The docks of the huge harbor hummed with activity. Merchant and their traders re-stocked their ships or carried wares to markets; naval sailors sat outside the wharf inns, drinking or eating; soldiers walked in two or four-man patrols, looking for outlaws or searching cargo for smuggled contraband. Citizens strolled the paved avenue beyond the docks, watching the harbor hubbub with interest.
Helping his men secure their vessels to the docks, Joseph spied an approaching admiral--wearing a far taller hat than even Dunner’s--coming towards them along their dock, accompanied by a detachment of soldiers in bright blue.
“A ship with no markings or flags is an unusual site in these waters,” he called out to them, “and one with a naval captain aboard is cause for my interest. I am Admiral Mathers, leader of the Northern Naval Battalion.”
“Captain Dunner, Southern Naval Battalion,” Dunner said, nodding at the Admiral. “This is Lieutenant Asher. He captured these ships--which were in barbarian hands when we found them.”
“Barbarians had these ships?” the Admiral repeated, surprised. “That is ridiculous, these are naval vessels.”
At this point Joseph cleared his throat.
“It is true, Admiral. The rest of my detachment is due to arrive here in the next few hours, with our horses. We are the Northerly Patrol; my men have fought hard to defend against the barbarians and will need rest.”
As he spoke, Joseph made his voice sound far more confident than he felt. “Is there a military inn nearby, for men and to stable the King’s horses?” The admiral nodded shortly and then continued talking with Dunner.
Turning to his men, Joseph instructed the prisoner be brought out. Mathers’ face altered as he saw the priest being brought down the gangplank, tied up and stumbling as he walked.
“What is the meaning of this?” the admiral demanded, his voice rising sharply. “That is one of our priests! A holy man of the church! Untie him at once!”
Facing him, Joseph leveled his eyes at the admiral.
“Sir,” he stated, coolly, “This traitor is named Ithycor. He was caught trading illegally with the barbarians and allowing them into the land, disguised as citizens, an act punishable by death. The ships are yours... built in those very dry dock. We brought them back to you, to be handed over to the northern naval battalion... but this prisoner stays with me.” The admiral tried to interrupt, but Joseph went on. “He will be turned over to my senior officers at the Fort Rabak and will stand trial for the deaths of the Northern Patrol that never returned to Fort Saref, and three other victims--who may never be identified--as they were eaten under our very eyes.”
Silence reigned on the dock for some moments. The admiral’s eyes bulged indignantly, but the young lieutenant’s eyes held a look that made the man’s anger hesitate.
“Have you proof of these.... extraordinary charges?” the Admiral said, carefully.
“I do, sir. The traitor had several documents with him, stating all I have accused him of, as well as the eye-witness account of myself and my men.”
“Produce them at once,” the Admiral said, stretching out his hand. “I will evaluate them myself.”
At that moment, Hezekiah strode down the other ship’s gangplank and walked deliberately up to the group. His monks habit gone, he had arrayed himself in his general’s uniform, showing his equal ranking with the Admiral.
“Thank you for showing such concern for our prisoner, Mathers, but the documents will stay in the Lieutenant’s care for now.” Hezekiah’s voice rang out firmly above the noise of the docks. “He is the arresting officer and his men--under his direction--alone made it possible to capture this traitor. I was witness to all that has been told you. That should be enough proof to satisfy any court.”
The admiral looked past Hezekiah with amazement, as if expecting a whole parade of high officers to come strolling down the gangplank. Joseph turned to his men as they gathered behind him and Dunner.
“The admiral’s men will lead us to an inn to rest. Bring the prisoner with us; keep him close. Tomorrow he goes--with us--to the Fort.”
Saluting, his men followed their lieutenant off the dock, led by two of the admiral’s detachment. Ithykor writhed and screamed in his bonds, making progress slow through the docks and market slow. Merchants, citizens and sailors alike stared at the kingsmen as they hauled the cursing priest along. Dunner and Hezekiah brought up the rear of the party, strolling as if on a Sunday walk; they paused--now and again--to tip their monstrous hats, or nod at a curious citizen, apparently enjoying the spectacle. Finally, two of Joseph’s men simply lifted Ithykor bodily off the ground, one holding the man’s jerking feet, and the other clamped onto his shoulders--that they might move forward unimpeded.
