The Road To The King (Book 1)

by Steven Styles

  “Yes, sir,” Joseph answered, frightened by the gray color creeping into his father’s face. Asher’s voice seemed to grow weaker with each passing moment. With an effort, he opened his eyes again. All around him the room seemed to blur, but Asher could see his son clearly.

  “When you find that gate... there will be gray guards there. Show them the ring first, then the message pouch. Say you have a message for the king. Do you understand?” Eyes wide, the boy nodded.

  “Are you going to be well, father?” Joseph asked, blinking away the moisture gathering in his eyes.

  Asher did not answer; he seemed fall back asleep. Suddenly, he jerked awake. Grasping his son’s arm he stared--wide-eyed--at the door.

  “The Shamar gave me the ring! He said... it was the readers of the rhunes. They slaughtered my men! We had no warning! They will invade us, he said...” Startled by the vehemence in his father’s voice, Joseph merely nodded in reply.

  Having accomplished his mission--to the best of his ability--Lieutenant Asher inhaled once more and then let the air run out of his lungs. His grip on Joseph’s arm relaxed as he drifted into oblivion. The boy tried to wake him but, something about his father’s face told him he was gone. Stepping back, he took the pouch in his hands, hiding it away under his worn shirt. Tears running unhindered down his face, Joseph curled up under the large wooden chair in the corner, the chair his father always sat in when he was home.

  Evening came, filling the room with shadows. No fire burned on the small hearth, no dinner cooked in the small iron put hanging therein. Joseph stared at it, unwilling to look at the still form upon their table. He looked up only when the door opened. His mother came in, with the captain of the Rishown fort, his father’s friend. Joseph’s mother tried to wake Asher, to no avail. Her husband’s body was cold to the touch. The barracks captain picked up the bloody arrow, studying it carefully.

  “Did he say who’d attacked him? “ the captain asked the widow.

  “He said... something about barbarians,” she replied, her hand to her mouth. Tears glistened on the sides of her face.

  “Barbarians? This far south?” the captain returned incredulously. “Are you certain?” Asher’s widow nodded, twisting her hands together. “I’ll gather some men immediately to investigate this,” the captain told her. “Whomever is responsible will pay, that I will swear.” After he left the house, Joseph’s mother sank to the floor by the table. Weeping, she covered her face with her stained apron.

  The door opened again a few moments later. Four men swept in, their flowing, crimson robes and gold-trimmed hats silently announcing their priestly mission. Joseph did not come out from under the chair. One priest stepped towards his mother, helping her up from the floor. Another of the visitors took out a small book and waved his hands over Lieutenant Asher’s body, speaking long sentences in a language the boy did not know. His mother wiped her tears away and managed to repeat some phrases along with him.

  At the end of the short ceremony the priest asked about the burial arrangements and wished to be shown the sight of the grave. The boy’s mother complied, drying her tears as she put on her shawl. She enlisted the help of her neighbor again to walk to the cemetery. Once they left Joseph watched the three other priests talk quietly among themselves. They did not notice the small figure, crouching in the shadows.

  They looked at the body on the table with distaste. One said something in the strange language and the others nodded in agreement. Only one word was Joseph able to catch: “rhunes.” At this, the other priests nodded in agreement. Going over to Asher’s body the first priest gingerly searched within the dead man’s tunic, breeches and boots, apparently looking for something. Finding nothing, he turned to his companions. He appeared angry, gesturing harshly towards the door. All three left in a body, their robes lifted carefully off the floor. Joseph listened as their steps faded away into the night air. He held the pouch tightly against his skin. Through the thick oilskin he felt the hard outline of a metal ring. Faint crackles of parchment sounded out as he moved from under the chair.

  THE FUNERAL took place at dawn.

  A simple wooden tombstone, flowering herbs and tears adorned the grave of Lieutenant John Asher, soldier of the King’s Army. Standing next to his mother, Joseph found his eyes straying towards the other side of town, where the king’s highway ran past the village. His father’s words kept ringing in his head. Women from the neighborhood spoke to his mother,soothing her with promises to aid her during her time of grief. As soon as the priest was done speaking his prayers over the earthen grave, Joseph asked his mother if he could go stay with one of his friends in the village for a few days. Nodding through her tears, the boy’s mother did not reply. Embracing her briefly, Joseph left the cemetery with haste, a growing sense of urgency building in him.

