The Quest for Saint Camber by Katherine Kurtz Page A

would come from the Torenthi ambassador, even if it only evidenced as a verbal altercation. As Liam and the last of the new-sworn squires filed back to their places at one side, Ewan remaining among them to curb any youthful restlessness during the lengthy ceremonies to follow, Kelson smiled and put the whole thing out of mind for the moment. Gradually the hall quieted as the rest of his attendants took up their places to continue. Vestigial murmurings hushed to utter silence as Nigel came from among the squires and moved before his nephew’s throne to bend his knee and speak the ritual phrase.
    â€œSire, I would ask a boon of you.”
    â€œName it, Uncle. And if it be within my power to grant it, saving my honor and the honor of the realm, I shall gladly do it.”
    â€œThen I may ask with joy, Sire, for I would request that you grant the accolade of knighthood to my eldest son Conall, who today has attained his eighteenth year.”
    â€œRight gladly shall I grant it, Uncle. Please to bring the candidate before us.”
    With a slight nod to acknowledge the command, Nigel rose and moved down the steps, sweeping back through the hall to where Conall and the other candidates waited.
    There was no mistaking the Haldane lineage of sire or son as Conall came slowly down the hall at his father’s side—half a handspan taller than Nigel, if more slightly built; lightly mustached since the previous winter, with night-black hair barbered in the close-shorn style favored by most of the older fighting men, including Nigel, though the king and many of the younger men, including Conall’s two brothers, had adopted Dhugal’s border braid. The brooch securing his crimson mantle was larger and more ornate than that of anyone save the king; but beyond that concession to pride, he wore the same traditional raiment of any novice knight, for all that he was a prince.
    â€œMy Liege,” Nigel said with a formal bow, as Conall slowly knelt on the bottom step of the dais and bowed his head, his father’s hand on his shoulder. “I have the honor and privilege to present my eldest son, Prince Conall Blaine Cluim Uthyr, as a candidate for knighthood.”
    Kelson returned the bow with a nod. “Let Prince Conall be vested with the spurs.”
    Instantly, Conall’s youngest brother, Payne, came proudly forward with the spurs on their damask cushion. Nigel knelt long enough to affix them, then stood and moved to Conall’s left, making Kelson another bow, deeper than the previous ones, before he dropped to one knee.
    â€œThe candidate has been vested with the spurs, Sire.”
    Kelson stood, the sheathed royal sword still held across both hands, and leaned forward to speak quietly to Conall.
    â€œI mean you no slight, cousin, but may I offer your father the privilege of giving you the accolade? I think it would please him greatly—and he is a far greater knight than I, who have myself been dubbed but a short while ago, and by his hand.”
    Kelson could read the leap of relieved assent in Conall’s eyes without recourse to any of his magic and knew he had found the perfect sop to Conall’s tender ego, to be spared receiving the accolade from one only months his senior. He noted pleased approval on Nigel’s face as well as he turned his attention there.
    â€œI think there can be no question of your son’s desires, Uncle,” he murmured, “and rightly so, for you are one of the most honorable knights I know. May I deputize you to perform this happy duty for your son?”
    Nigel all but grinned as he gave the king a nod and got smoothly to his feet.
    â€œIt will be my privilege and honor, Sire.”
    â€œIt is a father’s right, if he be a knight himself,” Kelson replied. “Come and stand beside me. Conall, with what sword would you be knighted?”
    Conall’s grey eyes darted to the sword in Kelson’s hands and then to his