Before they had left the harbor completely, Dunner and Hezekiah politely took their leave of Joseph’s detachment.
“This has been one of my more interesting travels to the Northern Province, lad,” Dunner told him, when the admiral’s men were out of earshot.
“Yes,” Hezekiah put in, smiling, “A most healthy climate, charming locals...”++
“We have some things to attend to,” Dunner interrupted. “Godspeed to you, Asher, and...” He leaned forward a little. “Watch your back, even in this place.”
“Godspeed to you, sir,” Joseph returned, clasping hands with both of them. “Thank you, for your assistance.” With a final nod the Shamar left; the harbor crowd parted for the two officer and soon they were lost to Joseph’s sight.
As evening fell, Joseph received report at the Inn that the remainder of his men had finally arrived. Hastily, he made his way to the adjacent stables to greet them.
“Good evening, sir,” one of the tired soldiers called out to him from the stable yard.
“I am glad to see you’ve arrived unharmed,”Joseph told him, counting both horses and men; all were present. “An uneventful journey?”
“Not a soul on the road, sir,” returned the soldier.
“I’ll see to things here,” Joseph directed. “The Inn is just over there, and rooms are waiting you, and hot food.”
“Thank you, sir,” the soldier said, stretching. “We all want a bath and some grog. The nights have been merciless cold!”
“It was out at sea as well,” Joseph returned. “Get some rest.”
The horses looked exhausted, but they seemed to revive quickly at the sight of the feed in the stalls. Belator whinnied at his master’s approach. Taking his horse’s bridle himself, Joseph led the spirited horse into a nearby stall. He brushed Belator’s black coat until it gleamed and pitched up fresh hay into the bottom of the stall. The steed took a moment to nip at Joseph playfully as he passed by with a bucket of water.
“Easy there, scoundrel,” Joseph said smiling, rubbing the horses’ neck. “It’s not my fault you couldn’t handle a sea voyage.” Belator went back to eating.
The other horses were bedded down already. After checking on all of them Joseph closed the main doors. He looked around for the stable hands, to give some fresh orders about the horses’ care. Seeing no one around, Joseph began walking to the stable yard. Turning the corner, he saw four armed men riding towards him into the stable yard--through the gate--in from the street. Following these--sitting atop a snow-white mount--rode a crimson-clad bishop. The steely expression on the clergyman’s face made Joseph uneasy.
Dismounting, the priest’s guards caught sight of the young lieutenant. Most put their hands to their sword hilts and stood ready, keeping their eyes riveted on Joseph. One guard ran behind and closed the stable-yard gate. The bishop did not get down from his horse.
“Lieutenant Asher, I presume,” the man in crimson said. His voice sounded replete with authority. “I am Bishop Sytel.”
“An honor to meet you,” Joseph replied with a slight nod, his eye fixed steadily on the guards. The bishop tilted his head a little to one side.
“The honor is all mine,” he said. “It has come to my attention that you have--in your possession--cert
ain documents belonging to the church. I am prepared to compensate you for delivering them into my keeping, as quickly as may be.”
Surveying the surrounding territory for an escape route, Joseph kept his hand on the hilt of his own sword.
“What documents do you refer to?” Joseph asked, keeping his voice calm. “And how did you become aware that I have any such thing?” The priest smiled.
“Come now, young soldier,” he returned. His icy blue eyes narrowed into two slits. “It is dangerous to deny us our claim. Take this gold and let it be done.”
With this the priest untied a small, heavy bag from his silk sash and tossed it hard in Joseph’s direction. In one swift movement, Joseph drew out his sword and split the bag in two. Tiny, metallic clangs sounded out as the coins struck his sword and flew out in a golden shower onto the dirty cobblestones of the stable yard.
