The Captive

by Paul Lauritsen

  “ – was because there were six of us,” Relam finished, rolling his eyes. “I know, Galen. Cevet had something else to discuss though, so we hung back.”

  “You should have sent for us, or gotten Tar to escort you,” Galen said stubbornly. “It’s for your own safety, your majesty. I would think you would care more about such things after the events of the last year. Or have you forgotten?”

  “How could I?” Relam asked coldly, glaring at the palace guard. “To forget what happened in the last year would be to forget my parents and the others who died to D’Arnlo’s scheme.”

  “Then stop running around the city trying to get yourself captured or killed!” Galen snapped. “This is a dangerous world, your majesty, but you seem to think that since you have faced danger and survived you are now immune. You are not. No one is. All it takes is one mistake, and we become just another one of the fallen.”

  Relam scowled. “I’m fully aware of the dangers.”

  “Then start taking the necessary precautions!”

  “We’ll discuss this later,” Relam said curtly. “Back at the palace.”

  Galen hesitated. “You won’t just avoid me until I forget about this, will you?” he asked suspiciously.

  Relam sighed heavily. That had been exactly what he was planning to do. But no need for Galen to know it.

  “I won’t avoid the issue,” he promised. “You’re right, Galen, it’s something we need to address. Sooner rather than later. Especially with everything that’s happening right now.”

  “Very well, your majesty,” Galen agreed reluctantly. “In that case, we had better get back to the palace.”

  Relam nodded and led the way, Galen sticking close to him. Wil followed a little more loosely with Cevet. As they marched down the River Road, passersby respectfully moved out of the way, bowing to Relam as he passed.

  They returned to the palace in good time, ascending the front steps just a little after midday. Relam led Cevet and the two guards up to the council room, where lunch would be served. There, they found Eric and Johann guarding the doors, along with two other familiar faces.

  “Sermas, Hern!” Relam said, surprised. “What are you doing up here?”

  “Guarding the door, your majesty,” Hern said formally.

  Relam blinked. Last he’d heard, the two young warriors had been spending the entirety of their days training, trying to elevate their skills to the level of the other palace guards.

  “Have you finished training, then?”

  Sermas shrugged. “We train half the day now. The rest of it, we’re going to help guard you.”

  Relam glanced at Galen. “When did this start?”

  “Today,” Hern said. “Galen called us up to help Eric and Johann while he and Wil went searching for you and Lord Thius.”

  “I’m no lord,” Cevet grunted. “I have no titles, just a lord’s estate and a former lord’s name.”

  “Sorry,” Hern said quickly.

  “It’s fine,” Cevet told him, waving the apology aside. “It’s a confusing situation.”

  “So, you are part of my personal guard now?” Relam asked, drawing the focus back to the two younger boys.

  “Sometimes,” Sermas said. “We still need more training though.”

  “They’re coming along well,” Galen explained. “Both are fast learners. The Keeper chose well to count these two as friends when they were at the West Bank.”

  “Those were the days,” Sermas remarked. “Lots of adventure.”

  “Not like now,” Hern agreed.

  “What’s wrong with now?” Wil demanded.

  “Too stiff, too formal,” Hern said. Beside him, Sermas winced at his friend’s lack of tact.

  “Trust me,” Relam told them, “There’s plenty going on.”

  “But no action?” Hern pressed.

  “Hern,” Sermas said, warning in his voice.

  “I mean, in the South we were useful,” Hern continued, still ignoring Sermas. “We had a purpose and a place in everything that was going on. Here, we’re kind of . . . superfluous?”

  “What does that mean?” Sermas interjected suspiciously.

  “Unnecessary,” Wil put in helpfully. “Extra.”

  Relam glanced at the guardsman, head tilted to one side. “I’m surprised you knew that.”

  “What?” Wil demanded, “Just because I’m a guard I can’t know big fancy words?”

