Path of Kings

by James Dale

  "Would you like me to change the dressing on your wound?" she asked.

  "It's fine."

  "But..."

  "It's fine," Jack insisted.

  "Very well your grace," Gweneveare said, her voice suddenly gone cold as a late winter frost. "I shall bid thee a good night then."

  "Gweneveare..."

  The young woman turned abruptly on her heels, skirt whirling about her ankles like an angry, teal trimmed tornado as she stalked away, leaving him alone at the door to his suite.

  "You could have handled that better," Jack muttered to himself as he listened to her footsteps disappear down the empty corridor. He would have to apologize in the morning. Maybe he could blame his rude behavior on his headache? It certainly was beginning to throb like the devil and that was no lie. Considering all the beer he'd consumed tonight was finally wearing off didn't help a hell of a lot either.

  "Maybe I'll get lucky and slip into a coma," Jack sighed, and opened the door to his darkened suite. He went directly to the bathroom, where he quickly stripped out of his bloody clothes and began to run water for his bath.

  Leaving the tub to fill on its own, he went to the sink removed Sirranon’s bandage. The old company sergeant had done a remarkably decent job with the stitches. Jack began to carefully clean the matted blood from his hair. Thanks to his fresh haircut, the task proved none too difficult, and he was soon soaking his weary body up to the neck in a tub full of steaming water. The soothing warmth of the water began to work its magic on his battered body almost immediately and his eyelids began to droop.

  Awaking with a start sometime later, the water grown cold and his body as shriveled as a prune, he rose shivering from the tub and dried quickly. Taking a small hand towel, he dabbed at his forehead experimentally. When it came away blood free, he nodded with satisfaction, then retired to the comfort of his bed and was soon fast asleep.

  When morning arrived bright and clear, Jack arose refreshed and rested, apparently none the worse for wear. He went to check his wound in the bathroom mirror, in the bright light of morning. The stitches were neat and professional. Sirranon had done a nice bit of work. If he ever decided to give up bartending he probably could find work as a seamstress. He splashed some water on his face to clean away the last of any blood, then returned to the bedroom where he found a young boy busy making his bed.

  "Hello," he said, and the lad jumped in surprise.

  "Good morning your grace," he bowed, recovering quickly. "I won't be a minute sir."

  "Take your time," Jack smiled. The boy reminded him painfully of Heath. He was about the same age, and of a similar size and build as the Seawolf's former cabin boy. He even had the same unruly dark hair and wide, innocent brown eyes. "What's your name?"

  "It's Marcus your grace," the boy answered as he finished smoothing out the bed sheets. "Mistress Gweneveare sent me to make sure you didn't miss breakfast again this morning. I have brought some more clothes as well," he said, indicating a neat pile on the chest at the foot of the bed.

  Inspecting the pile, Braedan found a pair of simple but finely cut trousers made of sturdy, dark blue cotton, a white silk shirt with flaring sleeves and silver buttons running down the center, and a supple, brown leather vest. Apparently Gweneveare had remembered his remark about dressing like a milksop noble. The outfit had probably been left here by Prince Thonicil for hunting or riding or some other similar activity but it would suit him fine. While Marcus busied himself straightening the bathroom, Jack donned the garments then pulled on his black leather riding boots. He briefly considered buckling on his sword belt as well, but decided it probably wouldn't be needed for breakfast and settled on Bkormar's dagger instead.

  "You mentioned something about breakfast?" Jack asked, strapping on the knife as Marcus returned.

  "Yes your grace," the boy replied. "If you'll follow me your grace."

  "Please," he pleaded. "Call me Jack." He was still not used to people addressing him with the title. Every time he heard it he expected to turn around and find the archbishop of Boston standing behind him.

  "Very well your grace," Marcus smiled. "If you will follow me your grace."

  "After you," Jack sighed, motioning to the door.

  The boy didn't take him to the hall where Count Arthol's banquet had been held the night before last, but to a smaller, private dining room just outside the estate's kitchen. Marcus seated him at a small table where a lone place had been set for him. Though he hadn't missed breakfast entirely this morning, it seemed he would at least be the last one to eat. The boy soon returned with a large platter nearly overflowing with scrambled eggs, sausage links and a steaming pile of biscuits, along with a pitcher of fresh milk.

