But as he entered the room, all that stopped, and more than a hundred people turned to regard him. The music fell silent.
“I present Leovigild Ackenzal,” the doorman announced in a clear, carrying voice. “Composer to the court and hero of Broogh.” Leoff wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, but the sudden roar of applause took him utterly by surprise. He’d performed before the public before, of course, and had received praise for his compositions. But this—this was something different. He felt his face reddening.
The lady Gramme appeared suddenly on his arm, coming from nowhere. She leaned in to peck his cheek, then turned back to the crowd. Leoff noticed someone else stepping up on his other side, a young man. He put a hand on Leoff’s shoulder. Leoff could only stand there, feeling more and more uncomfortable.
When the crowd finally quieted, Lady Gramme curtsied to them. Then she smiled at Leoff.
“I suppose I might have told you that you were the guest of honor,” she said.
“I beg your pardon?” Leoff blurted.
But Gramme already had turned back to the crowd. “Fralet Ackenzal is nothing if not modest, my friends, and it won’t do to embarrass him too much, nor would it do for me to keep him to myself, when so many of you wish to visit with him. But this is my house, after all, and I’m allowed a few liberties.”
She smiled through the chorus of laughter that followed her statement. Then, when she spoke again, her voice was suddenly serious.
“This hall is full of light,” she said. “But do not be fooled. Outside there is darkness, whether the sun is shining or no. These are hard days, terrible days, and what makes it worse is that our own courage seems to have deserted us. Adversity crowns heroes, isn’t that the old saying? And yet who has been crowned here? Who has stepped forth from the shadows of our tragedies and taken a strong hand against the rising evil? I—like you—have despaired that such men no longer seem to be born in this world. And yet this man, a stranger to our country, not even trained as a warrior, has been our savior, and I hereby crown him our hero! From hence, let him carry the title of Cavaor!”
Something settled on Leoff’s head as the crowd began cheering again. He felt it and realized it was a metal circlet.
The crowd suddenly stilled again, and Leoff waited nervously to see what would happen next.
“I think they’d like a word from you,” the lady said. Leoff blinked, surveying the waiting faces. He cleared his throat.
“Ah, thank you,” he said. “It is most unexpected. Most. I, umm—but you haven’t got it quite right.”
He glanced at Gramme nervously, and his tension increased when he saw the small wrinkle that appeared between her eyes. “You were at Broogh, weren’t you?” someone shouted.
“I was there,” Leoff said. “I was, but I wasn’t alone. That is, no credit goes to me. Duke Artwair and Gilmer Oercsun, they deserve the credit. But lady, I have to disagree with you. I haven’t been here long, but this country has many heroes. A townful of them. They died for you at Broogh.”
“Hear, hear,” a few shouted.
“There is no doubt of that,” Gramme said. “And we thank you for helping us to honor them.” She shook her finger at him as if scolding a child. “But I was present when Duke Artwair gave his report, and if there is one man in this kingdom who does have the courage and sense of his ancestors, it is the duke. Indeed, I wished to have the duke here tonight, but it seems he has been ordered to the eastern marches, far from the court and Eslen. Still, in his absence, I will not dispute his word, Cavaor Ackenzal, and should hope you would not either.”
“I would never do that,” Leoff said.
“I did not think so. Well, enough of my talking. Be at home here, Leoff Ackenzal—you are among friends. And should the mood strike you, I hope you will try my new hammarharp, and tell me if it is as well-tuned as I am assured it is.”
“Thank you, milady,” Leoff said. “I’m really quite overwhelmed. I’ll examine it right away.”
“I don’t imagine you will,” she said, “but you are welcome to try.”
She was right. He’s gone only a few steps before a young woman of perhaps sixteen had taken his arm.
“Won’t you dance with me, cavaor?”
“Ah . . .” He blinked stupidly at her. She was pretty, with a friendly, oval face, dark brown eyes, and red-gold hair hanging in ringlets.
The music had started again, a whervel in triple meter.
He glanced around. “I don’t know this dance,” he said. “It seems a bit lively.”
“You’ll pick it up,” she assured him, taking his hands. “My name is Areana.”
“It’s my pleasure to meet you,” Leoff said, fumbling at the steps. As she said, it wasn’t difficult—very much like the country rounds of his youth—soon he had it.
“I’m fortunate to be the first to dance with you,” Areana said. “It’s good luck.”
“Really,” Leoff said, feeling his neck burn. “Too much has been made of this. Tell me of yourself, rather. What family are you?”
“I’m a Wistbirm,” she replied.
“Wistbirm?” He shook his head. “I’m new to this country.”
“There’s no reason you should have heard of us,” she said.
“Well, it must be a good family to have produced such a charming daughter,” he said, feeling suddenly bold.
She smiled at that. It felt good, dancing with her. His leg was still stiff, and occasionally moved awkwardly, so their bodies bumped. It had been a long time since he’d been this close to a woman, and he found himself enjoying it.
“What’s the court like?” she asked.
“Haven’t you been there?”
She stared at him and then giggled. “You think I’m nobility?”
Leoff blinked. “I suppose I did.”
“No, we’re just lowly landwaerds, my family—though my father is the Aethil of Wistbirm. Do you find me less charming now?”
“No less,” he replied, though now he realized that she had the accent he’d heard in the countryside—not as thick as Gilmer’s but still marked—and very different from the lilt of the court speech he’d come to know. “It’s not as if I have noble blood myself.”
“And yet there is such nobility in you.”
“Nonsense. I was terrified. I barely remember what happened, and it’s a miracle I wasn’t killed.”
“I think it was a miracle that brought you to us,” Areana said.
The song ended with a sort of bumping bang, and Areana stepped back from him.
“I shan’t hog you,” she said. “The other ladies will never forgive me.”
“Thank you very much for the dance,” he replied.
“Next time you will have to ask me,” she said. “A girl in my position can only be so bold.”
There was no shortage of bold girls, however, all of whom, as it turned out, were from the landwaerd families. After the fourth dance, he begged a break, and made toward where the servers were dispensing wine.
“Eh, cavaor,” a rough voice said. “How about a dance for me?” Leoff spun on the voice, delighted.
“Gilmer!” He shouted, and caught the little man up in a hug.
“Hey, now,” the man grumbled. “I was just joking. I’m not hopping about with you.”
“But where were you earlier, when Her Ladyship was giving the honors? This ball should be for you, not me.”
Gilmer laughed and clapped his shoulder, then whispered, “I snuck in with a crowd. But never fear—this party aens’t for neither of us.”
“What do you mean?”
“Weren’t you listening to the lady’s pretty speech? Haven’t you noticed the quality of the guests?”
“Well, they seem to be mostly landwaerden.”
“Auy. Oh, there’s nobility about—there’s Her Ladyship, of course, and the Greft of Nithergaerd over there in the blue, the Duke of Shale, Lord Fallow, Lord Fram Dagen, and their ladies, but most here are landwaerden or fraleten. Country- and townfolk.”