  “No,” Galen said, “Because you’re an imbecile you can’t know big fancy words.”

  “Don’t know that one,” Wil said brightly. “Could you tell me what it means?”

  Galen sighed and shook his head. “Forget I said anything.”

  “Oh, I can do that,” Wil promised, nodding.

  “I know you can,” Galen muttered.

  Relam stifled a laugh at the stern guard’s frustration and edged closer to the council room door. “Anyway, keep up the good work, gentlemen. Hern, Sermas, I understand your frustration. You’re used to action, and being useful. I’ll have to see if there’s something you can help with that gets you out of the palace a little more.”

  “That would be most welcome, your majesty,” Hern said with a half bow, glancing smugly at Sermas.

  Relam looked back at Galen, folding his arms across his chest. “I thought these two had been in training?”

  “They have.”

  “Then why are they still addressing me as ‘your majesty’? You should’ve put a stop to that day one.”

  “Sorry, sir,” Galen said. “It will be corrected immediately.”

  “Excellent,” Relam said, rubbing his hands together. “Now, it’s time for lunch. Coming, Cevet? Galen, we’ll talk later today.”

  “I’ll be waiting,” the palace guard replied, a little stiffly. “Enjoy your lunch, sir.”

  Relam nodded to the rest of the guards, then quickly slipped into the council room, Cevet close behind him.

  “About time!” Sebast called from where he was sitting. “What took you so long?”

  “Overprotective guards,” Relam replied with a mock groan. “One of the perils of royalty.”

  Cevet laughed and took his place to Relam’s right. “So, is the food on the way or did you four already eat it all?”

  “It’s on the way,” Knet said. “They wouldn’t let us at it until you two got here.”

  “Wouldn’t tell us what it was either,” Delan grunted.

  “Do you know?” Jatt asked hopefully, looking at Relam.

  The young king shrugged. “No idea. They said it would be a surprise.”

  The outer door opened and Griff stepped into the council room, followed by four servants pushing a large, wheeled cart. “Good afternoon, your majesty, lord regents,” he said smoothly.

  “Afternoon, Griff!” Relam called cheerfully.

  The server grinned in reply. “As always, we are eager to serve your every need. But, for now, enjoy!”

  The other servers lifted a massive platter from the cart and moved it to the table, while Griff retrieved plates and silverware and stacked them next to the platter. The servers lifted the cover from the platter to reveal an oversized roast, just like the one Relam and his parents had had the day his training with Tar Agath ended.

  “Yes!” Sebast cheered.

  “Wow,” Knet observed, eyes wide in anticipation.

  The servers smiled at the praise and busied themselves filling the plates Griff had brought. When each plate was laden with a generous slice from the roast, as well as a large portion of grilled onions and peppers, Griff carried it to the next waiting warrior. He started with Relam, as was proper, then Cevet, Sebast, Delan, Knet, and Jatt. While he was distributing the overflowing plates, the other servers brought out fresh bread and dishes of soft, creamy butter. There were potatoes as well, cooked to perfection three different ways, and there was ale for those who wanted it.

  There was not, Relam noted with amusement, any sign of vegetables or salads. The kitchen staff had clearly catered to
their audience, and knew exactly what a large group of young men fresh off a sparring session would be looking for. The young king dug into the sumptuous meal eagerly, the flavor and smell of the roast dominating his senses.

  “This is amazing,” Sebast muttered between bites. Delan passed him a loaf from the other side and the Garenes heir quickly ripped off a chunk for himself, then passed the remainder on to Relam.

  “Almost makes the burden of being king worth it,” Relam agreed, cutting open a potato and releasing a cloud of steam. He leaned over and sliced a large chunk from the butter in the dish, dropping it into the potato to melt.

  “We need to do this more often!” Knet called from the far end of the table. “This is better than any feast I’ve ever been to.”