  "If I may be excused your grace," Marcus said, setting the platter before him then unfolding a linen napkin and placing it in his lap. "I have other duties to perform."

  "Certainly," Jack nodded. "Just one more thing. Could you tell me where they've stabled Eaudreuil?"

  "The Val'anna!" the boy cried, brightening. "He's in the count's livery, behind the house sir."

  "You wouldn't happen to know where I could find something to take him would you? Some treat perhaps?"

  "He likes apples your grace," the youngster laughed.

  "That he does," Jack chuckled. "Do you think you could bring me a couple for him?"

  "Right away sir!" the boy grinned and was gone in a flash, returning a few seconds later with two bright red apples as big as softballs.

  "Will these do your grace?" he asked hopefully.

  "They're perfect Marcus. Thanks."

  "Will you be wanting anything else your grace? I need to get to the smithy and help Squire Lewis split firewood for the days forging. If I am late Smith Keenon will tell Gweneveare and she'll tell Nicolas and..."

  "We certainly wouldn't want that," Jack agreed. "Go. I'll be fine."

  "Good day your grace," the boy bowed. "Will you say hello to Eaudreuil for me?"

  "I will," Jack promised. "And thanks again."

  The boy gave a final bow, then left him to his breakfast.

  The food was delicious, as Braedan had known it would be from the maddening smell. The eggs were light and fluffy, the biscuits were fresh from the oven, and the sausages were just spicy enough to add a little bite to the meal. He wolfed it down hungrily, finishing off the last forkful of eggs with a tall glass of milk. If his gracious host continued feeding him like this, the weight he had lost over the winter eating only fruit and nuts and porridge in Cil’lena's cave would return in plenty of time for the Competition of the Sword at Ljmarn Haelfest. After wiping his mouth on the linen napkin, Jack picked up the two apples and headed off in search of the stables.

  He had a brief moment of trouble negotiating his way through the sprawling Arthol estate, but a passing servant noticed his distress and was kind enough to direct him to an exit at the rear of the house. Once outside he had little difficulty locating the count's stable. It was a tremendous stone and timber structure of two stories, with the lower portion quartering the Arthol horses and the upper story being a storage loft for the enormous quantity of hay and grain required to feed them. Attached to the stable was another stone building, easily identified as the count's smithy by the thick smoke billowing from its chimney and the sounds of pounding hammers coming from inside.

  Braedan entered the stable through an open set of double doors and immediately found himself surrounded by the earthy, barnyard smells of horseflesh and grain and the pungent aroma of the natural fertilizer they were known to produce when combined. He also found himself awash in a sea of agitated equine emotions. Sorting through the strong jumble of thoughts, he quickly discerned somewhere in the stable there was young mare freshly in season who'd yet to come to the attention of the stable hands. If the feelings of frustrated ardor filling the air as any indication however, her condition was well known to several randy stallions occupying adjacent stalls.

  It didn't take him long to determine Eaudreuil
was chief among them. The Val'anna's dominating mind print easily overshadowed the others. "You should be ashamed of yourself," Jack mind spoke playfully.

  "Horse-brother!" the stallion beamed, his huge, wedge shaped head appearing from one of the nearby stalls. "I did not smell you approaching."

  "Little wonder," Jack said, reaching up to scratch the roan between his ears.

  "She is most...distracting," the Val'anna admitted with a small note of embarrassment.

  "I can imagine she is," Jack nodded. "Here, maybe this will help lift your mind out of the gutter for a while." He produced one of the apples and cut it in half, feeding the horse a section.

  "Thank you." the roan neighed, devouring the fruit noisily.

  "Don't talk with your mouth full."

  Eaudreuil beamed an apology and Braedan handed him another section. "I smell blood," the roan stated accusingly. "You been fighting without me!"

  "Couldn't be helped," Jack said. "How have they been treating you boy?"

  "Well enough," the Val'anna nickered. "The two-legs Nicolas is kind and the boy-colt Marcus has brought many apples."

  "So I've heard." Jack grinned.

