Servant of the Crown

by Duncan M. Hamilton

  “I want you and Solène to ride ahead of the army and carry an offer to the mercenary commanders.”

  “Highness?” Gill said, frowning.

  “I’m not a man to close the door on options. I can buy this enemy, I can’t buy my next one, so I’ll preserve the resources I have to deal with that for as long as I can.”

  Gill nodded, not sure whether to be impressed by the tactic or offended at the king viewing his soldiers—Gill included—as resources.

  “I’ll prepare the necessary paperwork for you to pay the mercenaries, and have it ready for you before the army marches. Solène can do whatever it is she does to speed you on your way under concealment.”

  “You’re not sending coin?”

  Boudain laughed. “Of course not. Once they have my coin, what’s to stop them continuing their march north to take Amaury’s? No. They’ll be offered bonds under the royal seal that can be redeemed once Amaury has been put in the ground.”

  Gill could see the logic behind what the young king suggested, but likewise the glaring flaw, at least for the man negotiating the deal.

  “That’s all well in principle, Highness, but, with respect, why would they take the offer of a king who’s not on his throne?”

  “Greed, Villerauvais. Greed. I’m going to offer them a ridiculous amount of money. An amount that makes my bladder weak to think about, but I’m getting my throne back, and I’ll do whatever it takes. My family have sat on the white throne for nearly a thousand years. I’ll be damned before I lose it to that bastard. The offer will be too rich. Any mercenary captain who turns it down will be killed by his men before he can bark another order at them. I’ll have the papers ready for you shortly.”

  Gill took a moment to reflect. He had forgotten what it meant to be a servant of the Crown, after so many years hiding in Villerauvais. Once you were sucked back in, there was no more refusing, no choosing what you did or didn’t do. You were never asked if it was a convenient time, if your wife and child had just died. You were simply expected to do what was demanded of you. Here he was, jumping to attention every time, once again.

  He took a deep breath to quell his anger, and saw Solène standing at the bar eating some broth. She too had made a promise, but not to Boudain the Tenth. She owed loyalty to no one, only to her word.

  “Solène has other business to attend to,” Gill said. “Our debt to Pharadon is not yet repaid, and only she can settle it.”

  The king looked at Gill for a moment, then nodded slowly. “I won’t ever have it be said I don’t repay debts, or leave a friend wanting when they are in need of my help. She has my permission, and blessing, to go.”

  Gill smiled thinly. He knew Solène was going to fulfill her promise to Pharadon whether the king permitted it or not, and there wasn’t a damn thing Boudain could do to stop her.

  “I’ll let her know she has your leave, Highness,” Gill said.

  Gill joined Solène and gave her a sad smile. He wasn’t going to be able to fulfill his obligation to her and Pharadon, and the only consoling thought was the fact that in reality, he could give her little assistance beyond moral support.

  “I’m sorry, Solène,” he said. “I’m not going to be able to go with you to enlighten the goldscale.”

  “The king has need of you?”

  Gill nodded. “I should have said no.”

  “Could you have?” she asked, as if she already knew the answer.

  He shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. That’s not how it works.” He chewed his lip for a moment. “He wants you to help me, but I told him you couldn’t. Your word to Pharadon is more important.”

  “I’m glad you feel that way, but I don’t like leaving you if I can help.”

  Gill laughed. “I’m able to look after myself, and for what it’s worth, I feel bad that I’m not going along to help you.”

  She smiled. “I can look after myself too.”

  “Do you think you can enlighten her?” he said.

  “I don’t see why not. I’ve plenty of tricks up my sleeve. Literally. But there’s only one way to find out.” The mirth left her eyes. “What about you? Can you do all of this, I mean. Defeat Amaury? Restore the king?”

  “Like you say, only one way to find out.”

  “I suppose I’ll see you at the other end of it all,” she said.

  Gill did his best to smile. “I suppose so.”

  CHAPTER

  38

  While keeping ahead of a marching army was not terribly challenging, Gill had a long ride ahead of him and no support on the way. All things considered, he wasn’t sure what type of greeting he would get at the royal way stations on the road. He wasn’t even sure if staying on the road was a particularly good idea. You never knew where you’d bump into enemy forces, and that was a complication Gill was eager to avoid.

  What he was going to say to the mercenaries when he reached them was another matter. The promise of payment from a king who might be dead in a matter of days didn’t seem like a particularly attractive offer, and it was the type of message that could get the bearer killed. He didn’t think his chances of success were particularly high, but with the king and his army already on the march, Gill didn’t have much time to find a way to make it work before battle was joined. A lot of men would die if he didn’t pull this off, and he couldn’t help but resent the responsibility the king had placed on him.

  He galloped for as long as his horse would allow it, making good time across the open farmland. Castandres and the army were long out of sight by the time Gill’s horse slowed. The air was crisp and clear that evening. As he rode, Guillot noticed for the first time that the country had taken on the air of a land at war. The fields were empty and bore a look of neglect. Farmers tended not to bother when they were afraid of being robbed or killed, either right away or when the postbellum hardships came and people wanted to steal their crops. If you had nothing to steal, then there was a better chance you’d be left alone.