  “And it’s all for us,” Jatt added. He had taken his already-heaping plate and piled it even higher with bread and potatoes, creating a massively unstable situation. As Relam watched, one of Jatt’s potatoes wobbled and rolled off the side of the plate, onto the table. The lordling contemplated it for a moment, then apparently deemed it safe to leave it there and attacked the rest of his plate voraciously.

  “You have a good staff,” Cevet observed quietly, eating at a more sedate pace. “They seem proud to serve you.”

  “Yeah,” Delan asked. “How’d that happen? Our staff can barely stand to be in the same room as us.”

  Relam shrugged. “I just treat them well,” he said. “Always have. If they know they’re appreciated, they serve better.”

  “How do they know they’re appreciated?”

  “Well, you talk to them every now and then,” Relam explained. “You make them feel important, needed. If the opportunity presents itself, you help them with a kind word or action.”

  “That’s it?” Sebast asked.

  “It’s harder than you think,” Relam warned him. “Over time, you build a relationship with them. They trust you, and work to please you. Of course,” he added as an afterthought, “Just treating your staff better won’t make roasts appear out of thin air.”

  “That’s a shame,” Cevet said, grinning.

  “It still might be worth it,” Sebast mused. “I wonder how much of a difference it would make with my father’s servants.”

  “It’s definitely worth it,” Relam promised. “As for what difference it will make, who knows? It depends on the servant and it depends on you. Give it a try, see what happens.”

  “Still teaching us all, huh Relam?” Delan asked ruefully. “First you forced us to grow up, now you’re forcing us to learn how to be good lords. Where’d you learn it all?”

  Relam shrugged uncertainly. “It just seemed like the right thing to do. Always has.”

  “Which is why,” Cevet said, raising his glass, “We are sitting in the presence of the greatest king this kingdom has ever known. To king Relam, and his excellent kitchen staff!”

  “Hail!” the other lordlings cried, raising their own glasses and drinking deeply.

  For the next hour, they ate and drank and talked, good-natured banter flowing back and forth between them all. The servers came and went, bringing additional bread and drinks and clearing dishes. Relam noted more than one surprised expression on their faces when one of his friends thanked them or moved quickly to make something easier to reach or to clear space for a new dish.

  When at last the meal started to break up and the other lordlings departed, Relam found himself alone with a few of the kitchen staff, including Griff. The server glanced at the closed door and shook his head quietly, smiling to himself.

  “What?” Relam asked him, curious.

  “Your friends,” Griff replied. “They’re not quite what I expected, your majesty.”

  “They’re not what they expected either,” Relam replied, smiling contentedly. Griff gave him a curious expression, then went back to helping the others clear the table.

  When they too had gone, Relam sighed and went to the council room door. It was well into the afternoon now, and the meal had taken longer than he’d expected. There were reports in his study he needed to go through, and a half-dozen minor tasks to complete. Not to mention Galen’s desire to discuss security further.

  Chapter 18:

  Councils of War

  Sure enough, the moment Relam left the council room Galen was at his elbow, asking if now would be a convenient time to discuss security. Reluctantly, Relam agreed and they retreated to his study with Wil, Johann, and Eric in tow.

  Back in Relam’s study, Galen proceeded to list all of the flaws in Relam’s current security strategy, all the dangers he was exposing himself to, and all the ways he was making the lives of his personal guards difficult. The young king listened dutifully and made a dozen promises to take greater care in the future and to listen to Galen and Eric’s counsel on security matters. When Galen was satisfied, he finally left Relam alone, albeit with two less hours to get work done than he had anticipated.

  The moment his guards had withdrawn from the room, Relam tackled the small mound of reports and notes that stood on his desk. They were not nearly so numerous now as they once had been. In fact, most of the desk was clear. Earlier in the week, Relam had discovered many of the documents had been sitting there so long their contents were now moot and they existed for no other purpose than to take up space. Those documents he had gleefully burned in his fireplace.