  Out of sight of the mourners, Joseph made his way towards the village green. Keeping out of the way of any familiar faces, he sought the main highway. A lone ancient oak tree stood by the road several yards away from the village, its lowest branch hung with a blue-dyed wooden shield. He’d seen solitary travelers there before--standing under the tree--waiting for passing carts to offer them a ride to the capital city. He stood in the shade, careful to keep the tree’s wide trunk between himself and the village behind him. Within a day’s journey of the capital, the highway past Rishown village saw more than its fair share of travelers. None seemed eager to stop their march for the young boy--standing under the blue shield--watching each oncoming cart with haunted eyes.

  After nearly half an hour, a single wagon diverted from the main flow of traffic and rolled to a stop in front of the tree. Glancing up Joseph beheld an older merchant; the man sat on the bench seat of an open cart, hitched to two aging Bay mares. Kindly eyes twinkled at him above a busy white beard and mustache. The man indicated--with his free hand--for Joseph to find a seat for himself in the back. He did not hesitate. Clambering up the wooden cart, Joseph saw many bundles, sacks and small wooden boxes piled up, nearly filling the cart. Wisps of strong scent-- both savory and sweet--could be detected, as well as the earthy perfume of dried herbs. Joseph made himself comfortable near some of the softer sacks as the cart began to move forward once more.

  Despite the paving stones on the highway the cart rattled and bumped all during the long ride. As he adjusted his seat, Joseph lifted his gaze. Behind the cart the village drifted farther away. A lump rose in the young boy’s throat, a feeling of loneliness settling over him like mist. His father often spoke of taking him--one day--to see the great capital city. Thoughts of seeing its many sights and wonders would fill his dreams on winter nights. Feeling his tunic, Joseph patted the thick message pouch, feeling a part of his father was there--with him--to see his last mission done.

  Settling back, the boy allowed the noises and sights to distract him from his sorrow. Herds of cattle, sheep, carts and horse-drawn carriages packed the king’s highway, most heading towards the capital. Farmers drove by, their ox-drawn wagons piled high with dull root vegetables and bushels of cabbages. Small groups of blue-clad soldiers cantered by on fine steeds, their bright cloaks draw about them. Joseph saw the ends of sword scabbards sticking out underneath the cloaks, tapping against the shined black boots. Carts of pigs--heading for market--did the young boy see; they sat in slatted carts, driven by equally smelly villagers; noisy chickens chattered in stick cages alongside live, trapped thrushes and finches. The amount of goods, people and animals heading towards the capital city seemed endless.

  Now and then, a fancy covered carriage--perhaps from some nobleman’s country estate--blatantly forced its way in between carts. Joseph’s serious brown gaze took in the surrounding hubbub in silence. Once, he quickly peered into the precious pouch tucked into his shirt; the oilskin indeed held a folded parchment. The ring more interested Joseph; it seemed plain--a simple silver band--until he turned it,slightly, with one finger, revealing the crest. A shield bore the Kingdom insignia, a rearing lion above two crossing swords
, all under a tiny inlaid-gold crown.

  The spice merchant tapped him on the shoulder near midday. Turning around, Joseph saw the great city in the distance ahead. At this distance, the buildings streets and walls resembled a wide, gray pool of stone, sitting at the base of the mountains on one side, hemmed in by the blue bay on the other. Beckoning to the boy, the merchant patted the bench seat next to him. Moving over fragrant, tightly-bound sacks Joseph sat on the hard seat, and looked up at the driver.

  “Are you hungry?” the man asked. He held out a thick slice of bread and an rosy apple. Joseph took these with a grateful look. He ate eagerly as the merchant talked. “You were so quiet back there I thought you had fallen off,” the man said with a smile. “My own boy was as young as you once. He is a soldier now. My name is Kosti, by the way.”

