In Service Of The King (Book 2) (4 page)

Elizabeth sighed, resting her fingertips on the blank page. Writing to him helped ease her worries and loneliness, their present position notwithstanding. Lifting the glass stopper from a bottle of ink, she dipped her sharpened pen, wiped it carefully on the blotter, and began to write. Outside her window, the noises of merchants’ horses, shouts and calls continued on without ceasing until the sun dipped low on the horizon.

THE FIRST day of spring dawned upon a carriage traversing the road to Dorenvines. Several hired carts followed after the fine carriage, each piled high with crates and trunks.

On the outskirts of town, the cavalcade left the main highway and traveled slowly down the town’s main road. Fresh air blew inland through the town, greeting the newcomers with the scents of fresh-baked bread and the clean waters of The Great Bay. Pleased with the charming appearance of the town, Elizabeth took heart in the neat streets and flowering gardens of the townspeople.

The small procession stopped at the Dorenvines market. General Hays directed Harold to buy some bread and other food supplies. As they continued on their journey, the carriages passed a large smithy, just outside of the town. Past the blacksmithing building, a newly-paved avenue diverged from the main street and disappeared over a small rise. The carriages followed the avenue and as they neared the top of the rise a large, gray stone arch rose into view. Emblazoned at its top sat the crest of Stone Mountain Estate, intricately carved in the rock and leafed over in gold.

As they rode under the arch, Elizabeth’s mother took trouble to observe the avenue below them.

“This has been done recently,” she commented. “A costly enterprise, to be sure.”

“I believe you my dear,” the general returned. “Concerning costly enterprises, you have knowledge unrivaled.” He did not look at her as he spoke, but kept his gaze riveted on the scenery. Darting a narow look at her husband, Mrs. Hays sat back, saying nothing more. The Hays procession drove through green-rimmed fields, well-laid out with furrows.

Farmers and workers dotted the smooth black earth, driving teams of plow horses; each pair made a fresh trench in the soil; the spring planting would soon begin. The carriage driver departed the main avenue on a small graveled drive, heading towards the direction of The Bay. Eventually, the party came in sight of the vast body of water, which spread out blue and shining in the sun; cliffs rose from the shoreline, bordering a lush mesa of flowing grasses and wild-flowers. The cottage sat prettily situated near the edge of the mesa with unimpeded views of the water. Two ancient trees stood nearby, shading the cottage roof; a small stable could be seen standing a short distance from the house.

The general emerged grom the carriage, a look of pleasant surprsie on is features.

“This is not what I expected,” he observed, stepping down onto the gravel drive. “Quite a spacious dwelling for a steward...”

“Oh, father... the water,” Elizabeth said, happily. “I have always wanted to live by the Bay, ever since I first saw it.” Bheind her, Mrs. Hays disembarked from the carriage. Drawing near to the house, she judiciously inspected the entrance stairs and its varnished veranda-railing.

“If this is but the home the estate steward, then the castle must be very fine indeed,” said she.

The front door of the cottage opened, compelling their attention. A gray-haired man in a crisp, deep-blue linen uniform stepped out and slowly descended the short stair towards them.

“Welcome,” the man announced, nodding deeply at the visitors. “I am Steward Reeves, appointed thirty years ago--by the Royal Steward himself--when this estate was established, now owned by the Lord of Stone Mountain. His lordship sends his greetings and hopes you will be most comfortable here.”

“Pray send his Lordship our gratitude,” Hays returned, nodding at the man politely. Elizabeth curtsied to the steward and followed her mother into the cottage.

“It will be done,” Reeves answered. “Your main task, as Chief Steward, is to care for the land surrounding the castle, to oversee the score of guardians that patrol for poachers and vagrants, as well as the score and five farmers and families that work the orchards, fields and the vineyards.”

He handed the general a tightly rolled parchment, bound with fine cord.

“Here is the list of the guardians and farmers, last season’s crop yield, the spring crops to be planted, as well as all the peasant wares which are sold at the market in Dorenvines and those sent to the Capital City markets each week. The steward you brought with you--Harold I believe is his name--is to come with me; he will be named steward of the castle, overseer of the manor guard and castle servants.”

“I see you run the estate well, Steward Reeves,” the general remarked. “I am pleased to oversee the servants of such a generous landlord.”

