“I am just not certain it is wise for him to have his ‘endowments’ as you call them on such obvious display in a Zetan barracks.” Jae’nt said taking the tankard that Markos passed him.
“The design of our battledress is for ease of movement, Prince Jae’nt, not for ease of access,” Markos smiled amiably. “And the blade you see on his quiver strap is not there for show.” Markos answered his tone making it clear that he believed the youth would gut any man who made unwelcome advances without a second thought.
Given the Morlans publicly acclaimed distaste of male intimacy and the martial skill of the Morlan soldiers I had no doubt that any man chancing his hand with one of our guests would find himself either in the infirmary or being rendered for the lammergeyers at Kor-Sian, and I said as much.
Markos gave me a cryptic smile, “That or he might find the favour and fortune he would most enjoy.”
“I do not see General Korlaq, Prince Markos. Will he be joining us?” I asked. I had no intention of following Markos’ lead into such a potentially dangerous area.
“I sincerely hope not,” the Prince answered, “I cannot abide the man. I understand he is being entertained by your Crown Prince this evening.” Markos straightened up slightly, casting around the barracks until finally his questing gaze rested on Dthor-Aid’n. “Would you please invite your golden-haired watchdog to join us?” Markos asked, “The pretty young captain yonder,” the prince added jerking his head to direct my gaze. “He is watching you with the intensity of a questing eagle. I conclude, therefore, that he is either besotted with you—which, though possible, is not probable given his station—or else he is being vigilant concerning your safety. Whichever it is,” the Prince concluded, “he would probably find it less strenuous keeping his eye on you at closer quarter.” Thus saying Markos rose and went over to where Dthor-Aid’n was sitting, returning a few moments later with the captain at his side. When Dthor-Aid’n was seated Markos excused himself so that he might notify his cook that we were ready to eat.
Dthor-Aid’n turned to me. “I swear by Zoar Himself, Ez’n, that if that barbarian calls me “Blondie” once more I will rip his heart from his rear end and ram it back down his throat.”
Jae’nt spluttered into his ale, laughing out loud once he had set down his tankard. “That sounds remarkably painful.”
“Not to mention quite unsanitary,” Markos rejoined amiably has he settled himself between Jae’nt and the soldier. “I am extremely acute of hearing,” he explained, as Dthor-Aid’n blushed almost to beyond his hairline. He turned slightly to offer the captain his hand. “I am Crown Prince Markos Ul-Veldoris, son of Keelan Ul-Veldoris reigning King of Morla—but you may call me Markos—everyone does.”
Dthor-Aid’n took the extended hand gripping it at the wrist. “I am Dthor-Aid’n ibid-Barin-ibid-Qalthin, son of Barin ibid-Qalthin, Ambassador to Alfasia, Captain of the First House of Zetaria.” Dthor-Aid’n said, “but you may call me Captain—everyone does.”
“Well now at least I won’t have to address you as “Blondie” any longer.” Markos responded dryly. He gave the captain a warm, respectful smile which Dthor-Aid’n returned. Markos turned to Jae’nt, “And you already know, Prince Jae’nt.”
“Just Jae’nt,” the prince replied casually taking the hand Markos offered him.
“That was a remarkable meal, your highness,” I said as a couple of the Zetan companions set to clearing the tables.
“Markos, please, Ez’n. We do not stand much on ceremony in Morla. A man is so much more than just his rank or bloodline. And I should like very much to address you by name,” he added.
“I am afraid that is not possible, highness. It would not be seen as proper in these circumstances.”
“Perhaps in private then, Ez’n, where there are no prying ears and only the rules agreed by two men.”
“Perhaps,” I conceded.
Draining my tankard I rose excusing myself. The hour was now growing late and there was still much for me to do in preparation for the arrival of Morla’s forces and King Keelan. Time was growing short I told the prince, dismissing his pleas to remain for a while longer, and I could ill-afford having my duties delayed through being tired on the morrow.
