In Service Of The King (Book 2)

by Steven Styles

“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 topmost 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.

  Following after the steward, the chair turner could not help gazing around the ballroom with wide eyes. The room’s rounded shape and large dimensions ballroom rather belied the small front of the manor house, but the high ceiling above made the turner stop and stare. Covered with white stone, it reflected light from a huge dome of colored glass and wrought iron casements. Ornate chandeliers hung down from the curved roof like shining fruit. One such chandelier lay on a blanket upon the ballroom floor. Several servants busily polished its metal surfaces, or replenished the lanterns with new candles. Another newly-shined chandelier was being lifted into place by three men working pulleys and long ropes. Four immense stone pillars extended down from the ceiling to the polished, marble floor. More light poured into the room from the back wall, far across the room. Close to teh Great bay, the wall harbored large windows of wrought iron and glass, interspersed with stone pillars.

  Walking to the nearest wall, the carpenter swung the chair carefully off his back and set it down. The merchant stood for a moment, taking in the vast room with wonder.

  “It is quite a sight.” A strange voice spoke, from close by. Turning, the chair merchant spied a tall, soldierly man—in his late twenties—standing a few feet away. His clothes looked worn—and heavily stained with soot—but his eyes held a keen look. The man noticed the chair turner’s scrutiny and grinned.

  “I am Joseph, the smith of the forge in Dorenvines,” he explained. The carpenter nodded back.

  “I thought as much… that, or a chimney sweep,” he said. “I heard there was a new smith in town… one that can actually shoe a horse.”

  “The townsfolks tell me the same,” Joseph remarked. “Hard to believe. Shoes are a smith’s mainstay.”

  The turner shook his head a little.

  “He forgot how at sea, then. He was one was part sailor, one part smith, but for the most part drunk.” The turner sized up Joseph a little and nodded approvingly. “You look sober enough. My name is Jerome. I turn the chairs in Dorenvines. Do a bit o’ carvin’ too, when I gets the time.”

  Joseph looked down at the new chair by the wall. Bending down, he studied the ornate vines cut into the back and sides of the wood. It reeked of new varnish still, but Joseph could see it had been applied with care, in layers.

  “This is fine work,” he said, glancing up at the turner.

  Forester Reeves strode up to them as they spoke. Balking, the Steward’s face changed as he beheld the blacksmith.

  “Sir…” he sputtered. Joseph made a quick sign with his hand which the turner could not see; he shook his head. “Ah… sir you are welcome to… please feel free…to look at… the terrace…. outside.” Reeves blurted out, addressing Jerome. Surprised, the turner looked down towards the wall of windows.

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

  “Don’t mind if I do,” the carpenter replied. “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 turner went on. “I was told this was a summer refuge; diplomats, senators… even our king now has stayed here.”

  “I wonder,” Joseph asked his head a little to one side. “It is not so large a castle, but I have never seen such fertile land.”

  “It’s one of the largest single estates in the whole province,” the turner said, looking up at the ceiling as he walked. He glanced around them and leaned toward Joseph a little. “Rumors around town say the estate was purchased from the King by this lord. He must have offered a fortune for it. There have been quite a few lords, knights and dukes wanting to buy it over the years, but the king wouldn’t sell it.” Joseph nodded his reply.

  As the two men approached the wall of windows the turner saw a host of servants on chairs and ladders, washing and polishing the hundreds of panes of glass embedded in the casements. The windows cleverly hid two 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 bare of foliage. Stepping through one of the glass doors, Jerome saw the Great Bay before him, spreading out from one horizon to the other. He stood on the wide verandafor somemoment, admiring a scene looked upon by kings.

  Joseph did not join the turner outside. As he turned to go back, he saw Hezekiah at the atrium door; the older man appeared ot be looking for him.

  “I will be an excellent walker by the time this ball arrives,” Joseph said—as he approached Hezekiah—some moments later. “That room could hold the entire Hall of Illumination.”

  Holding a stack of fine, gilt-edged envelopes, Hezekiah smiled as Lord Asher sat down on a nearby chest, to catch his breath.

  “The invitations are ready to be sent,” the older man reported. “I found the caligraphy work calming.” He watched the final chandelier being lifted into place, across the ballroom floor. “It amuses me, this backward process.”

  Joseph let out a snort of laughter.

  “Sending the invitations before the hall is ready, you mean?” Hezekiah smiled.

  “Indeed. it seems almost… appropos.” He turned back towards his fellow Shamar. “I trust the the structural preparations are on schedule?”

  Nodding, Joseph looked around the ballroom. Shined, clean surfaces greeted his eye everywhere it rested. Forester Reeves had done what he could with the minimal staff at his disposal, but it had taken a detachment of soliders and Dunner’s ship crew to renew all the rooms and grounds of the castle in such a short period of time.

  “These men have worked hard,” Joseph replied. “The roof is nearly finished. Reeves says we may have a working fountain after all. The kitchen are operating; more servants and cooks hired. The stone masons’s boy told me that the road paving should be complete within a week.” With a short sigh Joseph glanced up at Hezekiah.”I have not seen Dunner—or his men—as of late.”

  “He is entrenched in the cellars, beneath our feet,” Hezekiah informed him. “He is no dobut valiantly leading those brave men to cleanse the drains. If his complaints are true, they will all want hot baths before supper.”

  He looked past Joseph through the atrium doors, towards the front steps. A horse cantered towards the manor house, wi
th a uniformed rider perched importantly on its back. “The courier has arrived. He and his fellows should have the invitations delivered by nightfall,or early morn.”

  At this, Joseph reached into the leather pouch hung from his belt. He brought forth another envelope, like the others in form and shape.

  “Send this, with the others,” he said. “Unlike you, I do not find caligraphy calming.”

  Taking out his spectacles, Hezekiah affixed them firmly to his nose before taking the offered envelope. A smile spread over his face as he read the name carefully penned upon the smooth surface. Looking over the top of his spectacles at the young lord, Hezekiah turned towards the atrium without another word.

  THREE

  The fine rooms of General Octavian Hays’ mansion stood in disarray.

  Merchant carts fought for position on the front drive. More emerged from the grand manor doors, laden with furniture and all manner of household goods; others were ushered into the great entrance door by Harold, the estate steward. In the spacious parlor the general’s wife stood tall, directing which items were to be taken down from the walls. With the tenacity of a cornered tigress, she haggled with the merchants concerning the worth of each and every piece of furniture and bit of finery.

  Away from the melee, General Hayes sat in his study, in the solitary chair left to him. He stared gloomily into the fire. Several parchment messages sat in a pile in his lap; some lay opened, other untouched. The study door opened, slowly. A young woman with sable-colored hair quietly entered the room; she held a mug of steaming tea in her hand. Walking slowly, she stood next to her father’s chair.

  “Father…” she said, in a hushed voice. “Please have something to drink.” Octavian Hays looked up at his daughter for a moment before accepting the tea.

  “Thank you, my dear,” he said, sighing. He took a small drink and then placed the mug on the floor; with one hand, he lifted up one of the opened missives. “This,” he began, “Is a message from someone I have always regarded as a very good friend.” He tossed the parchment into the fire, with force. “The pompous old baboon gave his deepest sympathies for my current financial instability… but will he grant my request for a small corner of his land to live on? Certainly not!”