Ben folded his arms across his chest and faced the other squarely. “And I’m Santa Claus. Look, Questor, I’ve been around long enough to know a fox from a hole in the ground. Now, what’s going on here?”
The wizard shifted his feet awkwardly. “Ah… well, you see, the truth of the matter is that very few will be coming.”
“How few is very few?”
“Perhaps only a couple.”
Abernathy edged toward. “He means just the four of us, High Lord — and those poor souls standing out there in the shadows.”
“Just the four of us?” Ben stared at Questor in disbelief. “The four of us? That’s all? The coronation of the first King of Landover in more than twenty years, and no one is coming…”
“You are not the first. High Lord,” Questor said softly.
“…but the four of us?”
“You are not the first,” the wizard repeated.
There was a long moment of silence. “What did you say?” Ben asked.
“There have been others before you, High Lord — other Kings of Landover since the death of the Old King. You are simply the latest of these to ascend the throne. I am sorry that you have to hear this now. I would have preferred that you heard it later when the coronation ceremony was…”
“How many others?” Ben’s face was flushed with anger.
“…completed, and we had… What did you say?”
“Kings, damn it! How many others have there been?”
Questor Thews squirmed. “Several dozen, perhaps. Frankly, I have lost count.”
The sound of thunder rolled from somewhere distant through the forest trees and mist. Aabernathy’s ears pricked sharply.
“Several dozen?” Ben did not yet hear it. His arms dropped to his sides and the muscles of his neck corded. “I can understand why you might have lost count! I can understand as well why no one bothers to come anymore!”
“They came at first, of course,” the other continued, his voice irritatingly calm and his gaze steady. “They came because they believed. Even after they quit believing, they came for a time because they were curious. But eventually they were no longer even curious. We have had too many Kings, High Lord, who were not real.”
He gestured roughly toward the few who had assembled at the forest’s edge. “Those who come now come only because they are desperate.”
The thunder sounded again, louder this time and closer, a deep, sustained rumble that echoed through the forest and shook the earth. The kobolds hissed and their ears flattened back against their heads. Ben looked about sharply. Abernathy was growling.
Questor seized Ben’s arm. “Climb onto the dais, High Lord! Go, quickly!” Ben hesitated, frowning. “Go!” the wizard snapped, shoving. “Those are demons that come!”
That was reason enough for Ben. The kobolds were already scampering ahead, and he went after them. The thunder reverberated all about them, shaking trees and earth.
“It appears that you will have your audience after all. High Lord,” Abernathy said as he bounded up the dais steps on all fours, nearly losing the ceremonial robes and chains of office.
Ben went up the steps behind him, glancing back over his shoulder anxiously. The Heart was deserted save for the four of the little company. The fanners, herdsmen, their families, the hunters, and the beggar had all scattered into the concealing shadows of the forest. The mist and gloom of the surrounding trees seemed to press in tightly against the sunlit clearing.
“Help the High Lord on with his robes and chains,” Questor Thews directed Abernathy, hastening onto the dais to stand with them. “Quickly!”
Abernathy rose up again on his hind legs and began fitting the robes and chains of office about Ben. “Wait a minute, Questor,” Ben objected, his eyes darting apprehensively to the black tunnel entrance across from them. “I’m not sure I want to do this anymore.”
“It is too late, High Lord — you must!” The other’s owlish face was suddenly hard with purpose. “Trust me. You will be safe.”
Ben thought that he had ample reason to question that assertion, but Abernathy was already fastening the clasps to the robes and chains. The scribe was surprisingly dexterous for a dog, and Ben found himself glancing downward in spite of the situation. He started. Abernathy’s paws had blunted fingers with joints.