In Service of the King, by Stephen Wayne

- Chapter One -

Across the wide, silent valley thick fog drifted down from the tops of the nearby hills, flowing like slow, white fire. A solitary lantern dimly glowed, moving through the swirls of the fog; a horse’s hooves upon flagstone broke the stillness of the winter night. The lantern lit the aged and noble features of the rider, a fine, blue coat and shined boots. On his chest gleamed medals of the past and by his side a warrior’s sword in its glittering sheath. He rode with ease, his horse sure and strong.

The highway rose and the fog thinned as horse and rider reached the crest of a small hill where the air was clear enough to see the entire expanse of the valley; all around the traveler the fog was still, stretching out like a white lake. Above the stars glittered like thousands of jewels on a black velvet cloth.

The elderly soldier suddenly checked his horse. He heard a sound like distant thunder, and the ground shook with low rumbling; it was faint, but grew as the rider listened. Turning, he held up his lantern and look whence he had come. There were no clouds in the sky but still the rumbling grew, until the earth below the rider began to shake. His horse stamped the ground, it’s ears back.

A light appeared in the fog below, then another and another; soon dozens of lights were visible, not lanterns but large torches; balls of untamed fire coming quickly up the hill towards the aged horseman as clattering hooves pounded the flagstones. Spurring his horse, the old soldier urged his steed to run, down into the fog, away from the torches.

~~~~~~~~~

Late into the night on the outskirts of a small town on the Great Bay, the covered windows of a forge glowed red. The nearby town of Dorenvnes sat northeast of the Capital, known for it’s inns with their good, fish stews, delicious bread, for it’s estates, taverns and the small, fishing port. The very air was quiet and pleasant to breathe.

The forge had been long closed for the night, but inside was a flurry of activity. A cool breeze blew moist, fog-laden air into the heated shop. Bright swords lined the walls, their blades reflecting the red firelight, crossed now and again by a moving shadow as the blacksmith began hammering again. Sparks flew from the hot metal, extinguishing themselves on the cold, stone floor.

A striped cat watched the work from it’s safe perch on a table, at the far corner of the room. It followed the glowing, falling sparks but did not leap to chase them; the rat-catcher’s master ceased hammering for a moment, long enough to turn the unfinished blade slowly, inspecting the progress with pensive, brown eyes before continuing to shape the weapon with forcible blows.

A door by the cat’s perch opened, sending it racing for the corner. Out of the corner of his eye, the young blacksmith saw a tall, cloaked figure enter, his face shaded by the cloak’s hood. As the smith turned to face the newcomer the cloaked figure drew out a thin-bladed sword and held it a moment before laying it on the table.

“Greetings, Joseph Asher, Lord of Stone Mountain.” the stranger said, pushing back his hood; he was middle aged, possessing a finely groomed beard and kindly eyes.

The blacksmith grinned and stepped forward his hand extended.

“Hezekiah.” the smith said, “Blessings.”

“Blessings to you.” Hezekiah returned, clasping the smith’s hand.“I hear replacements are the order of the day”. He looked around the inside of the forge. “So this is what you built on your new estate... the king grants you land and a spacious estate and yet, you live here.”

The smith stepped back to his workbench.

“It is warmer in here.” he said, smiling. “I can also find the way to my room.”

Hezekiah chuckled at his friend’s remark and sat down by the table, on a large stool.

“The cottage is barley half a mile from this place, why not stay there?” Hezekiah continued. “It is small enough to locate one’s bearings.” Joseph pulled on the bellows until the flames leaped again.

“It is too far away from town and my tasks.” he said.

Hezekiah nodded; he cast an appreciative eye over the dozens of swords hung evenly on the sooty wall. “I see you are nearly complete with the royal task.”

Joseph stuck the misshapen plank of metal back into the hot coals and wiped his brow with his worn sleeve.

