now—among her true kind and against the pageantry of the ceremony—was like seeing a stranger.
The procession advanced at a stately pace to the steps of the temple, where Idrilain dismounted and strode up to stand opposite Old Sakor and the other priests, her consort and children behind her. From this point, the ritual proceeded in the modern tongue.
Idrilain’s voice was clear and steady as she spread her arms and performed a chant hailing Sakor as Protector of the Hearth and the Sword of Peace.
“Let not the darkness come upon us!” she cried at its conclusion.
The massed crowd took up the cry, repeating it in a great voice until Valerius stepped forward and raised his staff in both hands. When the crowd quieted again, he sang the Song of Dalna, his deep, resonant voice carrying well in the open air.
Alec knew this song well. When the crowd repeated the closing line, “The Maker has made all, and nothing can be lost in the hand of the Maker,” he joined in gladly, ignoring the glances he attracted from Kylith’s other guests.
Astellus and Illior helped Old Sakor to his feet and the assembled priests commenced a low keen. “Who shall keep watch?” the priests of Sakor sang. “Who shall guard the Flame?”
Masked Illior answered, reciting the revelation of the Afran Oracle. “So long as a daughter of Thelatimos’ line defends and rules, Skala shall never be subjugated.”
The Queen stepped forward and was exhorted by Old Sakor to keep watch over her people through the long night and the new year to follow. Bowing solemnly, she pledged herself and her generations to the guardianship of Skala and was given the Sword of Gerilain and a large firepot. When she turned, holding both aloft, the crowd erupted into cheers of assent.
The last of the day’s light was fading from the western sky as two priests led out a black bull. Handing the firepot to Phoria, Idrilain raised the sword in her right hand and placed her left on the animal’s brow, pressing gently as she spoke the ritual greeting.
The bull snorted and twisted its neck, nicking the edge of her mantle with the tip of one horn.
A restless murmur rippled through the crowd like wind across a barley field; an unwilling victim was a poor omen.
The animal showed no further sign of resistance, however, as the priests pulled its head back and Idrilain slashed its throat. Dark blood spurted out, steaming in the cold air, and the animal collapsed without a struggle. Idrilain extended the blade to Old Sakor, who dipped a finger in the blood and anointed his forehead and hers.
“Speak to your people, O Sakor!” she intoned. “You who pass away from all living things and return renewed. What is your prophecy?”
“Let’s see what they’ve come up with this year,” someone murmured. “You mean it’s not real?” Alec whispered to Seregil, rather shocked.
Seregil gave him a hint of the crooked smile. “Yes and no. Divinations are gathered for months from all the major temples around Skala. They vary in form from year to year, but they’re generally quite supportive of current policy.”
Standing before the Aegis, Sakor faced the people and raised his hands.
But before he could speak, a sudden wind gusted through the square, billowing robes and snatching at cloaks and scouring dust and dead leaves up in little whirlwinds. Banners whipped loose from the fronts of boxes. Shield gongs swung on their long chains, clashing ominously against the pillars of the temple.
Startled from their evening roosts, gulls and doves burst into the air again in a flurry of wings, only to be met by scores of ravens. Swooping out of the surrounding gloom as mysteriously as the wind that bore them, the black birds attacked in a frenzy, stabbing with thick beaks, tearing with taloned feet.
The spectators below watched helplessly as black wings beat against white or brown; upturned faces were spattered with blood and sticky scraps of feathers. Then startled cries rang out
The procession advanced at a stately pace to the steps of the temple, where Idrilain dismounted and strode up to stand opposite Old Sakor and the other priests, her consort and children behind her. From this point, the ritual proceeded in the modern tongue.
Idrilain’s voice was clear and steady as she spread her arms and performed a chant hailing Sakor as Protector of the Hearth and the Sword of Peace.
“Let not the darkness come upon us!” she cried at its conclusion.
The massed crowd took up the cry, repeating it in a great voice until Valerius stepped forward and raised his staff in both hands. When the crowd quieted again, he sang the Song of Dalna, his deep, resonant voice carrying well in the open air.
Alec knew this song well. When the crowd repeated the closing line, “The Maker has made all, and nothing can be lost in the hand of the Maker,” he joined in gladly, ignoring the glances he attracted from Kylith’s other guests.
Astellus and Illior helped Old Sakor to his feet and the assembled priests commenced a low keen. “Who shall keep watch?” the priests of Sakor sang. “Who shall guard the Flame?”
Masked Illior answered, reciting the revelation of the Afran Oracle. “So long as a daughter of Thelatimos’ line defends and rules, Skala shall never be subjugated.”
The Queen stepped forward and was exhorted by Old Sakor to keep watch over her people through the long night and the new year to follow. Bowing solemnly, she pledged herself and her generations to the guardianship of Skala and was given the Sword of Gerilain and a large firepot. When she turned, holding both aloft, the crowd erupted into cheers of assent.
The last of the day’s light was fading from the western sky as two priests led out a black bull. Handing the firepot to Phoria, Idrilain raised the sword in her right hand and placed her left on the animal’s brow, pressing gently as she spoke the ritual greeting.
The bull snorted and twisted its neck, nicking the edge of her mantle with the tip of one horn.
A restless murmur rippled through the crowd like wind across a barley field; an unwilling victim was a poor omen.
The animal showed no further sign of resistance, however, as the priests pulled its head back and Idrilain slashed its throat. Dark blood spurted out, steaming in the cold air, and the animal collapsed without a struggle. Idrilain extended the blade to Old Sakor, who dipped a finger in the blood and anointed his forehead and hers.
“Speak to your people, O Sakor!” she intoned. “You who pass away from all living things and return renewed. What is your prophecy?”
“Let’s see what they’ve come up with this year,” someone murmured. “You mean it’s not real?” Alec whispered to Seregil, rather shocked.
Seregil gave him a hint of the crooked smile. “Yes and no. Divinations are gathered for months from all the major temples around Skala. They vary in form from year to year, but they’re generally quite supportive of current policy.”
Standing before the Aegis, Sakor faced the people and raised his hands.
But before he could speak, a sudden wind gusted through the square, billowing robes and snatching at cloaks and scouring dust and dead leaves up in little whirlwinds. Banners whipped loose from the fronts of boxes. Shield gongs swung on their long chains, clashing ominously against the pillars of the temple.
Startled from their evening roosts, gulls and doves burst into the air again in a flurry of wings, only to be met by scores of ravens. Swooping out of the surrounding gloom as mysteriously as the wind that bore them, the black birds attacked in a frenzy, stabbing with thick beaks, tearing with taloned feet.
The spectators below watched helplessly as black wings beat against white or brown; upturned faces were spattered with blood and sticky scraps of feathers. Then startled cries rang out
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