In Service Of The King (Book 2)

by Steven Styles

  Upstairs in the spare bedroom Elizabeth stood by a little window, looking out at the trees. Not far beyond their trunks the high, stone wall could be seen, solidly surrounding all within the Stone Mountain fortress. It stood as a silent reminder of her inescapable predicament. A soft knock came at her door and Mrs. Reeves entered. Elizabeth turned to her, giving the lady a small smile; the motherly woman’s presence felt comforting, despite the circumstances.

  “In the garden, I cut fresh flowers for the lord’s vases each morning,” the lady of the house told her; the older woman glanced down at the breakfast tray by Elizabeth’s bed. It had not been touched. “I would appreciate some help, if you would accompany me.”

  “Of course, Mrs. Reeves,” Elizabeth told her. Assailed with unhappy thoughts from dawn till dusk, she rather liked the distraction of being busy. Collecting her sunbonnet she followed the older woman down the wooden stairs, carrying the breakfast tray.

  The steward’s cottage stood by the western wall of the fortress—in sight of the manor house—rather hidden in a private grove of trees. A little, stone path led through the trees to a large, lovely garden. Following Mrs. Reeves, Elizabeth smiled a little at the sight of all the spring flowers. Blossoms swayed in the soft breeze amid the green leaves, decorative grasses and stone-walled beds.

  “Beautiful,” she said, quietly. Mrs. Reeves smiled at her.

  “It is. I should have brought you out here sooner.” She put on her gloves as she spokt. “Flowers and herbs are the spring crop. We dry the herbs and some blossoms for use all year. In htose beds over there you can see the seedlings of summer greens and starberries.” She handed Elizabeth a wide, woven basket and a small knife. “If you would, please gather me two score of the lilac blossoms there, and the same number of the white lilies.” Nodding at her, Elizabeth moved over to do this task, unable to really feel melancholy in this lovely garden.

  An hour later, Mrs. Reeves and Elizabeth had cut nearly all the blossoms they needed for the castle vases. The young woman saw that the steward’s wife had been doing this many, many years and knew exactly how to arrange the flowers properly. As she carefully cut delicate violets for a smaller bouquet, a shaft of sunlight hit her slender, gold band. Pausing in her task, Elizabeth touched the ring fondly, her golden eyes swimming with tears.

  “Oh…” she heard Mrs. Reeves say; it was a sound of surprise.

  Looking at the older woman, Elizabeth saw her stand up and straighten her posture. Mrs. Reeves appeared to be staring at the castle side-entrance, where the garden began. Standing, Elizabeth wiped her hands on her apron; she saw Harold walking slowly towards them, accompanied by a strange man. Forester Reeves also walked with them, though a few steps behind. The newcomer walked as a nobleman; he appeared to be no more than forty years of age, with a close-cropped beard. His raiment was covered by a long, gray cloak, his hands clasped behind his back. Uniformed guards hovered around the sides of the garden, but remained at a respectful distance.

  Dread filled the young woman. All this time, she knew that one day she must meet the Lord of the Stone Mountain; Elizabeth felt a keen sense of panic envelop her. Glancing around she searched for an escape, trying to think up some excuse to leave immediately. Finding none, Elizabeth strove to keep from bursting into tears.

  As the men approached, she followed Mrs. Reeves’ example in giving a deep curtsy; she did not dare lift her eyes up, but kept them on her feet.

  “Mrs. Reeves…” came the stranger’s voice; the man’s voice and tone sounded pleasant, almost trustworthy. “I see you yet keep the rooms of this castle filled with springtime.”

  “Yes, milord,” Mrs. Reeves said, curtsying again. “I thank you. May I present Miss Elizabeth Hays, daughter of General Hays?” At her words, a small hope grew in Elizabeth’s mind; this man did not know who she was.

  “A pleasure, Miss Hays,” the nobleman said, kindly. Elizabeth nodded and curtsied once more. Harold spoke up.

  “Miss Elizabeth, this is Lord Christopher,” the steward said. “A close acquaintance of the Lord of the Stone Mountain.” At this, Elizabeth felt a flood of relief; it showed on her face, though she did not guess as much.

