Servant of the Crown (4 page)

“That won’t be a problem anymore,” Erika said.

“What do you mean?”

She leaned forward, her face suddenly earnest. “Take me on as your student! I’ll pay you handsomely.”

“I can’t. I won’t.” Tamas bristled at the mention of money. His captain’s salary went toward a great many things, stretching him thin, but he was finally at a place in life he did not have to rely on anyone’s generosity. Nor would he.

“Please.” Erika reached out to touch his hand, and he stepped backward. “You said before, ‘with the right training.’ You meant as a powder mage, didn’t you?”

“No.” He could hear his tone, formal and gruff, and could see that it angered her. “I’m sorry, my lady, but I won’t do it. It would be a danger to you.”

“I don’t care.”

There it was. That noble arrogance again. “I do. It’ll also be a danger to myself. It would risk everything I’ve worked for. The royal cabal would like nothing better than an excuse …” Tamas trailed off. “I’ve said too much.”

Erika stepped forward, inside Tamas’s guard, her face twisted in a scowl. “Do you fear them?”

“Of course I do!”

“I know your reputation. I’m looking in your eyes, Captain Tamas. You are not the sort of man to fear anything. Nor do you care one bit for the life or reputation of a member of the nobility. You shouldn’t care what happens to me. You should relish a chance to train a new powder mage, to spit in the face of the Privileged cabal. So why don’t you?”

Tamas was saved from having to answer by the sound of hoof beats outside the walls of the courtyard. He glanced toward the gate, only to see a messenger in the colors of the king’s personal guard stride inside.

“Captain Tamas,” the woman barked.

“I am he.”

“You have a summons from the king.”

Tamas felt cold sweat on the back of his neck. He took a letter from the messenger and ran his finger over the royal seal. Opening it with his thumb, he read the contents.

“What is it?” Erika asked.

“I’ve been ordered back to Adopest. The king himself wants to see me in four days!”

Tamas rode his horse up the hill to Skyline Palace.

The immense home of the royal family and their cabal of Privileged sorcerers sat high above Adopest, its myriad of twinkling lanterns visible on this clear night even from the far side of the city. The building itself covered more ground than ten city blocks, while the grounds spread out over two thousand acres.

Tamas’s credentials and the royal summons were checked at the base of the hill, then once again at the top by the king’s royal guard. The carbine, which he kept in his saddle by habit, was confiscated along with his pistol but he was left his sword.

He continued up the gravel drive, marveling at the palace yard. Decorative walls crisscrossed the property, dividing the gardens and manicured lawns into a maze that would fool the best of memories. The splash of running fountains followed him constantly. At one point he stopped to wait while a pair of trainers led two tame cave lions across the drive.

By the time he reached the front gate of the palace it was after dark and the wind had picked up, blowing his greatcoat to one side, as frigid a breeze as any in the northern oceans.

He gave his horse over to a groom and noted that in his entire ride up the drive he had not once gone unobserved. The royal guard were everywhere in their somber gray uniforms and plumed bearskin hats.

Tamas was led through the mighty silver-plated doors of the palace and into the grand foyer, where he was asked to surrender his sword. Then he was led upstairs, down hallways with high, vaulted ceilings and crystal chandeliers, until he reached the personal quarters of the royal family.

Tamas’s disquiet grew. The late hour of his audience seemed strange. The king normally dealt with all of his business during the day. What could he possibly want from Tamas that couldn’t be dealt with in the throne room?

The servant leading Tamas stopped suddenly at a pair of double doors at the end of a hallway and pulled on a corded rope. Tamas thought he heard a distant gong. A moment later, the door was opened by a young woman.

One of the royal concubines, Tamas suspected, though she wore a modest servant’s dress. She gestured him inside, down a dark corridor, and then into a bedchamber as large as most houses.

Manhouch XI, better known to most as the Iron King, was not an imposing man. He sat beside a fire, hunched over in his chair, one finger held to his temple and his eyes downcast. He was of medium height with light brown hair and hard, slightly almond-shaped eyes. Thanks to cabal sorceries that kept his mind and body young, he hadn’t aged a day since Tamas had last seen him on a parade ground in Gurla eight years prior. His exact age was not public knowledge, but he was said to be in his seventies.

