The Witchwood Crown by Tad Williams

Author:Tad Williams
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: DAW
Published: 2017-05-18T14:56:04+00:00

29

Brown Bones and Black Statues

“What difference should it make that I didn’t come to the Inner Council meeting?” Morgan demanded. He and his grandfather were alone in the throne room, or as alone as a king and prince could be in chamber where so many Erkynguards stood at silent attention. “You’ve never cared about that before.”

Simon let out a weary sigh and waited to compose himself before replying. “That’s not true, Morgan. We haven’t argued with you every time you have chosen to ignore us about councils or many other things, but that doesn’t mean your grandmother and I don’t care.” He was angry, of course, but as always, he found it hard to look at the prince without seeing his lost son. The same heavy, scowling brows, the same handsome features—at least, when they were not twisted in a childlike pout, as they were now. Morgan was not as tall and thin as his father had grown to be, but he had John Josua’s sharp features; Simon sometimes felt as if he were chastising poor, dead Johnno when he scolded his grandson. “But things are different, now, Morgan. It is time for you to step up, to take some responsibility, not disappear with your friends into the stews of Erchester when all the rest of us are worrying about going to war.”

“Responsibility, oh, of course,” said the prince bitterly. “I’m supposed to act like a man because I am the heir—yes, yes, I know. But you refused to let me fight when we were attacked by the Norns.”

At least this was a complaint Simon could understand. “That was not by my choice. The queen was worried for you. We did not know the strength of the enemy—”

“No one else was kept away from the fighting! Even Grandmother was out among the soldiers. The queen!”

Simon had to fight back another frustrated sigh. He wished Miriamele had been able to talk to him that night before making her decision. It was one thing to protect the prince, another to do it in such a way that the lad felt unmanned and humiliated.

“What’s done is done,” he said at last. “But what will come is still up to you, lad.”

Morgan stared at him, and for a moment Simon thought he saw a fearful hint of Miri’s mad father in the boy’s bright, furious stare. “Let me do something,” the prince pleaded. “I can wield a sword perfectly well. Astrian taught me—”

“Astrian has taught you tricks,” said Simon. “I have seen it. Yes, the Nabban-man is an able fighter, but he has shown you clever stratagems for knife-fights, for tavern brawls. Fighting in a real battle—in full armor, in hot sun—it is the strongest man who has the best chance to survive. A battle is not a tournament. You will not be able to rest between bouts and measure each opponent.” His voice got louder as he warmed to the subject. “No! Arrows will be flying at you! Enemies will attack you from behind even as you fight with someone else.

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