A Land of Glass and Fire

by Sam Ferguson

“Oh, no! You’re not bringing Griff!” Jason said. “He’ll spook the horses!”

  Jonathan shrugged. “I can’t very well leave him here. Who’ll feed him? Besides, he might help by spooking Ingbrethsen.”

  “No, Ingbrethsen will just have more questions about your crazy land-croc. Make him stay.”

  Jonathan shook his head. “No way. He’s coming. If things turn bad, I’m gonna have Griff eat Master Ingbrethsen.” Jonathan turned his horse and started away from the cottage, with Griff happily trotting alongside the black stallion.

  “Oh, by Icadion’s beard!” Jason cursed.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Morgan sat on a stone bench overlooking one of the many palatial gardens as the sun broke over the walls of the citadel. Her thoughts centered on Tray Maloy’s case. She often came to this very spot to think in peace. One not of noble birth would not be allowed within the palace walls, and those nobles who did come most often went in to court, or had other business that occupied their attention, which left the garden for her. As she sat, watching the golden orb rise in the east and running various theories through her mind, she caught sight of a young man approaching her.

  “The answer is no,” Morgan said when the young man came closer.

  “I wasn’t actually going to ask a question,” the young man replied.

  “Oh really?” Morgan said. “So your plan was to come up and stand in front of me without saying anything?”

  The young man smiled and shook his head. She turned her head and looked up at him. He was handsome. A strong jaw, but not too square, broad shoulders, a narrow but sturdy waist, and obvious muscles stretching his uniform in all the right places, but it was his dark eyes and genuine smile that piqued her interest, not that she was going to make it easy for him.

  “Actually I was going to tell you that you’re on my bench,” the young man said, folding his arms as his smile widened to reveal bright teeth.

  “Your bench?” Morgan asked. “I don’t see your name on it anywhere.”

  “Easy mistake,” the young man replied. “You were probably too busy looking at the flowers to notice the name.”

  “The flowers?” Morgan asked. “Are those yours too?”

  “Ha!” the young man chuckled. “No, I would have planted something else. Tulips are nice, but they aren’t my favorite by any means.”

  “Don’t you have somewhere you need to be?” Morgan asked, nodding her chin at the dragon insignia on the young man’s uniform.

  The soldier shook his head. “Not yet,” he said. “I just dropped by to say hi to the king; we’re old friends he and I.”

  “Oh sure, why else would you have your very own bench in the gardens?” Morgan asked. The young man made a “scoot-over” motion with his hand. Despite her better judgment, Morgan relented and slid to the right side of the bench.

  “I was hoping to get here before the sun was done rising,” the young man said. “Best sunrise in Lehemat can be seen from this bench, you know. That’s why I made sure they put it here.”

  “I see,” Morgan laughed. “You know, I think the sunrise is the same from anywhere in the city, the sky is rather large.”

  The young man shook his head. “Nope. This is the best spot. The angle is perfect, and the gardens here don’t have those tall shrubs or trees to obscure the view, plus, with that pond over there behind the flowers, you can sometimes get the sky to reflect just right along the water to make it appear as if there are two sunrises.”

  Morgan smiled. Internally she agreed with his assessment, but she wasn’t about to let him have the victory. “If you say so,” she said.

  “So, what brings you to my bench?”

  “I thought you weren’t going to ask any questions,” Morgan replied.

  The soldier smiled and nodded. “Very well, then I shall guess and you can tell me whether I am right or wrong.” He studied her for a moment and then held up a finger. “I can see from your dress that you work in the judicial offices,” the young soldier said.

  “Very good,” Morgan replied. “But anyone who has been around Lehemat would know that by looking at the symbol on my dress.”

  The soldier shrugged. “All right, you want more details. Well, then judging by your age, I’d say you’re either a clerk for the magistrate, or perhaps one of the secretaries, am I right?”

  Morgan arched a brow. She knew she shouldn’t blame him, her age alone would give most people the same impression, and yet it irked her. Unfortunately, her two seconds of silence while deciding how to answer drove the soldier to the wrong conclusion.

  “Ha! I am right. See? I have it all figured out.”

  “Oh I’m sure you do,” Morgan said.

  “You know, I’ve been down in the clerk offices myself. Does Tennison still have that stuffed squirrel on his desk? I’m not usually the squeamish type, but that thing gave me the creeps.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know,” Morgan said.

  “Oh, sure you do!” the soldier continued, speaking right over her. “Those bulging black eyes and the gross little acorn stuck in its bony hands. Yuck!”

  “No, I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  The soldier stopped and was about to say something and then he stopped and nodded. “I get it, you don’t spend much time down in the clerk offices.”