  "But I will grow fat and lazy if I am forced to remain in here much longer," the horse continued. "Now I could get some exercise if you would be so kind as to let me visit Sha'ra," the roan beamed hopefully.

  "So that's her name is it?" Jack laughed.

  The roan snorted and nudged him playfully.

  "Maybe if you're good I'll ask Count Arthol to let you go courting later," he teased.

  "Courting?" a voice asked.

  "Good morning Nicolas," Jack turned to find Nicolas approaching from the other end of the stable.

  "Your grace," he bowed. "Who wants to go courting?"

  "I'm afraid one of the count's mares appears to be distracting Eaudreuil," Jack replied.

  "I thought Sha'ra had been growing frisky the last day or two," the valet grinned, and patted Eaudreuil's neck sympathetically. "I'll wager the count would be honored to let your Val'anna go...courting later. Right now though, he's got to be taking you to the palace. Prince Thonicil has sent word he'd like to see you."

  "Right away?" Jack asked, wondering if the prince was so anxious to get started on their research of the Prophecies of Aaracus.

  "He didn't say," Nicolas shrugged. "But I gather he meant as soon as possible. There is a squad of Dragon Guards waiting for you at the front gate."

  "I guess I might as well leave now," Jack sighed. "I'll need Eaudreuil's saddle."

  "It is coming your grace," Nicolas replied, having anticipated the request.

  "And my sword as well?"

  "I shall send someone to fetch it," the valet bowed.

  Jack nodded his thanks as Nicolas turned to go, then lifted the door-latch to Eaudreuil's stall, releasing the stallion. The Val'anna walked straight over to the adjoining stall where he was greeted by an enthusiastic nicker.

  "Give her the other apple," the roan beamed.

  With an amused chuckle, Braedan sectioned the fruit and fed it to the object of Eaudreuil's ardor, a young mare, completely black except for one white stocking on her left for hoof. "Very attractive," he grinned. "You two would make a lovely couple."

  The roan ignored the dig, his attention fully on Sha'ra. Jack walked quickly away from the pair, embarrassed by some of the unguarded thoughts he intercepted passing between the two. Leaving Eaudreuil to press his suit, he wandered and found two young grooms approaching with Eaudreuil's saddle, blanket and harness.

  "It's all been cleaned and oiled m'Lord," the oldest of the pair announced when they were standing before him, "But the bit is missing from the bridle. Shall we fetch another for you?"

  "No. That won't be necessary." Jack replied. "Eaudreuil doesn't need one."

  Both boys raised an eyebrow in disbelief, but said nothing.

  "Just set it all down," Jack said, nodding toward the gear in they carried. "Eaudreuil's busy right now and might get a little ill-tempered if we disturb him."

  As the boys placed their burdens on the ground the older one asked, "Will that be all your grace?"

  "Unless you've got something else to do," Jack smiled, sensing his eagerness to remain.

  "Well..." the younger started, but was cut off by a sharp elbow to his ribs. “Not at the moment your grace."

  "Then I guess I could use some help with his saddle if it's not too much trouble."

  "It's no trouble," they both piped in unison.

  "Then let's see if he's finished flirting," Jack laughed. "Eaudreuil! Come on boy. Let's get going!" He placed two fingers in his mouth and whistled loudly.

  The Val'anna neighed in frustration, but soon appeared at a trot.

  "No need to be frightened guys," Braedan told the two boys when they moved back a step in awe of the huge stallion. "He's as gentle as a lamb." But he couldn't blame them. Eaudreuil was much more than just a large horse. There was as much difference between the Val'anna and his lesser equine relatives as there was between, say...a Rottweiler and Dauschound, though both were still pure breed dogs.

  "What is going on?" Eaudreuil asked curiously.

  "Just be still and let the boys dress you," Jack said quietly, throwing the saddle blanket across the Val'anna's back. "Come on. He won't bite," he said turning to the youths, emphasizing the promise with a warning slap on the horse's rear.

  Eaudreuil snorted indignantly but remained completely motionless as the two young grooms began to outfit him. Braedan had to help the smaller one with the saddle, but otherwise they were both quite competent in their work. He checked the girth hitch out of habit, but made sure he nodded approvingly at the older boy who'd tightened it before mounting. "Would you be so kind as to lead him to the front gate?" Jack asked the younger one, leaning down and handing him Eaudreuil's reigns.

