Servant of the Crown

by Duncan M. Hamilton

  “People of Mirabay,” Amaury said. “I’ve chosen to speak with you today to ask for your patience and support during this time when changes are taking place in our city. As a true son of Mirabaya, I promise you all is happening for the best. It will make our kingdom stronger, our homes safer, and ensure a better quality of life for one and all.”

  “Bollocks!”

  It was only one voice, but it wasn’t the reaction Amaury had hoped for. What to do? Respond? Carry on as though nothing had happened? He chose the latter.

  “Many of you will have already seen the benefits these changes can bring. Treatment for illnesses and injuries that would have been incurable before—”

  “Doesn’t seem to have worked for you, you limping bastard.” A different voice, from elsewhere in the crowd.

  Amaury smiled wryly. Should have healed myself before I came out here, and danced the bastards a jig, he thought.

  “Water is clean and safe to drink,” he continued. “Food is fresh and plentiful. These are just the first of many benefits of this new age we now live in.”

  “Sorcery is wrong!” a man called.

  “It’s an abomination!” a woman shouted.

  “You’re an abomination!” Several voices.

  Laughter.

  The hecklers were in different parts of the crowd. They were growing bolder and Amaury knew he didn’t have long to bring the people around to his way of thinking. He reached deep, focussed his thought.

  “Why don’t you limp off that balcony, you bastard!”

  “Silence!” Amaury roared, his anger finally getting the better of him. He watched in awe as the sound of his voice moved through the air like a wave and crashed down onto the crowd, smashing through them like a cavalry charge. There was blood, there were screams of terror and agony. Amaury watched in amazement as his word left a trail of absolute devastation in its wake before it faded to nothing, like a ripple diminishing as it spread through a pond.

  It didn’t take long for the stench of carnage to waft up to the balcony, but Amaury was still too enthralled by what had just happened to pay it any notice. What he had just done. Ysabeau came out from the palace and joined him on the balcony.

  “Gods alive,” she said, her eyes wide as saucers. “What happened.”

  “I … I’m not su—” Amaury said before stopping himself. “I did it. Magic. My magic.” He held up his hands and looked at them. He had unleashed tremendous power, yet had felt no adverse effect. He hadn’t burned himself out, the expected consequence of using too much energy. In fact, he’d barely even noticed he had done it. He felt no different. No fatigue, no dizziness. Nothing. What a fool he’d been. This power had been his for days, and he’d been too afraid to use it.

  “Why?” Ysabeau said.

  She went to the balustrade and looked down. Amaury paid her little attention. He was still trying to absorb the fact that the power that had worried him for so long was his to use as he saw fit. If he could unleash such devastation with no noticeable personal consequences, then the things he needed to do on a day-to-day basis would be no problem at all. There would be no more disagreements, no more need for bodyguards, no fear of moving about the city. He had everything he needed. Everything he wanted.

  “Father,” Ysabeau said, “why? How could you? All those people. There must be hundreds lying there. Thousands, maybe.”

  “They brought it on themselves,” Amaury said. “If they’d just accepted that the world around them is changing, there’d have been no problem. Some good might even come of it—the rest of them might have learned their lesson.

  “But none of that matters. Don’t you see? The power I have now, it’s incredible. I’m untouchable.”

  “Don’t you care?” Ysabeau said. “All those people. You’re Lord Protector of the Realm. That means you’re supposed to protect them.”

  “Don’t be so naive,” Amaury said, disappointed. He expected more from his own child.

  “I can’t believe this is what you had planned,” she said. “It’s barbarous.”

  Though Amaury kept his face impassive, to himself he had to admit that she had finally hit a sensitive spot. He hadn’t planned what had happened. Far from it. This was a glaring demonstration that he had absolutely no control over this power. A shiver ran over his skin.

  “I can’t believe I’m the one who brought you the means to do this,” she said.

  “Statecraft can be a messy business,” he said. “Ruling can require hard choices and harder acts.”

  “Oh, I’ve heard that before,” she said. “I didn’t believe it then and I don’t believe it now.” She shook her head. “I’ve seen terrible things. I’ve done terrible things. But I can’t be party to this.”

  She walked away, leaving Amaury alone on the balcony. As he watched her go, he realised that the magic had done his bidding. The people had, indeed, been silenced. He merely needed to develop better control over his desires, just as dal Drezony had always maintained. Perhaps she had been right about some things, after all.

  He looked down at the square below. Most of the crowd was gone, having fled the horror. A great red stain streaked across the square, which was littered with bodies. The magic had not killed everyone it had touched, he saw. At the fringes of the bloodied path his magic had taken, there were wounded. Even from this distance, he could see that many were horribly injured. Some people were helping those who were hurt, while others wandered around checking the bodies. He wondered if anyone had started looting the corpses yet. It was only a matter of time before that started, and part of the reason he found it so hard to muster any sympathy for the fate of ordinary citizens. They cared about one another even less than he did. Once the shock had passed, all they would see was the chance to find a coin or two.

