by John Conroe
The church bell rang ten times as Tipton clopped up the hill toward Havensheart and I arrived in the back of the crowded throne room about five minutes after the first petitioners had begun pleading their cases. Standing near the back wall, my height allowed me to see over most of the heads in front of me.
King Helat listened intently as the first of two merchants described how he’d been cheated on an order of cloth by the other merchant. At the king’s right hand, Princess Brona listened just as attentively. That was also unusual these days, as Brona did not often attend morning court, being fully occupied with her duties running the kingdom’s charities, overseeing the directorate of agriculture, trade, and natural resources, running her own businesses, and, of course, directing the Shadows. Something odd was up.
The next two hours dragged by as the king heard and passed judgement on disputes, welcomed foreign officials, heard from trade delegations (which he usually handed off to Brona), and listened and responded to complaints or concerns from citizens of Montshire. The seneschal kept track of time by the simple expedient of looking out a strategic window in the throne room that gave a clear view of the church steeple. I have a pretty good sense of time, but the long lines of supplicants had long ago confused my internal clock like a skilled street con running a shell game. Suddenly I saw the seneschal turn from the window and raise his right hand to shoulder height. The king’s sharp eyes caught the motion before returning to the man in front of him who was going on about an uneven trade of cheese for beef. The king raised his own hand, stopping the man in midsentence, and ruled that the terms of the deal had been clear to all parties before the transaction occurred and that he must abide by the results.
“And that will end our formal hearings for this morn,” Helat said.
“But Your Majesty, the clock…” The next person in line snapped his mouth shut at the ice-cold glare the king gave him and immediately dropped into a deep bow of acceptance.
“Now then, Savid DelaCrotia… Where are you?” King Helat asked the chamber.
“Here, Your Majesty,” I called, moving forward from my spot at the back of the room. The lines of petitioners melted out of my path as I walked the full length of the room, all eyes on me.
“Step up here with us,” the king invited, a rare honor.
I climbed up on the dais as he stood up, Princess Brona at his side. Once in front of him, I dropped to one knee as protocol demanded.
“There has been some confusion across our great kingdom over the past few months concerning our regard for Montshire’s only living holder of the Kingdom Cross,” the king said in his deep voice. “We regret the necessity of that confusion, but it served our kingdom well. However, as Crown Princess Brona has reminded us, the time is past due to clear this matter up. Captain Savid DelaCrotia has been and continues to be a patriot of our nation. Let it be known, now and forever, that his retired rank is hereby to be recorded in the kingdom’s archives as Captain, Retired, Ranged Reconnaissance Squadron.”
Then the king reached down and pinned a set of captain’s bars to the collar of my tunic. “Rise, Captain,” he said.
I stood up and he gave me another honor—he gripped my forearm and I gripped his, causing the crowd to ooh. Much as Lord Sampson’s kiss on Brona’s hand, the touch of arms and hands between men is only done with one’s most trusted allies, another holdover from the days of rampant disease and illness. He was showing me the greatest respect—but I wasn’t fooled. He bid me follow him as he and his daughter took their leave of court, a procession of aides and administrators following behind.
I’ve known the king almost my entire life. As the only child who could consistently interact with Brona and survive, I’d had his attention from an early age. King Helat Warcan was every inch a modern king: intelligent, decisive, extremely well educated, a skilled swordsman, a brilliant negotiator, as well as being arrogant, condescending, egotistical, and never willing to admit a mistake.
I recognized his actions for what they were: a down payment on my loyalty, as well as a very public repositioning of my role in the kingdom.
Any human, given absolute power, will come to feel entitled to that power. That’s my opinion, but it’s based on very close observation of some very powerful people. King Helat felt that by showering me with so many public displays of his supposed respect for me, it would cement me to him. I’ve seen him do it with a steady stream of officers and officials throughout my lifetime. And if I had somehow, on my own, missed what he was doing, Brona had taken the time to enlighten me. After all, he shared many of his philosophies of leadership with his heir. She just didn’t take them all to heart.
In many cases, it worked. Lauding praise on subordinates sure seemed to give them a boost and create admirers, but the other side of the coin was never far away. Those same individuals could fall from grace with one simple mistake and never regain it. They would be quickly shuffled out of the castle, their fortunes ruined in an instant. It left some very bitter people in the trail of the king’s path.
He had mostly avoided such displays with me, I think because on some level he recognized that I had already given my loyalty to the crown princess. In the early years, he’d had no problem with that. But when the RRS successfully disrupted the Sylvanian hordes using guerilla tactics under my command, things changed. Brona was nothing if not truthful with me, and she’d told me at the time that he’d been extremely reluctant to award me the Kingdom Cross. I had gained too much attention. But pressure from the public, both noble and common man alike, had forced his hand. From that point forward, King Helat has viewed me differently. I had even wondered aloud to Brona if he was looking at me as a replacement for his rook, the shadowy assassin who was rumored to have fixed many of the king’s problems over the years. He, too, was supposedly of ex-RRS stock.