Reeves seemed happy with the general’s statement.

“His Lordship is a fair and good master,” the castle steward replied, walking slowly towards the stable building. “The tasks, which once overly-wearied me, have been distributed to more workers; his servants’ pay is the envy of any in the province. There is one maid and serving man at the cottage to care for the house; his Lordship has sent a few of his servants to aid your house in unloading your belongings. Your horses will be comfortable here, I trust. Harold, I have brought a horse for you.”

“Thank you, sir,” Harold said, going to the stall.

“Please send word through your manservant, if you have need of anything,” Reeves continued, addressing Hays again, “... or, if you wish to speak to his Lordship. The estate guardians will come here to give report to you.” Reeves led his horse from one of the stalls and mounted. “Good day, Steward Hays,” he said, nodding a farewell.

“Good day,” Hays said, holding the parchment. Harold led another horse out into the yard and mounted, following Steward Reeves.

Hays watched the men ride away before turning to the cottage entrance. Already several young men in the deep blue uniforms were unloading the trunks and furniture from the carts and bringing them into the cottage. A warm wind from the bay whistled pleasantly in the trees overhead as Steward Hays walked up the stone stairs of his new home.

The iron-studded gates of the Stone Mountain castle wall stood closed; two young men came forth and took Reeves’ horse and Harold’s as they dismounted. Reeves led Harold through the small passage door in the gate; as Harold stepped through, he saw a familiar figure standing close to one side of the doorway, as if expecting visitors.

“Why, young Joseph!” Harold said, pleased. “It is good to see you are well...”

Reeves cleared his throat, interrupting Harold’s greeting.

“Lord Asher, I have brought the new Castle Steward to you as requested,” the steward reported.

“The Hays family is situated?” Joseph asked, smiling at Harold’s astounded expression.

“They are,” Reeves replied, gravely. “Steward Hays sends his gratitude; he says he is pleased to oversee the ground guardians and land keepers. I believe he found the situation most favorable.”

“Good,” Joseph said, nodding once. “I’ll send Harold to you presently for instruction.” Reeves bowed slightly and made his way down the circular drive towards the front entrance door.

Joseph turned to Harold, holding out one hand in friendly gesture.

“Did the journey go smoothly?” he asked, soberly. Recovering himself, Harold clasped Joseph’s hand briefly and let it go, nodding.

“Yes... sir,” he said, looking hard at Joseph’s genial expression. “Quite well.” The Lord of Stone Mountain folded his arms on his chest and began strolling towards the fountain in the middle of the courtyard; Harold walked beside him.

“The general and his wife are well?” Joseph continued.

“Yes. They are very happy with the accommodations,” Harold replied. “I think that the general... ah... Steward Hays, will be adept at the work he has been given.” Joseph smiled to himself as he stopped at the fountain’s edge; clear water bubbled up through the white marble statue in its center and small, golden fish swam playfully in it.

“And... Elizabeth?” Joseph said, looking at Harold.

“She was delighted at the house, sir... the water especially pleased her.” Harold studied Joseph’s face, not bpothering to hide his puzzlement.

“The King showed grace to me; he granted me title and these lands,” Joseph explained, after a moment’s pause. “I am certain you have many questions; Reeves knows all my affairs and will answer accordingly. As you may have guessed, no one knows the Lord of Stone Mountain is a lowborn blacksmith.”

He looked at Harold. The older man stared into the fountain, thinking. “It is my wish to keep it so,” Joseph fininshed.

“I understand, sir,” Harold returned, meeting the young man’s gaze. “Steward Hays, his wife and Elizabeth do not know. That, I can say for certain.” Joseph nodded, pleased by the information.

“Good,” he said. “Welcome to my home.”

“I thank you... my lord.”

With a nod, Joseph started to walk towards the manor. He halted,however, and turned back,

“Do you... are there any letters for me?” he asked, unconsciously holding out one hand. Harold held in a smile; the young lord’s voice had taken on a hint of eagerness, his characterstic seriousness momentarily gone. Reaching into a leathern pouch, he handed Joseph a thick bundle of letters. The sight of them caused Joseph’s shoulders to visibly relax.