  A child wandered amongst the dead, slipping every so often on the blood and viscera. She stopped beside one body, then reached down and shook it. She tried several times to rouse the person, but there was no response. At last, she stood up and stared straight at Amaury on the balcony. He had never seen so much hate in such a young face. For the first time it occurred to him that this act might not have a pacifying effect.

  He turned and went back inside. If there was going to be trouble, he needed to be prepared for it. The new mercenaries should be no more than a day or two from the city; their arrival would be a weight off his mind. Desertions from the palace guard, the royal regiments, and the City Watch had been heavy—not that he felt he could trust them anyway. The Order’s new recruits would have to serve as a stopgap; his hopes of keeping them away from the dirtier side of maintaining the peace were well and truly gone.

  “Your Grace,” a clerk said, as soon as Amaury went back inside. “We’ve had word from the king’s camp. He has defeated his cousins and is preparing to march.”

  Amaury had expected as much. The king’s cousins were even bigger idiots than Boudain was. “Where to?”

  “The message didn’t say.”

  “Keep me updated.”

  For the first time, he regretted siting the Priory so far away, in that old monastery on the left bank of the Vosges. Originally he had placed the Order there to keep them away from the palace’s meddling, but now it was an inconvenience. He needed them close now, but for the time being, there was little he could do about that.

  Reaching his office, Amaury sent for the officers of the Order. He had to start preparing his cream-robed magisters for the war that was on its way.

  PART THREE

  CHAPTER

  42

  Gill spotted the mercenaries the next morning. It was as big a company as he’d ever seen. At a very rough estimate, there must have been ten thousand men, including the baggage train. He doubted it was a single company—more like an amalgam of several smaller ones. That meant there was going to be more than one leader, a command council of some sort, with absolute command awarded to an elected member only in times of action. It would make dealing with them more arduous, but delaying
this force was almost as useful as getting them to turn around. Perhaps that should be the true focus of his offer?

  A mercenary company on the march was always dangerous to approach. The reputations all such companies bore for looting, pillaging, and murder were well earned, even though some companies behaved far better than others.

  He’d dealt with mercenaries a number of times during his career, fighting both with and against them. He had no strong opinions on them one way or the other. They were very much like any other segment of the world—there were some good ones, some bad ones, and plenty in between. He was pretty sure that in a force of this size, he’d find some of all. It didn’t matter if the commanders were good men or not. They only needed to prize the value of a coin, or the thousands of them the king was offering if they turned around.

  Gill stopped by a stand of trees and cut down a slender branch, which he used, in conjunction with a piece of cloth torn from his sleeve, to fashion a flag of truce. He was less likely to be targeted by overeager scouts if he looked like he was on official business.

  With his new banner flying haphazardly above him, Gill continued toward the mercenary column. They had some outriders, but Gill hadn’t encountered any advance scouts. Either they were very stealthy or the company’s commanders were confident that no one would challenge so large a force. This behaviour wasn’t unheard of, but it was arrogant and foolish—Gill knew of more than one force that had been attacked on the march. He wondered what was making them so confident, but answering that question could wait.

  Once he was spotted, a group of riders broke away from the main column and galloped toward him.

  “Who are you?” one of the men said, as soon as they were within earshot.

  “Banneret of the White Guillot dal Villerauvais. An emissary of the king. I need to speak with your captain.”

  The rider gave Gill a curt nod, indicating that he was also a banneret. “Banneret of the Starry Field Carlos dal Dorado. The king, you say?”

  “Yes,” Gill said, returning the nod, acknowledging the Estranzan equivalent of his title. “The King of Mirabaya. This is a kingdom.”

  “We were given to understand that he is dead and that there is a regent in place. A regent we’ve been hired by.”

  “I’m afraid your information is incorrect,” Gill said. “If you’d be so good as to bring me to your captain, I’ll be happy to explain all.”

  The rider cast a glance at one of his comrades, then looked back at Gill.

  “Follow us,” he said. “And you can dump that ridiculous-looking flag.”

  Gill discarded the branch and shirt cuff, then dropped in beside the riders.

  “Quite a big force you’ve got here,” Gill said. “What company are you?”

  “Black Spur, Red Lance, and a few smaller ones to make up numbers,” dal Dorado said.

  “Who commands?”

  Dal Dorado and one of his comrades laughed but made no reply. When they got closer to the column, dal Dorado held up his hand.

  “Captains!” he said. “Messenger from the King of Mirabaya.”

  “Thought he was dead,” one of the men at the front said.

  Gill shrugged. It was becoming clear to him that the mercenaries had either been supplied with very out-of-date information or been completely lied to. It occurred to him that he needed to be careful not to give away too much. Should they choose to reject the king’s proposition, it was better that they remain as ignorant as possible.

  “I bring an offer from Boudain the Tenth, King of Mirabaya,” Gill said. “To whom do I have the honour of speaking?”

  “Captain Carenjo of the Black Spur,” said one.

  “Teloza of the Red Lance,” said the other.

  Gill took the sealed papers from his tunic and held them out, still not sure which of the two men he should give them to.

