by I K Spencer
Garrick grew tired of trying to explain the unexplainable and turned his thoughts to a more useful topic—how to reach the king. It had been over thirty years since he and the prince had been close. He had seen the monarch occasionally but not in over a decade; thus, he must face the fact that he knew very little about the man. He needed a way to see the king in private or get a message to him and at the end of the day's journey, the answer still eluded him.
He stopped at dusk for the night at a small inn less than a day's ride from Carael. After seeing to Lance at the inn's stable, he ate at a tavern down the street. The place was nearly empty, it being late and a Sunday. The food was basic—bread, ale, and mutton stew with a rare sighting of mutton. He ate his fill and purchased some bread and meat for the following day. He noticed no one suspicious and expected as much. He doubted that anyone would guess that he would run to the capital; the opposite direction would be more likely and might still prove more prudent.
Garrick rose before dawn and left without breakfast, eager to get started. The morning was warmer than the day before but a light rain greeted him as he emerged from the stable adjoining the inn. The aging warrior was lame from the long hours on the horse and knew he would be even worse the next morning, long out of the habit of spending so many hours in the saddle. Grimly, he pulled his cowl up and urged Lance to a trot.
He met fewer travelers than the day before and of a different lot, mostly traveling tradesmen and freight haulers. Naturally, since his own cover was that of a sword trader and his assassin, a wagoneer, he grew more wary of these lone travelers. As each figure approached, he tensed and rested a hand near the handle of his sword. At one point, he spotted a small group of uniformed soldiers coming along the road. For a moment, he felt the grip of panic and fought a strong urge to get off the road and hide but he knew that would have been a mistake. He did not believe he would be hunted through normal channels; it did not fit with the pattern of the covert attempt on his life so soldiers and constables were probably the last people he need worry about. He controlled his fear and readied a smile for the passing soldiers, though his stomach twisted in knots. To his relief, not a single glance was cast his way as the young recruits marched past.
In between passing travelers, his thoughts returned to finding a way to see the king in secret. He quickly ruled out trying to reach Jamen by sneaking into the royal chambers or surprising the man from some place of hiding. Getting near the well-guarded monarch undetected would be unlikely if not impossible and if caught, he would likely be construed as a threat and not allowed anywhere near Jamen. A message seemed a better idea, then it would be a simple matter of informing Jamen where he could be found. His old friend would then have the option of risking a secret meeting personally or sending an intermediary. He was mindful that this plan put him in a dire situation if the king had endorsed the attempt on his life, leaving him a sitting duck for the next executioner. The dutiful warrior, though, had already resolved to live or die according to the wishes of his king and would put as much in the message. He had spent his entire life in service of the crown and he knew no other way.
The problem for Garrick was that he had no contacts in the palace that he could trust to pass a message to the king. He had spent the majority of the last thirty years in the field and had no friends or acquaintances in Carael. He did not dare try to bribe an unknown servant; they were often friendly with the guardsmen charged with the protection of the royal family. He needed to find a way to personally deliver the message to a location where only Jamen would find the dispatch. He stroked his gray beard and tried to remember those carefree days in the palace over three decades ago. After considerable searching he recalled some of the activities he and the prince engaged in. He and Jamen had practiced a great deal but they also had some time for fun. The activity he remembered doing most aside from sparring with weapons was roving the palace grounds on foot or horseback. The royal palace was actually a sizable compound with several separate castles surrounded by a thick stone wall nearly twenty feet tall. The wall enclosed roughly ten square miles containing fields, woodland and even a small lake along with the castles and other structures. The king’s castle stood on a small hill overlooking the lake, roughly at the center of the grounds. He and the young prince had often swam in the lake and hiked or rode through the wooded grounds. No single place on the grounds stood out in his memory, though.