As I bade Maegor, Aenar, Kylos and the soldiers goodnight and made my way to the door I found Dthor-Aid’n, Markos and Jae’nt waiting.
“I will escort the Ez’n,” Dthor-Aid’n said somewhat frostily.
“Two swords are better than one, Captain. And four eyes are better than two.” Markos parried. “Besides, it would be an honour for me to escort my illustrious guest back to his quarters and one I am sure you would not begrudge me.”
Dthor-Aid’n bowed slightly, offering me his arm as we set off across the drill square towards the stepped wynd leading back to the palace ambulatory.
Halfway across the square Markos stopped, his gazed fixed on a couple seated across the way in a secluded pergola that was illuminated only by the brazier that occupied one corner of the shelter. One was clearly a Morlan Hoplite the other I recognised as one of the barrack companions. Markos watched for a moment, and when the Morlan leaned close to say something to his companion the Prince excused himself stalking over to where the pair with his sword drawn. Dthor-Aid’n made to follow but I gripped his arm. “This is not our concern, Captain, unless he involves the companion.
The prince prodded the soldier in the ribs with his blade. “Take it somewhere private, or go back to the refectory, Ursus. If I find you in this position again you will pay the consequence.”
Markos rejoined us with a brief apology for delaying me. Dthor-Aid’n glanced over at the couple who were gathering up their cloaks and the pitcher of ale and a tray of food between them. “They were merely sharing a platter, your Highness.” Dthor-Aid’n pointed out other men similarly engaged by other braziers around the area, “It is quite usual for the men to seek a quieter area in which to talk or . . .” and he indicated a couple engaged in a game of dice, “. . . to wager a little.”
“Quite so,” the prince agreed, “but he is a Morlan and a member of my private guard. Such private fraternisation could easily be mistaken as something inappropriate.”
“Not by my men, your Highness,” Dthor-Aid’n answered rather irritated.
“I am concerned with neither your men nor how they perceive Ursus’ conduct, Captain. But rest assured that he had been in that position with another Morlan soldier I would have slain them both.”
“A little harsh for something so innocent.” Jae’nt remarked.
“We are an army built on discipline, Prince Jae’nt. A man who breaks one rule, however small, will doubtless break other more important rules. Ursus can enjoy the young man’s company as he wishes, provided he does it in a manner that is suitably discreet and compromises neither his integrity nor that of my vanguard.”
Markos left me just as we arrived in the quadrangle in front of the palace. He paused at the top of the wynd and waved to us before disappearing into the alley. Jae’nt went on ahead to prepare my tracts and papers for the morning and set up some tea. Dthor-Aid’n made an impatient sound, blowing through his nose like and angry horse as we crossed the square towards the apartments.
“I feel these are going to be difficult days, lad.” He said grimly.
“The Morlans are as they are, Dthor-Aid’n. They will probably develop a tolerance towards the customs here in Zetaria after a little while, just as we will have to adjust to them. They are going to with us for quite some time.”
Dthor-Aid’n groaned. “I know, lad, but I for one will be glad when the crews have finished renovating the old barracks and they can move in there.”
I nodded. The reports I had received from the building parties were favourable. The work was going much faster than anticipated as the buildings had been in much better repair than had first been thought. Dthor-Aid’n received the news with no small measure of relief. Once the foreigners were ensconced in their own billets he would feel better
at ease and would not have to concern himself with whether or not one of his men might forget the constraints of hospitality and try to avail himself of the goods so immodestly presented.
I laughed openly at him. “You make them sound like cabbages on a market stall.” I told him.
“More a butcher’s rack, I would say, lad,” Dthor-Aid’n rejoined smiling. He suddenly became serious as we approached the main door of my apartments were Faedron was standing guard. “May I wish you a good night, Ez’n and pass you to the care of our very conscientious Corporal?” the captain bent his knee once again touching my hand to his head and then to his heart as he rose.
“Go well, Captain.”
