In Service Of The King (Book 2)

by Steven Styles

  “Why leave now?” he asked. “Most parties ride at dawn, it being dangerous to travel at night.” Tyrus gathered his scroll and stood, as did Joseph.

  “It is likely that word of the cavern burning and the Bishop’s death has already reached our enemies,” he explained. “They would expect us to wait until dawn to leave, but we will use the cloak of night to conceal our movements.”

  “In other words,” Joseph informed the jeweler, “We ride tonight to avoid an ambush.”

  “Where are we going?” Gazeto asked, thinking over this information.

  “We travel to Lord Asher’s lands.” Dunner said, walking up to the group; smoke from his pipe drifted over the jewelers head, making the man cough. “We best get going. I just hope we can outrun the wolves.” At this, Gazeto looked at the aging sailor with horror.

  “Wolves?” he asked, uncertainly.

  “Prepare the horses,” Tyrus instructed. “We leave within the hour.”

  SILVER LIGHT—flooding down from the full moon—lit the travelers’ path along the highway. Fehale City lay far behind them and no others journeyed this way in the dark.

  Tyrus rode out front, his eyes ever watchful; Hezekiah rode next to him, talking long on the virtues of a good wife, and how his own lacked said virtues. Behind them rode Gazeto and Dunner, with Joseph taking up the rear.

  Once the aging sailor knew wolves filled the city jewler with fear, he regaled the poor man with many fantastic tales of huge, slinking beasts—haunting the very woods ahead—bent on eating fat travelers for dinner.

  “Aye,” Dunner said, puffing his pipe contentedly. “There was this one, monster wolf… four foot high at the shoulder,if it were an inch. Looked like a small horse, really. Bite your leg in half with one chomp.” Riding within earshot Joseph chuckled under his breath at the stories, all the while listening to the dark behind and around them.

  Several hours into their journey, the valley gave out to trees, then to thick forest. The moonlight was almost cut off completely by the overgrown trees. Lighting their lanterns, the travelers continued their journey. Far in the distance came the thin, high eerie sounds of wolves howling. The horses were bothered by the far away sounds and cantered a little faster. Gazeto mopped his brow with a cloth, breathing in short gasps, his wide eyes darting to and fro at all the shadows along the road.

  “Be at ease, Gazeto,” Dunner told him, calmly. “Wolves hardly ever attack so large a group. Chances are they’d only get one of us.” Over his shoulder, Hezekiah looked back at his fellow.

  “If worse came to worse,” the man said, gravely. “We’d toss Dunner back for them. They’d spend so long trying to chew through his weathered hide we’d have plenty of time to escape.” His words won a laugh from the group, even coaxing a smile from Tyrus. Dunner glared at Hezekiah with narorowed eyes, puffing his pipe.

  No incident—animal or otherwise—hampered the two-day journey of the Shamar. Forester Reeves waited—beside Harold—as the horsemen and their guest rode through the gate of Stone Mountain. Giving orders for the gate to be closed, Reeves walked up to Joseph as the young lord swung down from his horse.

  “My lord,” Reeves said. “Welcome home.”

  Joseph smiled at the aging steward, and then nodded at Harold.

  “Thank you, Reeves. Harold; how go the preparations?” he asked, walking Belator to the stables.

  “Nearly complete, my lord,” Reeves responded. Nodding, Joseph bedded down his horse with hsi fellow Shamar.

  “Shall I see to accommodations for your guests?” Reeves inquired, his keen eyes taking in the newcomers.

  “Yes, thank you,” Joseph replied. “My friends are weary from the journey.”

  “I shall see to it now, my lord,” Reeves said, giving a short bow. He left, Harold at his side.

  Some minutes later Joseph found his way to his own chambers, at the top level of the manor hose. The opulent suite had been recently re-fitted, painted and cleaned. Taking off his cloak ,Joseph’sa eyes immeidately sought out his desk. A small envelope waited for him there. Smiling, Joseph tossed the cloak onto a chair and strode over to the desk. His name stared up athim from the enevelope, written in a fine, feminine hand. Pulling out the heavy desk chair, Joseph sat down—a little stiffly—and let out a sigh of relief. It felt good to be out of the saddle, and home.