The boys had also covered most of the space within the royal castle. He fondly remembered the times in the weapons room, admiring the magnificent collection belonging to the prince's father, King Graben. It had been only ten years since the old king, white-haired even when Garrick was a boy, passed the throne to his eldest son. That was the last time he had seen Jamen, and only for a moment during the coronation celebration.
Of course another main focus of the two youths had lain in a very different area of interest. Court attracted the nobility from every corner of Isaencarl, which included more than a few beautiful, young maidens eagerly vying for the attentions of the crowned prince. They might have served as ladies-in-waiting to various females in the royal family but they had only one true goal in mind—to be the next queen. Thus, in tireless pursuit of that end, the young women had forever been finding ways to engage the prince, in every nook and cranny of the palace and grounds. Often the intrusions annoyed Jamen but like most young men of that age, he also enjoyed the more positive aspects of the maidens’ efforts to entice him, such as when they would happen to burst into the hallway in various states of undress just as the two young men were striding by, a surprisingly common mishap. These experiences provided Cadet Garrick with his first glimpses of bared feminine breasts and bottoms but in general, his memories of this aspect of time spent with Jamen were not so pleasant. Court emphasized the barriers between nobles and anyone not belonging to the aristocracy so the ambitious maidens had either schemed to manipulate him somehow to gain advantage with the prince or ignored him completely, which he had come to greatly prefer over the former.
Recalling some of the more memorable maidenly efforts gave him sudden thought. There was a place, he now remembered, that had been special to young Jamen. He had a recollection of a storeroom, perhaps two or three stories off the ground within the royal residence, where the prince kept birds. He remembered one of the maidens who had been particularly cruel to him ambushing them while in the bird room. She had feigned a shared interest but the ruse evaporated when one of the birds had deposited its sizable load between the tops of her perfectly shaped, barely contained breasts. She’d lost her composure completely and fled the chamber, shrieking and uttering curses so coarse that Garrick would not hear them again until his first battle against the Dolonarians. He had forgotten all about the birds!
The prince had become intrigued by messenger doves shortly before Garrick left to commence his apprenticeship. He had fashioned a birdhouse in a storeroom and had even trained a pair of doves to fly back and forth between the palace and Garrick's quarters at the guardsman academy, some ten miles to the south. He now remembered that Jamen had been quite captivated by the new interest and he recalled finding the prince in the storeroom once or twice when no one knew his whereabouts. As he reminisced, more details came back to him. He remembered a tree just beyond a single shuttered window with a westward view. If he could locate that window again and if he found fresh signs of birds, there was a good chance that King Jamen still paid regular visits to the storeroom.
Smiling for the first time since the beginning of the terrible ordeal, he urged Lance to a trot. The elder guardsman had a plan and was eager to put it into action.
********
Garrick stood in the shadows outside the palace walls, his hidden position offering a clear view of the nearby gate and the two sentries standing guard. It was one of the less-traveled entrances, located toward the north end of the west wall. He had waited for over an hour and now the gate had grown quiet, which hopefully meant the same for the grounds beyond.
/> He had kept up a brisk pace throughout the afternoon, reaching the city while it was still light. A couple of stops had been necessary then, once the sun had set and the evening traffic had slowed, he’d made his way to the royal fortress. He had ducked inside a thicket across the road from the gate to wait for the right time.
He grabbed a bottle from his pack and took a long swallow. He then poured more of the amber liquid on his clothes and splashed some on his face. After a quick look to be certain no one was watching, he stepped from the shadows to the road and started to walk in the direction of the gate. The stocky guardsman stumbled and wove his way toward the gate, then walked more normally as he neared the sentries; most drunks still had the faculties to try to appear sober when faced with some form of authority.