“I am.” he said, taking a seat on the other side of the table; he took a long drink from a mug of water and leaned back against the wall in fatigue. He gestured to the wall of blades. “Perhaps there is one among those suited for you.”

Hezekiah stood and walked to the weapon wall; bending down he looked first at one, then another, before selecting one and testing the balance and grip before placing it back on it’s hook.

“I have news that may interest you.” he said, taking down another and repeating the process. “A deep stirring is coming about among the esteemed circles of the military aristocracy.” he said, squinting at the swords in the candlelight.

Joseph listened, suddenly feeling a little more awake.

“Stirring is highly overdue.” he said, leaning forward; he stared at his feet, resting his elbows on the tops of his knees. Chuckling, Hezekiah continued his search.

“That is not an opinion shared by the recipients of the subsequent waves, my friend.” he said, taking a long, shiny blade down and jabbing it outward at an imaginary foe. “I have heard that his most beloved self, General Octavian Hays is soon to retire.”

The name caused Joseph to look up sharply at Hezekiah.

“Retire?” the young man asked. Hezekiah smiled at the sword in his hand.

“Yes, well... that is what we are calling it.” he said, going back to his seat on the stool. He held up the new sword. “This one suits me well, Joseph.” he commented, watching the glints of light reflect from its shiny surface. “A superb weapon if I may say so.”

“Thank you.” Joseph said. “I thought you would favor that one.”

Looking closely at the hilt, Hezekiah saw his own name inscribed in the metal and smiled.

“The General...” Joseph continued. “Will he stay in Khilar?” Hezekiah took up a clean cloth from the tables top and began polishing his new sword.

“You have a vested interest in the soon-to-be-civilian Hays’ future location, I think.” he said, plaintively. Looking back at the floor, Joseph studied his boots.

“So far as the letters I have been sending to Elizabeth Hays this last year.”

“Ah yes....” Hezekiah said, his eyes twinkling. “I hope it ends well for you both. In the meanwhile, the good General and his family will be likely in need of housing.”

“How so?” Joseph asked, surprised. “He has a rich estate there at the Fort. I have seen it.” Hezekiah’s eyes took on a mischievous look.

“Due to the somewhat eccentric system of military government, the general of each fort is really a guest...” he explained, polishing the sword meditatively. “An estate is provided for him for the length of his tenure, but after the commander retires, he usually buys the estate from the King.” He paused a moment, sliding the new sword into one of the sheaths stacked nearby, and beginning the task of threading his leather belt through the slits. “The trouble with aristocracy is that it is expensive, especially for the wife of a General.” Hezekiah continued. He looked over at Joseph. “Whom, I believe you know...”

“We have met.” Joseph answered, darkly.

Reaching for a nearby pitcher, he poured a little ale into his mug and some for his guest as well.

“Much obliged.” Hezekiah said, taking the offered mug. “It is warm in here for a winter night.”

“The General’s coffers are insufficient?” Joseph asked, after a moment.

Hezekiah took a long drink from his mug and ran the liquid around in his mouth for a moment before swallowing.

“As empty as this cup.” he said, looking into his mug. “This ale is quite palatable.”

Joseph smiled and poured some more into Hezekiah’s mug.

“Yes” Hezekiah continued. “It is difficult being the wife of a General. All those balls to arrange, social gatherings and tea parties... dressmakers and jewelers coming to make yet another gown for yet another dinner, presents for diplomats, trips to fashionable cities...money buys position but it runs out eventually and never brings satisfaction.”

Hezekiah’s voice had suddenly taken on an edge, and he was staring into the forge’s flames, holding his mug out in front him.

“You seem to know them well.” Joseph said. Hezekiah cleared his throat and shook his head.

“I have not had that privilege.” he said. “Sadly, I speak from experience.”

Both men stared thoughtfully into the flames a moment.

“As for General Hays,” Hezekiah continued, “His family can work for their living or perhaps some kind landowner will have pity on them and offer them a place to stay.”

