness, and not all his actions have been of the wisest, but I’m sure he’d do nothing that wasn’t legal nor in the best interests of the country, however it might appear to us at the moment.’

Tirke made a contemptuous noise.

‘He’s been working for this for years. Chipping away at the rights and power of the Geadrol bit by bit, all with this in mind.’

Eldric opened his mouth to speak, but Tirke contin-ued. ‘I’m sorry, Lord Eldric, but I must speak as I think. You know I’m right. He’s steadily reduced the effective-ness of the Geadrol over many years, and he picks now to do this. Not just the Festival of the Four Guardians, but the Grand Festival, when everyone’s away to their estates. Only once in six years does this happen.’

Eldric was beginning to become angry. Though whether it was Tirke’s unpleasant, hectoring manner, or because he felt inclined, against his Oath of Fealty, to agree with him, he could not have said.

‘Tirke, these are times of change. Troubled times. The King isn’t blessed with the good health that most of us are fortunate in… ’ He lost his train of thought and shook his head irritably. In any event, he doubted he could plead too well on behalf of the King.

Somewhat at a loss he said. ‘Why would he want to rule without his Lords, Tirke? Why? It’s difficult enough even with advisers.’

Tirke looked at him impatiently and leaned forward on the table.

‘The King wants all authority in his hands.’

‘Authority?’ queried Eldric. ‘Authority. What is au-thority, Tirke? It’s not a thing that can be seized like a… goblet.’ He picked up a glass in demonstration. ‘Authority can only be given, and freely given at that. Given by the people to the Lords and the King. And it’s hedged about by our ancient Law, for the protection of all. You can’t seize a gift. And anyway, who’d want to seize such a burden as the rule of all Fyorlund?’

His age seemed to have fallen from him and his voice was strong and firm, but Tirke was not daunted.

‘Lord Eldric, with respect, you speak of things as they should be. I speak of them as they are. You speak from a good and just heart, a heart that can’t see evil in people.’

Eldric’s eyes narrowed.

‘Take care, Tirke. You abuse your friendship with my son, and the Festival hospitality. Your talk is nearly treasonable.’

But Tirke was not listening. His excitement and anger carried his thoughts beyond his discretion.

‘I mean no disrespect to the King, Lord, but he’s a sick man. Even with the Lords’ advice, it’s difficult for him to fulfil the duties of Kingship. We here all know that Dan-Tor is the real Kingly authority, and has been for years.’

He wrinkled his mouth in distaste at the name of the King’s chief adviser and physician.

‘Enough, Tirke,’ said Eldric loudly. The lad was telling the truth, but Eldric could not allow the King to be impugned. ‘Lord Dan-Tor, Tirke, is thought of most highly by the King. He’s brought him great comfort and solace in his many troubles.’

Then, to try to calm the young man, he continued, ‘Although I admit he’s not to everyone’s liking. We should be thankful for what he’s done for our King.’

The slight softening of his tone did not have the effect he sought. It released a monumental outburst from Tirke. He banged his fist on the table again and jumped to his feet.

‘Lord Eldric, are you blind? That… devil’s spawn out of Narsindal has our King strung like a puppet. It’s he who wants… ’

‘Enough!’ Eldric’s voice thundered down the table and stopped Tirke in mid-sentence. The sudden impact made him step back and he reached down with one hand to hold his chair to prevent himself from stum-bling over it. Suddenly sobered, his face went white. Eldric too had stood up. He was quivering with rage and his normally ruddy face was livid. His grey beard and hair seemed almost to be bristling.