Then the light faded and the Paladin was gone.
Ben Holiday breathed the morning air and felt the warmth of the sunlight on his body. He felt momentarily weightless in the light clothing of Landover’s King, free once more from the Paladin’s armor. Time and motion thawed and quickened until all was as it had been.
He was himself again. The dream, the nightmare, whichever part of both he had survived, was over.
Shadowy figures stirred within the forest trees and emerged into the Heart, humans and fairies, Lords and knights of the Greensward, and the River Master with his people of the lake country, picking their way carefully through the debris. Ben’s friends appeared from their shelter at the base of the dais, stunned looks on their faces. Willow was smiling.
“High Lord…” Questor began helplessly and trailed off. Then slowly he knelt before the dais. “High Lord,” he whispered.
Willow, Abernathy, and the kobolds knelt with him. Fillip and Sot reappeared, as if by magic, and they, too, knelt. All across the clearing the men of the Greensward and the men of fairy dropped to one knee — the River Master, Kallendbor, Strehan, the Lords of the Greensward, all that had come.
“High Lord,” they acknowledged.
“High Lord,” he whispered back.
King
It was all pretty simple after that. Even a neophyte monarch like Ben didn’t have much difficulty figuring out what to do with all those astonished subjects. He got them back on their feet and marched them directly to Sterling Silver for a victory feast. Things might have been tough up until this morning and they might be tough again by tomorrow; but for the remainder of this day, at least, it looked like smooth sailing.
He ferried his friends, the River Master and his immediate family, and the Lords of the Greensward and their retainers across in the lake skimmer and left soldiers and assorted entourage to camp along the shoreline. It took several trips to bring everyone invited across, and he made a mental note to construct a bridge before the next get-together.
“There was a bridge in the old days, High Lord,” Questor whispered surreptitiously, as if reading his thoughts, “but when the old King died, the people ceased coming to the castle, the army drifted away, and traffic eventually stopped altogether. The bridge fell into a terrible state of disrepair, boards cracked and rotted, bindings frayed, nails rusted — just a large clog in the lake that reflected the sorry state of the entire kingdom. I tried to salvage it with magic, High Lord, but things just didn’t work out quite the way I had planned…”He stopped rambling and trailed off.
Ben’s eyebrows lifted. “Things?”
Questor leaned closer. They were midway across the lake on their final trip. “I am afraid I sank the bridge. High Lord.”
He peered reluctantly over the skimmer’s bow. Ben peered with him. It was hard to keep from grinning, but he did.
He gathered his guests in the great hall and seated them about a series of tressel tables pulled together. He worried belatedly that Sterling Silver could not find the means to feed them all, but his fears were groundless. The castle reproduced provisions from her larder with newfound strength and determination — as if she could sense the victory that had been won — and there was food and drink enough for everyone, inside and out.
It was a marvelous feast — a celebration in which all shared. Food and drink were consumed with relish, toasts were exchanged and adventures recounted. There was a fellowship that transcended lingering skepticism; there was a strange sense of renewal. One by one those gathered rose to their feet, at Questor’s urging, and pledged once more their loyalty and unconditional support to Landover’s newest King.
“Long life, High Lord Ben Holiday,” the River Master prayed. “May all your future successes match today’s.”
“May you keep the magic close and use it well,” Kallendbor advised, the warning in his voice unmistakable.
“Strength and judgment, High Lord,” wished Strehan, his brow clouded with a continuing mix of awe and doubt.
“Great High Lord!” Fillip cried.
“Mighty High Lord!” Sot echoed.
Ah, well — it was a mixed bag, but a welcome one. One after another, they gave him their pledges and good wishes, and Ben acknowledged each courteously. There was cause for optimism, no matter how difficult tomorrow might turn out to be. The Paladin was returned — brought back from a place in which no one would have thought to look, freed from the prison of Ben’s own heart. The magic was returned to the valley, and Landover would begin its transformation back to the pastoral land it had once been. The changes would be slow, but they would come. The mist and gloom would clear and there would be sunlight again. The Tarnish would fade; Sterling Silver would be Castle Dracula no more. The blight that had stricken the Bonnie Blues would weaken and die. Forests, grasslands, and hills would heal. Lakes and rivers would come clean. Wildlife would flourish anew. Everything would be reborn.