  "Of course your grace," the lad said quickly, his chest swelling with pride.

  "I know the way," the Val'anna snorted.

  "Just shut up and let the boy lead you." Jack muttered.

  With a nod to the youth and a gentle kick at Eaudreuil's flanks, Braedan started them moving forward, the older boy falling in beside his companion, eyeing the reigns he held with envy. It took them several minutes to make their way around the grounds of the estate, due in no small part to the fact the boy leading Eaudreuil slowed down to wave at every person they passed along the way. But seeing it was such a beautiful morning and he was enjoying his first tour of the grounds, Jack didn't really mind.

  Eventually they arrived at the front gate where Jack found Kirk Vanar waiting for him. He was somewhat surprised however, by the six guardsmen with him. If he wasn't mistaken, they were all members of Kirk's squad he'd introduced the day before. The men straightened in their saddles as they saw him approaching and saluted in unison when he stopped before them.

  "Good morning your grace," Vanar smiled. "You remember all the lads?"

  "Don't tell me you recruited your entire squad Kirk?" Jack asked with a grin. "What did Captain Gisborne have to say?"

  "Not much," Vanar laughed. "Well...not much after I showed him Field Marshal Tolkaen's letter. In case you didn't notice sir, I also promoted them to the appropriate ranks befitting the first six members of your guard. Each now hold the position of Second Lieutenant of the Thonbor Garrison."

  "You know them better than I," Jack said, without the slightest hesitation.

  "I trust these men with my life your grace," Vanar stated emphatically. "And with yours. They will not fail you."

  "You're the captain," Braedan replied, bolstered by his confidence. "I trust your judgment."

  "Thank you sir," Vanar saluted. "Shall we go?"

  "Just as soon as my sword arrives," Jack nodded. "The crest your wearing?" he asked, noticing the device pinned upon the upper right corner of their silver and black Dragon tabards. "You didn't have it on yesterday did you?" It was a rearing lion of gold, holding an upraised sword.

  "It's Thonbor's new Co
at of Arms m'Lord," Kirk explained. "I thought it best to…well, retire…Duke Lyonnel’s falcon. Considering the tragedy of it all. New house? New coat of arms? I picked it because of the ghomari you slew rescuing that Kadinar prince. I hope you don't mind?"

  "No. Of course not," Jack said. "I like it. The Golden Lions of Thonbor? Is that what we are called?"

  "It is now. How's that sound lads?" Kirk asked, turning in his saddle to face his men. "The Golden Lions of Thonbor."

  Six approving grins answered the captain.

  "So be it," Kirk grinned. "I will file our new motto with the Legion Heraldry Office this afternoon."

  As Kirk was making this announcement, Gweneveare arrived with Braedan's sword. "Good morning Gweneveare," Jack said, dismounting quickly to greet her.

  "Your grace," she said coolly, still ill-tempered from their exchange from the previous evening. "Here is your sword. Father said you have been called to the palace?"

  "We have," he nodded. "Gwen...about last night. I behaved like an ass. I want to apologize."

  "It is not necessary your grace," she replied, handing him the sheathed blade.

  "Gwen." Jack insisted. "I had no right speaking to you that way. I...I have few enough friends as it is. It would hate to think you were no longer one of them. Please forgive me Lady de’Aabran," he pleaded, dropping to one knee.

  “Very well," she sighed, the ghost of a smile flitting across her lips. "I shall give you one more chance." She allowed Jack to take her hand which he briefly kissed. "As long as we are making apologies. I must also ask Captain Vanar to accept mine. I treated you unfairly last night."

  "Lady," Kirk said, bowing in his saddle. "I do not know what terrible offense the House of Vanar committed to warrant thine enmity, but whatever the crime, however great, I shall not rest until the matter has been set aright between us."

  Gweneveare graced the young man with a brief curtsy.

  "There," Jack grinned, standing to buckle on his sword. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

  "Good day your grace," Gweneveare nodded. "Supper will be served promptly at seven. Do not be late."