THE INNER ward yard bustled with activity as the King assembled his family and friends. Bria and the Princesses would ride to the field in a gaily festooned coach. Quentin and his son would lead the procession on horseback, followed by Durwin and Toli and as many of the noble visitors as had not already left for the field. Esme, however, would not be among them.

When all was ready, the armorer came hurrying up with two squires at either elbow. One lad carried the King’s shield, burnished bright as a mirror; the other carried, on a long satin pillow, the King’s sword, Zhaligkeer, the Shining One.

The armorer knelt and offered the King his weapons. Quentin nodded, and the squires helped their master fasten the great sword in place and then handed up the shield, which the King slung over his shoulder.

Word of the shining sword had long ago spread far and wide throughout the land. There was not a peasant anywhere who had not heard of its forging in the lost mountain mines of the Ariga out of the fabled glowing ore, lanthanil. Far beyond the borders of Mensandor tales of the Shining One were told, and of the mighty Priest King who had come to the throne by a strange and wonderful enchantment. Those who looked upon him now believed those stories more fervently than ever, because he appeared so strong and fearless.

Quentin mounted Blazer and the milk-white stallion danced sideways, anxious to be off. He raised a gloved hand, the inner ward gates were opened wide, and the parade began. They passed into the outer ward and then through the gatehouse, over the huge drawbridge and down the ramp into the city. And though many townspeople had already left for the festival site, there were still enough to line the streets to wave and cheer and welcome their King. The happy people fell into place behind the procession as it passed, and all made their way to the field.