Joseph and Hezekiah sat a moment looking at the waning light of the forge flames.

A firm knock on the door roused Joseph from his thoughts.

“Friend or foe?” Hezekiah called out, good natured-ly.

“A little of both!” a gruff voice answered. Joseph stood, the corner of his mouth upturned.

“If so then let him in.” Joseph replied, opening the door. Two cloaked men stepped through the narrow door, one quite taller than the other.

“Blessings.” Joseph greeted, nodding his head once.

“Blessings to you as well, Lord Asher.” said the tall, gray-eyed man.

The shorter man smelled of sea air and tobacco.

“Good to see you lad.” he said, shaking off his hood. “And, I see you are in good company tonight.” he continued, nodding at Hezekiah.

“Tyrus. Dunner.” Hezekiah said, standing. “Come a long way to fetch a sword.”

While Hezekiah spoke, Joseph walked to the wall of blades and selected a long, slowly tapered weapon with an ornate handle; he presented it to Tyrus.

“A fine sword, Lord Asher.” Tyrus said, looking over the blade appreciatively before quickly sliding it in it’s sheath. Dunner glanced at the wall of weapons and appeared to not find what he was looking for.

“Did you find the dimensions I gave you difficult?” he asked, looking at Joseph.

Smiling, Joseph walked to a trunk and withdrew a wide, curved sheath with a sword already inside; he gave it to the delighted sea captain.

“Ah!” Dunner said, sliding the thin, wide blade from the sheath in a smooth movement; it shone brightly and curved like a half-moon. “I saw one in the easterly lands a long time ago; many thanks, lad. Bad luck for the barbarian who comes near me with this!”

“I recommend you try this ale, Brother Dunner.” Hezekiah said, sitting back down by the table. “It has a refreshing quality for the weary traveler.”

The short man grinned and sat down as well, accepting a mug of ale.

“Many thanks.” Dunner said, after taking a deep drought. “Even by the coast it seems a mite dry to the throat.”

Tyrus sat by the other side of the table and looked around the forge.

“You have made this a hospitable workplace.” he said. “What of the castle at Stone Mountain? I hear it has a cottage that would be better living quarters than this.”

“I hear that castle has holes in the roof the size of my mother, God rest her soul.” Dunner said, reaching for the pitcher of ale. “It needs repairs, so the villagers say.”

Joseph walked over to his fires and stoked them up, filling the room with a brighter light; he looked over his workbench at Tyrus.

“I doubt that a drafty castle has brought you two days from the Capital.” he said, evenly. “What have you to tell me?”

“Two days ago,” Tyrus began, his face set, “We received word that two men have simultaneously died.” Tyrus sat still and straight as he spoke, the others demeanor grew serious as they listened. “The Archbishop of the Westerly province, a Bishop Haren, was apparently awaken by a viper latching onto his arm. The other unfortunate is one you may be acquainted with, Marshall Redson, commander of the eastern armies.”

Hezekiah started but Tyrus continued. “He was riding towards his station at Fort Fehale from winter ball when he...fell from his horse and died, according to the report.”

“I knew Redson.” Hezekiah said, stroking his beard with one hand. “An excellent horseman, one of the best.” Nodding, Tyrus folded his hands on the table in front of him. “Resdon, though not a Shamar was loyal to the King.” he continued. “He recently was aiding the Fehale Monastery in investigating the large amount of reported disappearances in that area.”

“Disappearing horses no doubt.” Dunner said, clearing his throat. “ A lot of thieves around Fehale.”

“Peasants, Dunner.” Tyrus said, seriously. “Wives of farmers reporting their husbands missing after going to town, vagabonds and traveling tinkers.”

“Perhaps the good Marshall found something sinister in his province.” Hezekiah wondered aloud.

“We have yet to hear from the Brothers at Fehale Monastery on the matter.” Tyrus replied.