Taken aback, the priest’s guards looked at each other uncertainly.
“The King, I am certain, appreciates your generous gesture in such a hostile situation,” Joseph said, bowing partially at the waist. “I understand your grief at finding that you have a dis-genuine priest among you, who so wickedly would sell the King’s land and citizens to a barbaric horde for mere rocks.” He took a step closer to the guards. “However, the documents I hold are property of the King; they have the curse of spilled blood on them and the King would hate to see your white garments stained by handling such an unclean thing.”
The priest, like his guards, was surprised by Joseph’s action with the bag of gold; he grew red of face as the young lieutenant spoke.
“You know nothing!” the man hissed, wrath springing into his eyes. “My men will cut your foolish tongue from your head!”
At that moment, a voice called out over the gate, behind the bishop.
“Hey there, are the stables full?” A squad of Kingdom soldiers--on horseback--peered over the top of the gate. The sergeant leading them saw Joseph’s uniform and saluted.
“No, these men were just leaving,” Joseph said, putting away his sword and returning the salute. “There’s plenty of stalls, and feed.” Nodding, the soldiers undid the gate and began filing into the stable-yard. The priest gave Joseph a withering look as he rode out the gate, his guards close behind. The stable hands came in with the soldiers, having had their evening meal; they saw the gold laying on the ground and looked at Joseph with round eyes.
“Take special care of my horses,” Joseph instructed. He pointed to the coins on the ground. “You can keep this, if I return tomorrow and find all is well.” He left them scurrying to pick up the money.
In the street, the lamplighters had come around. No trace of the crimson man or his guards could be seen in the dim twilight. A few dozen citizens walked up and down the avenue, enjoying the evening air; a small girl stood by one corner, selling bunches of flowers. Joseph looked around a moment and then hurried over to the Inn. A brief check on the prisoner and his men settled Joseph’s mind. Retiring to his own small room he washed quickly and collapsed onto the bed in sheer exhaustion.
NINE
Fort Rabak sat high on a large hill--overlooking the western part of the harbor-- next to where the main road leaving the city met the King’s Highway. Eighty-foot towers studded huge, stone walls. Streams of soldiers came and went through its massive iron gate. Joseph and his men melted into the ranks, two holding fast to their prisoner.
A sense of relief washed over Lieutenant Asher as they waked under the fortress gate. Ushering his men through, Joseph stopped one of the guards.
“Where can I find your commanding officer?” he asked. The soldier directed him to a long, stone building--some thirty feet inside the fort--sitting under the shade of spreading oak trees. Outside the building, Joseph bade his men wait with the prisoner.
Stepping in the door, he saw several tables lining the walls covered in documents and maps. A short man in a colonel’s uniform stood near one of these, speaking with one of his lieutenants in hushed tones. Joseph walked up to the colonel and saluted, stating his name and rank.
“Lieutenant Asher, we’ve been expecting you. I am Colonel Jaccabe,” he said. Turning to his lieutenant, the Jaccabe bade his assistant leave and close the door behind him. Alone with the commander, Joseph stood at attention, eager to rid himself of the prisoner’s documents.
Jaccabe sat down behind a table and indicated that Joseph sit nearby.
“Reports have preceded you,” he began, looking intently at an official-looking document in front of him on the table. “Mostly of your capture of a priest, a traitor and a skirmish with barbarians.”
“Yes, sir,” Joseph assented. “Here are the papers the prisoner had on him.”
“I see here,” Jaccabe continued, “That you went through Palmadore Academy, were trained in trade as a blacksmith... several commendations from two battles.” He looked up at Joseph then back down to the table. “It is my duty to inform you that you are hereby promoted to rank of ‘captain’.” The general paused, fingering the document on his desk. “However, your tenure will be of short duration. You are to be relieved of command and are no longer needed in the King’s Army. Turn in your uniform at once to the barracks across the square. Do you carry citizen clothes with you?”