  Lifting her eyes, she met the nobleman’s gaze and felt no fear. The man’s kind smile set her at ease.

  “I wonder if you would take a turn in the garden with me, Miss Hays,” he requested, kindly. “I would know more of my friend’s betrothed.” Elizabeth nodded politely, despite her uncertainty. Harold bowed to Lord Christopher and walked back towards the castle, along with Forester Reeves. Mrs. Reeves curtsied again, returning to her task.

  The nobleman appeared in no hurry to speak. Elizabeth walked slowly along the path beside him, staying as far from him as possible; flowers brushed up against her dress but she did not notice.

  “I suppose you must think the Lord’s absence is strange,” the man said, at last. “You have not been acquainted with him, yet you are engaged.”

  At this Elizabeth bit her lip; she stopped walking and looked up at the nobleman’s face.

  “My lord…” she said, falteringly. “There is an impediment and I cannot hide it from you, sir… as much as I wish to honor my parent’s agreement and wishes… I am already engaged, to another. My parents agreed to this first, yet they accepted the Lord of the Stone Mountain’s proposal in spite of it.”

  The nobleman stood still, his eyebrows raised slightly in surprise; he did not appear angry, however.

  “I see,” he said, quietly. He continued to stroll forward; Elizabeth followed along, wondering what this man would do. “They accepted another man’s proposal, prior to this?” Elizabeth nodded.

  “The blacksmith of Dorenvines asked for me,” she told him. “My father accepted his bride price. Joseph Asher is his name.” The nobleman glanced at her, his expression unreadable.

  “You find yourself in a quandary then, do you not Miss Hays?” he inquired, looking at her face intently. Elizabeth swallowed hard, nodding.

  “I do, my lord,” said she. “I wish to honor my parents but I cannot break my word to Joseph. I agreed to marry him. Indeed… I wish to, above all else.”

  As she finished speaking, Elizabeth found that they had walked around the entire garden and were close once more to the side-entrance. A uniformed guard walked up to the nobleman and bowed.

  “Sire…” the guard said, standing straight again. “The letter you requested…” The guard held up a sealed roll of parchment. Elizabeth stared at the nobleman; only one man in the Kingdom bore that title. The king’s first name, if her memory served her, was also Christopher.

  The nobleman took off his cloak and handed it to the guard. His rich tunic bore the King’s own crest, the bejeweled black lion roaring over the crossed swords.

  “Excellent,” the man said, pleased. “It is a retirement gift for Forester Reeves. Pray deliver it to him with my compliments.” The guard bowed and hurried away.

  Turning to look at the young woman at his side, the king smiled at her. Dropping into a deep curtsy, Elizabeth felt entirely unable to speak.

  “The Lord of the Stone Mountain chose wisely in his pursuit of you,” he stated. “I have never known his honor to lax, neither his honesty. It is fitting his wife should match him in this way.” He glanced around, as if making certain no one was within earshot. “What I am about to reveal to you, you must tell no one. Do you understand this?” Elizabeth nodded at once; her throat felt as if it had been closed.

  The king resumed his speech. “I am acquainted with Joseph Asher,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back. “He has been in my service some years, indeed since he was a boy.”

  Elizabeth did not bother to hide her astonishment at this, but held her words captive. “He has served me well,” the king continued, “… and in doing so has acquired some… powerful enemies. They could not find him for some time, then he detained by your father in Khilar, as you know. I had him brought here, and for his service and loyalty to me, elevated him to title a
nd lands. He is the Lord of the Stone Mountain.”

  Stunned, Elizabeth felt behind her for the low, stone wall of the flower bed and sank down to sit upon it.

  “I know it is difficult to fathom, Miss Hays…” the king told her, kindly. “You must understand that in order to protect him I ordered him to tell no one of his title. Somehow, his enemies found out he was blacksmith of Dorenvines, and eventually that you had become betrothed to him. To protect your life, Joseph arranged for your parents to believe that the Lord of this estate wished to marry you instead and offered them much gold to ensure their agreement. They do not know of Joseph’s title. Only a few of my trusted men know and so it stays until our enemies are apprehended.”

  Elizabeth nodded a little, staring into the garden with a blank expression on her face.

