ZIHAEN, The Shadow of the Revenaunt, Book 2

CHAPTER 10 - BAVOLT (Part 3)

'Lucard thu Bavolt?' the regent said, dumbfounded. 'Davall mentioned in his reports a nameless trail to the palace, but I never expected this.'

Ghyll stared at the portrait of his grandfather on the wall of the council chamber. 'What kind of man was Bavolt?'

Kyssander sat back in his chair and thought. 'I didn't know him well; attendants of his level were the responsibility of others. Your father had three or four chamberlains, besides Polfer, the First Gentleman of the Chamber. Bavolt struck me as a vain man, effeminate. But there was never a hint of animosity towards the king or the royal family. We did know he lacked funds. His estate wasn't very profitable, and someone in his position quickly lives above his means, if he isn't naturally frugal.'

'It was so weird,' Ghyll said softly. 'Bavolt was very confused. He wasn't surprised to see me; he seemed to think I was my father. I asked him who his master was, and he said, "Family!" Have you any idea about Bavolt's kin? Is there an heir?'

Kyssander looked surprised. 'I had the idea Bavolt was the last of his house; I'm not aware of any relatives. I will have it looked into.' His quill scratched a few notes. 'Is something bothering you, Sire?'

Ghyll hesitated. 'He called my father a weakling with a crown and my mother a hysteric.'

The regent coughed and tugged at the sleeves of his tunic. 'Bavolt's remarks must be colored by his hatred; the reality is more nuanced. Your grandfather Ghyllander II was a powerful monarch; bold, authoritarian and very sure of himself. He became both king and father just past his fifteenth birthday. He reigned for thirty years, and everybody was expecting him to live for another thirty. When his heart failed so suddenly, your father wasn't ready to succeed. Though unsure of himself, he did what he could. Remember he wore the crown only three years, a time troubled by your brothers' deaths. He didn't have your grandfather's tough character, but he was a sincere and kindly man, and he would have been a good king. Your mother was a sensitive woman; she could occasionally react with emotion, especially when someone around her suffered misfortune. She was caring; Tilia was her patron, and I mean Tilia the Reliever, not the Goddess of Fate. The poor and the sick could always count on her compassion and her support.'

'So I got it from my mother.' Ghyll smiled a little wryly. 'Olle always says I'm such an emotional guy.'

'That's not necessarily a bad trait, Sire. The people love rulers who sympathize with them.'

'I hope so. If only that first cursed ceremony was over.'

'Are you nervous, Sire?'

'Would there ever been a king who wasn't, before his coronation?'

'Probably not, Sire. It is a very natural reaction. Don't worry; Archpriest DeValastain will guide you through it all. I expect him to request an audience soon, to explain the ceremony. And until then you won't be bored, Sire; I have a few things waiting for your attention.'

Late that night, with the companions gathered in the royal sitting room, rosy from the wine and all the new impressions, a servant announced a visitor. A woman in Guard uniform entered and saluted.

She was of martial appearance; straight-backed, her slightly graying hair tied in a small bun in the neck, and her face wooden.

'General Helias-Robaken, Commander of the 1st Corps, Sire. Excuse me for disturbing you at this time, but my message is most urgent.'

From the corner of his eye, Ghyll saw Bo leaning forward in his chair.

'Oh, curse it...,' the young mage whispered.