  He paused, expecting the boy to speak. When he did not, the merchant asked his name.

  “Joseph Asher,” the boy answered. “... of Rishown.”

  “I thought so, seeing you were waiting out in front of it. A pleasure to meet you! I come to the King’s City once a month. I travel on to the coast and sometimes up north in summer. Have you been up north?”

  Joseph shook his head, no.

  “Ah, well. Perhaps you will, one day. It is good to travel, though my wife say I get too much sun. Look up there...” Kosti pointed ahead to a large, stone building on a hill, with a tall tower and surrounding wall. “That,” he continued, “is a monastery. I stay at monasteries sometimes, with the monks. They do nothing but sit and read about things of God all day... and then they talk about things of God at night. They know many things this way.” Kosti paused speaking and ran one hand thoughtfully through his bushy whiskers.

  “But then there are priests, in the big cathedral in the city. Now, they won’t talk at all. Always so busy, walking around in those red blankets. They are too friendly with the Senate and governors for my taste. The monks are loyal to the King; I haven’t met one that was not. If you ever need a safe place to go, find a monastery.”

  Half-listening to the merchant, Joseph set his gaze upon the approaching city. At first they had passed only farms; the fields resembled a huge green quilt, with fences for stitching, dotted with cattle and sheep. The stone-flagged highway sliced through the middle of the land, bringing the flow of people and wares right to the West Gate of the city. Farms slowly gave way to inns, small villages and marketplaces. The inns and houses grew taller, wider and more ornate as the spice cart drew closer to the city.

  “I have traveled the breadth of this Kingdom, many times,” Kosti said, as they drove past a group of musicians playing by the side of the road. “There are ten large cities, almost as big as the capital, in the Kingdom and I have seen eight of them. There are more than fifty big towns as well... can you count to fifty?”

  Joseph nodded.

  “Good. I have been to most of them as well, and to hundreds of villages.” Kosti waved his arm to the north. “I have even gone off this island to other lands--when I was a seaman--but those lands are not as nice as this kingdom. The king here is a good king; he takes care of his people, and that is the way it should be. Have you ever seen the King’s castle?”

  “No,” Joseph told him, suddenly. “But, I would like to see it.” His voice was barely audible above the din around them.

  “Would you? Well, then... I could use a hand unloading my wares.” Kosti looked sideways at Joseph and scratched his bearded chin. “I have spices and herbs to sell, in the outer court of the Citadel. That is near the King’s castle; at least, you can see it from there. The market is past the first castle gate.”

  “There are three gates,” Joseph said, surprising his companion. “My father told me. He was a lieutenant... in the army.”

  Joseph swallowed painfully as he spoke.

  “He would know then,” Kosti returned.

  “How would one get past the second gate?” Joseph asked him.

  Kosti looked at the boy for a moment, his brow furrowed.

  “Well, it would be impossible to go over the wall; it is forty feet high and very thick. And, at that gate they are not so friendly. In fact, I have heard that those who walk past it--without proper permission--get an arrow in the chest. We merchants are confined to the square in the outer court, to enter and exit only by the first gate. Once we are there, we cannot leave the square... and when you go, you’ll exit the way we came in, understand?” Nodding, Joseph looked ahead toward the approaching city.

  The King’s Highway rose over a slight knoll. As Kosti’s cart reached the top, the great city unfolded before them, curving around a huge sapphire-colored bay and backed by gigantic mountains stretching far away into the distance. In the midst of the bay--like a finger pointing towards the sea--protruded a mountainous peninsula, atop which sat the King’s palace. Enshrined in walls, its many towers and turrets soared into the sky as if they were great stone trees. The sight held Joseph’s gaze until the great wall surrounding the City cut off his view. Along with many others the spice cart descended the hill towards the wall’s main gate.

  Passing through the western city gate was a quick affair. Joseph asked his host why they were not stopped by the guards.

