The Crown of Dalemark. Diana Wynne Jones

stopped dancing. For a moment Mitt was the only one capering. Moril grinned. “What’s this tune, then?” Mitt gasped.

      “Undying at Midsummer, of course,” said the girl in scarlet ribbons. “It’s nearly midnight.”

      Around him dancing partners were breaking apart and the servers were going round with bottles of rare white wine, Southern wine, to welcome midnight with. Someone put three mugs of it down on the steps for the Singers.

      Navis bent over his mug, sniffing deeply. “Now this I have missed,” he said to Mitt. “Grapes don’t ripen this far North.”

      They exchanged a little smile of pride in the South, even though it had turned them both out. Mitt said wonderingly, “That can’t be the only thing you miss!”

      “I think it is,” said Navis. “Life’s never dull up here.” Saying this, he thrust his mug into Mitt’s free hand and dived towards the doorway. He was just in time to catch Fenna as she dropped the heavy organ and passed out. Everybody stared in shock as Navis turned to Hestefan with Fenna draped over his arms. “What were you thinking of, letting this girl play tonight? Couldn’t you see she was ill?”

      Hestefan gave him a slow, worried look. “She swore she was well, sir, and we needed her part on the organ. I thank you for catching her so quickly.”

      Navis looked at Moril. “And you? Are you quite well?”

      Moril’s face did not have much expression, but Mitt could tell that he would not have admitted it to Navis even if he had been playing with all ten fingers broken. “Perfectly, thank you,” Moril said.

      Here Lady Eltruda raised her voice. Two women came and took Fenna quickly away. Someone shoved the heavy little organ to the side of the doorway. It was almost midnight. A running crowd of men and women were carrying every lamp and candle in the place and putting them down on the ground in two long lines leading from the gates of the yard, through the yard, up the steps and into a circle in the middle of the hall. It was good luck to place a candle, so everyone fought for the honour except for Lord Stair – and Mitt and Navis, who did not know the custom.

      “Let in the Undying!” everyone shouted as the last candle was put in place.

      Silence fell, expectantly. From the yard came a strong grating sound as the two big gates were pushed open. At Hestefan’s nod, Moril again played the slow, haunting chords of Undying at Midsummer. To Mitt’s ears he seemed to be playing now in an odd, different way. At any rate, there was a queer humming building under the notes. A damp breeze blew in from the yard, where it was probably raining again, bending all the candle flames. A great wavering shadow advanced across the floor and grew up the wall beyond.

      Flaming Ammet! Mitt thought, with shivers spreading up his back. I think something really is coming in!

      But the shadow shortened and fell, and Mitt saw it had been caused by Hestefan advancing up the lane of lights, carrying a small treble cwidder. When Hestefan reached the circle of lights, he turned round and called out, “Welcome the Undying to this house, for this night and the coming year!” Then he played the same slow tune on his cwidder. Mitt wondered why it sounded so much more ordinary now.

      A growl of voices welcomed the Undying too. The custom seemed to be to tip your mug and let a few drops of wine splash on the floor. Navis looked at Mitt. Mitt shrugged. And they both spilt some wine as well, with a private murmur to Libby Beer. After that the feast broke up into groups loudly wishing one another luck for the year. It looked for a minute or so as if things were nearly over.

      But suddenly everyone was shouting, “Noreth! Noreth! Noreth, has your sign come?” as Noreth came to stand in the circle of candles beside Hestefan. She was carrying the golden statue, and she held it up for everyone to see.

      “Here is my sign,” she called out.

      Navis murmured to Mitt, “You can say goodbye to your half of it, I think.” A number of people were cheering, although Lord Stair was saying loudly in the distance, “Is that girl up to her nonsense again?”

      “Hush!” someone said.

      Noreth called out again. “Will my uncle’s lawman please come and stand by me? I wish to make a statement in the proper form of law.”

      There was a lot of grumbling from the back. One of the men who had been at the high table, rather unsteady on his feet and very embarrassed, came and joined Noreth. She left the circle of light and walked down the lane of candles with him to the door. “I want everyone to hear,” she explained to the lawman as they came past Mitt. “Tell me if I say anything wrong.” Mitt could feel her shaking with the importance of what she was going to do. It made his stomach give a cold jerk.

      “You know ash mush law ash me,” the lawman complained, but he went and stood by Noreth as she took up a position in the doorway where she could speak to the people outside as well as those in the hall. The two of them pushed Moril right back to the side of the door. Mitt could see him there, looking awed.

      Noreth said, loudly and slowly, “I, Noreth of Kredindale, do this night state and affirm that I am the rightful Queen and heir to the crown of Dalemark, over both North and South and the peoples of both.”

      It really is true, Mitt thought sadly. The lawman leant across and murmured to Noreth.

      “Oh yes. Thanks,” said Noreth. “And over all earldoms and marks therein, not excluding the earls of those marks and the lords under them. This claim I make through my mother, Eleth of Kredindale, descendant in direct line from Manaliabrid of the Undying, and also by right of my father, the One, whose true names are not to be spoken, and from whom all Kings descend. In proof of this my right, my father promised me a token at Midsummer this year, and this promise he kept. This is the token.” She held the golden statue up over the nearest lamps so that it could be seen. “Who witnesses,” she called out, “that the River Aden today gave me this golden image of my father, the One?”

      Mitt jumped and looked round for somewhere to hide. But Noreth turned and looked at him as she spoke. He sighed and pushed his way to the doorway. “If I’d known what you meant when you asked,” he said, “I’d have gone straight back to Aberath.”

      The lawman said, “Do you witnesh thish?” and swayed a little.

      “Sure,” Mitt said bitterly. If Keril and the Countess had arranged personally for the landslip, they could hardly have pushed him into this any deeper. “I trod on the statue halfway across the brook. She picked it up. That do?”

      Noreth replied with an eager, flustered smile. Her hands were still shaking as she held up the statue. She was truly nervous. She was not doing this because she was mad but because she saw it as her duty, as perhaps it was. Mitt felt himself bound to give her a smile in return before he edged away. Beyond Noreth he could see the Singer-lad staring at him resentfully. Now what does he think I’ve done? Mitt thought irritably.

      “I call on you all,” Noreth said, “to support me in my right. Today at dawn, it being Midsummer Day, I go to ride the green roads until I come to where the crown is hidden, and there I shall be crowned Queen. Let whoever wishes to ride with me and support my claim meet me at the waystone above the quarry at sunrise today.”

      There was another silence, which was followed by a surge of murmurs, half doubtful, half enthusiastic. Navis whispered to Mitt, “Well, there seems only one thing we can do now.” Mitt nodded, but his attention was on Moril in the doorway. He could almost feel the boy making some kind of decision. Sure enough, Moril put his hands to his cwidder and struck up the tune called The King’s Way. Hestefan looked surprised but took the tune up on his cwidder too, and walked between the two lines of guttering candles to join Moril. Moril, leaning over, plucked once again in the odd and different way. The humming gathered and gathered behind the tune, until it had become more than simply a rousing song. Mitt could quite clearly feel a serious purpose booming behind the notes. Everyone sang:

       “Who will ride the King’s Way,