  Home. Looking up from the desk Joseph glanced around the room. For the first time, he felt this place was really his to come back to, even over his forge. He smiled a the notion.

  “This room is still too large,” he said, to himself. Taking Elizabeth’s letter in hand he broke the wax seal on the back and unfolded the crisp pages.

  “I cannot express my joy in hearing from Harold that you are well, and again working in the trade for which you have such skill. The knowledge—in your letter—that you are located in Dorenvines added to my happiness; my father received a new position as Steward of the Lord of the Stone Mountain, a man whom I have not seen, nor heard of before. Indeed, none of us have, not even my father. We hear from his tenants that he is an excellent and fair master. I have been very desirous to see you, but my father has not traveled from our new house once, being happily immersed in his new work.

  “Despite ourhappy situation, my mother is not content here at all. I do not wish to complain about her, but her laments and wailing about the loss of our family’s status and income are taxing to endure. Almost constantly, she says aloud how we are but one step above servants; I think this is improbable, as none of us have done a servant’s work and would not even know how. I know you will be humored by all this (I admit I am as well) but still, I feel a little sympathy for her pain. My only respite is walking by the Great Bay. We are situated so close to it that I wake up to the call of seabirds. It is beautiful, the shoreline; I sit on the shore as often as I can and no one bothers me there. Indeed, I have never seen another soul while walking so. Though, it is difficult to get down to the shore, for the path is full of un-groomed shrubs. The Lord of the Stone Mountain does not appear to care to much about maintaining his paths, in my opinion.”

  Joseph snorted a little before continuing to read.

  “Since we moved here the castle seems to have undergone a transformation, for the better. Harold informs of much that is going on inside. He is being trained as Castle Steward. Rumors are spreading fast about a Spring Ball that will be held at the castle. My heart sank when I heard of it, for my mother has spoken of nothing since. She is heavily under the impression that if I went to the Ball, I would find a rich husband. As I have told you in my other letters, my mother has been resolute—utilzing all her powers of persuaion—to wipe any memory of you from my mind. I can assure you that she has succeeded in doing the opposite. The more she refers to you as a blacksmith, the more the memory of you is sweetened to me. I have not informed either of my parents that you are the smith of Dorenvines. Indeed, I can assure you they do not know as of yet. It is bound to reach their ears sometime, as my mother frequently calls on some of her new acquaintances in the nearby estates. Despite our low status, she has found favor in the eyes of the local noblewoman being the wife of the steward of the Lord of the Stone Mountain. He is a great mystery to the aristocracy, apparently. My mother is nearly desperate to find out more about him and appease our new neighbors.

  I wish you well and hope to hear from you soon. My sincere regards, Elizabeth.“

  Folding the letter, Joseph found himself smiling once more. Pushing back his chair from the desk a bit, Joseph stared out his balcony windows, across the room. He sat for somemoments in pensive silence considering Elizaebth’s words, especially those regarding her parents; she’d been careful in chosing them, he knew, trying to remain respectful in spite of her frustration with her mother. Joseph felt well-pleased with the progression of events in his estate thus far; the plan he’d habored within him all this while began to take shape in his mind.

  Scooting his chair forward once more, Josepg opened a small drawer, taking out a blan
k sheet of paplin parhcment paper. Opening a silver-and-glass inkwell, he dipped a fresh quill into the thick, black liquid, wiping it expertly on a nearby blotter.

  SEVEN

  The following morning dawned clear, the air cold and crisp; a sharp knock rang out at the door of the Hays residence. Elizabeth, dressing in her room, heard their servant walk to the front door and open it.

  “Harold for you sir,” came the servant’s voice, calling to her father.

  “Yes, yes… I am coming,” came her father’s voice, presumably coming from his study. “Harold, good to see you. Do you have those planting reports for me?”

  “Indeed General,” came Harold’s steady voice. Hearing the words, Elizabeth smiled; the faithful servant yet kept respect for his former employer. Hastening to dress, she pulled on her shoes; she hoped to speak with the man before he left. Several days has flown by, with no letter from Joseph.

  Another voice sounded out in the hall, which made Elizabeth pause and listen.

