by Kal Spriggs
Lord Tarken nodded, “You have, though I have to admit I hadn't realized that your father-in-law was quite so highly placed in the Order of King Gordon.” His tone was more amused than chastising. Elias wondered how he had learned that his wife's father was Sir Frederick Erlamar, the Commandant of Instruction at the Order. It wasn't exactly something he had advertised, after all.
Elias smiled a bit at that, “It wasn't exactly pertinent before.” His smile faded, “I'd also told you that my son followed in his footsteps, I believe. Well, he has put forward a request to the Order, a request that they, in turn aren't quite certain how to answer.” He cleared his throat, “You see, he asked to be released from their direct service and to be granted permission to serve in the Ducal Guard of Boir.”
Christoffer shook his head, “But there is no Ducal Guard of Boir.” There hadn't been since the time of Emperor Dalton, who had massacred their ranks when he captured the Ducal Family. That the vindictive bastard had then gone after so many of the old families meant it was, even to this day, second nature for those of such old bloodlines to keep their histories quiet.
“Not yet,” Elias said and he bit his lip, “Which is why I am here to ask for my son.” He bowed his head and he felt his eyes burn with unshed tears, “My family has long served the Grand Duchy of Boir, as a sailors, Marines, and soldiers. We would once again do the service of our ancestors... we would like to take up the colors of the Grand Duke and serve as his sworn armsmen.”
He lifted his head and saw surprise on Lord Tarken's face. It wasn't hard to understand his initial thoughts. Despite his position, Lord Tarken still thought he could protect himself. Even the presence of Coxswain Jenkins and Carpenter's Mate Brussels was something that annoyed him. Yet he needs to think of the threats he faces now, Elias thought, and how important his safety is to the survival of our Duchy.
“My initial reaction is to say no,” Lord Tarken said after a moment of thought. “I know the importance of this to you and your family, but there are many families who once served and to grant your son priority over them would not only be favoritism, but it would set a bad precedent. Part of me also says that armsmen are an archaic hold-over, a legacy of older times, before professional armies.” The madness of Emperor Dalton had shown the danger of private levies of troops, especially when one nobleman could command fanatical loyalty from those sworn to his service, Elias knew. Lord Tarken's words echoed those thoughts a moment later, “Also, if I were to restore the tradition of armsmen, it would make it likely that other nobles would as well, which could undermine both the importance and prestige of our professional military at a time we cannot risk that.”
Elias felt his stomach sink, though he had half expected such an answer. His family had not served a Duke since the time of Emperor Dalton, and the disgrace they felt, he knew, was one that he hoped his ancestors could forgive.
“Still,” Lord Tarken said, “That is not to say that perhaps some service to me would not be out of bounds. From what I've read in reports from Sir Harald, your son distinguished himself in the defense of the Canal Gate. He also, from what I understand, has just been promoted. Sir Harald mentioned a desire to have a direct liaison with me, to help coordinate the efforts of the Order of King Gordon with our military forces. Should I ask for his service in that role, would you and your son find that acceptable?”
Elias felt his throat constrict a bit. While the Admiral had not outright said it, his statement heavily implied that if he would trust anyone to be around him, it would be someone from Elias's family. “That would be acceptable,” he nodded, though part of him still felt crushed that his son would not have the opportunity to right the wrongs of the past. Still, Elias thought, he will be proud to serve in that fashion, a bridge between his Order and the man he and I both feel compelled to serve.
“Excellent,” Lord Tarken said and glanced over at Siara. “Remind me and we'll draft that one up this morning before the Council session.”
She nodded and Elias bit back a smile at the tranquil expression on her face. She was a far improvement over the young woman in oversized sailor's clothing. His good humor faded a bit, though, as he remembered his other cause for concern. Both Elias and Lord Tarken had followed through on their promise to end Midshipman Randal Schultz's career. The young man had attempted to corner Siara aboard ship, in theory with the intent to rape her. The savage beating he had received delivered at her hands had made him her enemy, even after the punishment she received as a consequence of his testimony for striking an officer.