The man disappeared quickly, pausing briefly to salute at the entrance of the alley. I turned finding Faedron standing by the door looking at me quite stonily.
“Is there something wrong, Faedron?”
“At the risk of being told again that I have a loose tongue, Ez’n, I have to say I wish he would stop doing that.”
“Doing what, my friend?”
“Using the old royal salute with you. I think it presumptuous and,” he added peering past me to where the captain had been standing, “a bit improper. No—familiar.”
I smiled at him. “Faedron, it is a traditional salute. The Captain is quite conscientious about what is proper. Besides,” I added smiling at the thought, “I find it quite pleasing.”
“That’s what concerns me, Meriq.” The corporal said pushing the door open for me.
I laughed. “You think the captain might be trying to turn my head, Faedron?”
“I do not think he would be that foolhardy, and,” the corporal continued, “if I am honest, Meriq, I don’t think there is a man or woman alive strong enough to turn your head.”
I laughed, “Goodnight Faedron.”
“Goodnight Ez’n.”
†
CHAPTER 14
A MATTER OF HONOUR
THE END of the third settan found the Morlan vanguard moving from the Royal House into one of the adapted buildings across from the Royal Guards’ garrison. The artisans had worked steadily over long hours to get the accommodation fit for our guests, and they had done good work in making sure that the men had adequate room for recreation as well as managing to create a large the dormitory on the upper floors giving the men space enough so that they could screen their beds if they felt the need for extra privacy. Markos was pleased enough with the results of the conversion of the old inn though Korlaq was rather reserved in his reaction. It turned out, as Markos explained later, that the General did not approve of the addition of the Zetan feature of bed screens which he viewed as an unnecessary extravagance that could lead to breaches of discipline; by which I concluded he meant that the men might start entertaining guests in their dormitory. This would not, I believed, be an entirely unwholesome occurrence. Men needed the outlets provided by the Companions and it struck me rather savage to insist that the men remained celibate.
“It makes us better fighters,” Markos stated as we walked from the billet. “It keeps us focussed.”
“I see. Kill him but don’t kiss him.” I said as we left the renovations and headed towards a small tavern opposite the Morlans’ quarters.
“Or her,” Markos amended and smiled. “Women are not allowed into the barracks either. Well, apart from the shield maidens—and no-one would be foolish enough to chance his hand with one of those.” Markos moved around me to offer me his shield arm as he had seen Dthor-Aid’n do. I gave the young man a cynical smile.
“That would most certainly not be politic—for either of us, Prince Markos.”
The young Morlan chortled. “Probably not, but it would probably make Korlaq,” and he shot a glance to where his general was standing across the way, “choke on his own bile.” The prince lowered his arm, brushing an imaginary speck of something from his bracer. “My father should be arriving in the next few days, Ez’n. I am very much looking forward to introducing you.” The prince paused taking in what I assumed was an expression that betrayed my feelings. “You do not much care for us, do you Ez’n.”
“I serve the will of my King, your highness, not my own.”
“That does not answer my question, Ez’n-Kyr.”
“Morlans killed my family seized me and gave me as a battle gift to Crown Prince Balten. Had it not been for Anubis I shudder to consider what my fate might have been.”
“Not as illustrious as it is now, I would hazard,” Markos said sagely, “especially if the talk I hear of Balten is true.”
“I cannot presume to know what you have heard,” I replied, though I had a very good idea and most if not all of what Markos would have heard was probably true. The Crown Prince had an evil reputation. His ruthlessness and depravity knew no bounds, it was said. And I had heard of him that he had deliberately strangled a boy-whore in the Moon’s Mask just to see if the boy’s death throes would heighten his pleasure. This of course was probably a city-myth for it was a story often told, many times with a different protagonist. I certainly hoped it was myth for were it ever proven I had no doubt that I would not have to fulfil my oath to Janir to prevent Balten from ascending the throne the king would behead the Crown Prince himself on the steps of the palace.
Markos was strangely silent for a long while. “Tell me of your family, were they fighters?”