  “Harold,” Mrs. Hays called out. “How good it is to see you.” Elizabeth’s eyebrows rose, slightly. To her knowledge, her mother had never spoken to Harold by name before; shivering at the chill, Elizabeth reached for her shawl and drew it around her shoulders.

  “Thank you, Madam,” Harold said, sounding a little surprised.

  “Please,” Mrs. Hays went on. “You must be tired, pray come sit with us in the parlor and have a cup of tea. I insist.” Elizabeth laced her shoe very quickly, hurrying to join them; she knew something was afoot.

  Reports in hand, General Hays went back into his study, contemplating the papers as he closed the door. Left in the hall alone, Harold was indeed surprised at the unexpected invitation; the General’s wife had never spoken to him in such fond terms. He looked around as she led the way into the ‘parlor’; it was really a small room on the open back deck, looking out over the water. The lady moved gracefully, as if she were leading a visiting Duke, indicating an expensive chair for him to sit in. The chair was one of the few left of the last estate; somehow it had escaped being sold.

  Without a word, Harold waited for Mrs. Hays to sit, and then did likewise.

  “Annie, bring tea,” Mrs. Hays said to her maid. The girl left, almost bumping into Elizabeth as she hurried to join them. Harold stood up as she entered the room.

  “Oh, Elizabeth… come sit, my dear,” Mrs. Hays said, giving her daughter a banal smile. “Look who is here to visit…” Elizabeth curtsied and smiled at Harold; she sat nearby, slightly uneased by her mother’s demeanor.

  “Miss Elizabeth,” Harold greeted, nodding his head as he resumed his seat.

  “How kind of you to come see us,” the general’s wife continued, smiling benevolently on her former servant. “I hear you are getting along well in your newly elevated position.”

  “Yes, madam,” Harold said, recovering himself enough to exude a calm countenance; he was more than suspicious of this sudden attention. “I am fairing well, as you seem to be.”

  “We are very happy here, thanks to the Lord of the Stone Mountain’s patronage,” Mrs. Hays replied, trying to convey artlessness. Elizabeth felt ill at her mother’s false humility, but held her peace. “Such a gentleman… though, he appears to be somewhat of a phantom.”

  With this she lifted her gaze to Harold, who appeared completely stoic. “Neither I nor my husband has even seen him, nor have any of the noble ladies of my recent acquaintance. There is some speculation as to his very existence, since he does not call on anyone. The Count and Countess Beckenridge of Vehale are a respectable family and they assure me that this Lord as not even sent them a single greeting.”

  Harold gave Mrs. Hays an amiable .smile.

  “The Lord is an excellent gentleman and a pleasure to serve,” he said, his voice replete with respect. “I can honestly say I have never served a finer master or one more generous. He is a singular man, prone to much study and very busy with the tasks of his estate.” This answer did not satisfy Mrs. Hays in the least.

  “Is he a young man?” she inquired, sitting forward a little. “Some seem to think he is a widower or a very old man not to be seeking a wife. Every estate should have a lady to oversee it.” At this Harold smiled more broadly.

  “My lord, while the most excellent of men, is, perhaps a trifle… fastidious,” he said, carefully. “Such high standards limit vastly the number of women which would suit him.” He let Mrs. Hays think about that for a moment before continuing. “He did serve in the army, madam. Some noblewoman may very well perceive him as being, shall we say, ‘rough around the edges’.”

  “Well, that is unfortunate,” Mrs. Hays said. “But… not an impossible obstacle. Elizabeth is a very understanding and accommodating girl. You should suggest the Lord visit here, or send us an invitation to call on him.”

  Ashamed of her mother’s forward suggestions, Elizabeth stood and hurriedly left the room; her face flaming, she kept walking until she was out of the house. Mrs. Hays did not appear to be upset in the least by her daughter’s abrupt exit, and opened her mouth to ask another question; she was interrupted by the entrance of her husband to the room.

  “My dear, pray do not attempt to pry any more information out of Harold,” the General said, tersely. “I am certain he has duties to return to, which you are holding him from.”

