The Road To The King (Book 1)

by Steven Styles

  “I know you’ve heard of officer’s training, after graduation,” Bernard commented, as he unpacked savory herbs from a basket. Ears pricked, Joseph merely nodded in response. It was easier to pretend not to care, he knew. The other boys at the academy had talked of nothing else for the whole half of the school year; their father’s had all paid handsome sums to get them into the elite finishing school. A small hope lived in Joseph, that part of his education would include that as well. Perhaps a letter would come form the king, he thought, ensuring him a place with his fellows.

  “We were instructed to teach you all we know, so that you might learn from a vast well of experience,” Bernard continued. His voice carried a tone of unusual gravity. “Our orders, however, did not include sending you to officer’s training.”

  He saw the young man’s shoulder’s sink, just a fraction of an inch.

  “Disappointing as that may be to a young man,” the monk went on, “It may be that Our Lord, blessed be His name, has another plan for you.”

  “None of the others expect me there,” Joseph told him, after a moment’s pause. “They make no secret of their disdain for my father’s low rank, or for me.”

  “The army will find your smithing abilities very useful, I’ve no doubt,” Bernard said, plaintively. “It is good to be of use, and to excel at a trade. Brother Adrian tells me your skill exceeds his in blade work; he says you can tie arrows faster than any of his other apprentices. I cannot complain about you, either, as a student. We will miss your presence here, Joseph.”

  The last part of Bernard’s speech made the young man look up from his work. The monk suddenly seemed much older;he found it almost hard to believe that so many years had passed since he’d first come to the monastery. His eyes drifted in the direction of the citadel peninsula as if by habit; the shire buildings--around the market--obscured it from view.

  “Your mother will miss you as well,” Bernard continued. He sat down on a small wooden crate, in the shade. “But, she has found someone to comfort her, while you are away. When is the wedding?”

  Joseph half-smiled. The monks seemed to find amusement in questioning him about his mother’s beau, but he did not know the man well. The village baker had proposed to his mother a few months ago; from what the monks told him he was a kindly man and she would be taken care of.

  “Sunday next,” was Joseph’s reply. “She is happy and cared for; that is what matters.” A small concession on his part and all the monk would get on the subject. Bernard resumed laying out his bunches of herbs.

  Palmadore’s day of graduates proved a pompous affair, but Joseph expected nothing less. Blue ribbons hung from every spire and window of the Academy buildings, streaming in the mild breeze as the respective families of the students arrived. Music drifted over the lower field and servants laid out a small banquet on tables under the spreading elms trees border in the parade grounds. Joseph’s mother dressed in her best clothes to come see the ceremony. He drove her to the academy in a humble cart used by the monks for hauling firewood; it stood out in sharp contrast to the light, glittering carriages--drawn by magnificent horses--of his fellow students. Joseph passed the carriages and their wealthy occupants with his habitual straight face. He bore their condescension with all the appearance of disinterest, but received his third award for swordsmanship with the elegance of a prince.

  Joseph’s mother kissed him on the cheek.

  “Your father wanted to send you here,” said she, her eyes misting over. “Every soldier wants their boy to be an officer one day. He would have had to live three lifetimes to pay for schooling like this. How good the Lord has been to us!” Joseph could say nothing in reply to this. He would have given all the training he’d received if his father could be given back to them. As they left the ceremonies--walking towards their wagon--Joseph gave her the award statue, as a keepsake of the day.

  The next day, Bernard expressed a wish to go with him to the army registration office. It proved a fine stone building, located next to the large academy wing devoted to officer’s training. Just seeing the group of rich men’s sons--outside that elite school--made Joseph more than a little envious, However, past it he and the humble monk walked, bypassing the marble facades to the enlistment post.

  “So what am I supposed to do with you?” asked a plump official--seated at a carved desk--when shown all of Joseph’s education papers.

  Puzzled by the question, Joseph did not answer.

  “Are we to assume that your impertinence is rhetorical or do you wish to explain yourself?” Bernard said, tersely. “I ranked well in this army once; respect has always been in fashion for veterans and their proteges. If you had more than glanced through these parchments, you’d see that this young man was sent to Palmadore by order of the King, himself.”