“No, Crown Prince. My father was a chemist and inventor, a student of the sciences and my mother a midwife. My older brother and sister were yet apprentices. My brother was but fourteen working for the apothecary and my sister was learning to be a seamstress. At least as far as I remember. It was many years ago now.”
“During the Pentageonate wars,” Markos commented. “By Morgul, I was only ten and learning the sword back in Doria.” He fell silent again for a short time. “What of the Morlan raiders?”
What of them indeed? But they were not raiders, they were soldiers, cavaliers I now realised having seen the way the men were attired. The Prince suddenly looked troubled.
“Are you certain of this, Ez’n?”
I nodded. They could not have been anything other given their clothing. And I remembered that evil day as if it were yesterday. I remembered there were four of them and one I could see even now for he sported a long, broad black scar from his jaw to his collarbone. I could still see it quite clearly, and it stayed with me because I recalled seeing similar disfigurements on blacksmiths and branded thieves.
Markos became suddenly distant and then even more suddenly excused himself and returned to his billet. I shrugged, dismissing Markos’ sudden mood shift as attributable to his newly acquired knowledge that his soldiers were neither as disciplined nor as honourable as he believed. Zetans would pillage, it was true, and they were not above seizing youths, young men and women from among the ranks of those defeated in battle for the purpose of making companions of them. Many of the barrack companions were from such occurrences, but I had never known Zetans to slaughter civilians, even those who picked up weapons from fallen soldiers and attacked.
The men would disarm them or render them unconscious, but they would not kill anyone who was clearly not military. On that point, at least, I considered Zetans to be the better men, their indiscriminate amatory pursuits notwithstanding.
With that thought I dismissed both the Morlan and Zetan forces from my mind, turning my thoughts instead to the various tasks I had postponed in order to inspect the Morlan billet with Markos. If as he said his father would be arriving in a matter of days, my timetable had just become considerably more crowded. And so, with that thought firmly embedded in my mind I turned my steps towards my apartments.
As I reached the palace ambulatory I caught sight of Jae’nt racing towards me as if the Reaver of Souls himself was on his heels. He stopped me in almost the same instant and began waving frantically. I hurried to meet him, suddenly concerned for it was unlike him to lack decorum. When he drew level with me it was a while before he could find breath to s
peak, and when he did manage it his words struck more despair in me than the thought of two Morlan armies.
“My mother is waiting to see you. She is rather overwrought.”
This, I discovered, was an understatement. Queen Eilen was well beyond being overwrought, more verging on hysterical and had she been anyone other than the wife of the king I would have thrown a jug of water on her just to shock her out of the tantrum.
It transpired that Gor had slipped out of her apartments earlier in the day and no-one had any idea where he was. Petros who was normally as close as the prince’s own shadow was asleep when Gor left. Eilen threw herself at my feet, grabbing my hand.
“Oh, Ez’n, please!” she begged, “You must have the soldiers start a search. He is a delicate boy. Oh! If anything as happened to him . . .”
I extricated my hand from the woman’s grip, taking her firmly by the arm and leading her to Anubis’ fireside chair. “Compose yourself, madam.” I said tartly.
Eilen gave me a shocked, offended look. “My son is missing, you dolt! I do not wish to compose myself I want you to find him!”
“I understand, majesty. But you are making a spectacle of yourself. Now! Calm yourself. I will send Prince Jae’nt to get some men from the Royal House and . . .” There was suddenly a loud bang and a commotion from the foyer. I rolled my eyes heavenward, “Now what?”
I moved quickly to the reception room to discover Maegor struggling to separate a Morlan guard and Prince Gor who were in the throes of wrestling each other to the floor.
“What is the meaning of this?” I shouted above the brouhaha. “Come to order at once!”
Maegor snapped to attention and the Prince and his adversary froze in their struggle regarding me somewhat bewildered from the floor. Gor said something in Morlan to his adversary and the young man laughed, climbing to his feet. Gor jumped up and hurried over to me.
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