In Service Of The King (Book 2)

by Steven Styles

  “They’ve gone?” Elizabeth repeated, weakly, looking at the wall. Annie’s face softened, a little.

  “Mrs. Hays left you a letter, miss,” she said. “It is on that table, by the wall. I must prepare to go, if you do not mind, miss.” Elizabeth turned towards the living room at once.

  “Go,” she said, quietly. “Thank you, Annie.”

  In the main room of the house, a small wooden table was left; on it reposed a neat, square letter. Unfolding the parchment, Elizabeth recognized the even handwriting of her mother; she read as if in a daze.

  “Dear Elizabeth,” it began, “Pray do not be unsettled upon seeing all our things removed from that hovel. Know we are well and by now we have purchased a lovely estate just outside the city of Munitio. Your father and I have accepted the proposal, from the Lord of the Stone Mountain, for your hand in marriage. You are to be married in the summer; until then you must stay with the good Forester Reeves and his wife; I have assured them you will give them no cause for dismay. The Lord has paid us handsomely for your hand, enough to keep us comfortable for the rest of our lives. As much as you may be disappointed, know that a marriage to a peasant would have been beneath our family and brought us to ruin. As Lady of the Stone Mountain, mistress of that rich estate, you will be very well taken care of. Accept this and you will have a happy, long marriage, as your father and I…”

  Elizabeth could not read the rest. Sitting down on the floor, the young woman looked down at her hand. The slender, gold band Joseph gave her glimmered in the dim light. Covering her face Elizabeth wept. Tears slipped down between her fingers, falling upon the creased parchment in her lap.

  TEN

  Seven days after the ball, Joseph, Hezekiah and Dunner rode over the last hill of their southerly journey. Before them lay the great, southern city of Angelo. Nearly sundown, the dying rays of the sun colored the hills in orange light as the lamps slowly were lit in the sprawling city of bustling people and ornate buildings.

  “Quite a sight… I’ll give you that,” Dunner said, lighting his pipe. Hezekiah grinned at the aging sailor.

  “It appears so lovely from a distance,” the taller man said. “Yet, in the sordid back alleys it harbors thieves and murderers, like every city does.”

  Just outside the city—on the side of the hill—stood a large, stone monastery; it was the largest such building Joseph had ever seen. Resembling a fortress more than a house for monks, it boasted a garden and several smaller buildings around the main within a high, stone wall. A tall, portly man in monks garb came out to greet them in the yard as they rode in; the man’s cheerful face below his balding head spoke of kindness, the thinning, white hair of age and wisdom.

  “Greetings brothers!” the man said, smiling up at the visitors on their horses. “Welcome to Angelo. My men here will see to your horses.”

  “Bishop Rubar Kohen,” Hezekiah said, with a formal gestulation. The man snorted a little.

  “Titles are useless out of court, my friend,” Rubar returned. He looked up at Dunner with a genial smile. “Brother Dunner… you’ve come to visit us again.”

  “I have, brother,” the old sailor said, nodding. “I’m wanting to get off this infernal beast and onto land.” With a grunt he swung down from his mount and stretched his back.

  “A seven-day ride is hard even on a young man,” Rubar said, shaking his head a little. “My brothers will see to you steeds.” At this, he glanced up curiously at the unknown rider accompanying the Shamar.

  “May I present Lord Asher of Stone Mountain,” Hezekiah introduced, with a grand flourish of his hand. Joseph nodded his head at the Bishop, dismounting Belator.

  “Thank you for your hospitality,” the young man said, “but I will see to my own horse.”

  The bishop seemed surprised at the request, but nodded his head anyway. Dunner puffed his pipe a moment, glancing at Joseph.

  “You must excuse Lord Asher, brother,” the aging sailor quipped. “The man’s burdened by matters of the heart. Loves a pretty girl but her parents hate the sight of him. He’s been downright dull this whole trip.” Joseph shot Dunner a narrow look.

  “It was not an insult to the Bishop…” he said, calmly. “Strangers find Belator a bit… unmanageable.”

  “I see,” Rubar said, smiling.