Tamas fell to one knee. “Your majesty.”

There was no answer. With his own eyes fixed to the floor, Tamas couldn’t tell if the Iron King was even looking at him. He stayed that way for at least a minute before clearing his throat. “Your majesty,” he said again.

“I heard you the first time,” the king responded. If his body belonged to a younger man, his voice certainly did not. It was guttural from years of pipe smoking and carried the weariness of time, along with the tone of inconvenienced peevishness that only old men could master.

Tamas swallowed hard, daring not to look up.

“You can stand,” the king said, sighing.

Tamas got to his feet and stood at attention. The Iron King, he could now see, was reading a book tucked into the furs on his lap. He flipped a page slowly, tilting his knee up slightly so as to see the page better.

“You summoned me, your majesty?” Tamas ventured.

“Very astute. Certainly earned the rank of captain there, didn’t you?” The king continued to read.

“I like to think so, your majesty.”

The silence stretched on for several minutes. Tamas kept his face forward but examined the king in the light of the flames. Was there something wrong with him? Was the monarch’s mind slipping in his old age?

“Your grace,” Tamas finally said, “May I ask why you’ve summoned me?”

The king turned another page, staring intently down the end of his nose. “Don’t get your belt in a knot, Captain. You’re only here because I need you to be present for a short time.”

“May I ask why, your majesty?”

The king finally looked up, drumming his fingers on his book. He peered at Tamas as if examining him for the first time. “So you’re the one who led the charge at Herone, eh?”

“I am, my lord.”

“You scaled a wall and slaughtered a gun crew on your own after every one of your unit had been killed. And they made you a second lieutenant for it.”

“Your majesty gave me the promotion yourself.”

The king sighed again, as if this were a great inconvenience. His eyes took on a faraway look. “That’s right. I remember now. Pit, I pin so many medals on young fools, they ought to give
me
a medal. You’re also a powder mage.”

It wasn’t a question, and Tamas did not answer it.

The king lifted a pocket watch from the table beside him. “You may stay here for another ten minutes and then leave. Nothing further is required of you.”

“Your majesty?”

“As I said, nothing further.” The tone brooked no argument.

Tamas stood and waited, counting in his head while the Iron King read. When he reached six hundred, he coughed politely into his hand.

“That’s right,” the king said without looking up. “You may go.”

“Your majesty?”

The king glanced up. His eyes narrowed at Tamas. “What is it?”

“If I may be so bold,” Tamas said, trying to speak quickly while maintaining a measured tone. “My lord, I’ve been falsely accused of cheating in a duel. It will prevent me from going on the next Gurlish campaign. If you could speak to the generals or to the magistrate on my behalf, I would be forever in your debt.”

The king harrumphed. “Yes. Yes you would. You think a king would speak on behalf of a commoner? I’ll give you credit for ambition, young man.”

“Your majesty?” Tamas’s heart fell.

“No, of course not. Get out.”

Tamas hurried from the king’s chambers, unwilling to push his luck any further, his heart hammering in his chest. Had he really been so rash as to ask the king of Adro for a favor? Outside, the servant waited to lead him back to the main foyer.

Tamas turned his mind from his faux pas and to the reason for his summons. The king had said nothing of import, barely even speaking to him. He had brought Tamas all the way up from Budwiel for what? Some kind of a whim? To see him stand and sweat?

Tamas had just buckled his sword back on in the foyer when he heard footsteps hurrying toward him across the marble floors. He turned, wondering if perhaps he’d been summoned back for the real reason of his visit.

The man that halted a dozen paces from Tamas was vaguely familiar. He had a barrel chest, wide shoulders, and a white mane of hair that flowed freely about the collar of his shirt. He could not have been less than fifty, and he stood with one hand planted threateningly on the hilt of his sword.

“Captain Tamas,” the man boomed.

“I am he.” Tamas responded warily. Everything about the man spoke of imminent violence. He glanced toward the royal guard stationed in the foyer, but they ignored him.

“Then you are a bloody fool,” the man said.

“I don’t know who you are, sir, but I would suggest you watch your damned mouth.” Tamas didn’t care that he was in the palace. He would not be insulted by a stranger.

