SONG OF POWER

Chapter XXXIV: The White King

SONG OF POWER

CHAPTER XXXIV:  THE WHITE KING

The day of the concert was cause for jubilant celebration throughout Cyen.  People had arrived from all over the realm to see their new rulers perform, and the walled city swelled with their merriment.  The streets were packed with throngs of people who, no matter what their business, found themselves inextricably pulled closer to the keep.  For most, the hours seemed to crawl by.

The Covey and their court were prepared to receive their King when his entourage arrived in Cyen precisely at noon.  King McShain rode ahead of his small group of guards, servants, and concubines, and never had a more imposing figure been seen by the people.  The King was nearly seven feet tall and clad in armor made from the scales of white dragons, augmented in places by elemental ice.  His steed was some nightmarish cross between a dragon and a horse that unsettled people and livestock as he made his way through the town.  There was cheering before him, silence around him, and commotion in his wake.

“Such arrogance,” muttered Tyroce as she watched the White King make his approach up the main thoroughfare.  Cipher squeezed her hand.  He glanced at her and marveled that she chose not to disguise herself from the King.  Her (former?) husband, the King of Drakkenavia.

“What do you mean?” he asked her.

“Look how few soldiers he brought with him,” Tyroce said.  Her voice quivered with anger.  “I count six, plus seven squires, two other attendants, and five concubines.  He traveled here from Draketon with so few…”

“He is fearless,” replied Cipher.  “He is the king.”

“He is an arrogant, cocksure bastard,” hissed Tyroce.

“Shush,” scolded Rowena.  “They w-w-will be here in a moment.”

“Yes, and we do not want the King to know what we have planned,” added Ninthalsaya.  The others nodded.

“Daman cannot read minds,” Tyroce said off-handedly.  “That is my trick.”  Her wedlings cast uneasy glances at her, but Tyroce did not notice.  Her anger gave her strength, and she was an image of confidence and poise as the White King approached.  He will not have my fear, Tyroce vowed.  Never again.

The procession ended in the courtyard of Cyen Keep.  Donk the Dashing, once more in the official livery of his station, lifted his booming voice to announce the White King of Drakkenavia.  The king smiled as he dismounted his horse and thrust the reins to one of his servants.  Save for Donk, Daman McShain towered over all present, and even the ogre seemed somehow diminished.

“My liege,” Cipher said and bowed to his king.  His wives echoed his words and movements.

“Baronet Cipher Lostheart, we meet at last,” McShain’s voice was the union of a lion’s roar and a cobra’s hiss.  “Word has traveled quickly to my castle that Cyen was ransacked, abandoned, and then rebuilt under new leadership, and that I now had a new ruler in my kingdom.  It is my pleasure.”

“And mine,” Cipher replied simply, clasping the king’s outstretched hand in a sign of friendship.  Daman’s grip was mighty, but he did not assert his strength; it was simply a presence that Cipher felt, something that could spring at him at any moment.  The king then kissed the cheek of each of Cipher’s wives in turn, beginning with little Rowena and ending with Tyroce.

“I would keep with tradition and bestow gifts upon you, Lostheart, but it seems that you already have the greatest prize that I could ever give.  Keep her, and my blessings be upon you all.”  Tyroce’s snowy face was colored pink at Daman’s words, but otherwise she said nothing.