Unfortunately, Schultz had ridden the coattails of their victories and the young man had taken service as a bodyguard for one of the nobles. Elias had seen the young man here in the corridors of the Citadel just today. He wanted to warn the Grand Duke, yet it seemed almost absurd to draw his attention to such a petty individual. And surely, he thought, there are those who monitor guests to the Citadel. Even so, he did make mental note to ask Jenkins to keep an eye out for him. Happily, bodyguards weren't allowed weapons inside the Citadel, so Elias doubted that Schultz could get the upper hand if he tried something like the last time.
“Well,” Lord Tarken said, “If that will be all, I'm afraid I have to dig into the rest of your report on officer readiness... and I'm certain you'd like to inform your son of my decision.”
Elias nodded at that, but he couldn't help a sliver of worry as he stepped out. Thankfully, the Grand Duke hadn't sent away Jenkins and Brussels. The big, gap-toothed man gave him a smile as Elias paused outside the door. “You remember Midshipman Schultz?” Elias said quickly.
The way his ugly face turned into a dark scowl answered that question well enough. “He's taken up duties here as a bodyguard for one of the noblemen, I'm not certain which.” Elias paused, “Keep an eye out for Lord Tarken and Miss Siara, if you don't mind.”
Jenkins snapped out a salute. “Of course, sir. Be my pleasure.” His gap-toothed smile turned wicked, “Be a terrible shame if he were to run into someone in these narrow corridors. Hard floors, stone walls, lad could get hurt, sir.”
Elias gave him a glower, “No brawling, Jenkins. I selected you because I know you're sharp enough behind that hooligan attitude. You keep an eye out for Lord Tarken, and if you have time, for Miss Siara.” He nodded at Brussels, “Just like I chose you for the fact that you've brains behind that boulder of an exterior.”
The Earthblood Mageborn gave a slight shrug and when he spoke, his impossibly deep voice was placid, “I'm not smart, but thank you.”
Jenkins grinned at that and Elias rolled his eyes. He knew well enough that both men pretended to be considerably more obtuse for Lord Tarken. Jenkins, had he the discipline, might have made a fine officer. The fact that he and Brussels commonly teamed together to fleece unsuspecting fools at cards was an open secret among most of Elias' old crew.
“You're both smart enough. Keep Lord Tarken safe,” Elias said. Part of him wished that he could have his son at the Admiral's side already, but it would take at least some time. Given the chance, he would have sworn both Jenkins and Brussels into the Ducal Guard, armed them, and given them free reign to recruit and select others. He narrowed his eyes as he took in Jenkin's loose clothing. “You've armed yourself?”
Jenkins shifted his feet slightly, as if embarrassed that he'd been caught. “Only a short hatchet,” he admitted quietly.
“Good,” Elias said. “And I'll assume you know where to get more.” He looked over at Brussels. “You?”
The big Earthblood shook his head, “Too much attention. Guards search me every time I come in.” He gave a slight smile, “They think I'm too stupid to remember not to bring a weapon in.” His white even teeth showed starkly against his dark, pebbly skin. “But I can get hands on better than these,” he held up his two massive fists.
Elias nodded at that, though his own trust for the Citadel's prefects had dropped after the news of Grand Duke Becket's death. The prefects had driven the attackers away, but they hadn't stopped it. W
hen seconds counted, they would be minutes or more away. They had already proven, in Elias' mind, that they lacked the skill and dedication to keep their new Grand Duke safe.
“Stay alert, both of you,” Elias said. He turned away and fought down the feeling of misgiving at the Grand Duke's safety. He had done what he could... he had actually violated the letter of the law by encouraging both men to acquire weapons. I just hope that they will be enough, he thought.
***
Grand Duke Christoffer Tarken
The Citadel, Boirton, Duchy of Boir
26th of Martaan, Cycle 1000 Post Sundering
Christoffer rubbed a hand over his face as Jeroen Kurth wound down from his latest rant about the state of their finances. It was important, Christoffer well knew, but it was also extremely tiresome. He well knew that Jeroen had earned his position as Minister of Finance and that he and Lady Peele worked together and pulled miracles out of the budget, but just at this moment Christoffer wished that Jeroen's nasal whine were interrupted.