The man drew himself up. “I am the Duke of Linz.”

Tamas reined in his budding anger. Captain Linz’s father. Of course he looked familiar. “I know your son.”

“You know him?” Duke Linz said, spittle foaming at the corners of his mouth. “Who the bloody pit do you think you are? I’ll not have some common upstart insult my son. You challenge him, and then you shoot his ear, as if you’re showing off!”

“If it were within my station, I would challenge you right now,” Tamas said quietly. His fingers inched toward his sword, wondering if anyone would defend him in a court of law if he was forced to defend himself here, now. Not that he’d win anyway. Duke Linz was well known to be a fine swordsman.

“It’s not within your station, nor was challenging my son.”

“He insulted me. We are both captains.”

“And you,” Duke Linz said, swaying forward angrily, “have no right to be an officer in his majesty’s army.”

“I earned it with blood!”

“And you’ll lose it with blood!” Duke Linz’s knuckles turned white on the hilt of his sword, and Tamas could sense him moments from drawing steel.

Tamas fingered his own hilt, wishing that he had powder at his disposal. The duke seemed ready to surge forward when a soft voice suddenly interjected itself.

“My good Duke of Linz.”

The duke went white. Tamas turned to find a Privileged standing nearby, hands tucked into the sleeves of her long dress with just a hint of white to show that she was wearing her gloves. It was the woman from the House of Nobles, the one who smelled of jasmine, and he even now got a whiff of her perfume.

“Privileged Dienne,” the duke said, ducking his head and taking a step back.

“Excuse us please, Duke Linz.”

“Of course, Privileged.” The duke gave another bow and hurried off.

Tamas eyed the woman suspiciously. He had seen Privileged out on campaign. He knew that they could speak on an equal footing to most noblemen, but he’d never seen one dismiss a duke!

Dienne turned her gaze toward Tamas. He felt his palms begin to sweat. “Privileged Dienne,” he said, giving her a bow somewhat lower than the one she’d received from Duke Linz. He tried to remember how one was supposed to address a Privileged. With a noble it was easy —a lot of bowing and scraping and “my lord this, my lord that.” But a noble could only have you flayed, while a Privileged could flay you themselves. That meant a world of difference in Tamas’s mind.

“Captain Tamas,” Dienne said. Her voice was soft like satin. “I understand that you have just been to see the king.”

“I have.”

Privileged Dienne glanced at the nearest member of the royal guard and then walked a little further away. Tamas had no choice but to follow.

“Please, Captain. Tell me what the king wanted of you.”

Tamas tried to hide his confusion. He opened his mouth to ask her what she could possibly mean, when everything snapped into place.

If his suspicions were correct, the Privileged were already watching Tamas and may have even encouraged his suspension. They didn’t like a man —a powder mage —who could kill from such a distance climbing the ranks of the army. The king, on the other hand, had no such qualms. Summoning Tamas to his personal chamber, even to just stand there for fifteen minutes, would cause a mighty stir inside the cabal.

This was some kind of petty politics between the king and his Privileged. Tamas almost laughed at the simplicity of it.

“Is something amusing, Captain?”

“No, Privileged. I regret to inform you that I’m not at liberty to discuss my conversation with the king.”

Dienne tilted her head. Her hands came out of her sleeves, baring her white, rune-embroidered gloves and their ever-present threat of elemental sorcery. “Are you sure about that?”

“I am.” He eyed her gloves for a moment, then met her gaze. He would play the king’s game. For now. The Privileged would likely not believe him if he told her the truth anyway.

Dienne stepped forward. There was something vaguely threatening in the simple movement, and Tamas steeled himself. “Captain Tamas,” she said in his ear, “Be very, very careful what you say and what you do. We’re watching you. If you misstep, even slightly.” She snapped her fingers, making Tamas jump. Then she reached up, touching his cheek gently with the fingers of one gloved hand. “Be careful, Captain.”

Tamas left the city the next morning.

He headed north past the university, then left the main highway to travel east toward the King’s Forest. It wasn’t a long journey, no more than three hours by horseback, and by the time he reached his destination it was just half past ten in the morning.