The entire delegation came to a halt at the foot of the low dais. By now, several of the Shonar artisans were at work on a real throne for Tremane, since the original throne of Hardorn had been lost in looting and fires, but it would not be finished for another week or two. In place of a real throne was a prop throne, made for an Imperial theatrical production, and modified by those same artisans. They had sanded off the gilt paint, which had probably looked fine at a distance but only looked cheap and shoddy up close, and had removed all of the glass-paste jewels set into the back. What had been carved wolves adorning the back were now hounds, the Hardornen symbol of fidelity. The swords making up the legs and arms, and interlaced on the back below the hounds, had become tree branches, and the wood had been rubbed with oils and polished until it shone. The shabby cushions had been replaced with brown velvet purloined from drapes taken from storage. However, in the course of all the recarving, the wood had been pared down in some places to a precarious extent, and Tremane had been warned to be very careful when sitting on it. Everyone was going to breathe a sigh of relief when the new throne took the place of the old. It could be taken for a terrible omen if Tremane's throne collapsed beneath him in the middle of one of these ceremonies. Tremane had good-naturedly commented that having a fake Imperial throne recarved into a fragile Hardornen throne was entirely appropriate.
Tremane kept the delegation waiting just long enough for them to get a good look at the rest of his Court, and to take in the banners on the wall behind his throne, which represented those who had already come in and brought him their pledges. Most of those who had sworn their oaths had taken their banners from the arms of the former nobles of the region, although more often than not there had been no one who actually qualified to take those arms. Tremane had solved that quickly enough by confirming the delegates in their places as the new lords, and bestowing the old titles upon them as soon as their pledges were confirmed.
Sadly, besides a number of ancient titles going begging, there was plenty of empty land lying fallow and abandoned, but Tremane had plans for that, too. Once summer arrived, it would be settled, and former Imperial officers who were ready to retire would be ennobled and put in place as overlords. They would be allowed to take with them as many Imperial soldiers as wished to retire to farming and had found brides among the Hardornens; these would be given freehold-grants on reclaimed farms. Thus, the newly ennobled would have garrison and work force in one, and the newly wed couples would have more of a base for their start than most. After that particular announcement, the number of engagements and handfastings had skyrocketed, and if some of the good farmers and fathers of Shonar had been a bit reluctant to welcome Imperial sons-in-law at first, their reluctance had evaporated when they learned of the royal bride-price the foreign sons-in-law would bring, thanks to the foresight of their new King.
Darkwind hid a smile as the young Baron kept taking covert glances at him, as if the youngster had never seen anything so outlandish in his life. Darkwind had been told that rumors of his presence and powers were circulating out beyond Shonar's walls, rumors which got more and more fantastic with every league distant from the city. He wondered what the boy had heard, to make him look so wide-eyed.
There was a bit of a stir at the door just off the dais, and Tremane's major-domo stepped inside.
The major-domo rapped three times on the floor with the butt of his staff. 'His Majesty, King Tremane of Hardorn!' the man announced in ringing tones, his clear, commanding voice showing precisely why he had been plucked out of the ranks to fill this position. 'And his Majesty's Chief Advisers!'
Tremane and his four Chief Advisers filed in with ponderous dignity. Of course, his Chief Advisers were also members of his bodyguard, but their weapons were not carried in an obvious fashion, and there was nothing about them to advertise that fact. Tremane wore his ceremonial armor, the Hardornen Crown, a tapestry tabard with his own arms (requisitioned from his former squire), and was draped in a fine cloak of silk edged in heavily embroidered silk trim purloined from the same curtains that had provided him with material for the seat cushions of his throne. The cloak was also part of the props for some unknown play; it was ridiculously long and required the services of two small boys recruited as pages to carry the trailing end.
Both pages were from the group of five children that Tremane and his men had rescued from the grip of the first killing blizzard; Tobe and Racky were their names, and they took their duty as Tremane's pages very seriously. They had been nicely outfitted in page costumes cut down from Imperial officers' uniforms by their mothers, who nearly burst with pride at the notion that their boys were serving the new King.
Tremane took his seat gingerly, which translated into a ponderous sort of dignity to outside eyes. The pages arranged his royal mantle out before his feet, like a peacock's tail, just on sanity's side of preposterous, and retired to their positions behind the throne. The young baron tensed as Tremane nodded to him.
'Baron Peregryn, I understand that you are from Adair,' he said quietly. 'You are a very welcome addition to the Court.'
Darkwind watched the boy and his entourage to see if they noticed the relative informality of Tremane's address. After much consideration, he had decided to completely do away with the royal plural, because Ancar had been so rabid in its use. Darkwind saw two of the older men exchange brief nods, and it seemed to him that they wore expressions of satisfaction.
The young Baron took two steps to the foot of the throne and went immediately to one knee, and the rest of his entourage followed his example in dropping to theirs. 'I have come to offer you my pledge, King Tremane,' the youngster said, in a high tenor that trembled only a little. 'And in token of this pledge, I bring you seisin of my lands, and those of the men pledged in their turn to my service.'
Young Baron Peregryn reached behind him without looking, and the man carrying the small wooden casket placed it in his outstretched hand. Darkwind watched their movements carefully, analyzing everything they did, and making some guesses about the relationship the Baron had with his men.
