“If God favor this day,” he said in a powerful voice that surely carried all the way to the back, “if the Lord and Lady look kindly upon the birth today of this new Holy Empire, I pray They will heal this poor unfortunate. Let my kiss be for him the breath of life.”
He bent down and kissed Zacharias on the lips. He reeked of a heady perfume so strong that it tickled in Zacharias’ nostrils and made him, all at once, unbidden, unexpected, and just as the crowned man sat back, sneeze.
An audible gasp burst from the assembly.
“Catch it! Catch it!” cried a woman excitedly. “The demon has been expelled!”
Zacharias burned all over as he stared up at the crowned man. Ai, God, surely it could only be one man, so glorious and so proud. The man whom Hathui respected above all others. Her king.
He struggled and found that his limbs worked after all. The crowned man rose to his feet, and Zacharias got his elbows under him and with immense effort, straining, levered himself up.
“Your Majesty!” he said hoarsely.
“He speaks! He speaks!”
“A miracle! The Emperor has healed him!”
All through the cathedral voices drowned him in a thunder of exclamations and joyful weeping. King Henry stared down at Zacharias without expression, his gaze that same calm facade, but suddenly he noticed that the king’s eyes seemed first green and then blue and then green again as though he were both himself and some other creature entirely.
Hathui’s anguished testimony crowded back into his mind, for with his excellent memory he had certainly forgotten nothing she had said to Prince Sanglant, although it was difficult to think with such a roar around him and so many bodies pressing forward to look at him, at the miracle. He was the cripple the new emperor had healed.
“Take him,” said Hugh’s voice, almost lost in the uproar.
The stretcher rocked and he rose into the air, reaching, grasping, gasping.
“Your Majesty! Your Majesty!”
They shoved past the yammering hordes and hurried out through a side door and then by halls and courtyards heedless of his pleading to be let down, to return to the king who was not king any longer but now emperor. All that way he heard, fading, the noise of the multitude and, in counterpoint, a hymn.
Sing a new song of praise!
Lay the old man aside and take on the new.
Glory! Glory! Glory!
They came at last to a silent chamber where sunlight streamed through open windows to illuminate murals painted on the wall. They set him down on a pallet in a corner behind two handsome chairs placed on a low dais, drew a curtain, and left him alone except for two guards at the door.
There he wept, but for what reason he was not sure.
A miracle!
Maybe he wept for the lie.
3
STRONGHAND’S ship sailed into Rikin Fjord on a calm day in late spring. Deacon Ursuline was among those who came to the strand to greet him, and she looked hale and healthy, as did all those who labored in the fields and pastures.
“My lord,” she said, inclining her head respectfully. He had learned to interpret human facial expressions and it appeared that she was actually glad to see him. “We have received word of your triumphs in Alba. I pray that some few of the young people I am training in the way of God may be sent to that land to bring the Light to those who worship the Enemy.”
“The queen of Alba is dead,” he agreed, “and her heirs with her. If there are any tree sorcerers left, they have fled into the wilderness and the high country. I do not wish to lose you, Deacon, because you keep the peace here in my birthplace, but if there are any disciplas you wish to send to Alba, I will see that they will with the next ships that journey there.”
“You are generous, my lord.”
“Perhaps. If belief in your God makes the Alban people obedient and prosperous, then it is worthwhile to have them believe.”
“It is true that good deeds are most fruitful when they rise from a righteous heart, but you do the work of God despite your disbelief, my lord.” She looked past him at the group of clerics disembarking down a ramp. “It seems you have brought clerics of your own, my lord. What are these?”
“They have come to seek the wisdom of the WiseMothers, although I do not believe they understand what they will find. Make them welcome, Deacon, and feed them. I must give my report to OldMother.”
“Ah.” She nodded. “She will be glad to hear it, my lord.”
He had taken a step away but turned back, caught by her tone and the odd choice of words.
She anticipated him. “We have been good stewards of this land, my lord, as you will see, and have served you faithfully. You have been gone for a long time, so I have gotten into the habit of consulting with OldMother when I have questions.”