  “Joseph wanted to let you know, himself, even requesting of me in writing if he could. That is my purpose in coming here and speaking with you. Joseph is serving me elsewhere in the Kingdom, and will be away some weeks.”

  Getting to her feet, Elizabeth looked up into the monarch’s face. As confused, hurt and amazed as she felt at the moment, she knew she was being trusted with this information, let alone who delivered it..

  “Sire, I thank you for telling me these things,” she said, gathering her courage together. “It relieves my mind, greatly.” The king smiled again, nodding once.

  “You do yourself credit, Miss Hays,” he told her. “I shall leave within the hour. I shall bring the Queen with me… when I attend your wedding come summer.” Elizabeth curtsied, feeling that a huge, invisible weight had lifted away from her.

  “Thank you, sire,” she said, returning his smile. “You honor me with your kind words. May God bless your journey with safety.” Nodding, the King turned and strolled out of the garden. Spying Mrs. Reeves still among the flowers, Elizabeth moved to join her once more. Melancholy , all melancholia chased away from he rmind. Her feet felt as if they had been given wings.

  ELEVEN

  Joseph awoke in a small stone room. Sitting up, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and blinked in the early morning light. The room’s one window faced full east; the light of the dawning sun shone brightly.

  Dressing himself quickly, Joseph went to wash. The scent of cooking breakfast met his nostrils as he washed. His stomach rumbled and he followed it allthe way to the dining hall. Hezekiah and Dunner sat at a long table by the fire; the latter hailed the young man as he walked closer.

  “Good morning to you, lad!” the aging sailor said. Joseph smiled a little at Dunner’s unusually cheerful tone.

  “I see you are rested,” he said, to the older man. Dunner grinned and tapped out his pipe in a metal bowl.

  “I am,” he said, packing his pipe with fresh tobacco. “A comfortable mattress is a far cry from six nights bedding down on the cold, hard road.”

  “I concur,” Hezekiah said, glancing at the kitchens; the smell of baking bread and frying eggs filled the air. “A refreshing sleep, though my chamber was quite near the stables; I could smell the horses all night.”

  Looking at Joseph, he saw the young man regarding him expectantly. “I was hoping to wait until we eat to lay our plans, Lord Asher,” Hezekiah said. Joseph looked amused.

  “I understand, Marshal,” he said, evenly. “I merely wish to know which weapons to pack.” Dunner chuckled at this.

  “All of them, lad,” he said, lighting his pipe.

  “Treachery need only a sharpened sword, my firend.” Hezekiah returned, adjusting his seat on the bench. “The entire area is ripe for dissension, so we must act carefully and swiftly. My garrison is ready to move in, should I give the order.”

  “I would that you’d refresh us, Marhsal, of the nature of our commission,” Joseph said, leaning against the mantel.

  “The group of priests Rubar spoke of is led by one Bishop Ostene,” Hezekiah began. “He is responsible for the undercurrent of dissention against the King in the entire eastern sector. His daily sermon ends around noon; our quest, gentlemen of the King, is to detain and question the bishop.”

  “And what if he resists?” Dunner asked, somewhat eagerly.

  “We arrest him, bring him back here, and transport him to the Capital for judgement.”

  “Excellent.”

  “Do we know the number of guards the bishop employs?” Joseph asked.

  “At the most we should expect two dozen guards, by my reckoning,” Dunner said, amid a puff of smoke. “The lad could handle those in his sleep.”

  Hezekiah let out a long breath.

  “Guards are the least of our worries, my friend,” he said, gravely. “We’re wading into a mire of lechery and beggary. Arresting this man could easily spark riots in the surrounding borough. The very air reeks of savagery.” At these words, Joseph nodded in understanding. It would be as the moments before a battle.

  “Once we eat, I will prepare the horses,” he said.

  Dunner spied three monks, walking towards them with steaming trays; he smiled.

  “Ah, the unrivaled pleasure of a hot meal,” he remarked. “Whether sailor or landsman, one can extol their gratitude of this blessing without partiality… or politics.” Hezekiah smiled at his good friend.

  “And it is a simple man who breaks into verse only for food and ale,” said he. Dunner snorted and puffed his pipe with vigor.