  Using this opportunity to escape, Harold stood to leave; giving a short bow, he walked out of the room and left the house with haste. Seeing Elizabeth standing by the front steps, he smiled and quickly handed her a small letter; without a word, he mounted his horse and left the property. Looking at the letter Elizabeth hid it away, smiling to herself. Finding her cloak, she made for the trail to the beach, to read her communication in private.

  Back in the Hays’ parlor, Elizabeth’s mother stared frostily at her husband; he stood by the fireplace, looking at his reports with a careful eye. Softening her face, Mrs. Hays cleared her throat.

  “My dear husband,” she began. “I know you want me to be happy.” The General glanced at her but did not answer. Mrs. Hays smiled, though it did not have mirth. “This dreadful place is killing me; my health suffered terribly until I called upon the noble ladies of the estates nearby and they invited me to return. I need like-minded society.”

  “I am glad to hear you are feeling better,” her husband said, reading his reports; he felt a chill in the room and paused his reading to stoke the fire. His wife stood up, walking slowly and gracefully to stand opposite her husband.

  “In order to be accepted into their set, I must find out information on the Lord of the Stone Mountain!” she stated, the last vestige of her smile dwindling away. “These women are well-connected, Octavian… they have impressed upon me that if I can find out anything, being on his land as we are, we are back on the road into high society! Think about it, parties and balls and dinners again…” Her aging face took on a dreamy expression. “This lord, that you think so highly of, is a great mystery. No one has seen the man, nor heard much of him since he purchased the estate. The ladies are wild to know any little thing about him. Why else would I stoop to conversing with our former servant, of all things.” She bristled at thought.

  The General rolled his eyes to the ceiling, and continued reading his report, ignoring her. Mrs. Hays walked in an agitated circle, seeing he was going to be of no help. She could see Harold knew more than he was telling, but the man clammed up and left as soon as he could. Suddenly, she stopped pacing.

  “I am going into town,” she announced. “Allow me the carriage.” Her husband waved her away, as if saying ‘go do what you will.’ Mrs. Hays called to her maid, hurrying to her bedroom.

  “Send the man servant to the castle,” she instructed the girl. “Tell him to ask the steward to send us a guard to accompany us into town. There have been reports of thieves along the road and I don’t want to be robbed.” The girl curtsied and ran to do her mistress’ bidding.

  UNLIKE ALL of Joseph’s previous letters, the latest offer
ing held but few words. Elizabeth opened it and immediately halted her stride. She saw shewould easily read it before even reaching the beach.

  Sitting down on a nearby stone, she hastily scanned the bold, scrolling script. Using short words—as if in a great hurry—the writer spoke of how he was glad to hear that she was so nearby and hoped she was well. The last sentence made her stand up in anticipation:

  “I will be in town until sundown; hopefully Harold will give you this letter with haste. If you can procure a servant to accompany you, I pray you would visit the forge. There is but one, by the entrance to the Stone Mountain Estate. If you have no objection, I very much wish to see you and speak with you. – Joseph”

  Smiling to herself Elizabeth turned and flew up the path, hoping fervently that her mother or father had some errand to run. To her happy relief, she beheld the waiting carriage in the yard, where their manservant was hitching up the horses.

  “Thomas…” she said to the servant, smiling. “Are we going into town?” The man nodded, drawing a bridle over the horse’s head.

  “Yes, miss,” he said, pulling a strap tighter. “Madam has requested to go within the hour. His lordship is sending over a guard to ride with us.”

  “There are thieves on the road?” Elizabeth said, paling. The servant shook his head.

  “Don’t you worry, miss,” he said. “Likely the lord is but being careful.”

  With this, Elizabeth ran towards the house and up the steps. She encountered her mother in the entry, putting on her gloves with a practiced deliberation. Mrs. Hays saw her daughter and fixed her with a cold look.

  “Even though Harold is merely a servant, you must not run off like that again,” she instructed. “You must marry, and I am trying to get you a proper husband; one wealthy enough to get us out of this… dung-heap. Perhaps you may even attract the eye of a nobleman. If we are not invited to this ball such will not happen.”

  Though tempted to argue wit her mother Elizabeth pushed the insult she felt down, hoping to procure a ride.