In Service Of The King (Book 2) (2 page)

“Before you begin hunting down barbarians to try it out on--Captain Dunner--I recommend you try this ale,” Hezekiah said, sitting back down on his barrel. “It has a refreshing quality for the weary traveler.” The shorter man sheath the sword with a grin and sat down as well, accepting a mug of ale.

“Many thanks,” Dunner said, after taking a deep drought. “Even by the coast,the air seems a mite dry to the throat this time of year. By the by, it isn’t ‘captain’ anymore; the boy here wasn’t the only one favored by the King.”

“Ah! We are in the presence of an Admiral are we?” Hezekiah said, his grin broadening. “We must toast to your new office.” Hezekiah stood up and raised his mug of ale. “May the Southern breezes cease to tip o’er your fine vessels... and may the barnacles of good fortune attach themselves to your hull...”

At this, Dunner let out an amused snort.

“Then we’ve double the reason to swill the ale, brother,” he returned, moving to stand. “To the newly-appointed Marshal Walters... commander over all of the Southern Armies! May your men someday adhere to the standards I demand of mine...” Standing by his workbench, Joseph shook his head and smiled at the antics of his comrades.

After removing his gray traveling cloak, Tyrus sat down by the other side of the table; he looked around the forge in silence for a few moments.

“You have made this a hospitable workplace,” he said, finally. “Neatly kept and swept... but, what of your castle at Stone Mountain? Even if you preferred to sleep elsewhere, I hear your estate has a cottage.. better living quarters for a lord, than this place.”

“And I hear that castle of his has holes in the roof the size of my mother, God rest her soul,” Dunner put in, reaching for the pitcher of ale once more. “It needs repairs, or so the villagers say. Must not be just idle gossip, seeing Lord Asher is relegated to bedding down in a smithy.”

At this, Joseph walked over to the fires and stoked them up, filling the room with brighter light. As he wiped his hands on a rag, the young lord looked over his workbench at Tyrus; the captain of the Shamar regarded him keenly.

“I doubt that mere concern over my drafty castle or my sleeping habits have brought you two days from the Capital,” Joseph stated, evenly. “What news?”

“Two days ago...” Tyrus began, “We received word that two important men have simultaneously died.” The gray-eyed man sat still and straight as he spoke, his face set in a calm expression. 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 looked surprised at hearing the marshal’s name mentioned but Tyrus continued. “He was riding towards his station at Fort Fehale from a winter ball when he...fell from his horse and died, according to the report.”

“That is unfortunate news, but strange,” Hezekiah said, stroking his beard with one hand. “I knew Redson; an excellent horseman... one of the best. In his prime, as well; he was just a year older than I.”

Nodding, Tyrus folded his hands on the table in front of him.

“These are strange tiding indeed,” he continued, “Redson, though not a Shamar, was loyal to the King. Recently he was aiding our men at the Fehale Monastery in investigating a large number of reported disappearances in that area.”

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

“Peasants, Dunner,” Tyrus corrected. “For months wives of farmers have reported their husbands missing after going to town. Among the missing are also vagabonds, laborers, tinkers and even traveling performers.”

“The good marshall must have stumbled across something sinister in his province,” Hezekiah mused aloud.

“We have yet to hear from the brothers at Fehale Monastery on the matter,” Tyrus replied. “When they send word, we must be ready to act upon their findings.”

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

Tyrus looked as if he appreciated the question.

“An interesting query, Lord Asher,” he said,narrowign his eyes a little. “To which I have no firm reply. We have only some small idea of how the priestly sect arrives at selecting a new archbishop. What information we have has led us to think the new candidate is a bishop from a nearby province. The four candidates are Bishops Dohkir, Sytel, Rubar and Ithykor.”

“Rubar... I have met him,” Hezekiah said, leaning forward. “A trustworthy man; one of the few. He was trained as a monk and became a priest out of a desire to counsel senators.”

“Show me a trustworthy priest and I’ll show you a monk!” Dunner said, with conviction. “Rubar is more monk than priest.”

“We know much of Ithykor,” Tyrus said, glancing at Joseph. “But Sytel has kept deep in his cathedral for many years; there are only a few who actually catch sight of him these days, let alone speak with him; of all the bishops he commands the largest number of servants and guards.”

Pulling up a stool, Joseph sat down at the table with the others.

“I have me Sytel, briefly,” he said, after a moment’s pause, “At Rabak City, when I stabled my horses after the voyage from the Northern Isle.” Hezekiah looked at Dunner then back at Joseph.

“He came out into the open?” Hezekiah asked, 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 combusting ones were killed off long ago. Pity, too... ‘twas quite a sight to see.”

“He wanted the documents we took from Ithykor,” Joseph stated, ignoring the jests. “He offered me more gold than I had ever seen, though he did not received the answer from me that he expected...”

“Ah!” Dunner said, slapping his knee and grinning. “So, it 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 stable hands.”

“Stable hands who now have rich hands, I’d say,” Hezekiah said, more to himself than anyone.

Looking steadily at the table, Tyrus cleared his throat.