  Gill couldn’t deny the sense of importance being abroad on the king’s business brought, even after so long, and so much disappointment in life. He had gone a long way, only to end up back in exactly the same place. He consoled himself with the thought that there was a higher purpose to his service this time. Amaury was a bastard, and people would suffer if he wasn’t stopped. And perhaps, just perhaps, the young Boudain might have the makings of a good king. One way or the other, he had a job to do. He continued on, and turned his thoughts instead to what he would say to the mercenary captain to convince him to agree to the king’s terms.

  * * *

  Preparing to travel to Mirabay, Solène realised she was afraid. At first she thought it was because she was heading toward a city of enemies, any number of whom would try to kill her given the chance, whether that be the Prince Bishop—or Regent, as he now was—the Intelligenciers, or the thousands of people who were terrified at the prospect of sorcerers returning.

  Then she thought it might be that she had no idea what she was to do once she reached the city. She did not know where the goldscale was, how she would get to it, or what she would do when she did.

  Deep down, she knew neither of those thoughts were truly the source of her fear. No, the reason she was so scared, why she thought she might be sick, was that she was heading into a city filled with enemies who would want to kill her, that she had a task she had no idea how to complete, and that none of that bothered her in the least.

  She was not being overconfident, she simply knew that there was no challenge she could not best. Solène was a born worrier—it was a consequence of living with a secret that others feared, that could get you killed. She knew this was the trait that had kept her alive for so long.

  That feeling was gone. She couldn’t think of a single thing that worried her. The irony was, that was the fact that was causing her concern.

  Had she become so powerful that she truly could do whatever she chose? No one should have that much unfettered power. Least of all
her. What would she do with it? Build an empire, as Amatus had after enlightenment? She supposed there was something in the fact that he had never claimed the title of emperor, but she did wonder if that was due to his self-control or if he had merely lost interest in temporal matters.

  She thought of the moment where Gill had presented her with the problem of how they were going to get off the mountain without Pharadon. As soon as she had applied her mind to the question, she had the answer. It wasn’t something she had known how to do before. It wasn’t even something she had thought was possible before, but she immediately had known how to transport them from that lonely, windswept ledge back to Castandres.

  Was that what enlightenment would mean for her? Always having a solution to every problem? It felt that way, and as comforting as that seemed, she could take no ease from it. She wished there had been more time to talk with Pharadon about enlightenment; without him, there was no one who could explain it to her. Even Amatus had not had to deal with that.

  She wondered if she should borrow a horse and ride to Mirabay, rather than use the magical option she had immediately considered. Surely it was right to question the power she now had. If it became too familiar a thing, if using it became too commonplace for her, where might that lead her? Pharadon had told her to trust herself. She wanted to take comfort in that, to believe that she would never arrive at a place where she used magic so thoughtlessly it could cause harm to others, but she struggled.

  Her mind flicked to a day not long ago, on a road not dissimilar to the one she was now looking at. Could she really still consider herself a good person after that? There had to have been a better way than to kill those people. Surely she could have disabled them, if only she’d taken a moment to think it through.

  She’d killed that day. What was to stop her from doing it again? What was to stop her when killing was as easy as lighting a room, healing a child, transporting herself across half the country, or raining fire and hell down upon an entire city? She shuddered. She knew she was overreacting, but the thought of turning into someone like the Prince Bishop horrified her. She’d seen the look in his eyes when he spoke of the Cup or the temple; she’d seen how he used the power he’d already had. She had seen others like him, albeit on a smaller scale. A person had that avarice in them by the time they were full grown. Some were born with it, some learned it on the way up, but, she worried, might something like becoming enlightened give it to someone who hadn’t had it before?

  Solène was enlightened now and had full control over the chaotic power that had always resided within her. Fear of what that power—that curse—could do, both to others and to herself, had always made her be so careful with it. Now that fear was lifted. She no longer had to worry about what she might do. Instead, she had to think about what she could do. It was even more frightening a prospect.

  She swore aloud—this would only change her if she allowed it to. She was no more likely to rain fire and hell down on a city now than she would have been when she was a teenage girl. Indeed, she was less likely now; if she chose for it not to happen, it would not. Before, she could never be sure what would happen—an errant thought could cause her magic to do things she had never intended. Now that she was enlightened, that could not happen. Her magic would obey her exactly.

  She chewed on her lip a moment, stared toward the horizon, and decided it was time to believe in herself. Long past time. She enjoyed the tranquillity of her surroundings a moment longer: she was standing in a field near a stand of trees, just far enough from the village not to be bothered by the ruckus of an army preparing to march. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them, she stood in Mirabay, on a cobbled street, surrounded by the heaving vibrancy of the home of tens of thousands of people.

  CHAPTER

  39

  “Your Grace, a protest started this morning,” Amaury’s secretary said. “It’s grown larger throughout the day. It’s not safe to take the carriage out. The captain of the Royal Guard has suggested you take a wherry from the palace dock if you insist on going out into the city.”