  In the stables Joseph found more that time than usual was needed to bed down his horse. Belator stamped and snorted moodily. Combing the great black sides of his faithful horse Joseph finally calmed the animal down and pitched fresh hay into the stall. In the dining hall, the young lord ate his meal in silence and retired early. Dunner called after him as he left the hall.

  “Aye, some sleep will do you good! Your mood’s as black as your horse!” Joseph mumbled under his breath as he made his way to an empty guest chamber.

  “Ah, young love,” Hezekiah said. “The first stages of dark depression…”

  Rubar shook his head, sadly.

  “My friend, such a cynical view you have,” the balding priest remanded lightly. “Marriage is wonderful; it is the children which cause one to lose sleep.”

  “Well, I’ve had neither!” Dunner said, scowling. “I think both should be avoided like the plague.”

  “Yes, we are all in utter shock that you are yet without a wife,” Hezekiah remarked. Dunner gave his friend a narrow glare.

  “I’ve been engaged before, Marshal Walters,” he retorted, puffing his pipe. “I just had not the nerve to walk the plank.”

  “The taciturn old salt didn’t have the nerve?” Hezekiah mused, aloud. “How odd; I should think the poor young lady would have been the one to change her…”

  “Peace… peace good men,” Rubar interrupted, looking worried; Dunner’s expression appeared almost wrathful. “No blood should be spilled in my abbey. A long journey tests even the most fast of friendships.” The men fell into a sullen silence for a moment.

  At length, Hezekiah sipped his ale and cleared his throat.

  “Young Lord Asher is truly under great duress,” he said at last. Rubar looked at his old friend closely.

  “I did noticed his manner to be noble, but common also in a way,” the bishop observed, rubbing his chin. Hezekiah nodded at this.

  “Your eye is still good, my friend,” he said, leaning his elbows onto the table. “Joseph remains to this day the only civilian to make it alive past the third gate uninvited; he was then but ten years of age.”

  Rubar looked impressed.

  “Ah… so, it was he who ran up the stairs, braving the arrows of the wall and the sword of the Shamar…”

  “I was but a colonel at the time,” Hezekiah returned, “…but the message he carried to the King that day gave critical information to my battalion. We flanked a mewling horde of encamped barbarians and broke the back of the invasion. By that one act of bravery, Joseph Asher saved thousands of Kingdom citizens from death and entrapment.”

  “Aye,” Dunner agreed. “Courageous, even as a lad. I met him just just after he enlisted in the army; he single-handedly burned the armada of the Weymin invaders at Munitio by firing pitch arrows from a skiff. Turned the tide of victory to us that day, he did. He should have been a Navy man…”

  “I heard that Marshal Inermis was responsible for that victory,” Rubar said, looking surprised. Hezekiah and Dunner both scoffed.

  “The general was halfway back to the fort,” Hezekiah informed the bishop. Dunner grinned.

  “Aye,” the aging sailor said, a glint of amusement in his eye. “The man turned tail, leaving his horse there to fight for him.”

  Rubar scratched his head thoughtfully.

  “This is the young Lieutenant Asher, then, who arrested Bishop Ithykor… in Northern Province, at Rabak City.” Hezekiah nodded, finishing his ale.

  “There we had the privilege of fighting with him for the first time,” the older man said, with a grin. “He has a keen eye for tactics; together, we slew threescore of the wretched man-eaters along the northern isle with only a hand
ful of men.”

  “Good times,” Dunner put in, puffing his pipe.

  “Lord Asher continued to show his valor, leading skirmishes small and large, most known only to us,” Hezekiah continued. “Over the years the King has taken great pains to watch and protect this young man, where possible. Joseph’s loyalty had been tested many times and proven invincible; this is the reason the King gave him title and lands.”

  “Aye,” Dunner put in. “But even the King’s favor cannot not save him from the wrath of Sytel; the man’s got it out for the lad. Joseph let a wildcat out of the bag by arresting Ithykor and then refusing to accept Sytel’s bribe.”

  All three men at the table nodded, slowly.

  “He met a young lady,” Hezekiah said, after a moment. “A sweet girl; one who appears to care for him, even as a ‘peasant blacksmith’. When he incurred the wrath of Sytel in the North, the King warned Lord Asher to tell no one of his newly-elevated position.”