So now Helat was attempting to win me with the payment of his public praise. And doing so in his daily court was actually more effective than at a High Family gala. The morning court was rarely attended by nobility; rather, it was more merchants, both domestic and foreign, tradesmen, common folk, and lower kingdom officials. Such an audience would spread word far and wide with a speed that a prized racehorse would envy. This, I suspected, was also part of his plan. I was being positioned deliberately for some reason I hadn’t yet sussed out.
The royal party entered the administrative section of the castle where normally the king, Brona, the seneschal, and many other functionaries would head to their respective offices, desks, or other duties. This time, the king turned and motioned me to follow him and Brona into his own office. Everyone else was left outside. But someone was already waiting inside the inner sanctum—Neil Slinch.
Chapter 19
“You had a successful night,” the king said as soon as he was seated behind his massive desk.
“It would seem so, Sire,” I replied. “More investigation will be needed to both verify the lead and then identify which of the families has the traitor.”
“Yes, of course,” he agreed, nodding sagely. His gaze sharpened and he leaned forward. “Especially as one of those families is yours.”
I shrugged but didn’t take my eyes off him. “DelaCrotia or Grantell; it could easily be either one.”
“I know your personal situation has been strained, Savid, but you are awfully glib about the prospects of a traitor in your own House.”
“I don’t think it has been my house for a very long time, Sire,” I said, trying to read his intent. “We both know that my family is at least as ambitious as any of the High Families.”
“Does not the chance that it could be your dear mother or sister worry you?” he asked, eyebrows arching.
“No, I discount that completely. My mother abhors the Paul and everything he stands for, as does my sister who, by the way, does not live in that house anymore but with her husband’s family.”
He studied me critically, then glanced at his daughter and his head of spies.
“I have another m
ission for you,” he said.
“Sire, I haven’t completed either of my current ones,” I protested.
“Despite your words, the possibility of conflict of interest is very real. Neil will take over the hunt for the traitor,” King Helat said, his hawklike gaze watching me carefully.
Only Brona’s frown kept me from speaking out. She never gave me such a harsh look when she was in crown princess mode in the company of the king, rather just maintaining a cool look of indifference—at least when others could see. Now she was giving me a very serious warning. At least, that’s how I took it. King Helat did not suffer threats to his rule. A rebellious war hero turned spy could be easily construed as a very real threat. Maybe a target for the rook, rather than a replacement?
“And Ash’s interrogation?” I asked, keeping my tone level and calm.
“Your own people can continue that without you,” the king said, his own tone just as level.
“As you say, Sire,” I agreed. “What do we need to handle, Your Majesty?”
“A Raven in Porye has reported a situation that could be a real problem for us,” the king began. “I don’t have to tell you that our tiny coastline is our only link to the ocean. Neil’s asset indicates rapidly rising tensions between factions in Berkette and Mandrigo, with Porye caught right in the middle.”
“What factions, Sire?”
The king turned to Slinch, who cleared his throat. “That’s just it. The term factions is one we can apply only loosely. The reality is the conflicts are popping up between disparate groups of individuals with no known previous involvement. It seems to be ideological in nature and split between individuals who feel the republic’s form of government is superior to Mandrigo’s, or the kingdom’s is superior to the republic. These individuals are coming into conflict, more and more, in our territory.”
“The two countries have existed peacefully for decades,” I said. “And left our coastline alone.”
“That’s just it,” the head Raven said. “This came out of nowhere without any warnings. Literally, it has blown up overnight. Three days ago, it was a bar fight. Two days ago, a mass brawl in the streets of Porye. Merchants, fishermen, tavern, and inn owners, even farmers from outside the town, all fighting each other over differences that have been in place for more than a hundred years.”
“You will take a team and investigate this unrest,” King Helat said, “and when you find its cause, you will take whatever steps are necessary to alleviate the situation. Clear?”
“Clear, Sire.”
“My daughter will give you the rest of your briefing. You leave as soon as your team is selected and assembled.”
“Yes, Majesty.”
Clearly dismissed, I followed Brona out of the king’s office and into hers, nodding to Marda as we passed her desk.
My princess led me to the sitting area and took a seat closest to the fireplace. I mentally smiled to myself. Brona hates the cold. She doesn’t allow that hatred to slow her down, as witnessed by her work in the freezing cold garden, but she still gravitates to warmth whenever possible.
“What are you smirking about? Father is very… concerned about you. Slinch is whispering in his ear and any sign of insubordination will turn ugly fast,” she said.
“I took your warning,” I said, the smile I thought I had concealed sliding off my face. “Why is he so sensitive all of a sudden? I follow orders and have been at least modestly successful.”
“You did, you do, and you are… much more than modestly. Slinch is using that efficiency against you. Instead of being a good thing, he makes it out to be a threat.”
“Your father is very intelligent; how can he fall for that?”
“Intelligent, but egotistical and emotional. He is jealous. You are my operative. The Shadows are my agency.”
“Hence him giving me multiple direct orders lately,” I said.