“Who succeeds the Marshall and the Bishop?” Joseph asked, stepping closer.

Tyrus looked as if he appreciated the question.

“That is what is interesting about this situation, Joseph.” he said, his eyes narrowing. “We have no idea how they arrive at selecting a new archbishop, but what information we have lead us to think the new candidate is a Bishop from a nearby province. The four provinces have Bishops Dohkir, Sytel, Rubar and Ithykor to choose from.”

“This Rubar, I have heard of him.” Hezekiah said, leaning forward. “He was trained as a monk and became a priest out of a desire to counsel senators. He seemed an honest man.”

“Show me an honest priest and I’ll show you a monk!” Dunner said, with conviction.

“We know of Ithykor.” Tyrus said, looking at Joseph. “But Sytel has kept deep in his cathedral for many years.” Joseph sat down by the table with the others.

“We were aquainted.” he said, after a moments pause, “At Rabak, when I stabled my horses after the voyage from the Northern Isle.” Hezekiah looked at Dunner then back at Joseph.

“Out in the open?” Hezekiah said, with interest. “Was it day? Did he burst into flames when the sun hit him?”

“No, no, my friend.” Dunner interjected. “He’s the type to chill a man’s heart with one look. The flame-bursting ones were killed off long ago. Pity, too, it was quite a sight to see.”

“He wanted the documents that Ithykor carried.” Joseph stated, ignoring the jesting. “He offered me more gold than I had ever seen.”

“Ah!” Dunner said, slapping his knee and grinning. “That was you who split the bag of coins? Ha! One of the priest guards was in a tavern in Rabak after we’d left you, drinking himself to death and talking of a huge soldier who’d sliced a bag as neat as you please when someone hurled it at him. Said the coins went every which way, and were gathered up by stablehands.”

“Stable hands who now have rich hands, I’d say.” Hezekiah put in.

Looking steadily at the table, Tyrus cleared his throat.

“As for Marshall Redson,” he said, calmly, “He chose to succeed him General Inermis; he will step up into the place of Marshal over the eastern Armies, thanks to his fine commanding at the Battle of Munitio.” At his words, Joseph’s face set as if stone.

“Inermis.” he said, as if to himself.

“Ah, yes.” Dunner said, puffing on his pipe. “A man of many talents. He had such faith in his army that he left his horse in charge and was halfway home by the time victory was won.”

“My memory is foggy,” Hezekiah said, as he re-filled Dunner’s mug with ale. “Did we ever give that horse a medal? Some oats at least?” Tyrus spoke up.

“Our task, good men of the King,” he said, coolly, “Is to find who succeeds the Archbishop, and to discern why Inermis gained such a coveted position.”

A few moments of silence reigned.

“What you should do,” Dunner said, tapping the embers from his pipe. “Is to throw one of them balls; get a bunch of people together and have them eat and drink until they talk too much.” Hezekiah seemed to like the suggestion.

“If you could get a few senator’s to show up, just about every general or priest in the kingdom would come.” he said, rubbing his beard thoughtfully.

“The Spring festivals in the King’s Province will begin in less than two months.”, Tyrus informed them. “A ball given between Lowe Province and the Westerly region would best suit our purposes, insuring Inermis’ attendance as well as the priests in question.”

Joseph listened in silence until he felt the other three looking at him. Standing, he cleared his throat and walked back and forth by the fires.

“Have it here, then.” he said, looking narrowly at Tyrus. The tall man’s eyes’ were crinkled at the corners with mirth. “You were planning on that the whole time.”, Joseph continued. Grinning, he looked at Tyrus then Hezekiah. “It would take an army to repair the castle in time, a score of servants to keep it, stores and furniture... I have none of these things.”

“An army you say?” Hezekiah said, his eyes twinkling. “It happens some of my men are on leave in the King’s city. Some hard work would do them good.”