  Bishop Rubar arrived to eat with them; the balding priest nodded copiously and smiled at their thanks for the comfortable chambers.

  “Good sleep is among the most priceless of gifts,” he told them. As they ate, a monk came up to the table and spoke quietly to the bishop. “Your men have arrived,” Rubar said, addressing Hezekiah. “They wait without in the yard; they’ve eaten already.” Hezekiah nodded, finishing a bite of bread.

  “A unit of trusted men will accompany us; each of them is familiar with the eastern sector,” he informed his fellows. “They are dressed as citizens, as we will be. It is best to maintain a low appearance, for now.”

  “I suppose there are no garrisons within the Easterrn sector,” Dunner remarked.

  Rubar shook his head.

  “As my good friend Marshal Walters already knows, the eastern sector area of our fine city was walled off, under the Acts of Benevolence, a senate degree enacted over a decade ago. Priests guards are all who venture there now; the entire eastern sector is administered to by the priests alone, and the military is barred from entering, save of course, for the Shamar, or if there is a major uprising.”

  Joseph sat down forward a little, listening intently.

  “What are the acts of Benevolences?” he asked.

  Hezekiah cleared his throat.

  “Ten years ago,” he began, “The city of Angelo—along with the six other largest Kingdom cities—wanted to address the growing problem of areas afflicted with poverty. In a fine display of misguided philanthrophy greed, the senators agreed to let the cathedral and priests oversee these sections within each city; they saved much gold on services, patrols and feeding the poor. The priests quietly had these sectors walled in, under the uncaring eye of the city adminstrators.”

  Dunner snorted.

  “A fine job they did,” he scoffed. “The whole sector’s a den of thieves…”

  “Sadly, brother… you are correct,” Rubar said, his brow creased with concern. “The last ten years has been horrible for the families and children within the walls. Many have left, many have starved, while outside in Angelo life is good and food is plentiful.”

  Joseph sat a moment, thinking.

  “Who oversees the Acts of Benevolences, in the seven cities?” he asked. Hezekiah looked to Rubar to answer this.

  “Bishop Sytel,” Rubar replied. “It was he whom convinced the senators to agree to it; he oversees all the sectors under Benevolence, though Angelo holds the largest.”

  “A fine place to conceal oneself,” Joseph mused, aloud. Dunner grinned, taking out his pipe.

  “Aye, like a viper lying in the tall
grass,” said he.

  THE GROUP of eight riders left the monastery under a reddish sky.

  “Sailors take warning,” Dunner said, casting a glance over his shoulder at the rising sun. The city of Angelo appeared clean and bustling with honest trade. Women walked with their children in the marketplaces, buying fresh-looking food and wares. Merchants drove brightly painted carts and now and then a patrol rode down the swept, cobbled streets nodding at citizens as they went.

  Riding out front, Hezekiah turned down an avenue, leading east. Between the tall stone buildings ahead, Joseph took note of the sky above the eastern sector. Unlike the clearer air above the seaside portion of the city, it sat like the dank, brownish haze above a bog. As they rode closer to the walled sector the city buildings did not diminish in size or decoration.

  At the end of the avenue the sector wall stood high, its whitewashed surface gleaming in the morning sun, like the outside of a sepulchre. Set in the middle of its painted surface stood an heavy, fortified iron gate, likened to those found in prisons. Four heavily armed guards stood on either side of the gate; men and carts were halted and searched coming into the city from the eastern sectorto the city, but unhindered to enter it.

  A well-kept stable building stood by the wall, a little ways away from the gate. Hezekiah halted his steed in front of the stable; he spoke with one of the hands and gave a few silver coins.

  “The horses will be safe here,” the marshal stated. He fastened his gray cloak more securely as the others dismounted.

  Beyond the gate, the landscape seemed to have come from a different realm altogether: weeds sprang up by the road and a dirty stream flowed in front of them, a wide, wooden bridge was built over this; just beyond the bridge, under a cloud of brown haze stood the eastern sector. The buildings were unkempt and swirled with soot, laundry hanging out into the dirty air. Smoke rose from thin, crooked chimenys, but here and there a piles of garbage burned in the street, adding an acrid brown haze to the air.