  At this the official cleared his throat and took up the parchments once more.

  “I beg your pardon,” he returned, somewhat nervously. “The king, you say?” Joseph watched as the portly man scanned through line after line of writing. “Ah, here it is. I took a bit of wine for lunch, perhaps it has made me... a little thoughtless. I meant that I have never seen a young man graduate Palmadore Academy with such high marks, and then not go on to officer’s training. It is the next building over, if you missed it.”

  Bernard handed the official a scroll. Much to Joseph’s surprise it bore the King’s seal on the outside. The official opened it, read quickly and then stood to his feet.

  “It will be taken care of,” the man assured Bernard. “His rank won’t be private but Sergeant, since he is a skilled blacksmith already... the army won’t have to spend anything to train him. The boy just must know that without further training it is unlikely that he will ever gain the rank of any major officer, unless he manages to save a regiment or some kind of heroic deed... act of God.”

  Bernard gave him a solemn nod.

  “If that is the best you can do,” he returned coolly, glancing up at the ceiling.

  “He will be sent down--with all others--to Fort Paludosus,” the official told him.

  “To the swamps? That is... unusual.”

  “It is indeed,” the official went on , nodding copiously. “Normally, I only send them men fallen out of favor. All I know is the fort has requested as many tradesmen as we can spare, as well as all new recruits.”

  Joseph shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He’d studied maps of all the Kingdom forts and new the names the men spoke of. The terrain around Fort Paludosus was boggy; it was considered the least desirable land in the entire country, at least by the monks of the Great Bay.

  “When do I report to Fort Paludosus sir?” he asked.

  The official looked amused.

  “Within a fortnight, boy,” he said, smiling in a sickly way. “You had better find speedy transportation, and quickly. It is nearly six-hundred miles from here.” At this the monk bowed slightly and headed out of the door, Joseph close behind.

  “The swamps...” Bernard said, as if to himself. Joseph heard him but did not inquire. Glancing sideways at his young charge, the monk kept his counsel and headed back through town, to the monastery.

  Joseph’s departure from his second childhood home lasted only a few minutes. He had little to pack and only the monks and his mother to take leave of. The tower room looked much the same when he left as when he’s first seen it, bare but comfortable. He wondered--briefly--who would occupy it after him. As he turned to descend the stairs he caught a glimpse of the castle from his window. Shaping the image well in his mind, the young man closed the door.

  Bernard and Brother Adrian, the blacksmith, saw him to the front stairs. His tutor advised him to go by ship.

  “I imagine that several recruits will be starting the journey today, and in the coming days. It will be fairly easy to spot them. Try cheap transports down the river to the sea; you will go along the coastline until you pass the great swamps Palus and the city of Paludosus. After training there, you will likely b
e sent to the southernmost peninsula and the great Fort Munitio. Rumors are in the air already: foreign scouting vessels, spies along our shores looking for weaknesses. Be on your guard.”

  Joseph clasped Bernard’s hand and gripped it tightly for a moment. The aging monk saw gratitude in the boy’s intelligent eyes. Without a word Joseph left the steps and climbed into a local merchant’s wagon, headed for the King’s city. The transport ship at the harbor looked much as Bernard had described, as were the passengers: eager groups of young men, each bearing a satchel of some kind with their enlistment papers in hand. They stood on deck of a medium-sized merchant vessel with patched sails. The salty, fishy smell of the sea surrounded Joseph as he trudged along the dock toward the boarding ramp. Available berths consisted of several dozen hammocks below deck and proved quite inexpensive. The general expectation--he discovered--was that army recruits were to aid the ship’s crew, where needed.

  Once installed in his bunk Joseph felt anticipation well up within him. He’d never experienced a sea voyage, short as this one was expected to be. On deck he walked around to get his bearings and to view the city harbor once more. The castle citadel loomed into the sky beside them. Joseph gazed up at its topmost spires, standing by the rail. He wondered if--at that moment--the King was staring back down at him. Behind him, the ship’s crew made ready to cast off the lines.

