Position earned

The priestess of Ayil had touched his hand as he’d given over the offering and smiled, murmuring, “Thank you.” Cerik knew that it wasn’t just for the offering, it was for having the priestesses spared in Gaelel.

When he murmured his reply, “I am glad to be of service,” the woman had smiled mischievously. He had a feeling that he would be of more service to Ayil yet.

Malav was almost cheerful after her departure, having been given a way to win back his wife had probably gone a long way toward that end. He didn’t even seem perturbed that the dead priestess he had been planning the assault on Isemalrocath with had been destroyed. Something Cerik was grateful for. The creature had been unnerving. At least the ranks of the dead army didn’t speak or seem to watch you as moved around them.

The return march to Cearaden was uneventful, they saw no one on the roads and there was no resistance from any lord in the armies’ path. And at his urging, Malav had left the dead army to rot well outside the walls. The Generals were impressed with the way Malav listened to him, he only hoped it would continue.

Entering the city, however, proved tense. The rotting King Iotav had been ruling at his son’s command. It seemed the entire city was dressed in mourning clothes and none of them looked on Malav fondly. Cerik was almost certain there would be an attempt on his King’s life.

After instructing his Generals to begin putting supply lines in order, Malav commanded the coronation to be held. Cerik’s suggestion that it be postponed until the court and kingdom were no longer mourning was summarily ignored. The King wanted everything in order, everything public. Cerik was, however, profoundly grateful that no one else was present when the blind priest, who had tended the royal family’s personal shrines and given the weapons of divine right to both Malav and his father, was brought before the King.

The man had flatly refused to crown Malav King. Cerik hadn't dared look away, even though he thought he might be ill, as the dread King forced the old man to his knees and stabbed him in the heart with Malies’ blade. The blind priest had risen and been compliant, able to speak and carry out his duties without further tasking the King. The priest even managed to look almost alive at the coronation.

The ceremony acknowledging Cerik as a Lord of Luzoron was held with the coronation as a sign of his high favor. And he had nearly flinched when Malav brought the sword from its sheath, using it as his symbol of divine right to rule and raise him to the nobility. The blade had touched his shoulders and he had been compelled to kiss the hilt. Remembering the hand of the priestess of Ayil on it was the only way he was able to bring his lips to the monstrous thing.

The feasts were more somber than funerals. And Cerik heard it whispered among the servants, that the only bright spot was Malav allowing his father to be quietly laid to rest after the coronation.

Using his time at the somber feast to take in the state of things, Cerik began making inquiries of the Lords he sat with. “It seems a bit solemn for a coronation. Is all of Cearazon as somber and tense as Cearaden?”

He was greeted with grunts and mistrustful looks. “Things must be brought back to normalcy, my lords. Malav is young and with Malies’ favor, he is likely to rule a very long time. The sooner we can-”

“How can things be made normal?” One of the younger lords hissed. “He’s sacked Gaelel and Anykrocath.”

“And he’ll do the same to Isemalrocath.” He spoke firmly. “We can see to our stores and even send out aid to refugees if we have enough. Send out some who know farming to help them get their crops in. It will go a long way to warming relations with them and show our own people that they are not ruled by monsters.”

Some of the older lords nodded in agreement, but one said grimly, “Such an order should come from the King.”

Cerik tilted his head. “I will speak with him about it. He is a grim King but I believe he will be a good one.” He swallowed the words, with some tempering.

After the meal and some polite mingling, Cerik was approached by the older lord he had briefly spoken to at dinner. “You haven’t asked about your own lands yet.”

“I intended to ask the steward once he’s made his assessments.” Cerik smiled politely and offered his hand, "Forgive me, but I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced.”

The lord barked a laugh and took his hand, “Lord Folen of Cearazon. I think the entire kingdom knows you, Lord Cerik of Luzoron.”

With a modest smile, Cerik inclined his head. “Is something urgently wrong with my holdings? I can ask King Malav for leave to see to them if it’s necessary.”

“Having spoken to my man, who inquired after your service to the King in this campaign, I doubt that would serve the kingdom well.” Lord Folen held his gaze meaningfully. “You’ve earned your new position. The boy who held it before you, however, plundered his inheritance and fled. You’re starting off at a disadvantage of funds and a home that’s been stripped of all of value.”

“Vennius.” Cerik exhaled with a frown. “Gods shield the boy from the King’s wrath.” Before he could say more Malav made an impatient gesture. “Forgive me, Lord Folen, I’ve been summoned.”

The lord bowed and gave Cerik an approving nod. “Of course.”