  As he scanned report after report, making small notes on a separate roll of parchment, Relam slipped into a timeless world of productivity and analysis. He paid no attention to how much time was passing, simply focused on his work and on completing the tasks set before him. So it was that by the time he finally finished off the last report, it was well after dark and he had not even noticed.

  Uncertain as to the hour, the young king moved to the window and gazed out over Etares. The city was still, quiet, and dark. The night was moonless for now, but Relam knew the moon had been rising early in the morning, an hour or two after midnight. The young king stifled a yawn and turned towards the door of the study. As he moved towards it, the window behind him shattered into a thousand pieces and something flashed past his head.

  Relam dove to the side with a yell, putting his desk between himself and the window. A fraction of a second later, the outer door burst open and Galen charged in, sword drawn, looking wildly around the room. The others were close behind him, fanning out in a wary line. Relam cautiously got to his feet, staring at the window.

  “Your majesty,” Galen said. “What happened?”

  “Something came through the window,” Relam muttered. “I didn’t see what it was.”

  “An arrow,” Wil said helpfully, moving to scoop something off the floor. “Huh. This is strange. Somebody forgot to attach an arrowhead. Wouldn’t have done any damage even if it had hit you, sir!”

  “Give me that,” Galen snapped, seizing the arrow. He scowled at it suspiciously. Relam inspected it from a distance and saw Wil was right. There was no arrowhead, just a shaft and fletching and a bulbous piece of wood at the front.

  Galen inspected the front of the arrow closer, then smashed it against Relam’s desk with a sharp report. The bulbous part split open along a hidden seam, and a small roll of parchment fell out.

  “It seems,” the guard observed, “Whoever shot this had a message for you, sir.” He held the parchment out to Relam wordlessly.

  The young king took the parchment and unrolled it. It was no more than six inches by nine, and covered in tiny script. So small, in fact, he almost couldn’t read it. He spread the small page on his desk, weighting the corners with pieces of broken glass, and bent over the message curiously.

  Greetings, King Relam

  Fortunately for you, it was not our intention to kill you with this arrow. Otherwise, there would have been an arrowhead and our man would not have aimed to miss. You will still die, and likely by our agency, but it will not be tonight and it will not be in so obvious a manner. A murdered king presents no opportunities for the enterprising, but a
tragically fallen one will.

  “Well, they certainly didn’t waste any time getting to the point,” Wil muttered, reading over Relam’s shoulder.

  In any event, allow us to introduce ourselves. We are the Council of Masks and we are coming for you and your throne. We know you have heard of us, since a former agent of ours was seen meeting with your young regent. Regrettably, that former agent will no longer be of service to you, or to anyone else. He has joined our other failed agents, some of whom you have met in the last year.

  Before we go, we must offer you this warning: leave off your investigation of the Council. You are dealing with things you do not understand and cannot hope to stop. If you thought the sword master’s death was the end, you were wrong. He was merely a pawn, and his uprising the first act of a greater story.

  Until next time,

  The Council of Masks

  Relam stood upright, tapping the parchment thoughtfully. The others finished reading as well, and looked at him expectantly. When he said nothing, they stirred uneasily.

  “Your majesty,” Galen started uncertainly.

  Relam shook his head. “Just a moment, Galen, I’m thinking.”

  He reread the message again, took a deep, steadying breath, then looked up at the others. “Gather our allies. The regents, Clemon, Narin, Oreius, and Tar.”

  “Anyone else?” Galen asked.

  “That will do for now,” Relam said. “I don’t care if you’re seen, just bring them to the council room. Clearly, our enemy already knows our movements and is several steps ahead of us in this war. It’s time we did some catching up.”

  Just after midnight, the council room on the second level of the palace was full again. Relam had been taken there immediately, sheltered by six palace guards, and the others had steadily arrived throughout the last hour. The first to arrive was Eckle, with a large contingent of palace guards. They quickly set up a perimeter outside the council room, ensuring no one could get anywhere near the young king.