  “Quite a sight isn’t it?” a gruff voice asked from a little ways behind Joseph. Turning, the young man saw an older rough-looking sailor--a few inches shorter than he--smoking a battered pipe. The man face appeared to posses a permanent expression of sullen defiance, but his dark eyes sparked with a sort of inner amusement. He had the appearance of criminal commonality, but he did not seem to be affected by it; he seemed to wear the stigma with ease and enjoyment, like a favorite cloak.

  “Yes,” Joseph answered him. He watched as the newcomer tramped over to the rail and stood a few feet from him. Looking at the man’s feet Joseph saw he wore fur-topped boots made of wide-stitched animal hide, much like the ones the barbarians of the Northern Isles wore.

  “Dunner’s the name. You?” asked the man as he puffed contentedly on his pipe.

  “Joseph Asher.”

  “A man of few words is often misjudged,” returned Dunner. He looked across the bay, out towards the sea. Joseph wondered if the man was referring to him, or to himself. After a few puffs of the pipe Dunner clumped away, looking very much at home on the ship.

  A group of recruits spoke together near the entrance stair to below decks. They saw Dunner approaching and hastily withdrew to one side. The older sailor ignored them, leaving behind a thick cloud of smoke as he leisurely descended the steps. One of the recruits noticed Joseph and walked over to him.

  “Who was that?” the youth asked, looking across the deck where smoke still lingered in the stairwell. “A tough-looking old seeder if ever I saw one...”

  “I don’t know the man,” Joseph told him.

  “My name is John,” the youth returned; his tone spoke of easy cheerfulness. “I come from Capital, near the south gate. You?”

  “Rishown.”

  “The town outside the forest? Never been there; is it nice?”

  As the youth talked, the first mate approached them. Clearing his throat the seasoned sailor asked if they had signed on as ‘help men’. They both nodded and the mate signaled for them to follow him. Little explanation was needed for their tasks; they were to pitch in wherever ordered to.

  “Watch and learn,” the mate said, “And I’d strip off those linen shirts before they get ruined.”

  Obeying the mate’s order, Joseph pulled his shirt over his head and tied it around his waist. He found the other youth, John, staring at his Palmadore tattoo. The insignia of the expensive school stood out from the his skin on his a upper arm in black ink, with two swords crossing above it. The mark was his award--for winning first at last year’s swordsmen tournament--in both single combat and infantry field maneuvers. Joseph turned away without an explanation; his fellow asked him no questions. Imitating the sailors, Joseph began busily stowing away the thick, sea-scented ropes.

  The two-day-long voyage went by uneventfully. Joseph consumed his day with work aboard the decks and his nights in slumber, avoiding the company of the others. The crew was a rough lot; Joseph’s slumber was often interrupted by shouting matches or short brawls taking place nearby. At most of these outbreaks Joseph spied Dunner standing in the shadows, watching from a comfortable distance. He smoked contentedly, appearing amused by the antics of the sailors.

  The day before docking at Fort Paludosus harbor a massive Kingdom frigate drew near their ship, its blue military colors waving in the wind. To the surprise of the captain, the frigate sent over seven small boats half-full of smartly uniformed soldiers. Passengers and crew were brought out, their papers inspected.

  A sharp-looking Lieutenant came on board during this process; his serious demeanor set Joseph on guard.

  “Our great King has declared war on the eastern land of Weymin,” the officer announced, when all were assembled on deck. “By order of the King you are to unload your recruit passengers here and head to a non-military port. No civilian ships are allowed past this point.”

  Unsettled by the news, Joseph and the other recruits nonetheless retrieved their satchels quickly and lined up to board one of the small vessels. To his surprise, Joseph beheld Dunner-- complete with satchel--walk right up to the Lieutenant; they each gave a salute of mutual acknowledgment and then the older sailor strode past him, to the rail. Turning, Dunner beckoned to Joseph.

  “Come, lad,” he called out gruffly. “There’s room for both of us in this one.”