“As for Marshall Redson,” he said, calmly, “He chose his successor to be 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 these words, Joseph’s face set as if stone.

“Inermis,” he repeated, darkly.

“Ah, yes...” Dunner said, puffing on his pipe. “A man of many talents, Inermis. He had such faith in his army that he left his horse in charge of the battle 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. Where does his allegiance lie?”

A few moments of silence reigned.

“What you should do,” Dunner said, tapping the embers from his pipe, “Is to throw one of them big to-dos... a ball. Get a bunch of rich 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. “High society has always been fond of mixing politics and wine.”

“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 began pacing in front of the fires.

“Have it here, then,” he said, looking narrowly at Tyrus. The tall man’s eyes’ appeared crinkled at the corners with mirth. “It is clear you were planning on doing so this entire time,” Joseph continued. Tyrus smiled his agreement.

Grinning, the smith looked from Tyrus to 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 returned, his eyes twinkling. “It just so happens that some of my men are on leave in the King’s city. Some hard work would certainly do them no harm...”

“I have built ships, lad,” Dunner said, not wanting to be left out. “A roof is just an upside-down hull, after all, barnacles notwithstanding. 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, at last taking a mug of ale.

TWO

A LONE merchant cart--piled high with chairs--made its way east from the town of Dorenvines Rattling over the potholes, the cart traversed a little-used road near the coastal cliffs, leading into the estate of Stone Mountain. Its namesake peak loomed into the sky above the cliffs--like a seated, brooding giant. Wearing a thick coat of pine trees the mountain seemed to ever watch the sapphire waters of the Great Bay. Behind Stone Mountain sat a lush valley--criss-crossed by farms; it spread out until it touched the low, inland hills several miles away.

Descending into the valley, the cart encountered a gang of workmen. Two stone masons--and their apprentices--smoothed the surface of the road in the chilly morning air. Behind the gang an old, grim-faced master mason directed his own apprentices in the laying down of large, gray 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 wagon climbed the incline, the tops of two towers came into view against the top of the mountain. The castle towers soared into the sky like huge, gray sentinels; a bright blue pennant flowed in the wind from each tower’s topmost pole. Between the towers spanned a thick wall over sixty feet in height, sporting a large, riveted gate. Outside the gate, a few uniformed young men could be seen busily trimming overgrown bushes and trees that lined the road.

The climb leveled off before the gate. Slowing his horses, the merchant stopped his cart. Stepping down from his cart, the merchant looked up at the large, wooden edifice.

“Hullo!” he called out. “Turner from Dorenvines... delivering chairs!”

After a moment a smaller door--hidden in the gate--swung open and a wiry man with a graying beard stuck his head through.

“Chairs! Excellent,” the man in the door called out. Releif colored his voice. “Lord Asher has been standing for meals since yesterday.”

“Varnish just dried ’fore I loaded ‘em,” the merchant said. “Haven’t had such a rush order for ages.”

“And you’ll be paid handsomly,” the man told him. “We’ll open the gate for you; drive on through.” As he got back upinto his cart, the merchant heard the grinding of metal. The gates shifted and then began slowly drawing back, towards the castle. Slapping the reins on the horses backs, the merchant directed his cart through the gate.

Inside, the road formed a small circle--in a spacious courtyard--around a white, marble fountain. As he drove by the merchant beheld two men, standing in the fountain; one held a short pole; the other swung a heavy mallet onto the top of the pole. More hammering could be heard--echoing throughout the courtyard--from several men working on the roof. Some let down baskets of broken tile to workers on the ground, while others brought up stacksof newly-fired roof tiles to lay down.

Other merchants’ carts were repsent, parked to one side of the courtyard. One cart sat, piled high with rugs; another belonged to the tinker, filled iwth hundreds of new, shining pots, fixtures and utensils. Six men struggled to unload a long table from another wagon.The chair turner recognized the local wine dealer, rolling a large barrel up the manor’s wide front stairs with his son.

The manor house rose up three stories, its edifice was studded with many windows, all open. Compared to some of the vast estates around Dorenvines, the manor seemed small and out-dated to the newcomer. Only last month he’d delivered a hand-carved footstool to the Perrington Estate, with a house so large hegot lost in it. He’d not been paid, yet for that stool. Grimacing, the turner glanced back at the load of chairs, hoping this new lord would pay his bills quickly.

Wedging his cart in where he could, the turner untied the top-most chair and carefully worked it out from its fellows. The older man--from the front gate--walked quickly toward his cart.

“You can take those though 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 Reeves,” the merchant told him, hoisting the chair onto his shoulders. “I’ve only the one cart.”Reeves nodded at his words; singalling a young man from by the fountain, he directed the youth to help the merchant bring in the load.

At the stop of the steps, the manor doors stood wide open. The breeze blew in past the carpenter as he stepped over the threshold. Inside, glass-encased lamps--nouted to the walls--shed light throughout the large atrium. Stacks of wooden crates of provisions leaned against the stone walls, along with rolled rugs and baskets of produce. Ahead, the sounds of work and voices emanated from a pair of large, arched doors on the otehr side of the room. Reeves led the way to them, into the ballroom beyond.