  Eventually Teloza, a man with a thick salt-and-pepper moustache, dressed in fine crimson clothing, leaned forward in his saddle and snatched the papers from Gill. He gave the seal a cursory inspection, then broke it open with no ceremony. He took what felt like an age to read the contents, during which Gill did his best to appear the disinterested messenger. Eventually, the mercenary captain looked up from the pages.

  “Promise of payment to go home?”

  “I believe that is what the king is offering,” Gill said.

  “If this is some sort of prank,” the captain said, “I’ll have you strung up from that tree over yonder.” He pointed at the stand of trees where Gill had made his flagpole.

  “I assure you, on my word as a Banneret of the White, this is not a prank,” Gill said. “The king’s offer is in good faith.”

  Teloza handed the papers to Carenjo, who clearly didn’t like having been made to wait. The body language between the men did not speak of a solid working relationship. In the ordinary course of their contract—marching their troops to Mirabay, where they would be dispersed about to bolster Amaury’s regular forces—it wouldn’t be a problem. If they were to march into battle, Gill didn’t fancy their chances of providing cohesive command. It was as sure a route to disaster as any he could think of, and any self-respecting captain would have avoided winding up in this position. Clearly whatever Amaury had offered was enough to make them throw caution to the wind. Gill had to wonder if the king’s offer could make them turn their backs on it.

  “This is derisory,” Carenjo said. He crumpled the paper and dropped it to the ground.

  Gill grimaced. “I take it that’s a no, then.”

  “We’ve made a contract with the Lord Protector of—” Gill burst out laughing and Carenjo cast him a filthy look.

  “I’m sorry,” Gill said. “I didn’t realise that’s what he’s calling himself these days.”

  “The Lord Protector of Mirabaya,” Carenjo continued, “and we will hold true to it. What else does a company have, if not its reputation for keeping its word?”

  Gill shrugged. He could think of a couple that had made a perfectly good living by changing sides whenever it suited them. Clearly the king’s offer hadn’t been tempting enough to make them change their colours. Gill wondered if there was anything he could do to convince them, but given that he wasn’t in a position to change the offer or to add to it, it seemed that his hands were tied. He really was nothing more than a messenger. Still, he couldn’t let it lie without doing something.

  “Perhaps you might sleep on it, gentlemen,” Gill said. “An offer from a king is, after all, an offer from a king. I dare say the Lord Protector won’t be in that role for much longer.”

  “Perhaps,” Teloza said. “Perhaps not. We’re losing the light, so should set camp for the night. We can discuss the matter further with the junior captains over supper, but I doubt our answer will be any different. You’re welcome to remain and sup with our officers,” Teloza continued. “Banneret dal Dorado will show you where.”

  One thing armies the world over were good at doing with little encouragement was setting up camp. The faster it was done, the sooner they could get fed and into their bedrolls. Gill made idle chitchat with dal Dorado as the companies settled in. He noticed they paid only lip service to setting up pickets or posting sentries. Clearly they weren’t expecting trouble, and Gill supposed they were right. It was unlikely they would face an enemy until they met the king’s army, most likely below the walls of Mirabay. There were no other forces in the field that a company of this size would have to worry about.

  Supper was good. That was always the case with mercenary companies, in Gill’s fleeting experience. When men were hired, rather than levied or conscripted, they had to be treated a little better if you wanted them to stick around and fight for you. The menu was fresh beef, potatoes, and a vegetable stew of some Estranzan recipe that was a little too spicy for Gill’s taste, but it was the best meal he’d been offered in quite some time, so he ate it all gladly.

  It was late, with the sun having long fled the sky, when Teloza and Carenjo appeared from the comma
nd tent and strolled to where the officers had messed. The other officers had been eyeing up their tents for some time by then, but were obligated to entertain their guest until their commanders had agreed upon a response.

  “Our answer remains the same,” Teloza said. “In consideration of the royal dignity, we’ve written a letter. Please inform His Majesty that we are sorry, but our word is our bond, and we have signed a contract with the Lord Protector.”

  Gill took the letter. “I understand. I’m sure His Majesty will appreciate the respect you’ve shown.”

  “You’re welcome to remain here for the night, if you’d prefer not to set off in darkness,” Carenjo said.

  “Thank you for that kindness,” Gill said, “but I should return immediately.”

  “I understand,” Carenjo said. “Your mount was fed and watered while you ate. I hope the gods see fit that we shall not meet on the battlefield.”

  “I do also,” Gill said, with a grim smile, knowing now that it was likely. “With your leave?” Gill gave dal Dorado a traditional banneret’s salute—a click of the heels and nod of the head—then left to find his horse.

  CHAPTER

  43

  Gill had always enjoyed riding on a clear night, beneath a star-filled sky. Setting aside the obvious dangers of his horse stumbling on an unseen obstacle and throwing him, he reckoned it was one of his favourite things. The fact that he didn’t have two fire-spewing dragons chasing him, as he had on his previous nighttime ride, was an added bonus.

  There was a hunter’s moon—the usual spectral white and grey taking on a red hue. There was something foreboding about it, as though the moon were mirroring the wounds of the land beneath it. Gill tried to ignore the thought and focus on the fresh, bracing air … and the bad news he was bringing to his king. Boudain was a clever young man. He must have realised that this was the likely answer.