  “I see…” Rubar said, his voice sympathetic. “So, he wins her as a blacksmith only, and not a nobleman.”

  Dunner grinned, despite the gravity of the bishop’s words.

  “The lad be wily, though,” he stated. “He’s fighting this battle on both fronts. He has but to wait a little while.”

  “Ah, but the coin has another face, my friend,” Hezekiah remarked. “Joseph has been highly successful in battle, however, he will likely never win the hearts of his future wife’s parents.” Dunner let out a snort.

  “Oh, they’ll like his gold well enough,” the aged sailor pointed out. “Once they know who he really is ,they’ll trample over one another to kiss his hand.” Hezekiah shook his head.

  “He has not won them even then,” he pointed out. “Joseph’s currency is not gold; he lives on principle.”

  At this Dunner fell silent; he contented himself with looking into the fireplace.

  “Then his mood is black for good reason,” Rubar stated, his forehead creased in thought. “Though, I dearly hope the young lord is able to tell his intended soon of his joyous news.”

  “He has asked leave to do so,” Hezekiah returned, “… in writing. However, his request will likely be denied until both Sytel, Ithykor an those connected to them are arrested and condemned.”

  “Thus is the reason we’ve endured the long road here,” Dunner spoke up.

  At these words Rubar leaned forward, his pensive look replaced with one of interest.

  “At Lord Asher’s ball Sytel did not show himself at all, which did not surprise us,” Hezekiah told the bishop. “However, one of the brothers managed to pass Ithykor specially-drugged wine.”

  Dunner laughed, slapping his knee.

  “The man was so drunk he couldn’t have hit the ground with his hat,” the man said, chuckling. Rubar shook his head in disapproval.

  “I take it Ithykor did not see Lord Asher there,” he said. Dunner smiled.

  “No indeed… neither did his guests,” he said. Hezekiah cleared his throat.

  “Tyrus played host that evening,” he told Rubar. The balding priest looked impressed, yet again.

  “I take it the wine-soaked bishop said something of value,” he ventured. Hezekiah nodded.

  “Ithykor began relating bits of information about Sytel’s location and plans. He is here in Angelo.” Hezekiah looked at Rubar as he said this; the bishop appeared greatly surprised at the revelation.

  “I have not heard this,” he said. “It is far out of his province; with so may Shamar eager to question him, I cannot think why he’d risk traveling so far south.” The balding priest thought for several moments. “I do have some information that may be of some use to you, however; I have heard inklings of a small group of priests within Angelo who—with the aid of area merchants—have been enriching their pockets by selling gemstones to noblemen.”

  At this, Dunner took the pipe from his mouth.

  “Have peasants been disappearing?” he inquired, gravely. “More so than normal, that is.” Rubar sat up, nodding slowly.

  “Indeed, brother,” he said, his brow dark. “My orphanage is caring for many more children as of late whose parents—mainly the fathers—have gone missing. No bodies are ever discovered; some have been gone for months.” Hezekiah and Dunner both scooted their benches closer to the table.

  “Where are these children from?” Hezekiah asked, quietly. “What area of the city?” Rubar thought a moment.

  “The eastern portion of the city is very poor,” the priest said, at last. “They are mainly from that sector. The mothers and relations who bring them report strange smoke around the hills, above the city. When the magistrate goes up to see what is amiss, they can find no burned areas of any kind.”

  “Are the priests dealing in the gemstones from this area as well?” Dunner asked. Rubar nodded.

  “Most of them,” he said, heavily. “I do not agree with their messages; often they disparage the King’s handling of the poverty here, but they themselves do little to alleviate it. Such words have but one purpose, to stir up hate in the hearts of the afflicted. There are quiet murmurings among the priests and each day they grow more secretive. It has been some times since they have agreed to meet as we used to, years in fact. It is a dark time in this city.”

  “These so-called priests care for the poor in word only,” Hezekiah said, sharply. His companions looked over, a little surprised at the anger present in the marshal’s tone. “They spend hours speaking vast, eloquent orations on the immense amount of poverty in the city and in pleading for coins to help the poor. Yet, they are building a massive, obscenely ornate cathedral in the center of town. Right in the view of those they claim to be helping… in the very faces of the destitute!” He filled his mug with ale and took a long drink.