Guardsmen carried no visible signs or papers identifying them as members of the special force. Their identities were a closely guarded secret except for a few exceptions—military advisors, bodyguards for the royal family, and the guardsmen assigned to the academy. That left the majority of the force in the field, involved with covert operations. Some were spies on foreign soil and some, like Garrick, were posted at various locations throughout Isaencarl. The domestic field agents mainly watched for signs of insurrection, then often moved to thwart the uprisings before they gained momentum. In either case, public knowledge of their true identities would prove both a hindrance and a danger. Most of the elite warriors, however, carried the credentials of an ordinary soldier, that of an officer in case they needed to impress some local constable. Garrick was no different and he pulled these papers from his tunic as he approached the gate. The sentry who took the papers smiled when he recognized the insignia. He waved Garrick through and he saw the sentry flash a knowing grin to his comrade, delighted to have nabbed a tipsy officer.
He stayed on the road once inside the palace grounds. He had chosen this particular gate for an additional reason besides obscurity. The soldiers' quarters were located toward the southeast corner of the grounds, thus, the most direct path from this gate to the quarters led past the center of the grounds and the king's castle. Another sentry stopped him as he neared the center of the grounds. He played his part again and the sentry was so pleased at catching an officer drunk that the man barely glanced at the papers. Once he’d moved out of the sentry’s sight, he quickly stepped from the road to cut through the grounds in order to approach the royal residence from the rear. The path led him up a small hill dotted with trees but the woods were sparse and the stout figure hurried from tree to tree for cover until he reached the edge of a garden that dominated the western slope of the hill. A high hedge ran along the garden's edge and he crawled along the hedge until he found an opening he could crawl through. Once inside, he rested for a few moments before continuing in the direction of the castle. At this point his cover story was no longer much use. He had no business being this close to the royal residence. As a last resort, he still had the bottle and would pretend to be drunk but he doubted that the ruse would work.
He moved slowly forward, his back against the hedge for cover. Although the garden screened him from the rest of the grounds, he was vulnerable to being spotted from inside the castle. Winter was barely over and the garden still remained largely dormant. In the moonlight he saw some sprouts belonging to early spring flowers but at this point the garden amounted to little more than a pattern of stark evergreen hedges, like a skeleton without flesh.
After a few minutes, he reached the edge of the garden. About fifty yards of open ground remained from the garden to the rear of the castle and he lay behind the short hedge, just inside the garden's entrance. From that safe but distant vantage point he attempted to determine which window was his destination. He frowned after studying every window; none looked familiar. He did recall some branches hanging very close outside the storeroom window and he now counted six trees along the back of the castle. He would have to get a closer look at each tree and its nearest window.
He paused to scan the area for sentries, then climbed to his feet and ran to the closest tree, the third one from the left as he faced the castle. The heavyset guardsman panted from the effort, a stranger to such exertion for too many years. While catching his breath, he looked from the tree to the adjacent second and third story windows. Neither looked familiar and he hurried along the side of the castle to the next tree in line toward the right. Here too, he saw nothing familiar nor any signs that Jamen's birds were housed nearby.
He froze against the side of the castle and scanned the area. There should be regular patrols of this area and his experienced internal clock warned that a sentry was overdue. Security couldn't be so lax that no one would patrol the grounds outside the king's castle. Just then, as if willed to appear by Garrick, movement caught his eye to the right of the garden. After a few moments he identified a lone sentry, heading in his direction. With no other cover available, he sank slowly to the ground and crawled behind the tree trunk. He peered around the tree but could not see the sentry for some time, until the man emerged from the side of the garden. The figure walked from behind the hedge along the side of the garden and turned toward the guardsman.
The most likely path would carry the guard from the corner of the garden to his right and to that corner of the castle, keeping the sentry a comfortable distance from the tree. He lay completely still, his head on the ground and his eyes trained on the point just beyond where the tree blocked his views. Sure enough, the sentry soon cleared the trunk and came into his field of view. He watched the man with his eyes nearly closed so they would not reflect the moonlight.