  Morgan gave a single nod. “No, I don’t.”

  “You must be one of those specially assigned interdepartmental couriers.”

  Morgan’s eyes widened at the thought. How could he think she was some brainless letter-runner?

  “It’s obvious, I should have seen it from the start. Your good looks, your calm, pleasant demeanor. I bet they always use you when someone has to share bad news, that way it helps to soften the blow.” The soldier took in an obnoxiously loud breath and then nodded, assuring himself he was correct this time. “I bet you even get sent to the king from time to time. It makes perfect sense to me now. That’s probably why you’re out on my bench in the first place. You had some tough news to deliver, and now you’re collecting your thoughts after the fact.”

  Morgan stared at him incredulously. At the moment she was considering “collecting” her fingers into a fist and knocking the little soldier boy down a peg or two. How dare he judge her?

  “Too bad you don’t work for the tax offices, though,” the soldier said.

  “Because my pretty face would be put to better use?” Morgan quipped.

  “No, because then you could help me out. You see, I’ve instituted a tax on this bench, and I thought you might be able to help me come to a settlement, you know, since you didn’t know before you sat here. I mean, I wouldn’t want to take advantage.”

  “Ah, let me guess. The tax is a kiss, is that your angle?”

  The young man shrugged. “Well, if that’s the form of payment you are offering, I suppose that sounds fair.”

  “Oh really? And how does that tax work when the groundskeeper sits here? Do you accept payment from balding old men as well?”

  The young man blushed ever so slightly and laughed. “No, I suppose that wouldn’t work out so well.”

  “What’s your name?” Morgan asked.

  “You should know that already. Like I said, it’s on the bench.”

  “All the same, I want to make sure I know who to report for collecting illegal taxes.”

  “Uh-oh, I misjudged you,” the soldier said. “You must in fact be the magistrate, and now I am in trouble.”

  “Something like that,” Morgan replied. She eyed the cocky young man for a moment and then decided she could have a bit of fun as well. “All right, you have me all sized up, let’s see how it goes the other way around, shall we?”

  The young man pulled on his uniform. “I’m afraid it would be a bit simpler.”

  Morgan ignored him. “As you point out, your uniform shows that you are an officer of some kind, thought frankly you seem quite young for a command position. I’m guessing you have a different kind of assi
gnment.” She smiled and snapped her fingers. “I have it! Given that this is peace time, and the trolls have been put down some years ago, prior to your joining the army, I’m sure, you went to the War College because you are the youngest of a noble family. However, as we don’t need any new field commanders, you have been given an easy assignment so you don’t muck things up and get in the way of real officers. Of course, that begs the question, what are you doing here at the palace?” Morgan studied the young man’s blushing face and her smile widened. “You were quick to call me a courier, could it be that you have been given such a posting yourself? You’re far too arrogant for anyone to bear keeping company with you for long stretches of time, and yet they must find some position so they don’t discharge you prior to the end of your term because that would disgrace your family. I bet you were, yourself, delivering a notice of some kind. It is late spring after all, so perhaps you were put in charge of delivering communiques regarding the annual spring ball, which is hosted by the Royal Officer Corps.”

  The young soldier flared his eyebrows and stared off at the flowers. “I get it, I was wrong about the courier position,” he said. “I was only trying to pay you a compliment—”

  “And,” Morgan continued, quickly speaking right over him. “Since we are still two months away from summer, then you must have graduated from the War College last year, but then that would speak even more poorly of your skills than I thought, for by the first year after graduation, every officer is expected to do a field tour, for which they would receive an oak cluster that would then mandatorily be worn on the uniform at all times.”

  The young man laughed. “No, I’m an old veteran,” he said.

  “Not possible. You look to be about twenty-one, same age as me. You’re not old enough to have graduated earlier than last year.” Morgan replied.

  He shrugged. “Let’s just say that I might be the youngest officer in the kingdom’s history,” he said. “But, I suppose I would have to look into the records and make sure that’s true before I claim such a title. After all, I wouldn’t want my new magistrate friend to come after me for falsifying my history.” He winked and then slapped his legs, looking up at the sky. “Well, the colors are gone now. Sunrise is over, and it’s time for me to be going.” He stood up and looked down at her. “Tell me your name, and we’ll call it even on the tax.”

  Morgan smiled. “My name is Morgan, and before you think of collecting any more taxes, you should know that I have a fiancé.” She didn’t really, but it was the only way she could see to shut the young man down, since insulting him directly had obviously failed to let him know she wasn’t interested.

  “Ah, well, just my luck I suppose. I was too late to see the sunrise in its full glory, and I was too late to win the fair Morgan.” The young man made a grand show of bowing. “I’ll be off now. Farewell.”