He frowned though, as one of Lord VanEggar's aides hurried in. The Lord Chamberlain listened to whatever he had to say, before a pleased smile grew on his narrow face. That bothered Christoffer, for VanEggar had been dour over the past week, particularly after Lord Schilt took him to task over the training, equipment and overall readiness of the Citadel's guards.
As Jeroen finally finished, Lord VanEggar straightened and stood, his face grave. Christoffer, however, didn't miss an edge of gloating in his eyes. “My Lords and Ladies,” he said, his voice grave. “In my duties as Chamberlain of the Citadel, you all know I take matters of security very seriously.”
Lord Schilt's snort was answer enough to that, Christoffer felt. From the way that VanEggar's face darkened, he didn't like to have his moment interrupted. “It was with some surprise that I was warned about a potential spy, with the highest connections and access to information. Indeed, it was something which I did not wish to believe, not without sufficient evidence to bring to the Council's attention,” Lord VanEggar said. He looked around and seemed pleased at the expressions of confusion and the murmurs from the rest of the Council. “I have witnesses to this betrayal,” Lord VanEggar said quickly, “And we have apprehended the spy red-handed upon attempting to leave the Citadel to pass on further messages.”
Christoffer, though, was not pleased. This was theatrics, he felt. If VanEggar had wanted to reveal this spy, he should have gone to Lady Diana or just a select group of the Council, so they could address it quietly without damaging public image of the Council. It was certain that with so many present someone would reveal this news, which meant the city gossips would have it all over Boirton before sundown. For that matter, from a matter of security, knowing of spies and feeding them false information or turning them made more sense, Christoffer felt.
Lady Diana's face pinched into a hard frown and Christoffer didn't miss her glare at Lord VanEggar. While technically he was in his authority to apprehend a spy here within the Citadel, it was not what he should have done. Christoffer caught a glance from Lord Erich. The older man's gray eyes were narrowed and the lines on his face were those of disapproval. Clearly Lord VanEggar had not spoken to him, either.
It was too late, Christoffer knew, to try to keep this matter quiet, which suggested that whatever it was, Lord VanEggar wanted it to become public knowledge. “Very well,” Christoffer said. He barely managed to keep his voice civil, “You may bring this before the Council.”
Lord VanEggar waved a hand at his aide who rushed out. A moment later, the doors opened.
Christoffer stood in shock as he saw Randal Schultz, no longer in the uniform of a Midshipman but instead in the red and white colors of the Citadel Prefects. What was worse, behind him two prefects carried Siara between them. Her right eye was swollen shut already and the split lip and bruises on her face showed that they had struck her multiple times. “What is the meaning of this?” Christoffer demanded.
Lord VanEggar gave a slight bow, “I am sorry to bring this to your attention, my Lord.” The gloating in his voice put lie to that. “But Captain Schultz joined the Citadel Prefects a few days ago. He cautioned me that he had noticed suspicious behavior from your aide before, that she had even assaulted him when he confronted her about it. I didn't want to believe it myself, but, purely as a precaution, I had him put some men to watch her.” He gestured at “Captain” Schultz.
The entire event felt like an avalanche, some awesome force of destruction which Christoffer could neither stop nor avoid. Captain Randal Schultz smirked, “My men followed her to the docks, where she was looking to hire a merchant captain to deliver letters to Noriel. We weren't able to intercept her then, but she made contact with a merchant captain who was willing to sail there and offered him coin to deliver her letters.” Christoffer felt his stomach fall as Schultz pulled out a sheave of papers. “We found these on her, written in Armen, addressed to Warlord Marka Pall.”
The Council chamber had gone silent. Christoffer felt his stomach sink and as he stared at Siara, he saw that she was too dazed to even speak in her defense. It doesn't matter what she could say, he realized, with this as evidence, it would be impossible for her to deny it. He felt a sudden sharp sense of betrayal that seemed to stab him right in the stomach. It was the same pain he had felt when his son Xavien had been revealed as a sorcerer... and when his own wife had revealed how they had both manipulated and deceived him.
This was worse though, Christoffer realized. Siara had manipulated him, yes, but Christoffer had actually cared for her. Far from his earlier marriage of necessity, Christoffer had respected and valued her, had enjoyed their conversations, and this betrayal of all that cut far deeper. She was there for my son when he died... or so she said, he thought, was all that only lies?
