They all nodded in agreement.
Calen felt a rumble of pride from Valerys in the back of his mind. The white dragon stepped up beside Calen, craning his neck in the air.
“Thank you,” Calen said. He reached his arm out to Vaeril, who in turn reached out his own. “Du gryr haydria til myia elwyn.”
You bring honour to my heart. Therin’s teachings had not been going to waste.
Vaeril smiled at Calen’s use of the Old Tongue, as did the other elves. “Du gryr haydria til myia elwyn,” they replied in unison.
Dann leaned into Calen. “When did you learn to speak elf?” he whispered.
Calen smiled, suppressing a laugh. “It’s the Old Tongue. I’ll explain later.” He turned to the group. “We’d better keep moving, or we’ll be late.”
The archway that led out into the courtyard was flanked by two dwarves in full plate armour, crimson cloaks draped around their shoulders. Calen wondered how Daymon felt about the dwarves remaining in the city, but he hadn’t brought it up. The man had enough to concern his mind with.
“Draleid.” The dwarf on the right side of the arch tilted his head ever so slightly. His beard was knotted heavily with gold and silver rings. Calen returned the gesture as he passed under the arch.
The air itself seemed to shake as the cheers of the crowd echoed through the courtyard. The people were crammed together like blades of grass in a field. Calen didn’t think he had ever seen so many souls in one place. In fact, he knew he hadn’t. He stared out in amazement over the crowd. Therin gave him a slight push, ushering him onto the raised platform at the front of the crowd.
Calen greeted Daymon as he stepped onto the platform. Valerys leapt up beside him to a rapturous applause from the gathered crowd. Daymon had come to Calen’s room and asked if he would be the one to crown him in his father’s place. “It would be an honour,” he had said, “to be crowned King by a Draleid.”
Both Therin and Aeson had told Calen, in no uncertain terms that he absolutely could not. That alone might have spurred him on to do it, just so he would not be dancing to their tune, but they were right. To be seen to think that he had the power to crown kings was a dangerous message to send. But he had told Daymon that he would stand by his side to show his support. Therin and Aeson had argued against that as well, but he was set. He owed Arthur that much.
Lord Ihvon Arnell stood at Daymon’s right side. The king-to-be’s new chief advisor had a grim look on his face, and he was sporting more than a few new cuts and bruises. Ihvon had come to visit Calen while he was recovering. He had said nothing; he had just sat there in silence. He didn’t know that Calen was awake. It had seemed odd to Calen that he would visit but not speak. But he was Arthur’s good friend, and mourning affected people differently. On this occasion, the man gave him a purposeful nod before turning his attention back towards the soon-to-be king.
The kings and queens of the Dwarven Freehold also stood on the platform – as a sign of unity. Kira’s plate armour was replaced with her padded leather cuirass and silken skirts, in a deep crimson laced with gilt. The golden crown nestled atop her star-fire hair. She looked as fair as any woman he had ever seen, with the bloodlust gone from her eyes. Calen thought she gave him a quick smile, though it was too quick to be sure.
“Thank you,” Daymon said as Calen took his place beside the soon-to-be king. There was a loss in his eyes. A loss that Calen understood.
“It is my honour, Your Majesty.”
The coronation did not last long. Once Daymon was crowned, he spent a few moments waving to his people, who chanted and cheered, voracious for the sight of their new king. Calen and Valerys simply stood there by his side. Calen couldn’t help but think that the image would look powerful. The newly crowned king, standing side-by-side with the king and queens of the Dwarven Freehold, and a Draleid. It would be like one of Therin’s stories.
Daymon raised his hand in the air, quieting the crowd. It amazed Calen how, with a gathering of so many, that silence could truly be achieved. But it was silent. He could have heard a pin drop as the people of Belduar waited on the first words of their new king.
“My father was a good and just man. He was a true king. He was the king that I aspire to be. I will miss him, and I will mourn his loss along with you every day. But I will not let it break me!”
A cheer erupted from the crowd.
Calen could see a mage behind the king, pulling threads of Air and Spirit into the king’s words, funnelling them throughout the courtyard, above the din of the crowd.
“We are the people of Belduar. We have defended this city for thousands of years. From tyrants, from armies, and from dragonfire. We have not – and we will not – bow down. And we are not alone! When we were in need, our allies came. The dwarves, ever our steadfast brothers and sisters, came to our aid. And we must not forget that dragonfire is no longer owned by the empire. The Draleid have returned! They stand again! They stand with us! This is our time!”
Chants of “Long live the king” and “Long live King Daymon” still boomed through the air as they stepped down from the platform.
The celebrations would go on for days, no doubt. It would be a welcome respite from the mourning. Arthur’s death had cast a shadow over the city.
Aeson, Therin, and Asius made their way over to bestow their well wishes on the newly crowned king, no