  “Oh, that is but a city entrance,” Kosti replied, smiling. “Everyone can come in there. Don’t worry, young one. You will see plenty of stern looks from guards at the first gate of the castle. That is where we are going. This, here...” He gestured to one of the tall, red-shuttered Inns as they passed, “is the common part. I could live here, if I felt like it. The wall we are coming too, up ahead--you can’t see it over the cathedral--that wall holds in the seat of government, senators and the like. Past that is the gate that no one goes into but soldiers. But, we are not going there, so don’t worry.”

  The outer wall of the castle--housing the merchant square and government buildings--looked far taller than the city walls. Only the very highest castle tower-top was visible above it. As the cart rattled closer to the castle gate, Kosti brought out an oilskin pouch from a basket at his feet. He’d unrolled his merchant’s pass before the guard had time to open his mouth. The staunch-faced soldier in chain-mail, crimson tunic and burnished helm looked the proffered parchment over and then nodded, once. Smacking the reins on his horse’s flank Kosti drove through the massive gate. As they emerged Joseph took in the castle grounds before him, wide-eyed in wonder.

  In between them and the next gate lay a large expanse of low hill covered in square, ornate buildings. The neat streets teemed with people, even more so than the common part of the city. Above the government buildings sat the last wall, high and gray, with tiny guard walking by its formidable battlements. The tall towers of the castle loomed high beyond it on the hill’s crown. The white stone of its walls seemed a stark contrast to the gray stone of the outer walls; the city seemed dull and dirty by comparison.

  As Joseph watched, the spice merchant drove them into one edge of the nearest square. Several wooden stalls were built--all around its sides--for the selling of wares. After a few minutes of searching they located an empty stall, though Kosti found it somewhat dirty.

  “It is a crime the way people leave the stalls,” he complained bitterly. He eased himself down from the cart’s bench to the square. Jumping down from his perch Joseph found himself staring at the stones of the square underfoot; they were beautifully inlaid with shiny green, blue and red tiles, set in intricate patterns around the borders of each huge slab of stone.

  “It is pretty, no?” the merchant said to him. “Such trouble was taken for shoes that have stepped in horse dung. Come... now we work.”

  With the merchant’s directions Joseph helped him unload the cart. Now and then he looked up at the castle., set high on its rocky foundations. As he stacked bags and boxes in the stall, Joseph thought about which direction he should go to get to the second gate... once he left the merchant.

  Pausing in his task of filling jars with sticks of some pungent spice, Kosti nudged his helper and point
ed up at the castle.

  “Watch,” he said, simply. As the sun dipped lower behind the castle a wondrous thing took place. Joseph saw that several of the castle’s stained glass windows appeared placed specifically to carry sunbeams through them at a certain time of day. The prisms pointed downward, into the city. As the sun hit the colored glass so beamed out the light, sending glimmering color out into the squares and streets. Purple light bathed the section of the market square in which Joseph stood.

  “It is beautiful,” Kosti said with a sigh. “But look at them, out there.” He pointed at the people strolling in the square; the milling citizens talked, traded and laughed as if there were no colored lights dancing about them on the buildings and ground. “They see it so much that they don’t even look anymore. It’s a shame.”

  When each and every sack was placed as the merchant required, Joseph took his leave. Kosti bade him farewell and gave the boy him a small, silver coin. “To help you get home,” he said. “A good helper you made.” He patted Joseph on the head and nodded back towards the city gate. To ease the merchant’s mind he took a route towards the first gate. As soon as a few carts cut him off from Kosti’s sight, Joseph ducked in among a group of important-looking officials and their heavily laden assistants. A well-dressed servant dropped a scroll--from among the many he carried--just as Joseph passed by.

  “Here, boy!” the assistant called to him. “Pick that up.” Joseph quickly did as he was told. The man seemed grateful and made motion with his head for the boy to follow him.

  Together they walked to one of the larger squares, rimmed ‘round with the most ornate buildings Joseph had ever seen. Each harbored massive marble columns crowned with carved designs all over the outer walls. Many crimson-robed priests walked alongside men in rich clothes, trailed by assistants and surrounded by speech. Outside a smaller building the assistant collected the scroll from Joseph, giving him a copper coin for his trouble.