by I K Spencer
After the food was delivered, Jamen returned to the table and they began the review process. One by one, Orneson handed the king the file for each active guardsman, essentially a brief log, written in the guardsman leader's hand, of each guardsman's assignments beginning with his apprenticeship after graduation from the training academy. As the king scanned each guardsman’s scroll, Orneson spoke a few words about the man.
As he reviewed the files, Jamen closely scrutinized the younger guardsmen, remembering Garrick's description of his assailant. He noticed a trend right away. All the younger recruits were indicated to have apprenticed with a single guardsman, a man called Cidrl. The name sounded vaguely familiar but Jamen could not picture the man. He said nothing initially but when, midway through the files, he hadn't seen a single exception to the trend, he could hold his tongue no longer.
"This guardsman Cidrl must be an excellent tutor to have earned so many apprenticeships," the king remarked, trying to feign only casual interest.
"An excellent guard, Your Grace!" responded Orneson with excitement, "Presently our most capable man. He's handling the eastern province and it is an excellent training ground for the apprentices."
The words made sense to Jamen but Orneson seemed to behave in a strange manner as he recited Cidrl's accolades. The guardsman chief’s face hardened and his eyes burned with intensity, as though he were praying fervently to the gods. And when the king interrupted to ask for Cidrl's file, Orneson glared at the surprised monarch and acted disoriented for a moment before recovering and sliding the scroll across the table.
Jamen held his hand up to silence the guardsman chief as he studied the file. Cidrl had apprenticed in one of the southern provinces nearly twenty years before, which would put him at about forty years old. He appeared to have worked that general area until the last Dolonarian war, which began fifteen years ago. Like most other guardsmen active at the time, Cidrl served as an officer in the king's army. As the leader of a cavalry unit, he was part of an offensive force that drove deep into southern Dolonar. The log indicated Cidrl acted with valor but nothing in the words suggested any heroic feats such as those attributed to Garrick.
At the end of the bloody, two-year struggle, which ended in stalemate, Cidrl had returned to Carael. After nearly a year of unspecified duties, the still relatively inexperienced guardsman was assigned the critical eastern province along the Dolonarian border. The area included most of the Dolonarian border as well as the largest settlement along the border—Gates. The guardsman assigned to Gates watched over not only the historically wild border territory, but also the giant, unfriendly neighbor to the east. The rest of the log contained brief entries of periodic reports over the last twelve years. Jamen recognized much of the information since all guardsman reports are summarized for the king.
Jamen placed the file on the table and suggested they take a break and have some food from the trays delivered earlier. He wanted to think about what he had learned and he left for a few minutes while Orneson picked at the few items he’d put on his plate. Jamen walked back into the main hall to one of the large windows and gazed at the garden, just showing some signs of life.
Cidrl's file indicated an excellent record but, given the competition, nothing outstanding. Nothing in the record seemed to warrant the coveted Gates assignment, especially at such an early age. The assignment didn’t displease him but it was quite unusual, though he certainly couldn't argue with the results. The last twelve years had been nearly free of serious incidents along the border with Dolonar. This was no small feat and at least some of the credit belonged to the man assigned to the area, so perhaps the guardsman chief's enthusiasm was justified. Satisfied for the present, the king returned to the meeting room and he and Orneson finished their review.
Along with the trend of apprenticeships assigned to Cidrl, to which Jamen noted no exception, the king made two additional observations. He noted, without much concern, that the guardsmen apprenticed to Cidrl seemed to be concentrated in the Northern half of the realm. His other observation did not come until the last file. The Guard typically kept about fifty men in the field. The number had tended to grow slowly over the years but, as far back as Jamen could remember, the number had been near fifty, though small, short-lived fluctuations up or down occurred, depending on deaths, retirements and graduations from the academy. The monarch had subconsciously kept count and when Orneson handed him the last file, there couldn't have been more than forty.
Jamen gave the guardsman leader a questioning look. "Where are the rest?"
"There are no more," responded Orneson with a look of confusion.
"How many active guardsmen are there?" Jamen asked, unable to disguise the concern he felt.
"Nine and thirty, Sire." Orneson could tell the monarch's next question from the blanched look on his face. "There have been a number of illnesses and a few unfortunate accidents."
Although shocked by the number, the king regained his composure. "Who were these unfortunates and how did they die?"
Orneson thought for a moment, then began a litany of names and causes of death. Jamen listened closely, trying to discern any pattern. He recognized all the names, although some he had not heard spoken in many years. The majority of the elder guardsmen seemed to have been struck down by accident and the rest were taken by illness. None of the accidents sounded unreasonable, however, that number of deaths in just a two-year period seemed suspicious.
"Were all these deaths investigated?" Jamen asked.
"All deaths were thoroughly investigated, Your Majesty, and there was no suspicious evidence," replied the guardsman chief.
To Jamen, it seemed as though Orneson had become more restless through the course of their meeting. He sensed that the older man was very eager to end the discussion.
"And what are you doing about the shortage of men?" the king asked.