  “This is getting beyond a joke,” Amaury said. The city had never been run so well, yet the people protested. Every day, street cleaners, teachers, traders, and the countless other people who were the cogs of the great machine that was Mirabay gathered in places around the city, in protest. Yet the streets were clear of rubbish, there was food in the marketplaces and clean water to be had from the fountains. Could they not see what a wonder that was? His temper flared. All these distractions were keeping him from learning more about his power, and how to properly use it. He had achieved the goal of so many years, but had not the time to explore it.

  “I’ll address them directly,” he said. “It is long beyond time that I did.”

  “Now?” the secretary said.

  “Seeing as I already have an audience gathered,” Amaury said.

  “I … Are…” His secretary saw the expression on the Prince Bishop’s face. “I’ll inform the captain of the Guard and have everything prepared.”

  Amaury nodded, then waited for his secretary to leave before allowing himself a sigh. Why could people not realise when they had a good thing? He stood and went to the mirror concealed behind a cabinet door. If he was going to appear before the people, he needed to make sure he looked the part of Regent. The comfortable britches, shirt, and tunic he was wearing might be fine for sitting in his office dealing with underlings, but for presenting himself to the people, more of a statement was needed.

  The usual place for the monarch to address their citizens was a palace balcony that looked out over a natural amphitheatre formed by the sheer side of the hill the building sat on. The square beneath had become a traditional location to congregate and protest, somewhere Amaury had often thought would be wisely built on to prevent this. He supposed the people would always find somewhere to gather and protest. At least here, he could easily address them, and do so in complete safety.

  He allowed himself a smile, knowing that he had no need of a natural amphitheatre to make himself heard. His voice would carry across the sea now, should he choose it. Still, the balcony was where people were accustomed to seeing their king, so that was where they would see Amaury.

  Sitting down again, he waited for his secretary to return to escort him to the balcony, while mulling over what he was going to say. Of course, announcing the opening of the dragon menagerie to the public would be part of it, but that was only an appetiser.

  Telling the people they were a bunch of ingrates who couldn’t tell a gift from a kick to their delicate parts didn’t strike him as the best approach, no matter how true that was. Also unwise, he thought, would be revealing how precarious the city’s food supply was, or that magic was instrumental in keeping people from starving by preventing their stores from spoiling.

  How, then, would he win over the hearts and minds of so many enraged people? The answer was obvious, of course. It was time to stop pussyfooting around the great power he had won for himself and start actually using it. He had no intention of continually wasting it to keep the populace in line, but a nudge toward his way of thinking, simply to get the ball rolling, seemed reasonable.

  He wasn’t altogether comfortable with the idea. He had no desire to do to the city’s residents what he had done to the king. People incapable of working were useless to him and to the kingdom. How to avoid that when he was so much more powerful now? Or was he? He felt like he was, but until he actually did anything with his power, he couldn’t be sure. The academics were still translating the rubbings they’d taken at the temple, and despite their daily updates, they’d yet to turn up anything of use. Amaury was beginning to give up hope. If the enlightened had taught their initiates how to use their new gifts, it seemed they hadn’t carved those lessons into the walls of their temple.

  He needed a test subject, someone whose opinion was contrary to his own and who was unimportant enough to not be missed if Amaury destroyed their mind. The problem wa
s, he’d been very effective in making people who disagreed with him disappear in recent weeks. Still, he thought, I might be in luck. He scribbled a note and rang the bell on his desk. Then, remembering his secretary was preparing for his speech, Amaury left his office and grabbed the first servant he could find.

  “Renaud and Canet,” Amaury said. “I believe they are still in the palace dungeons. Have one of them fetched up to my office as quick as you can.”

  “Of course, Lord Protector.” The servant blanched. “I’m sorry, Lord Protector. Who?”

  “Renaud, the former chancellor. Canet, the former captain of the City Watch. They should still be in the cells below the palace. Take this release order. I only need one of them. I don’t care which.” He paused. “The one who stinks the least. Perhaps give them a quick rinse and some clean clothing. I don’t want them leaving a stench in my office. Be quick.”

  “Yes, Lord Protector.”

  The servant headed off, clutching the release order, and Amaury found himself in the odd position of hoping at least one of his two former adversaries was still alive. Back in his office, he started to prepare. Desire was the spark and focus was the fuel—dal Drezony had explained it to him a hundred times. Easily done when the worst consequence was a pop and a flash of light, but maintaining that singularity of thought when you knew an errant idea could bring the building down around you made it significantly more challenging.

  Still, the only way to learn how to ride was to get up on the horse in the first place, and Amaury had been creating uninspiring lights for several years. The unintended—although ultimately welcome—consequence of his magical assault on the king was an anomaly. A mistake made did not necessarily mean it would be repeated.

  Before long there was a knock on the door, and a damp, but still filthy and bedraggled, Renaud was pushed in by two palace guards.

  “Renaud, you’re looking remarkably well, all things considered,” Amaury said.