The young man was short, fat, and looked half-asleep. Garrick held his breath as the man looked in his direction but the sentry's gaze continued past him and paused to study the back of the castle for some time. The young soldier displayed no caution and he doubted that this sentry could spot him unless the oaf tripped over him. The careless attitude, especially this close to the king, bothered the professional soldier and he had an urge to surprise the youngster and no doubt scare the wits out of him. The sentry then disappeared around the corner in the castle without a look back.
He rose and moved to the second tree from the right, then along to the last tree on that side. Neither tree nor the adjacent windows looked at all familiar and his hope began to fade. He considered climbing each tree for a better perspective but decided instead to check out the remaining two trees on the far left before risking an ascent. He hurried across the back of the castle until he reached the second tree from the left. Something caught his attention in the shape of the tree; vaguely familiar to him somehow. He looked up at the windows but saw nothing to help refresh his memory. After a scan of the area, he approached the trunk, wondering if he had forgotten how to climb. With a grunt, he lifted his considerable bulk over the lowest branch and proceeded to scale the tree. He paused at the second story level but found nothing from a closer inspection of the window.
Refusing to look down, he cautiously climbed higher still. Level with the third story window, he noted a branch that jutted out close to the window. Something seemed familiar about it but he needed a closer look. Hugging the branch, he slid a few feet out on the thick bough toward the shuttered window. He halted when he was close enough to see the window clearly, then a small smile of recognition warmed his grim face. The deep sill of the window was whitewashed with fresh droppings and littered with feathers.
The bulky guardsman, easily eighteen stone, cautiously slid further out on the branch, which started to sag under the added weight. He was still too far to touch the castle wall but did not dare go farther. Steadying himself with one hand, he pulled a small object from inside his tunic — a small carving of a bird to which he had attached a sealed message to the king. He prayed that Jamen might still come to this place and throw open the shutters the way he had as a young man. He had struggled with the message during the final leg of the trip that day, constructing the letter word-for-word in his head as he rode. In the message, he brie
fly recounted the attempted assassination and offered his head if the king had authorized his execution. He finished by pledging his loyalty and telling his old friend where he could be found.
Garrick hesitated. He could still just disappear. He was putting a lot of faith in a man he hadn't really known in over thirty years. Plenty of wild country remained, especially to the north, and he could certainly live off the land. However, he contemplated the thought for barely a second before rejecting it. He sighed and looked at the moon, blurred by a thin covering of clouds. He knew that such thoughts were mere fantasy. His was a life driven by duty and his duty couldn’t be any clearer. And beyond his duty, something was very wrong when one guardsman attempted to take another guardsman's life and if the king hadn't sanctioned the execution, he could be in terrible danger.
His conflict resolved, Garrick leaned forward to get as close as possible. He did not want to miss the ledge when he tossed the carving; he wasn’t sure he could scale the tree a second time. As he leaned forward, he glanced down to the right and froze. Another sentry was walking around the corner of the castle, coming directly toward him. Slowly, he lifted his legs so that he was stretched out in line with the branch he hugged, knowing his dangling feet would be more likely to catch the man's eye.
This sentry appeared much more cautious than the last. He moved slowly and his head swiveled in constant motion, continually surveying the entire area. Several times it seemed as though the man was looking directly at the treed warrior but he saw no indication of detection. He felt very exposed; it seemed impossible that the sentry could not see him, especially with him far enough away to comfortably have the entire bare tree in view. The castle in the background must be concealing him somewhat.
As the figure moved closer, Garrick got a better look at the sentry. As he expected, this man was older than the earlier sentry. Slim and of medium height, the man’s movements suggested experience and proper training to the guardsman. The sentry walked close to the castle wall and stopped regularly, disappearing in the shadow of the wall and scanning the area. The pauses lasted an eternity for him as he had difficulty following the man's gaze from his vantage point so had no idea if the man gazed in his direction. After some time, the sentry finally neared his tree. He then breathed a little easier because the man would have to look almost straight up to see him, however, his large form would be unmistakable if the sentry did happen to glance skyward.