Orneson responded immediately, "Sire, our ranks are thin but all areas are covered. Until the numbers are replenished, none will leave the field. In that regard, we have but one graduate this spring but there are three excellent prospects for next year."
Jamen nodded. As long as they were not foregoing responsibilities, the normal replenishment path seemed reasonable. Further losses, however, would require more drastic steps. A rarely used provision existed in the Guard's charter for this very problem. The provision stated that, should the number of guardsmen fall below safe levels due to war or pestilence, the king and guardsman leader could appoint guardsmen from the military ranks or even from the general public. This would mean, however, these inductees would not have the benefit of the academy training and its natural selection process. The risk was that the influx would lower the quality of the elite corps for decades. So far as Jamen knew, the drastic provision had never been exercised.
Jamen's thoughts turned to the new graduates. "Tell me about this spring's graduate."
"Your Grace, young Anthen is an outstanding prospect. Kaleg raves about him constantly and thinks he's the best they have seen at the academy in decades."
"Anthen," the monarch paused, "Is he the one with the new bow?"
"Yes, Sire. He is unmatched with the crossbow and he invented a mechanism for loading four quarrels on the weapon, also of his own design. I understand that some of your bowmen are being outfitted with the new bow."
Jamen nodded absently. He had not yet met the young man but he recalled Anthen's invention; his military leaders were quite excited over it. The king looked up and saw the guardsman leader eyeing him nervously, obviously waiting to be released. Jamen could think of nothing else to ask the administrator presently.
"Do you have anything else to add?" he asked Orneson.
"That is all, Sire," the guardsman chief responded quickly.
"Well, I cannot think of anything else at present, Orneson. Thank you for an excellent report. I am, however, concerned about the state of the ranks. I know you have the situation well in-hand but I would like to hear the status regularly,
say every fortnight at this time?" The king smiled diplomatically at the elder man.
"As you wish, Your Grace," Orneson responded, his discomfort obvious.
They said their formal good-byes and Jamen watched the peculiar man depart. He closed the chamber door fully and sat heavily in his chair. He had been confident that this meeting would allay his fears and Garrick's claims would be put to rest. Now he felt worse than he had prior to the meeting, much worse.
********
Garrick rubbed his aching temples. Jamen had finished recounting his meeting with Orneson and he had been presented with a headache along with the alarming news. The number of deaths had shocked him and several of the dead had been well known to him. How many of the deaths attributed to "accidents" had actually been assassinations? How many of the fatal illnesses were actually caused by poison? Few were more skilled at taking lives than a guardsman and he no longer held any doubt that his brethren were being killed by a growing traitorous element within the Guard, a situation he would have considered impossible a week earlier.
The motive remained a complete mystery to the experienced guardsman, as well as to the king. "Why," however, was not the important question just then. They must first find a way to stop the killing, then worry about stopping the perpetrators. He believed that Cidrl, a brother he had never met, was the key. He had known Orneson for many years and did not suspect the guardsman leader to be the mastermind behind such a plot. However, it seemed from Jamen's perceptions of their meeting that the administrator might somehow be involved, which was fortunate in one way because several days on horseback separated them from Cidrl while Orneson was immediately accessible.
Garrick looked at Jamen, standing by the fireplace deep in thought. Not wanting to disturb the other man, he surveyed his surroundings for the first time. The room was small but comfortable. Along with the fireplace, it contained the small table where he sat, a settee and a pair of stuffed chairs. As instructed, he had entered a side entrance to the royal castle and had found the room himself. He had been in the room only moments before the king surprised him by entering through a panel in the wall by the fireplace, though he knew secret passageways to be a common castle feature, with privacy a considerable challenge for the nobility.
Garrick finally voiced his opinion of their first priority. "Sire, we must find a way to get them to halt the assassination attempts."
Jamen nodded but made no comment.
"I mean, it appears that one group of guardsmen is attempting to eliminate the others and we must find a way to make them call off, at least temporarily, these efforts."
The king nodded again. "Yes, but to do that, we likely need to have some idea of their motive." He looked at Garrick with a puzzled expression.
"Well, would it be reasonable to assume their motive is to gain an upper hand in the Guard?"
"It would be one motive." the king corrected.
"It would then follow that an influx of new guardsmen would be a threat to that goal," Garrick continued.
"You are suggesting the use of the provision to replenish the Guard?" the monarch interrupted, thinking he knew where Garrick was headed.
"I am suggesting a threat to use the provision."
Jamen thought for a moment. "What if that is just what they want. Perhaps their forces might make up the better part or even the entire influx?"
Garrick shook his head. "The provision calls for open competition. It would be too difficult to guarantee the winners."
The king paced for a few minutes, weighing the pros and cons of Garrick's idea. After a time, he stopped and faced the elder guardsman. "Very well. I agree with your first suggestion. I will summon Orneson and express my intention to invoke the provision should the ranks be depleted any further. There is a risk, however, that this action could just accelerate the traitors’ plan."
