Gaelin was stunned. “You just acknowledged my claim, not a moment ago! Tuorel is a usurper, a murderer! You can’t allow him to take this land as his own!”
“I acknowledge that you have a claim to the Mhoried, Gaelin.
B a ron Tuorel is no friend of mine. But I have a responsibility to the temple, an entity that exists above and beyond the duchy. We may be your subjects, but we must accept the fact that with the fall of House Mhoried we could become subjects of Ghoere, whether or not we find that a pleasant development.”
Gaelin rose from his seat. “What of Haelyn’s tenets? You owe fealty to the lawful lord of Bevaldruor. If you acknowledge that I am the Mhor, then aid me!”
The dignified priestess flushed, but kept her own temper in check. “You are not yet the Mhor, Prince Gaelin. You may recall you are only a claimant to the throne until you speak the oaths before the Red Oak. As the leader of Haelyn’s temple in Mhoried, I will decide if and when you may do so.” She regarded him with an even gaze. “I will offer you shelter and help you if I can, Prince Gaelin. However, I will not risk the destruction of Haelyn’s faith by setting it in opposition to Baron Tuorel.”
Gaelin drew in a breath to continue, but Erin caught his arm with her hand. “Excuse me, your Grace,” she said, “But will you administer the oaths to Gaelin?”
Iviena frowned. “I have here a letter from Baron Noered Tuorel. He refers to the tragic circumstances of the Mhor’s death and also claims that through a marriage made two hundred years ago he is a legal claimant to the throne of Bevaldruor.”
She picked up a parchment from her writing desk and tapped it against her palm. “While it is customary for the Mhor’s eldest son to be recognized as the foremost claimant, it is not necessarily the law. In fact, there are dozens of nobles throughout Anuire who can lay claim to Mhoried’s throne, just as Gaelin here could lay claim to the throne of Diemed or Alamie through old marriages.”
“In other words,” Erin said, “anyone who can prove a blood tie to House Mhoried can claim the throne, but the person with the best claim normally becomes the Mhor.”
“Precisely,” Iviena agreed. “My scholars have already investigated the genealogical records. Tuorel’s claim is legitimate, if somewhat tenuous.”
“Clearly, Gaelin’s claim is superior to Tuorel’s.”
“It would be, if he chose to claim the throne.”
“Why shouldn’t I?” Gaelin asked.
“Gaelin, once you swear the oaths Tuorel will have no choice but to hunt you down. Mhoried can have no other legal ruler while you live. If you do not press your claim, you are not truly the Mhor, and you could flee. There are many courts where you could live in safety.” Iviena’s face softened.
“I have no wish to see the last of the Mhorieds dead. Do not force Tuorel’s hand, I beg you.”
“What happens if two people claim the throne?” asked Erin.
“By law, all candidates stand before the Red Oak to see which claimant the Red Oak recognizes. I must tell you that there has been no contested succession in many centuries. For hundreds of years, each Mhor has stood alone before the Oak.”
“Does the law require both candidates to take the test of the Oak at the same time?” Erin asked quickly.
“I do not believe so,” Iviena said, watching the bard.
“I see your point, Erin,” Gaelin said. “I could attempt the Red Oak this very moment, while the high prefect could say she was merely observing the ancient laws for resolving rival claims. Tuorel couldn’t argue against her ruling, since it’s perfectly legal.” He smiled and turned back to the priestess.
“Very well, then. I claim the throne of Mhoried and request the test of the Oak as soon as possible, your Grace.”
Iviena held up a hand. “It will anger Tuorel, but if Prince Gaelin has already received the land’s blessing, the Red Oak is sure to recognize him.” She looked at Gaelin. “I may not be able to give you swords and gold, but that does not mean I will not look for other ways to oppose Tuorel’s taking of this land. Are you certain this is what you want to do? Think before you answer.”
Gaelin glanced down at his hands again, scratching unconsciously at the ache in the center of his injured hand. He had no doubt the priests of Haelyn could find a way to spirit him out of the country if he did not claim his father’s throne.
He also realized Iviena was risking the destruction of her order by defying Tuorel. She was doing as much to help him as he could reasonably expect, so he did as she asked and carefully considered the question of whether or not to press his claim. He tried to imagine leaving Mhoried to live in exile, but his heart told him that was the easy way out. It felt like giving up, and Gaelin knew he would be dishonoring his family and his country by abandoning Mhoried to Tuorel. “I am certain,” he said. “I don’t know how I can defeat Ghoere, but I refuse to let him seize the throne while I live.”
“Then we shall perform the ceremony at sunrise,” Iviena replied. “You may remain here as long as you like, but I cannot guarantee your safety. The temple’s sanctuary is worth only whatever Tuorel decides it is worth.”
“I’ll be leaving tomorrow,” Gaelin said. “In the meantime, I would like to borrow the services of your messengers or carrier pigeons; I’ve some letters to draft. And could one of your brothers tend Erin’s wound?”
“Of course,” Iviena said. A sad smile creased her face, and she sat down again. “Gaelin, you know I bear you no ill will.
I have found the Mhors to be honest and honorable rulers. I hope you understand that I cannot help you if I provoke Tuorel’s wrath and bring about the ruin of my temple.”
“It’s not the answer I hoped for, but I understand it,” Gaelin said. He knelt and kissed her hand again. “I suspect that Tuorel may force you to take sides sooner or later, anyway. ”
“I will deal with that when it happens,” she replied. With a nod to the brother superior, she dismissed them. Huire held the door open for Gaelin and Erin, and drew it shut behind them. The grave monk paused just outside the high prefect’s chambers, and faced Gaelin.
“Be patient, Prince Gaelin,” he said, keeping his voice low.
“The high prefect charts a cautious course, but many of us feel that we owe the Mhor any help he asks of us. In time, we may be able to change the high prefect’s mind.” With a slight bow, he turned and led them back to the visitors’ rooms.
Argent moonlight and cool shadow surrounded Gaelin. He was standing in a courtyard in the heart of the abbey, the most sacred spot in all of Mhoried. He remembered being here before – on one or two special occasions, his father had brought him to this place. It was silent and still, with a gleaming silver dew beginning to form on the grassy lawn. He turned and looked on the Red Oak, spreading its mighty branches from the center of the yard. It stood more than one hundred feet in height, and its bark gleamed white in the moonlight.
He was aware he was dreaming again. Everything had a strange, ephemeral quality, a sense of unreality about it.
Gaelin could see through his own body as if looking through a silk screen. The abbey walls shimmered and danced as if to indicate they, too, were not permanent. But the Red Oak glowed with strength and endurance. Everything Gaelin could see would pass in time, but the tree would remain.
He felt a presence near him. Beside him, a silver shadow materialized into the form of his father. Daeric stood still for a long time, gazing upon the tree. “Do you know why it is named the Red Oak, Gaelin?”