The Lost War, Karl Gallagher [recommended reading txt] 📗

I’d be having a hungry night, if not starved to death already.”

She emphasized this by interlacing her fingers with Goldenrod’s.

The younger woman, overwhelmed by this unexpected affection, but too polite to rebuff someone whose council she wanted to join, put on a rigid smile.

“But I’m so rude, keeping you from your work. Please forgive my excess of feeling.”

Once released Goldenrod muttered thanks and headed for Master Chisel’s shop. Maybe one of his apprentices would have an idea for traps.

When Goldenrod passed around the corner the head crafter joined Filigree.

“Well?” asked Mistress Seamchecker.

“Left ring finger is five and a half,” said Filigree. “Need any of the others?”

“No, the boy’s a traditionalist. We don’t have any five and a halves though.”

“That, my dear, is what ring stretchers are for,” said Mistress Filigree.

***

The first order of business at Court was Master Sharpquill and other senior officers swearing oaths to King Ironhelm and Queen Dahlia as the new monarchs. There was no grumbling. Everyone was in enough shock that the simple changeover was met with relief.

Then the monarchs began inducting people into the newly formed Order of the Partisan. Everyone not an authorized fighter who’d hit an orc with some kind of weapon received a hastily whittled two inch spear with an ornate point to wear.

Goldenrod wasn’t included as magic was not a recognized weapon.

There was some teasing as Lady Foxglove received hers for braining an orc with a frying pan. “It was closest!”

The official fighters received traditional awards of escalating significance. At the end of the sequence four squires were knighted. Only two had their knights with them for the ceremony.

Newman expected to be next but service awards were given out to those who’d helped treat the wounded. Again, at various levels.

“Relax,” whispered Goldenrod. “It’s no big deal. Kneel on the pillow, say the words, get the hats, and we’re done.”

He nodded.

They finally finished investing Lady—now Mistress—Cinnamon into the Council of Organizers to recognize her work setting up a hospital for the battle casualties.

The herald called, “Lady Goldenrod, Newman Greenhorn. Present yourselves to Their Majesties.”

They held hands as they walked up the narrow carpet. Two cushions awaited them in front of King Ironhelm and Queen Dahlia. Newman knelt before the King, Goldenrod the Queen.

King Ironhelm was not someone who needed a microphone to be heard by a crowd of hundreds. “In the Kingdom a Baron is a leader. Most Barons have a place and they lead the people in that place. But there are other forms of leadership. To recognize them we have the Barons and Baronesses of the Court. Let us recognize the leadership we have seen.

“Lady Goldenrod, you have shown us how to find the food we needed to survive in ground and water.

“Newman Greenhorn, you’ve led hunters, teaching them woodcraft and survival. But your greatest leadership was when you gathered those who wished to fight the invaders and did not know how. You showed them how. You led them to battle. And at the moment of greatest crisis you tipped the scales.

“It is now Our pleasure to create you Baron and Baroness.”

The herald stepped forward, “Do you, Goldenrod and Newman, swear fealty to King Ironhelm and Queen Dahlia; and do you swear that you will obey Their lawful commands, that you will treat courteously with all, whatever their degree or station, until the King depart from His Throne, or death take you, or the world end?”

Together they said, “I so swear.”

The monarchs together recited, “And We swear now Our fealty to you, and swear to you We will protect and defend you with all Our power, until We depart from Our Throne, or death take us, or the world end.”

Hovering ladies in waiting handed coronets to the King and Queen. Queen Dahlia smoothly placed hers on Goldenrod’s head. King Ironhelm reached toward Newman, flinched, and took a step closer. Newman noticed a bandage under the sleeve of the King’s tunic. The coronet landed firmly.

The herald led the populace in three formal huzzahs.

The king and queen wiggled their fingers to indicate it was time to rise and return to their places.

Newman took Goldenrod’s hand as they stood. As they turned he stopped her facing him.

King Ironhelm kicked a cushion between them.

Newman knelt and took Goldenrod’s other hand.

Her expression was nervous and wary.

The crowd was quiet, a few “oohs” tipping the less clued in that something was about to happen.

Newman swallowed. “Lady Goldenrod. When we arrived here I didn’t know you well. I knew I wanted to know you better. Now I do know you. I’m glad we’re together. In this world or any other I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me?”

He let go of her hands to extract the ring from his pocket. He held it up to her with both hands.

Goldenrod was bright pink. Her hands wrapped around Newman’s. She stammered, “Y-yes. Yes. I will,” barely able to force the words out.

A buzz of “what did she say?” began in the crowd.

King Ironhelm proclaimed, “She said yes!”

The populace broke into cheers. Newman slid the ring onto the correct finger. He stood and kissed her.

The cheers went on as the kiss continued.

Then they broke apart and went back down the carpet hand in hand, wearing identical foolish grins.

A duke stepped out of the crowd. “Brave man. Can you sleep well knowing she can kill you with a word?”

Newman looked him in the eye. “Can you sleep well knowing your wife can kill you with a pillow?”

With half the camp mourning dead and more tending wounds this was no time for a fancy wedding. Lord Pulpit came by to perform the ceremony. Master Sweetbread stood as best man, Redinkle as matron of honor. Then the rest of