“I needed a good steward to look after my castle,” he told Harold. “I cannot think of a man more able and loyal than you for the position. Reeves has kept the lands well for a long time, but he desires to retire with his family to the King’s City. I felt it was only fair to grant him his request.”

As he spoke, Joseph walked around the fountain, towards the manor house. Harold kept alongside, listening, awed by the news of the last few minutes. Reeves could be seen hovering by the manor doors; he seemed anxious to begin training his successor. At the base of the stair, Joseph turned to Harold.

“Listen to Reeves,” he advised. “He has served here nearly all his life; he will be of invaluable to you--as well as you and Steward Hays--for the next few months.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Reeves said, bowing his head respectfully.

“There is much to be done,” Joseph continued. “We have completed repairs on the castle and manor.. however, the final preparations for the upcoming ball will need constant oversight. The king’s cousin, the Duke, has accepted my invitation.”

At this, both servants stood a little straighter.

“I will not dissapoint you, my lord,” Harold assured him. Joseph clapped the man on the shoulder and nodded to Reeves before turning away. He walked towards the stables, his bundle of letters firmly in hand.

THAT EVENING-- as stars shone brightly above the forge outside Dorenvines--a light burned steadily in the room above the smithy.

A salty sea breeze blew into the open window, causing the candles to flicker. Joseph sat, reading Elizabeth’s letters in the wavering light. A small smile played around his mouth as he set down one and opened another. he detected a faint scent in its pages, like dried summer flowers. Finally, he closed the last of the missives and let out a small breaht of relief. The general’s serene daughter had not forgotten him.

“Each night,” she wrote, “the necklance you gave me emits its tiny glow, the light of which only strengthens the darker the hour becomes. I don’t know why, exactly, but that small fact brings me comfort.”

Standing from his desk, Joseph began a slow pace around the room, his good mood fast draining away. With a short sigh, Joseph took in hand quill and ink. Smoothing out a uneven scrap of plain parchment, he began to write.

Swift knocks upon the forge door interrupted the pleasant task. Tossing the quill down Joseph clumped downstairs. The rapping on his forge door continued. His hand on his daggerhilt, Joseph blew out the sole lantern in his shop and peered out the window. Outside his door familair cloaked figure stood tall against the gathering twilight, holding a horses’ bridle. Opening the forge door, Joseph stepped forward, ready to greet the head of the Shamar.

Tyrus held up one hand.

“Our interests lie near Fehale City, Lord Asher,”the man said, firmly. “We have a two day ride... we must make haste.” Leaving the forge door open, Joseph buckled on his sword without a word. He filled his satchel with provisions with military swiftness. Handing the young lord his gray cloak, Tyrus followed him around to Belator’s stall, leading his own horse after.

Moments later, two horsemen rode away from the darkened forge--towards the highway... black sillouettes heading east against the dark blue sky.

FOUR

For two days the men rode East around the Great Bay and then inland, along Fehale Highway; finally, they stopped at the small town of Hoggen, just an hour outside the sprawling merchant city of Fehale. Stabling their horses at the town’s one inn, the two Shamar made their way to the public house’s entrance.

Outside the inn door, Tyrus paused and turned to Joseph.

“We will seek out the town magistrate, regarding a prisoner named Finch,” the head of the Shamar explained, in hushed tones; he glanced around as he spoke. No one stirred along the dark street; most citizens were in bed at this hour. “He is a peasant, recently incarcerated in the jail house,” Tyrus continued. “We know him to be present at the attack on Marshall Redsen, and we believe he has information about who gave the order to kill the Marshall.”

Joseph glanced up at the inn.

“I assume the magistrate frequents this place?” he murmured. Tyrus shook his head, slightly.

“No. But his son does. The magistrate is no friend of the king... that much we do know.” Turning, Tyrus opened the door of the Inn.

The dim interior of the main room boasted a few tables--with barrels for stools. A dozen men sat upon these, most near to the crackling fire. Some drank deep droughts from ale mugs; other spoke and laughed with their fellows. Joseph hung back in the shadows by the door as Tyrus approached the counter. The proprietor shot him a suspicious glare, but answered his greeting with a short nod. Tyrus slipped off his cloak and his knightly demeanor, slipping into the common brogue with a tired remark about the long roads and high tolls.