Out of the Darkness

People from Pavilosta, the nearby village of Adutiskis, and the farms on the countryside in the area packed the market square. A good many of them waved to Skarnu as he and Merkela made their way through the crowd toward the traditional seat of installation. Every so often, he would spot someone he knew and wave back. Had he stayed in these parts as a peasant, the locals would have reckoned him that fellow who’s not from around here till the day he died. They would probably say the same thing about him as a marquis--but they might not say it so loud.

A band struck up a thumping tune. Merkela drew herself straight with pride. “That’s the count’s air,” she said, and then corrected herself: “No, I mean the marquis’ air, don’t I?” She squeezed Skarnu’s hand.

He leaned over and gave her a quick kiss. “See what you get for taking in strange men who come stumbling out of the woods?”

“I never thought it would come to this,” she said. Whether that meant marrying him or coming back to Pavilosta in such style, he didn’t know and didn’t ask. The two of them had finally made their way up to the seat, which was in fact two seats, one facing one way, one the other.

Skarnu sat down in the seat facing west, towards Algarve. That symbolized the feudal lord’s duty to defend the peasantry against invasion. No doubt, in years gone by, it had been only one more formality in this ceremony. But, with the redheads only a few months gone from Valmiera, opposing them took on a new urgency. And people hereabouts knew Skarnu had been part of the underground. He really had done what he could to fight Mezentio’s men. Murmurs of approval and even a few cheers rang out as he took his seat.

A peasant from just outside of Adutiskis sat in the other half of the ceremonial seat. Counts--and now a marquis--were traditionally installed in Pavilosta, so the other village provided the second actor in the drama. “Congratulations, your Excellency,” the fellow said in a low voice.

“Thanks,” Skarnu said. “Shall we get on with it?”

“Right you are,” the peasant replied. “You do know how it’s supposed to go?”

“Aye,” Skarnu said, a little impatiently. “For one thing, we’ve rehearsed it a couple of times. And, for another, I was here in the square when Simanu, powers below eat him, made a hash of things.” The collaborator had sat in the west-facing seat, but he’d had plenty of Algarvian officers and soldiers in the square to protect him from the folk whose overlord he was supposed to become.

“That whoreson,” the peasant said. “He deserved every bit of what he got, and more besides. And now, your Excellency, if you’ll excuse me . . .” He got to his feet and pushed through the crowd to the edge of the square.

Two cows waited there for him, one plump and sleek, the other distinctly on the scrawny side. He led them back to Skarnu, as another peasant--or perhaps this same fellow?--had led them back to Simanu.

The new overlord was supposed to choose the scrawny cow, showing that he reserved the best for the people living in his domain. Skarnu did. Simanu hadn’t--he’d picked the fat one. Skarnu bent his head and let the peasant give him a light box on the ear, which meant he would attend to the concerns of those who lived under his lordship. Simanu, secure in the knowledge that the Algarvians backed him, hadn’t worried about anything else, and had dealt the peasant a buffet that knocked him sprawling. The riot started immediately thereafter.

He made the redheads hate him, too, Skarnu thought. They wanted peace and quiet in the Valmieran countryside, not trouble. But he was their tool, and they were stuck with him.. . till his untimely demise. He’d blazed Simanu himself, which was not the way one noble usually acquired another’s domain.

Loud cheers rang out when Skarnu accepted the lean cow and the buffet. This was the way the ceremony was supposed to go. Skarnu had lived as a farmer long enough to begin to understand how much people who worked the land for a living appreciated it when things went as they were supposed to go.

Now he had to make a speech. He didn’t want to do that; he would sooner have had another box on the ear. But it was part of the ceremony, too, and so he couldn’t escape it. He stood up on that west-facing seat. An expectant hush fell.

“People of Pavilosta, people of Adutiskis, people of the countryside, I am proud to become your marquis,” he said. “I’ve lived among you. I know what sort of folk you are. I know how you never believed the redheads would rule here forever, and how you made their lives hard while they were here.”