“Exactly. You and the Shadows have become too good of a weapon to leave in my hands.”
“Are you in danger from your father?” I asked, aghast at the thought but knowing it wasn’t completely out of order.
“No. Unless I begin to defy him and feed into the paranoia that Slinch has been spooning him,” she said in a cold tone.
“Slinch has made an enemy of you. Why would he take that risk? Is he our traitor?”
She smiled. “So many questions, Savid. Yes, Neil Slinch’s days are numbered, but I don’t know why—at least not yet. But today was the last straw. Sending you away from me is an unforgivable offense. Steps have been taken. But, Savid, my dear, the mission you have been given is no less important. And it will take time, between travel, investigation, and travel back. That, too, is intentional. Send away my most dangerous ally, isolate me, leave me vulnerable,” she said, her eyes going wide in mock fear. I might actually be one of her top weapons, but Brona collected living weapons like nobles collected swords. She grew up watching Slinch plot, listening to her father plan and maneuver. I didn’t like leaving her, but I had no doubts she had numerous assets and weapons the head Raven knew nothing about.
“So, to your mission, which you must handle well and quickly. The Raven in Porye is named Freyla Slost. She owns a tavern, the Lost Lobster, down near the waterfront. She will house your team and brief you on the particulars, which will surely have changed by the time you get there. It’ll take what? Four days?”
“Roughly, depending on weather and road conditions.”
“Slinch received a falcon this morning from Freyla. There are rumors that the regent of Stoneport in Berkette and the magistrate of Kittwell in Mandrigo are becoming involved in this mess. You need to get there and stop this before they become the actual factions in this dispute. You must prevent a war that will take out our only seaport.”
Chapter 20
We left almost immediately, less than two hours after my meetings at the castle. Jella, Soshi, Drew, Cort, Trell—and Kassa. Hemppe was in charge in my absence and I had given him some very detailed instructions regarding Ash and Brona.
Darkness came fast but we pushed on, the King’s Highway making for easy travel with a crescent moon shining on the thin layer of snow. We didn’t make it to Lil, just halfway. Jella chose a sheltered spot just off the road, against a sheer rock wall that faced south. As such, it was free of snow and slightly warmed by the day’s sun. We built a big fire and reheated an excellent moose stew that Brin had packed for us. I kept my eyes on both Trell and Kassa, as they were not Shadows and not accustomed to our pace. Of the two, Trell seemed the worse for wear. Kassa seemed tired but cheerful, as if horseback travel was nothing new to her. Trell, who had traveled a great deal as a bard, looked pretty done in. My estimation of our eslling ally rose a great deal in that moment.
The night passed quickly and Jella had us up early, our camp broken, packed, and the lot of us back on horseback before the sun had fully risen. The day was cold but clear and we were able to spend our second night at a modest but warm inn in Hamptonia, a small village on the King’s Highway. Shadows are used to moving fast and roughing it, but the inn gave us solid rest and more importantly, solid rest and food for our mounts in cold winter conditions. It was worth the slight delay of standard accommodations over field expediency to be sure our horses were fresh for the rest of the trip.
We camped on the third night and made Porye well after dark of the fourth day. Everyone was exhausted as our horses trudged through the streets of the ancient port town. History said that Porye was built on the ruins of a Punished city, one that had been old when the Punishment happened. The streets were a patchwork of brick, gravel, and blackstone—the last being the roadbuilding material of choice of the Punished. It wasn’t anything magical or even too technical, but it also hadn’t ever been duplicated on the scale that the Punished had employed it.
The smell of saltwater filled the air and the temperature was quite a few degrees warmer than Haven had been. The streets were well lit with torches but curiously quiet. We hardly saw a handful of p
eople. That was unusual, as despite the late hour, a port town really never sleeps. This didn’t feel like sleeping, though. It felt more like waiting… like watching.
We found the Lost Lobster easily enough, as Trell had played there once. It was one of the bigger inns we’d seen in Porye and even though the night was actually closer to morning, there were still grooms to take and stable our horses. I noticed one who ran inside the inn as well.
We entered, coming into a barroom that was well occupied but not overly noisy. A pair of big, heavily muscled men were seated on stools on either side of the entry. The lady behind the bar took one look at us and called one of her serving girls to take her place, her eyes never leaving us.
“That was pretty quick,” she said as she approached. Tall, just a hand’s length shorter than me, she had dark hair streaked with gray, brown eyes, and sharp, severe features. She had a few spare pounds on her frame, but she still looked tough enough to toss a drunk out of her bar. Although the two bouncers who were now standing and staring holes in us probably made that a pretty uncommon occurrence, there was still something in her eyes that made me think she’d done much worse in her time. “Follow me,” she said without even a word of introduction.
Without yet saying a word, we trailed her to a private dining room, the hired muscle in our wake.
Inside the room, she turned and her eyes went to her security guys, now standing in the doorway.
“I’m good. Go keep an eye on Molly. Make sure nobody thinks they can scare her into freebies. And have Cara bring these folks some ale and food.”