Garrick nodded, aware of this risk. "It might, but this is our only chance to stop the killing without risking our only advantage—surprise. We must also take other steps in concert with this one." He had been very concerned over the risk but he saw no alternative. They could not be sure of whom they could trust. If the guardsman leader was not above suspicion then they could not be sure of the others. The power of the opposition might be overwhelming and any overt action could unleash that power. He raised the next issue, "Your Grace, who are the guardsmen in your personal service?" He was referring to those guardsmen who acted as bodyguards to the royal family. If they began to suspect any of these guardsmen, some action must be taken immediately.
"There are four. Eljin and Dete have been with us for ages. Haldor and Pello have joined us within the last five years. Eljin and Dete are above suspicion; they are like uncles to me. As for the others," the king paused, "Their service has been without fault, however, I could not say that they must be trusted. I just do not know them that well." Truth be told, Haldor and Pello had crossed his mind occasionally. He never distrusted them but they, at times, seemed rather odd to him. They never became part of the family like Eljin and Dete.
"Sire, what schedule do they hold to?"
"Let me see," the king said, stroking his short beard in concentration. "Dete has always been on guard at night and generally, is responsible for the royal chambers. Eljin is with me all day and we are joined by Haldor or Pello if we leave the palace grounds. Haldor or Pello, I believe, accompany the Queen or the children on any excursions," he added, with a look of alarm. It was the first time he had considered that his family might be at risk from this situation.
"Sire, I believe we will have to trust Eljin and Dete. I think there is little risk in it." Garrick had known both men for decades although he had not seen either for several years. "They must be warned against the others and they must insure the safety of you and the royal family. Pello and Haldor must always be kept under surveillance without raising their suspicions."
The king nodded resignedly as he answered. "You are right, of course, Garrick but it will be difficult. The Queen keeps a very busy schedule. I may have to confide in her as well, in order to lessen her activities."
Garrick nodded, ready to broach the next subject. He had been stymied for other actions they should take until listening to Jamen's tale of the meeting with Orneson. Prior to that information, they had no suspects. Now there were two—Orneson and Cidrl. He wanted to travel east immediately to investigate this guardsman so popular with Orneson.
"Sire, I request your approval to travel to Gates to investigate Cidrl."
The monarch looked doubtful. "Garrick, you would be gone a month at the very least, and most of that just in travel. What could you learn quickly? We don’t have the luxury of time."
"Your Grace, there may be gossip and it might be useful to see what cover he uses. Also, I may find an opportunity to search his residence." It wasn't much and Garrick held little hope that he could actually enter Cidrl's domicile but he yearned for something to do, sick of just waiting.
Jamen shook his head. "Garrick, I do not think we know enough to make such a commitment. We will hold on that option for a while. Now ... about the new graduate." The king crossed his arms and rubbed his chin. "We must come up with some pretext to insure that The First breaks his trend and the young man is not sent to apprentice with Cidrl."
Garrick's face broke into a broad smile. "That's it!"
"What is it?" Jamen frowned, confused by the outburst.
"We want the apprentice sent to Cidrl. We get to him and he can be our man on the inside."
The king shook his head, clearly against the idea. "No," he said in a tone that brooked no argument. "He is barely beyond childhood. The risk is too great. If this Cidrl is capable of turning all these guardsmen against us, like as not through some sort of sorcery, what hope does this new recruit have? The youth is no match—I forbid it!"
"Sire, he is a young man of nineteen or twenty years, and a trained guardsman as well. Unlike the others, he will have knowledge as his weapon. It is his duty!" Garrick yelled back at Jam
en, forgetting for a moment that he was addressing his king.
Jamen dropped heavily into one of the chairs at the table and sighed wearily. Garrick recognized that the emotional response had come from Jamen the father and not the king. He remembered that the king's eldest son was now somewhere in his mid-teens and might know the cadet in question, as Jamen knew him.
Garrick continued more gently. "Your Grace, it is our best strategy and may indeed be our only one. We will prepare him as best we can but we must use the apprentice."
The king closed his eyes for a moment and Garrick could see the same guilt on Jamen's face that he also felt. It was unfair to the apprentice but they really had no better course. Jamen opened his eyes and nodded grimly. "Well Garrick, it looks as though you get your wish after all. You will, of course, accompany the apprentice to Gates to see that no harm befalls the young man."
Chapter 5
Anthen drew out each breath to slow his heart as he stared across the field to the target. It would not be much of a triumph if his first shot with the new bow design missed the mark completely. He pulled his hood back and shivered absently against the cold rain. He was nineteen but looked fifteen, if one glanced quickly at his smooth and boyish face. He stood taller than the average guardsman and appeared slender but his cloak masked a well-muscled frame. The steady rain began to plaster his normally-wavy hair to his head though, even with the collar-length, flaxen hair dry and perfectly combed, he would not be described as handsome, more on the plain side. He wore the determined, set-jaw look common to most guardsmen, so common it could give them away on occasion, but at least the serious expression helped him look older.