  “I agree with you brother,” Dunner told him. “However, we are better employed taking action than in mere censure.”

  Hezekiah set down his ale on the table and pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes squeezed shut.

  “Pray excuse me, brothers,” he said at length. “In my youth I studied as a priest. Little did I know then of the corruption which grips so many of that once just and knowledgeable sect.” A pause ensued, broken only the crackling fire nearby.

  “The branch that was grafted in has become wild.” Rubar spoke into the heavy silence. “Benefiting from the oracles of God—and given access to the covenant—the branch has borune much fruit through that foundation laid down, nonetheless have turned their back on the cornerstone and used the work of our lord for gain.”

  “Amen,”Dunner returned, glaring into the fire. “Everyone wants the spririt, but no one wants the cross.” Nodding Rubar turned to Hezekiah.

  “Take heart, brother. Be not weighed down by your vexation… for Paul the Apostle, a man once trapped by man’s religion, felt such grief for his people that he almost wished himself accursed, if it were possible, that they might believe and be saved.: Rubar took in a deep breath and glanced towards the ceiling. “Take comfort in Christ. For, He is the true high preist after the order of Melchzedek.”

  “Blessed be His name,” Dunner and Hezekiah said, at once.

  Nodding, the bishop stood from the table.

  “I can offer you a guide tomorrow to the easterly hills,” said he. “Until then, pray sleep in comfort here and rest your minds. We will do the King’s work here and valiantly, in spite of those arrayed against us.”

  “Here, here!” Dunner called out, standing up with his ale. Hezekiah grinned and stood as well, toasting Rubar’s hopeful blessing upon the vast city below them.

  FORESTER REEVES sat at his desk, finishing a report. His quill made small, scratching noises on the parchment as he wrote.

  The study door opened; Reeve’s wife appeared. She walked to his desk with practiced steps, quietly setting down a tray of tea and sweet biscuits.

  “How goes your writing?” the woman asked, fondly. Reeves gave his wife a smile.

  “It goes as well… as every other day befo
re,” he told her with a sigh. “I will not miss congealing facts into reports when I retire.” His wife laughed a little, and then sobered.

  “My dear, I am concerned about our guest,” she said, standing close to her husband.

  “Is she uncomfortable?” Reeves asked, his eyes still upon his writing.

  “Not at all,” his wife said. “Elizabeth is pleasant to me and helps where she is needed. Her mind is… well, it is mired in misery. She eats hardly a thing and cries a great deal when in her room. I must admit I think it is very cruel not to tell her.”

  Reeves laid down his quill.

  “My dear, that thought has occurred to me as well,” he told her. “But, know that our master has a very good reason for keeping her in the dark… one he cannot escape from, for the present. Comfort her as best you can, wife, but reveal nothing… for now.” Mrs. Reeves nodded in reply, clasping her hands together.

  A knock sounded out at the steward cottage door. Reeves stood and exited his study, followed by his wife. Opening the door Reeves beheld a courier, standing on his doorstep. The messenger’s attire struck both Reeves and his wife with awe; he stood with elegant grace, dressed in the splendid colors of the King’s own house. The courier held out a small sealed note to Reeves, who took it without a word. Nodding politely at the Reeves, the courier turned away towards the manor house, followed by two Kingdom soldiers.

  Cloding the cdoor, Reeves looked down at the note. The red wax on it bore the seal of the king. His wife looked at it as well, curiosity written all over her face. Breaking the seal Reeves opened the small parchment and read to himself for several seconds. Looking up at his wife, he smiled.

  “Have you cut the flowers for the lord’s vases yet, wife?” he asked, still smiling. Puzzled, Mrs. Reeves shook her head. “Good… good…” her husband said, folding the royal note; he placed it in his pocket. “Perhaps Elizabeth has been inside too much. Pray take her with you to the gardens. She may take pleasure in seeing them, and you could use her help, I wager.” Mrs. Reeves wanted very much to know what was in the note, but something in her husband’s radiant smile caused her to swallow her questions. Nodding she went to collect her gloves and workbasket.