He closed his eyes and when he spoke, his voice was hollow, “Take her away.”
***
Grand Duke Christoffer Tarken
The Citadel, Boirton, Duchy of Boir
3rd of Paloom, Cycle 1000 Post Sundering
Christoffer looked up from his desk and halfway opened his mouth, the words he intended to say still upon his lips. The chair, near his desk, sat empty, a sudden, stark reminder of Siara's betrayal. He should have felt angry, he knew. For that matter, he should take some action to counter the slander being spread by Lord VanEggar, but it seemed to lack importance just now.
All he felt was a sharp ache in his chest, as if some part of him had been cut away.
“Sir?” Nikolas said from the doorway.
Christoffer looked over at him. If he felt worn, his steward looked positively haggard. The wizened little man seemed to have aged cycles over the past days. The dark circles under his eyes were alarming enough, but the slovenly state of his clothing was a far worse sign of his state of mind. He trusted her too, Christoffer thought, and this betrayal of me hurts him just as much as it does me.
“Yes?” Christoffer answered. His voice, he realized, sounded like that of an old man. He cleared his throat and spoke again, “What is it, Nikolas?”
“My Lord, Sir Gervais Wachter of the Order is here to see you, shall I... should I tell him you are busy?” Nikolas's hesitation was directed to the reports and papers that littered Christoffer's desk, he would guess. Or maybe I look disreputable myself, Christoffer thought as he ran a hand over his face and felt stubble.
“No,” Christoffer said and forced a smile, “I promised Admiral Wachter that I would meet with his son and I've only a few minutes before the strategy session with Lord Schilt. Give me a moment to make myself presentable and you can send him in.”
Nikolas gave a ghost of a smile and shook his head, “You'll need my help for that, my Lord.” He came in and moved briskly around the room, straightening this, tidying that. The only area he avoided was the chair in the corner with the small writing desk and the papers, inkpens and inkwell on it. He finally stopped in front of Christoffer and straightened his clothing, brushed some dust off his colla
r, and stepped back.
“Well?” Christoffer asked with a slight, but genuine, smile.
“You'll do,” Nikolas sniffed. He hurried from the room without another word.
A moment later, the door opened and a stocky young man stepped inside. He had the blonde hair and blue eyes of his father, Christoffer saw, but while his father was fit and healthy, Gervais had the build and mass of a swordsman, with thick wrists and powerful arms. He wore the armor of a knight, and Christoffer's eyes narrowed as he recognized the inlay of runes in the plate armor he wore.
Also, in spite of the weapons ban, he wore a sword at his hip. It was peace-bonded, Christoffer saw, but it would only take a moment for the man to break the lead seal and unwind the wire. Clearly the influence of the Order of King Gordon had grown if they were able to bear weapons in the Citadel.
Or maybe no one was quite brave enough to try to stop him, Christoffer thought as he noted the hard planes of the young man's face. Young Gervais had seen combat and he had earned his rank, regardless of his family connections within the Order.
Sir Gervais bowed deeply, “My Lord, it is an honor to meet you. I've heard much about you from my father, and I'm honored to be able to serve as a liaison between you and the Order.”
Christoffer smiled at that, “Though you would rather join my non-existent Ducal Guard?”
The young man looked conflicted for a moment. “The Order of King Gordon contains many of those who might have served you in such a role... but many others are of the Royal Guard or other old bloodlines.” He shrugged, “Honestly, my Lord, guarding the Grand Duke is what my family has done, in one form or another, as far back as we can find in history. One of my ancestors died at the side of Grand Duke Petro when Dalton's men came to arrest him. Three of them died at the Plains of Sorrow. Almost every major battlefield of Boir has had a Wachter serving and protecting the Grand Duke.”
“Which is probably why I still have those two goons out there in the hallway,” Christoffer smiled. Though they had tried to move him to the Grand Duke's section, Christoffer had thus far refused. Lord VanEggar had not insisted, which didn't surprise him in the least. His current small suite was perfectly adequate for his needs, had easy access to the Council chambers, and was private enough that most of the courtiers and petitioners couldn't access him without getting through Brussels and Jenkins first. “Speaking of which, I need to head to a meeting, so if you don't mind continuing this discussion on our way?”