“I have built ships, lad.” Dunner said, not wanting to be left out. “A roof is just an upside down hull. My ship’s crew is yours; give them some ale and good meat and they’ll be helpful enough.”

“All you need will be provided, Lord Asher.” Tyrus said, taking a mug of ale.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three weeks passed. A merchant cart piled high with chairs made it’s way east from the town of Dorenvines on a little-used road near the coastal cliffs, far into the land of the Lord of Stone Mountain. The mountain itself loomed into the sky above the cliffs like a seated giant wearing a thick coat of pine trees, looking out over the sapphire waters of the Great bay; behind the mountain lay a small lush valley, spreading out until hemmed in by inland hills.

As the road descended into the valley, the merchant cart encountered a gang of workmen, smoothing the surface of the road in the chilly morning air; behind the gang an old, grim-faced stone cutter directed his apprentices in the laying down of large, grey paving stones. The new paving stretched in front of the cart all the way through the valley until it was cut from sight by a foothill of the huge mountain. The horses hooves made a steady clip-clop on the rock and the merchant admired the neat, precise fitting of the stones as he rode over them.

The road turned to the right, heading towards the mountain; Stone Mountain seemed to rise higher as the cart drew nearer. The road rose with the land and thick trees spilled down from the sides of the mountain, enveloping the road with shadows. After climbing more than a half hour, the trees thinned and stopped as a splendid vineyard took over the slopes. The vines were wrapped against the cold and well-kept; they rose in many tiers along the steepening road. As the crest of the hill approached, the tops of two towers came into view against the top of the mountain.

The castle’s towers soared into the sky like huge, gray sentinels, a bright blue pennant flowing in the wind from each tower’s topmost pole. Between the main towers spanned a thick wall over 60 feet in height with a large, riveted gate. Outside the gate, a few young men were trimming overgrown bushes and trees on either side of the newly paved road, leading to the gate.

The road leveled off at the drive and the cart drove up to and stopped at the main gate. Stepping down from his cart, the merchant looked up at the large, wooden edifice; a smaller door hidden in the gate swung open and a wiry man with a graying beard stuck his head through.

“Chairs! Good.” the man in the door called out, looking pleased. “Lord Asher has been standing for meals since yesterday. We’ll open the gate, just drive on through.”

The merchant heard grinding as he got back up into his cart and directed his horse through the slowly opening gate.

Inside, the road formed a small circle in the spacious courtyard, around a white marble fountain. The merchant was interested to see two men standing in the fountain, one holding a short pole, the other swinging a heavy mallet onto the top of the pole. Hammering could be heard echoing throughout the courtyard as several men worked on the roof, some letting down baskets of broken tile to workers on the ground. Several other carts were stopped in the courtyard, one piled high with rugs, a tinker with hundreds of pots, fixtures and utensils, six men struggling to unload a long table from another wagon and the local wine merchant rolling a large barrel up the wide front stairs. The main building rose up only three stories; the edifice was the simple, gray stone of the mountain studded with many windows, all open; it looked small compared to some of the other estates around Dorenvines.

Wedging his cart in where he could, the carpenter untied a large chair and worked it out from the others to the ground. The man from the front gate walked quickly up to the newcomer.

“You can take those right into the main doors.” he said, nodding at the chairs. “For now put them along the ballroom wall, out of the way. I am Forester Reeves, the steward of Stone Mountain.”

“I have the other half coming tonight, steward.” the merchant told him, hoisting the chair onto his shoulders. “I’ve only the one cart.”

Reeves nodded, directed a young man nearby to help the merchant bring in the load.

The front doors were thrown open and the breeze blew in with the carpenter carrying the chair. The dark atrium was lit with many lamps and filled with stacks of wooden crates and rolled rugs; noise emanated from a pair of large, arched doors ahead and Reeves led the way to them. The large ball-room was impressive in it’s rounded shape and large dimensions, but the high ceiling made the carpenter stop and admire; the ceiling was covered with white stone and wide, ornate candelabras hung down from it like fruit from an apple tree; one of these was on the floor, being polished and replenished with candles, another being lifted into place by three men with pulleys and ropes.

