But he couldn’t think of any convincing argument that would let him turn around and ride out of here. Exchanging uneasy looks with the rest of the party, he dismounted and followed their guides.
They were led into the shadowy depths of the count’s Great Hall, the sound of their footsteps muffled by the carpeting rushes. The vast, torchlit room was fairly stuffed with courtiers and servants alike. At the sight of Kevin and (he others, they all burst into a frenzy of murmuring—
At the far end of the Hall sat Count Volmar himself, splendid in robes of somber blue, there on his red-canopied chair of state on its dais. And beside him was;
“Charina!” the bardling gasped.
“Kevin!” She came scurrying down the steps to Kevin’s side in a wild swirling of blue velvet and long golden hair, and caught the startled bardling in a passionate hug. “Oh, you brave, brave hero! You saved me!”
“Ch-Charina,” Kevin stammered, too shocked and embarrassed for anything else, overwhelmed by the soft sweetness other. At last he managed to disengage himself, gasping out, “I’m delighted to see you’re free, and I—I wish I—we—could take credit for it, but we didn’t—”
“Don’t be so modest, young man.” Count Volmar stepped down from his chair to shake Kevin’s hand. “The elven traitors who’d captured my niece released her as soon as they learned just who I had sent out to track them down.” The count smiled heartily. “If it hadn’t been for your reputation, all of you, and the diligent search I know you undertook, my poor dear Charina would still be a captive.”
If it hadn’t been for their reputation? What reputation? Unless Lydia and the elves had been holding out on him ... ?
But they looked every bit as baffled as he.
Before any of them could say or do anything, though, the count’s servants swarmed down on the party.
“Hey, wait!” Kevin cried.
The last thing he wanted was to be separated from the others. But he didn’t have much of a choice. Still trying to protest, Kevin was almost dragged away by the flock of eager servitors.
To Kevin’s momentary surprise, the servants deposited him not back in the chilly, barren squires’ hall, but in a luxurious suite of rooms whose expensive the floors and tapestry-hung walls marked them as the count’s prized guest quarters.
“But I don’t—I’m not—You can’t—Hey! Isn’t anybody listening to me?”
The servants, who were busy dragging out a hip bath and hanging the room round with heavy linen draperies “so the hero will not be bothered by drafts,” stopped to stare at him.
“My lord?” one asked, glancing at Kevin’s well-worn clothing and mule-scented self. “Do you not wish to bathe before meeting with Count Volmar again?”
“Uh, yes, of course I do! But—”
Too late. They were already off in a new flurry of excitement. Almost before Kevin could catch his breath, he was bathed and hustled into the most elegant silken hose and velvet tunic he could ever have imagined, a rich sky blue trimmed with gold thread. Somewhat to the overwhelmed bardling’s relief, the whole thing was ever so slightly too big for him, especially in the shoulders: at least something wasn’t totally bizarre—at least the clothing hadn’t been conjured up specifically for him! A gold chain was draped about his neck, an ornamental dagger was fastened at his side, and Kevin was hurried back down to the Great Hall.
The rest of his party was already down there, arrayed in similar splendor. Lydia was truly beautiful in an amber-dark gown (Kevin could imagine what she’d had to say about having her legs hindered by skirts), her curly dark hair caught up in a net of gold thread, while the two elves looked inhumanly elegant, like some princely brothers, light and dark, out of the dawn of magic. Eliathanis’ pale coloring was exquisitely set off by the softest of blue silk robes, while Naitachal’s dark complexion was made yet more exotic by the deep red of his velvet robes.
Not one of the party looked any more comfortable in all that borrowed finery than Kevin felt.
‘‘Ah, here you are!” Count Volmar cried heartily.
He, coo, was more richly dressed than before, a rich blue robe trimmed with costly ermine about his shoulders, the gold chains of his office glinting across his shoulders, a jewel-encrusted velvet cap glittering on his head. At his side, in a chair only slightly lower than the count’s own, sat Charina, her eyes modestly downcast, her hair caught back by a crystal circlet, and an elegantly outfitted semicircle of the count’s warriors stood behind the dais.
“Now,” the count announced, “we may begin the ceremony!”
“Ceremony ... ?”
“You don’t mind swearing fealty to me, my boy, do you? Just a formality, of course, but appearances must be kept up.”
“Uh, yes, I mean no, I mean—”
“Good! I’m glad that’s settled. Now, come along. We must do this thing properly!”
“ What thing? What are you—”
“No, no, questions later! Now, if you “—Volmar’s sweep of arm included Lydia and the elves—” will go back to the head of the Hall and reenter at the trumpeters’ signal ...”
Kevin glanced at the others in confusion. Lydia shrugged.
“Why not? The sooner we get this over with, whatever ‘this’ is, the sooner we can ask questions.”
“Exactly,” Naitachal agreed. “Come, my friends.”
The trumpets blared. The blasts of sound certainly did fill the Hall, Kevin acknowledged, even if, he noted painfully, the instruments were all ever so slightly off-key. Feeling like an idiot, the bardling marched solemnly back towards Count Volmar, stopping at the foot of the dais, uneasily eyeing that semicircle of men-at-arms. One of them, he noticed, held a small, gilded lance, a ceremonial thing topped by a glittering pennon of cloth-of-gold.
Now, what?
Count Volmar stood. “Don’t look so worried, lad,” he murmured. “Just follow my lead. Come up here and kneel.”
Sure he was going to do something stupid, like tumble over backwards down the steps, Kevin climbed the steps and carefully went down on one knee. The count extended both hands.
“Go on, lad, take them.”
The bardling obeyed, feeling Volmar’s palms as soft as those of any pampered nobleman but so cold he had to wonder if the count was really as at ease as he looked. Following Volmar’s prompting, wondering if he was getting himself into some binding oath he might regret later, Kevin parroted:
“My Lord Count, I herein enter into your homage, and become your man by mouth and hands. I swear to keep faith and loyalty to you, saving only the just rights of His Majesty King Amber. And I swear to guard your rights with all my strength.”
There. That didn’t sound so bad. Nothing in there to compromise his honor or his loyalty to King Amber.
Count Volmar was returning his own part of the vow. “We do promise to you, our friend and vassal, Kevin, that we and our heirs will guarantee to you with all our power, ail the rights due to you. Let there be peace between us.”
“Let there be peace,” Kevin echoed, then tried not to start in surprise as Volmar kissed him on the cheeks.
“Get up,” the count whispered. “Take the lance.”
Kevin obeyed, and everyone cheered.
“There, now!” Volmar exclaimed. “That’s finished! Sorry I can’t cede you any lands, my boy, but that, unfortunately, is the way of things. But from here on in, you may sign yourself as a court-baron!”