Chapter Thirteen
The memorial service began at sunset two days later.
It was blessedly brief and took place in a square in the center of Goriana.
Head councilor Oisín explained that the road to the palace was too steep and curvy for foot traffic, and I definitely agreed, seeing as how the entire population seemed to have shown up for this.
Fionn was anxious to have the coronation done before we left for home, so he had changed his mind and decided to do it at the end of the memorial service for my father.
No one seemed to object to this, though I thought we should have waited a day or so out of respect for the late king.
Never let it be said, however, that Faeries in general and King Fionn in particular were overly sentimental or worried about showing proper regard for an occasion. Proper etiquette was not their forte.
Fionn chose to wear his white cloak, emblazoned with the rampant lion that was the sigil of his house, over a gold tunic, tied with a leather belt. His sword was at his side, as always. And as always, he looked stately, handsome and aristocratic.
My late father’s funeral had already taken place way before we arrived, so this was a simple unveiling of his memorial stone, and another way to honor him.
The stone would stay here in the square for now before being moved back to the temple grounds and the ancient royal cemetery there.
The stone was tall and slate gray, carved with the likeness of a noble looking man with long hair down to his shoulders.
Engraved beneath his likeness was a name and date that I presumed to be the dates of his rule in Gorias.
I’d been afraid they might want me to say something, but thankfully, the priestesses handled the entire service.
I allowed the words to wash over me, without thinking about them too much, and though I felt a stinging, prickly sensation on my skin during all the religious parts of the ceremony, I got through it.
It was after the service ended that my lord rose to his feet and held out a hand to me. I took it, not sure what he was intending and was surprised when he drew me to my feet and began walking toward the steps leading up to the dais. When we got to the top step, he turned to face the crowd.
“I am King Fionn of Murias, and this is my consort, Braden, the son of the late King Callum of Gorias and the enchantress Naimh.”
He pronounced it like “neev,” which totally surprised me as I’d been apparently mispronouncing it for years. Again, “Hild,” my mother’s real name, was so much easier. But then that wasn’t the way she liked to be called.
“Shortly before he died, “ Fionn continued, and I tried to focus, “the late King Callum called me here to his palace in Goriana—to his deathbed—and he told me he didn’t trust any of those who were vying to become heir to his throne. He asked me to take the throne instead, and he made it a condition of this bargain that I would bring his son home and marry him. I was fortunate to be the one he turned to. As King Callum and Naimh never married, Braden was illegitimate and only half Faery. He has had no experience or training in being a king, so my consort is not eligible to be the king’s heir, no matter how much Callum wished for it. He thought this would be the next best thing, and he said so in writing. His signature was witnessed by his council.”
Surprisingly, there were some cheers among the spectators, and no one looked upset or angry—none of the common people, that is.
I looked in the direction of the councilors and noblemen who constituted the late king’s family members and saw a distinct difference.
There was, among those who had perhaps wished to rise to prominence themselves, an exchange of guarded glances, shifting feet and many scowls. I tried to ignore them.
Councilman Oisín came forward with a silver crown laid out on a small golden square of cloth. He held up the crown for all to see and then held it out to Fionn, who placed it on his head. Fionn then turned toward the crowd of onlookers.
“All things I have promised, I will perform and keep. So help me, goddess."
He turned back toward the councilman. “I ask that each council member come forward now, one by one, to swear an oath of fealty and loyalty to me and to my consort as their new liege lords.”
There was an uncomfortable moment when I thought they would refuse, but finally Councilman Oisín bowed before him first.
“I, Councilor Oisín of the House of Fenimon, swear to be faithful in my promises and pledge fealty to the king and his consort. I pledge all my loyalty and allegiance to King Fionn and his consort, Braden, son of Callum.”
One after another the councilors came then, each one stating their name and the
“house” they were from, and they were followed by the heads of every noble family in the kingdom, who did the same. Though some of them looked uncomfortable, all swore their oaths to be Fionn’s loyal subjects.
Fionn nodded as each one bowed and left to take their seats, one after the other, until finally Councilor Oisín announced that all in attendance had made their pledges.
“And what of the king’s stepbrother, Ehlbert? Where is he? And his son.”
“I believe Lord Ehlbert and his son were called away on urgent business a couple of days late yesterday, not long after your unfortunate meeting with them,” the councilor Oisín replied. “I’m not sure when or if they’re returning.”
“I see,” Fionn said. “Ehlbert’s interests are too closely aligned with that of Falias.
Until he and his house swear loyalty to us and divest their interests and residence in Falias, they will no longer be received in Gorias.
They must break all ties with Falias if they wish to return and then swear themselves to my service.
It’s only because Ehlbert’s mother was once queen here and is buried, I believe, on the temple grounds that I will allow even that much. ”
Oisín bowed to Fionn, though he looked uncomfortable. “Of course, your Grace.”
“Make sure the guards who serve at the gates are aware of Ehlbert’s new status.”
“I will, Your Grace.”
But before any of us could move or say more, a rider suddenly tore through the gates on his horse.
The crowd fell back to let him through, and he was moving fast, bending low over his saddle.
As he drew closer to the crowd, a murmur ran through them.
I saw then that Tadgh, at least, had returned to Goriana, though he appeared to be all alone.
I could see that his tunic was ripped and smeared with blood and his face dirty and scratched up.
His usually immaculate clothing was disheveled and in complete disarray as if someone had tried to rip it off him.
He had scratches and bruises all over his arms, along with those on his face and he hadn’t bothered to wipe away the blood.