Two immense, stone pillars extended down from the ceiling to the polished, marble floor. Light poured into the room from the back wall, the one closest to the Great Bay; large windows of wrought iron and glass made up the larger portion of the wall, interspersed with stone pillars. Walking to the nearest wall, the carpenter swung the chair carefully off his back, setting it down by the wall. He paused a moment before going back for the other chairs, looking at the vast room with wonder.

“It is quite a sight.” a voice said, nearby.

The carpenter turned and saw a strong-looking man in his late twenties standing ten feet away; the man’s clothes were worn and heavily stained with soot. The man saw the carpenter look at his attire and grinned. “I am Joseph, the new smith at the forge in Dorenvines.” he explained. The carpenter smiled back.

“I thought maybe that, or a chimney sweep.” he said. “ I heard there was a new smith that can actually shoe a horse. The last one was part sailor, part smith but for the most part drunk.” Joseph looked down at he new chair by the wall; he bent down and studied the ornate vines cut into it’s legs for a moment.

“This is fine work.” he said, appreciatively. Reeves strode up to the two as Joseph was standing back up; balking the Steward’s face changed as he beheld the smith.

“Sir...” he sputtered; Joseph made a quick sign with his hand that the carpenter could not see and shook his head. “Ah... sir you are welcome to... please feel free...to look at... the terrace.... outside.” Reeves blurted out, addressing the carpenter.

Surprised, the carpenter looked down towards the wall of windows.

“The terrace has a good view.” Joseph said, beginning to walk. “I’ll show you the way.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” the carpenter said. “My grandfather was once in here, during the old king’s reign.” Reeves let out a relieved breath and went back to the atrium as Joseph and the carpenter walked through the ballroom.

“My grandfather made the furnishings for the old king.” the carpenter went on. “I was told this was a summer refuge; diplomats, senators even the king stayed here.”

“Really?” Joseph asked, his head to one side. “This has to be the smallest castle in the region, but I have never seen more lovely land.”

“It’s one of the largest single estates in the whole province.” the carpenter said, looking up at the ceiling as he walked. “The rumors around town say the estate was purchased from the King by this Lord. He must have offered a fortune for it. There’s been quite a few lords, knights and dukes wanting to buy it over the years.” the carpenter said.

As they approached the huge windows, the carpenter could see a host of servants washing and polishing the hundreds of panes of glass in the wondrous wall. The windows cleverly hid three sets of hinged doors made up of glass and iron as well; they opened onto a wide, oval shaped terrace that was home to dozens of potted plants, all dormant and bare of foliage. Stepping through the glass door, the carpenter saw the Great Bay spreading out from one horizon to the other. He stood admiring the scene a long time.

Joseph did not join the carpenter outside; he saw Hezekiah looking for him at the atrium door, back across the ballroom.

“I will be an excellent walker by the time this ball comes.” Joseph said, coming up to Hezekiah a few minutes later. “That room has to be the size of the hall of illumination.”

Holding a large stack of fine, gilt-edged envelopes, Hezekiah smiled as Joseph sat down on a nearby chest.

“The invitations are ready to be sent.” he said, sobering. “How go the structural preparations?” Taking a deep breath, Joseph looked around a the scurrying workers.

“These men have worked hard.” he said. “Repairs will be complete in a week. Have you seen Dunner as of late?”

“He is down in the cellars, leading the sewer drain clean-out.” Hezekiah reported. “I must get these to the couriers.” Joseph looked up at Hezekiah and reached into a leather pouch hanging from his belt, bringing out an envelope like the others.

“Send this with the others.” he said, calmly. Taking out his spectacles, Hezekiah affixed them firmly to his nose and took the envelope from Joseph; reading the name on it, Hezekiah looked over the top of his glasses at Joseph, a wide smile on his face.