  In the longboat Joseph couldn’t help eying Dunner in curiosity; the man wasn’t dressed as an officer. The lieutenant spoke up.

  “Shall I make arrangements for another ship to come by for you, Captain?” he said, addressing Dunner. Watching the sea and smoking, Dunner shook his head.

  “No thanks,” said he. “I’ll stay a spell with Jamieson; should be a good show.” Glancing sidelong at Joseph, he fixed his squinted gaze on the approaching frigate.

  Aboard the titanic ship, Dunner gave Joseph his satchel to carry, and jerked his head for the young man to follow him. The captain of the frigate--a tall individual in a severely neat uniform--descended from the quarterdeck, and strode up right to Dunner.

  “Captain Dunner!” he called out genially, the white feathers on his hat shaking as he nodded his head. “I had not heard that you would be joining us. Welcome to my ship.”

  Dunner nodded, clasping the man’s outstretched hand.

  “Cap’n Jacobs,” he said, taking the pipe from his mouth. “Pleasure t’ be here.”

  “We just received our new orders,” Captain Jacobs said. “I want to know what you think of this. Come up to my cabin, if you will.” He led the way towards the back of the ship. Outside his quarters Jacobs looked at Joseph; the young man doggedly followed Dunner with both satchels.

  “You can leave that here, boy,” the Captain told him, curtly.

  “He’s with me, Jacobs,” Dunner interjected. “He’s cleared. Come along, Joseph.” As though he thought nothing of Dunner’s allowance, Jacobs readily ushered Joseph in to the cabin and shut the door behind them.

  Large windows--set in the very back of the ship--lit the spacious cabin. A large, circular table dominated its center. Here and there lay maps weighed down by various types of daggers, including one with a handle shaped like a lion’s head. Dunner took up a seat in a comfortable chair and re-packed his pipe, pointing to a stool nearby for Joseph to take.

  Captain Jacobs seemed visibly eager to hear the news Dunner brought but waited until the man was ready to speak.

  “There’s a map in my satchel, Joseph,” Dunner said, after lighting his pipe. Taking the cue Joseph opened Dunner’s pack and brought a tightly rolled map, made of some kind of light colored leather. Taking it Dunner opened it on the floor at his feet.<
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  “The easterly nation is sending out the larger part of its armada,” Dunner reported. “The king’s sources say they will attempt to encamp the Munitio peninsula. They will be there within a fortnight.”

  A look of surprised flitted across Jacobs’ face.

  “So soon?” he asked, standing. “That puts them within two day’s march of Munitio City! They haven’t the men to repel a full invasion! Its loss would cripple shipping trade of the entire nation.” Dunner nodded, still seated.

  “Who leads the defense forces at Fort Munitio?” he asked.

  “General Inermis was just transferred there,” Jacobs replied, “or, so I’ve heard. But the majority of the navy is on the other side of the Kingdom, supporting the northern defense. It would take them a month to mobilize to Munitio.”

  “Inermis,” said Dunner thoughtfully. “Unfortunate, that; he’s almost no field experience. He’d like as not retreat, when one should stand.” The man heaved a short sigh, frowning at the man. “I’d feel more easy with Walters there.”

  Jacobs shook his head.

  “As would I. Without naval support--and with all these new recruits to contend with--a battle of this nature would be more extreme than any other Inermis has dealt with.” The captain glanced over at Dunner. “I hope--for the sake of his men--that Inermis is not the coward you describe. The King would not brook his freshest troops being slaughtered.”

  “In the face of this invasion,” Dunner said, after a moment’s pause, “ it appears that all the Kingdom’s armies are scattered around the coasts. There must be evil at work--in this weak defense on the southern end--at such a crucial time.”

  “If not for this information we’d have no warning at all,” Jacobs told him. “There will be inquiries, but in the meantime I’ll send word to the nearest frigate, myself, to make haste to Munitio.” Jacobs glanced at Dunner. “As for who is responsible for this oversight, I am sure the Shamar will find that out soon enough.” At the name of the King’s guard Joseph sat up a little. Dunner nodded.