He rode toward the dais, but Fionn’s soldiers quickly blocked his path so that he had to fling himself from the back of his horse and dodge around them to push and shove his way up to us.
The soldiers were in hot pursuit, but the crowd intervened, not attacking the soldiers, but managing to get in their way enough to stop them and allow Tadgh to approach.
Fionn stepped in front of me, making sure I was behind him, his hand on the hilt of his sword. But Tadgh came running up to the steps, still staying on the ground at the bottom, never attempting to mount the steps to reach us. He unbuckled his sword belt and fell to his knees in front of us.
Gripping the sword by the scabbard in both hands, he raised it up and bowed his head. In a voice shaking with fatigue, he said, “Greetings, Your Grace. My sword is yours. I hereby pledge my fealty to you, King Fionn and your royal consort Braden.”
Behind us the entire assembly erupted in cheers.
****
Fionn
Kings keep their thrones not only through fear and loyalty, but also by weaving alliances and securing debts.
And of course, by keeping the populace happy.
Tadgh was a handsome young man, even among Faeries, and he was full of smiles and charm.
Though I didn’t fully trust him, he was obviously a favorite among the Gorians. I stepped down closer to him.
“I accept your service and your offer,” I said.
“But arise. I like to see a man’s face when I speak to him.
Let me see yours, while you tell me what’s happened.
What has befallen you? Why do you arrive here with both you and your horse looking exhausted and injured, like you’d been in a desperate run for your lives? ”
“We have, Your Grace,” he replied, getting slowly to his feet to look directly at me and then back at Fionn.
“The capital city of Fethalos in Falias came under attack early this morning by a demonic ogre horde. We fought them off but suffered great losses. The guardsmen and citizens of Fethalos fought valiantly but we were all taken by surprise and there were too many. The horde managed to crowd against the gate and burst it open. The air filled with screams as many of us rushed forward to try and bolster the guards’ numbers.
We all swept our swords back and forth, trying to drive them back, but they kept shoving forward.
“There was a frenzied combat inside the first gate to get them out after the breach, and we managed, but only with great loss of life. Too many of the devils made it through, though we managed to kill them inside the second gate. The people took up arms with knives and axes and hoes and any manner of weapon they could lay their hands on, while the old, the infirm and the children sought refuge inside the council hall. We barricaded the doors and windows to keep them safe, and finally managed to drive the devils out, but I don’t know how long Falias has until the horde manages to breach the gates again.
I was one of only three men who were able to make it out to ride for help, but both my comrades were brutally butchered as we fought our way to the nearest portal.
I had to make sure I wasn’t followed, though they tried.
Luckily the portal, as you know, is close by Gorianas.
“I beg and beseech you now for your help, Your Grace. Give me some soldiers and help me go back and drive away the evil horde. My father’s still inside, and his life and the life of every man, woman and child inside Fethalos depends on it.”
He slumped down exhausted before me, as I stared down at him. It was quite a tale, and men and women were weeping and wringing their hands at his passion and his manly tears as he told it. It might even have been true.
But who or what had attacked Fethalos? His horse was obviously injured and bleeding from its many wounds, as was Tadgh himself.
I didn’t believe his wounds were self-inflicted, nor did I think he’d deliberately wounded his mount.
Clearly, there had been some sort of battle, but…
was he saying a demon horde attacked the principal city of Falias out of nowhere? Completely unprovoked?
“But who or what attacked Fethalos, Tadgh?” I asked, leaning forward to grip his arm.
“Ogres!” he replied and sank back down to his knees. His head drooped in an exhausted faint.
I heard Braden cry out behind me, whether in pity and admiration for Tadgh or in fear and horror over the ogres. If it were the former, I would have things to say about that.
For now, I went down to help Tadgh up, as my captain also rushed down, and there were numerous calls for a physician from the crowd. Tadgh had only swooned, however, and soon came around.
As for the ogres, I didn’t put it past them, but it was a little hard to swallow at the same time.
The great Sidhe cities were known to be home to warriors and standing armies, and they were far from being simple outposts with only farmers to protect the people.
The ogres knew we would fight to the death to defend ourselves and repel any attacks.
And they knew we were powerful and had magic like they did. That’s why they mostly left us alone.
How would they even find a portal to reach us?
Only a few of the portals in Otherworld would allow access to our major cities.
Had Tadgh led them to the portal as he left the mortal world?
I knew that we hadn’t been followed, but perhaps the ogress that had been attacking the human village had tracked him and his men straight to it.
I knew I had to act and quickly. Captain Darragh and my other officers were on their feet, their bodies rigid with outrage at the very idea of ogres in our realm, and their faces full of sympathy and horror at the plight of the Sidhe victims of this treacherous attack and this influx of ogre invaders on Sidhe soil.
We’d always had infighting among the four tribes, but when outsiders threatened, particularly demonic hordes, we could put aside our differences for a short time and respond as one, though hostilities would resume immediately after the threat ended.
Sidhe Faery soldiers, like the Elven armies, were trained to be vessels of pent-up fury and aggression, many of them waiting for a chance and the slightest provocation to explode into action. And now they had it.
“Captain Darragh,” I told him. “We’ll leave for Fethalos as soon as you can prepare the men and horses.”
He and the others hurried off to prepare, their faces lit with fervor and passion.
Meanwhile, others in the crowd rushed forward to help Tadgh stand and take him aside for a physician to bind his wounds and give him spirits to help restore him.
As for me, I turned first to my consort, dreading the look I knew I’d see on his face, but steeling myself for it and anticipating the fact that he was about to add to my stress.