Surprised by the colonel’s words, Joseph’s mind raced.
“I... do, sir,” he replied, wondering if he had heard Jaccabe correctly. “Sir... am I to understand that after six years of service I am... discharged? What action of mine warrants this, when I have shown nothing but loyalty to the King?”
The colonel leaned slightly forward.
“Son, let me give you a piece of advice,” he said in a low tone. “What you have achieved is most honorable, indeed... but you have offended the priests, as well as their strong ally the Admiral of the Northern Naval command. I have been ordered to either give you another assignment--on some frozen mountaintop for the rest of your life--or by virtue of your discharge I may be promoted. You, my boy, have been the means of at last winning a promotion to general... and for this, I salute your sacrifice.”
As Jaccabe spoke Joseph composed his thoughts. He stood as the speech came to a close. Standing as well, the colonel held out his hand.
“I am a fair man,” he said, smiling. “Keep your horse, if you choose, so you can be on your way. Your sword, Asher.” Joseph immediately unbuckled his sword and laid it on the table. In exchange, the general handed the young man his discharge papers.
“What will happen to my men and the prisoner, sir?” he asked, glancing at the door. Taking the sword, the soon-to-be general smiled.
“The men are already being reassigned to different regiments,” he said. He walked towards the fireplace, the priest’s documents in hand. “As for the prisoner,” Jaccabe paused, tossing the papers into the fire. “All charges have been dropped.”
Joseph stared at the precious papers burning in the fire with undisguised amazement.
“Sir, my men and I risked our lives to capture this traitor,” he said, taking a step towards the colonel. “You... burn the evidence against him?”
“Do not trouble yourself over these trifling matters, Asher,” Jaccabe said, walking to the door. “You have helped make me a rich man, and I have been deserving of it a long while.” He paused at the door, and looked at Joseph, his face serious. “Your actions have sparked a turmoil and dissension among the religious leaders and governing officials,” he said, quietly. “This often bears the pain of torture and death. Ride from here swiftly if you value your life. The army no longer protects you.”
Joseph saw no reason to linger. He gathered Belator and rode out to the King’s highway. Though he had no home to return to, Joseph rode south--towards the King’s City--stopping only to buy food and water his horse. He avoided inns off the main road and slept on his bedroll deep in a grove of trees. Four day’s ride lead him to a small but well-kept town, surrounded by farmland and orchards. A sign on the road pronounced the place to be named Kalos. The plac
e boasted several Inns, a few shops and a tiny market. Joseph found an Inn far from the main road; there was a place for him and his horse to bed down. As soon as Belator was taken care of Joseph went into the Inn and sat himself in a corner by the fire. The few patrons glared at him suspiciously over their mugs of ale. The silent innkeeper brought him a bowl of stew--and a large hunk of bread--collected a coin and left the stranger to himself.
As the sun began to set--not long after Joseph’s arrival--a sizable caravan of merchants stopped at the Inn. The merchants and their servants poured noisily into the main room, ignoring the Innkeepers protests that there was not enough room for so many. Some of them brought in musical instruments and small barrels of wine. Scrutinizing the group briefly, Joseph turned towards the fire and absently carved on the handle of his dagger.
The voice of one of the merchants caught his ear; it rang out louder than the others, a man old enough to be his grandfather, but his manner of expressing himself was distantly familiar to Joseph. Studying the portly man with the bushy white beard, Joseph smiled. He recognized Kosti, the spice merchant who had driven him to the King’s City as a boy. The old man’s bright smile and energetic mannerisms had not changed. Evidently he led this merchant caravan, a vast improvement over the old, rattling cart. Watching Kosti from the shadows Joseph waited until the merriment had calmed before making his way over to where the man sat.
The white-haired merchant stopped talking as a tall, strong-looking man with intent brown eyes--clad in a mud-flecked traveling cloak--walked over to stand in front of him. The stranger placed two, small silver coins in front of the merchant on the table.
The Road To The King (Book 1) Page 13