than inventing it on their own. But that song was an old one. He supposed the Secret Country could have put it into the head of whoever wrote it, but that raised more questions than it answered.
The crowd before him shifted and parted, and Fence came up the newly opened aisle, his robe striking a hundred bewildering sparks, a crown in his hands. It was the same intricately twisted silver as Ruth’s ring, Randolph’s dagger and circlet, and Fence’s key. But the five stones in it were red. Ted looked at it with dismay. Red stones meant Claudia to him, and he did not like to think what it might mean that they were in the crown. Crowns shouldn’t have anything to do with magic anyway, he thought grumpily.
“Benjamin,” he breathed, “is that crown magic?”
“Certainly not,” said Benjamin. “Hush.”
Ted was a little comforted.
Fence stopped before the stage and looked up at Ted. The crowd hushed as swiftly as if it had heard Benjamin. Benjamin and Randolph moved a little backward, and Ted felt suddenly idiotic, standing all by himself so high above them all. He hated looking down at Fence.
“Edward Fairchild,” said Fence. “I am about to confer upon you the powers, privileges, and obligations of Prince of the Enchanted Forest, Lord of the Desert’s Edge, Friend to the Unicorns, and King of the Hidden Land. Are you willing to be so invested?”
When Fence put it that way, Ted was not at all willing. What was the Hidden Land, anyway? It must be the Secret Country, but then why didn’t they say so? Fence stood looking at him, unmoved, but he heard Benjamin make an impatient noise behind him, and gave up.
“I am willing,” he said.
“Do you solemnly swear, in the tradition of John, by the mercy granted to Shan, in accordance with the laws of the Hidden Land and the dictates of Chryse, to honor and protect the people in your power; to deal lightly in the exercise of your privileges and straitly in the fulfillment of your obligations; to reward valor with honor, service with service, oath-breaking with vengeance?”
Ted was petrified. He did not know what he was doing. What tradition, what mercy, what laws and dictates? Oh, God, he thought, we’ve got to find the real Edward quick. Fence’s steady gaze still held him, more daunting than any sign of impatience or bewilderment.
“I do so swear,” he said.
Fence turned his back on him and addressed the crowd. “If any wight in this gathering knoweth of any impediment to this coronation, let him speak now or be forever silent.”
No one said a word. Fence gave them a good long time, during which the sweat ran down Ted’s neck and he refrained from fidgeting.
Fence faced Ted again. “My lord Regent,” he said to Randolph, “knowest thou of any impediment to my performing this act?”
“My lord, thou art suited to’t,” said Randolph.
Fence nodded to Ted, who knelt down and began to shake.
“In the names of John and Chryse, I call thee King,” Fence said, and set the crown on Ted’s head. It was heavy, and too large. Fence tilted it back a little. “Move gently,” he breathed. Ted did not dare to nod, but he raised his eyes to Fence and tried to look intelligent. Fence held out his hands to Ted, who stared for a moment and then took them between his sweaty ones. Fence’s were like iron.
“I, Fence, sorcerer, of no land, within the confines of my judgment and the needs of my knowledge, do become your liege man of life and limb, and of earthly worship, and faith and truth will I bear unto you, to live and die, against all manner of folk.”
Ted’s eyes stung and his throat clogged. Behind him Randolph’s voice said, “I, Edward, do become your liege lord.”
“I, Edward,” said Ted, wishing his name were anything else, “do become your liege lord of life and limb, and of earthly worship, and that faith and truth I receive of you, that I will requite.” Well, he thought, you’ve done it now.
Fence kissed him on the mouth. Ted
The crowd before him shifted and parted, and Fence came up the newly opened aisle, his robe striking a hundred bewildering sparks, a crown in his hands. It was the same intricately twisted silver as Ruth’s ring, Randolph’s dagger and circlet, and Fence’s key. But the five stones in it were red. Ted looked at it with dismay. Red stones meant Claudia to him, and he did not like to think what it might mean that they were in the crown. Crowns shouldn’t have anything to do with magic anyway, he thought grumpily.
“Benjamin,” he breathed, “is that crown magic?”
“Certainly not,” said Benjamin. “Hush.”
Ted was a little comforted.
Fence stopped before the stage and looked up at Ted. The crowd hushed as swiftly as if it had heard Benjamin. Benjamin and Randolph moved a little backward, and Ted felt suddenly idiotic, standing all by himself so high above them all. He hated looking down at Fence.
“Edward Fairchild,” said Fence. “I am about to confer upon you the powers, privileges, and obligations of Prince of the Enchanted Forest, Lord of the Desert’s Edge, Friend to the Unicorns, and King of the Hidden Land. Are you willing to be so invested?”
When Fence put it that way, Ted was not at all willing. What was the Hidden Land, anyway? It must be the Secret Country, but then why didn’t they say so? Fence stood looking at him, unmoved, but he heard Benjamin make an impatient noise behind him, and gave up.
“I am willing,” he said.
“Do you solemnly swear, in the tradition of John, by the mercy granted to Shan, in accordance with the laws of the Hidden Land and the dictates of Chryse, to honor and protect the people in your power; to deal lightly in the exercise of your privileges and straitly in the fulfillment of your obligations; to reward valor with honor, service with service, oath-breaking with vengeance?”
Ted was petrified. He did not know what he was doing. What tradition, what mercy, what laws and dictates? Oh, God, he thought, we’ve got to find the real Edward quick. Fence’s steady gaze still held him, more daunting than any sign of impatience or bewilderment.
“I do so swear,” he said.
Fence turned his back on him and addressed the crowd. “If any wight in this gathering knoweth of any impediment to this coronation, let him speak now or be forever silent.”
No one said a word. Fence gave them a good long time, during which the sweat ran down Ted’s neck and he refrained from fidgeting.
Fence faced Ted again. “My lord Regent,” he said to Randolph, “knowest thou of any impediment to my performing this act?”
“My lord, thou art suited to’t,” said Randolph.
Fence nodded to Ted, who knelt down and began to shake.
“In the names of John and Chryse, I call thee King,” Fence said, and set the crown on Ted’s head. It was heavy, and too large. Fence tilted it back a little. “Move gently,” he breathed. Ted did not dare to nod, but he raised his eyes to Fence and tried to look intelligent. Fence held out his hands to Ted, who stared for a moment and then took them between his sweaty ones. Fence’s were like iron.
“I, Fence, sorcerer, of no land, within the confines of my judgment and the needs of my knowledge, do become your liege man of life and limb, and of earthly worship, and faith and truth will I bear unto you, to live and die, against all manner of folk.”
Ted’s eyes stung and his throat clogged. Behind him Randolph’s voice said, “I, Edward, do become your liege lord.”
“I, Edward,” said Ted, wishing his name were anything else, “do become your liege lord of life and limb, and of earthly worship, and that faith and truth I receive of you, that I will requite.” Well, he thought, you’ve done it now.
Fence kissed him on the mouth. Ted
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