As the elf-spy sat in his seat, he felt the assistant place a hand on top of his head, then gauze began to wrap around his crown, round and round, for several minutes, growing thicker, warmer, and more uncomfortable as it was layered thickly. “I’m supposed to make sure I cover your ears,” the assistant explained as he worked.
“There,” the man said, stepping back. “Now, put your hat over that,” he instructed.
“It looks perfect; you don’t see anything with the hat on, but it will cover the ears when you take the hat off to meet the Doge,” Castona said as he stepped into the room. “Now, let’s get going,” he directed.
They spent a long time walking through the streets, then passing through the palace gates, and finally waiting with the many other subjects due to be recognized ceremonially by the chosen leader of the Estone nation.
“Here,” Castona said to Kestrel, shoving a clay vessel in his hands. “This is the sample of the yeti blood you need to give to the Doge. Wait until the herald finishes announcing you, then advance and hand it to the attendant who stands next to the Doge, not to the Doge himself, and humbly accept any token of appreciation they give you.
“The emphasis is on humble, Kestrel,” Castona told him, looking at him directly. “I don’t think it will be a problem for you, but don’t try to act like a fool or a hero. Just being here is all we need to raise the market’s interest in bidding in the auction.”
Minutes later they were separated, as Kestrel was led to the final waiting room with the others to be addressed by the Doge, while Castona went to stand with the nobles around the edge of the audience square. Kestrel stood uneasily in line with a dozen other minor dignitaries, mostly from the duchies and earldoms around Estone, their trip to the capital city a social highlight of the season for them. They all wore the same bright colors that Kestrel wore, but with finer and fuller materials, not suits like his that clung tightly to his figure, though Castona had insisted that the suit made him look more like a fighter.
One by one the minor dignitaries were called from the waiting room, and polite rounds of applause were heard upon their introductions. After each of the guests left the room, the others clustered closer together, other than Kestrel, who was excluded by the others, the country gentry who knew or knew of one another, but knew nothing of him.
For an hour, Kestrel waited and watched as the room slowly emptied out, until he was alone after the last daughter of a county earl was called to be recognized by the Doge. There was a tap on the door, and a court official beckoned him out. Kestrel followed the silent man down a short hall, then passed through a door into a vast room that was filled with a gallery of observers on one side.
Across from his entry door Kestrel spotted the others who had waited with him, standing apart from all others in a ribbon be-decked box. Around them, and on three sides of the room there stood a ring of observers, dressed in finery. But on the side of the room to his left, the side he was walking towards as he followed a narrow red carpet way, was a raised platform, and a large, heavyset man who sat upon an ornate throne, with various staff members hovering about.
Kestrel held the clay jar before him in both hands, and as he reached the bottom of the platform, a staff person nearby subtly signaled for him to stop and kneel.
Kestrel went down on one knee, then rose, and as the staff member approached, he held out the jar.
“What is it?” the man whispered.
“It’s yeti blood,” Kestrel whispered back.
The man’s eye’s widened. “Remove your hat when I hand it to the Doge, and remain silent. If the Doge wants to hear from you, he’ll motion for you to approach.”
Kestrel nodded, then stood and watched as the man, dressed all in black, stepped up to the Doge’s throne, and whispered briefly in the leader’s ear, then stepped back and spoke aloud, in a voice that surprised Kestrel with its volume and ability to carry to seemingly every attendee in the facility.
“The great hunter, Kestrel, returns from the Water Mountains, where he has faced a yeti in mortal combat and emerged as the victor. He humbly offers this gift of precious blood from his vanquished foe as a token of his regard for your great leadership of the nation,” the man announced.
“Come forward Kestrel, and be recognized,” the man turned and spoke to Kestrel. “Doge Deloco wishes to thank you for fulfilling his command to rid the land of the yeti threat, and helping to protect his people.”
Kestrel climbed the steps, and came to a stop just a few feet from where the Doge sat on his throne, a solemn expression on the big man’s florid face. He rose when Kestrel stopped, and shuffled forward, his ornate robes restricting his movements. Out of the corner of his eye Kestrel saw the black-robed attendant frantically motioning for him to remove his hat, and he hastily snatched his headpiece off his skull, revealing the phony bandaging that was wrapped around his head.
There was a murmur of sympathy from the crowd as they saw what they presumed was evidence of the wounds Kestrel had suffered in battle with the yeti. Kestrel saw a flicker of concern in the Doge’s eyes as well, as he noted the bandages, and then before the crowd’s gentle sighing had ceased, the noise from the observers changed to gasps and cheers as the Doge reached out and drew Kestrel into a supportive embrace.
Kestrel uncomfortably wrapped his own arms around the Doge’s bulk, uncertain of the protocol regarding how a commoner responded to the ruler’s personal touch. The Doge stood motionless and silent for a handful of seconds, then broke the clinch. “Your gift is a priceless one, young hunter, and much appreciated.
“I want to reward you for your heroism and valor, and today I do so by naming you as a Captain of the Fleet of Estone, entitled to the rewards and privileges that accrue to the position. And I also name you to be the People’s Champion should the need for single battle arise again,” the Doge told Kestrel in a deep, resonant voice. “Kneel before me now,” he commanded discreetly.
Kestrel dropped to his knees, and bowed his head, then heard the sound of a sword being drawn nearby. There was a light tap on his right shoulder. “By the power of Shaish, goddess of water,” the Doge said. There was a light tap on his left shoulder. “By the power of Kusima, god of the land,” the leader intoned. Then Kestrel felt the Doge place his hand lightly on the top of Kestrel’s head. “By the power of Kai and Growelk, air and fire, I name you the People’s Champion, give you the freedom and honor the title carries, and oblige you to serve the men and women of Estone in times of need.
“Rise and face your people,” he said last, as he stepped back from Kestrel and resumed his seat.
Kestrel stood, dumbfounded by the ceremonial honor he had received, and by the boisterous applause that began to thunder from the crowd.
“Thank you, my lord. You have been far more generous than I deserve,” Kestrel said in amazement.
“I think not,” the Doge replied. “In a dream last night Kai showed me your face, and said you would be a hero for your people. I am only doing what the goddess wants. Now go and receive your rewards and accolades,” he motioned Kestrel towards the side.
“The audience of the court is at an end for today. All hail the Doge of Estone, ruler of the Northern Seas and Lands,” the black garbed herald proclaimed in his extraordinary voice, as Kestrel strode over to the beribboned stall where the other recognized individuals were waiting, clapping enthusiastically along with the rest of the audience.