  “What’s your name?” Morgan asked as the young man began to walk away.

  “I told you, it’s on the bench.”

  “Oh, come now, you don’t expect me to believe that do you?”

  “Right leg of the bench, small brass placard.” The young man didn’t say another word as he continued walking away.

  Morgan watched him for a moment and shook her head. “His bench indeed!” Then she wondered, could he be telling the truth? She waited until the young man disappeared inside the palace once more and then came around to kneel at the end of the bench. There, where the young man had said, was a plaque of brass. Morgan raised a hand to her lips as she read the name. “In appreciation of Jonathan Haymaker’s selfless service to the king. May all who sit here enjoy the best of sunrises and think on those who gave their lives in the Murkle Quags.”

  Morgan jumped up to her feet and backed away.

  “Told you!” a voice shouted from the palace.

  She looked up to see Jonathan leaning out the doorway and offering one final wave.

  “Perhaps I’ll see if one of the princes can deflate his ego a bit,” Morgan said to herself. After the young man disappeared back inside, she got up and made her own way to the palace.

  *****

  Jonathan was led to a small library in the south wing of the palace by an older gentleman named Herb. When he arrived, he found his older brother already seated inside, drinking wine from a crystal goblet and staring at a tapestry depicting a pair of knights jousting.

  “Find a place to stash Griff?” Jason asked, taking his eyes from the tapestry.

  Jonathan smiled and nodded. “Yeah, he’s got a nice little stall in one of the king’s smaller stables all to himself.”

  “I’d hate to be the stable boy,” Jason laughed.

  “Found a nice looking woman outside too, sitting on my bench.”

  “Tell me you didn’t use the ‘you’re sitting on my bench’ line with her,” Jason said with a frown.

  “What?” Jonathan asked, stepping into the room and sitting in a nearby chair. “It works.”

  “When has that line ever worked for you?” Jason teased.

  Jonathan waited before answering the follow up question and allowed himself to sink into the chair. “Well, with the king on our side, this business with Orin Ingbrethsen should clear up quickly. Then I can always try a new line, but I’m telling you, after I left she checked the placard.”

  “They all check it after you leave, but none of them have ever come looking for you afterward,” Jason pointed out. “What you need to do is find someone in Holstead.”

  “Like who?” Jonathan said.

  “Annabell says that Doris Hawthorne would be willing to—”

  “Oooh no! You’re not pawning me off on her. She’s several years younger than me.”

  “What’s wrong with that?” Jason pressed.

  Jonathan shrugged. “We wouldn’t have anything to talk about.”

  “But you might be able to impress her with your special bench in the royal gardens.” Jason gave him a wink and took a long drink of his wine, draining the rest of the goblet.

  “Ugh.”

  “She’s pretty,” Jason added.

  “She’s all right, but she doesn’t hold a candle to the young woman I saw today,” Jonathan said. “You should have seen her. Dark hair, fair skin, hazel eyes and a sharp wit to boot.”

  “Oh I see,” Jason said. “You only like dark-haired women, is that what you have against Doris? Her golden hair doesn’t remind you enough of Miranda?”

  Jonathan frowned and arched his right eyebrow. “That’s not funny,” he said. “I’m over that, but I think it’s fine if I prefer dark-haired women. What’s it to you anyhow?”

  Jason shook his head and set the goblet down on the table next to his chair. “Nothing, I’m just busting your chops.”

  “Keep it up and I’ll bust your lip,” Jonathan warned. “I’m not as small as I used to be, and you’ve gotten soft working in that store of yours.”

  Jason laughed. “Oh please, you couldn’t best me if I tied both arms behind my back.”

  “Care to make a bet?” Jonathan asked, his mouth turning upward into a sly grin.

  “You’ll regret it as soon as I put you in a headlock,” Jason said. “I’ll put you into my armpit just like I used to when you were smaller.”

  Jonathan stood up. “You’re on. I win, you give me a week’s worth of beans for Bruno.”

  “Not happening. Bruno eats more than a horse.”

  “Afraid you’ll lose? I thought you said it would never happen,” Jonathan shot back.

  “Fine, but when I win, you will owe me a week’s worth of work in the shop. That means you’ll be taking orders from me while I sit with my feet up.”

  “Deal,” Jonathan said. “First one to fall to the ground loses?”

  Jason shook his head. “No way. You said I have gone soft. We’re going for total domination. First one to submit loses.”

  Jonathan nodded. The two pounced on each other, grappling and pushing as they jockeyed for the best position. Within seconds, both of them had o
ne arm around the other’s neck. They each squeezed and bent forward, standing side to side in a strange double-headlock.

  “Give up!” Jason said.

  “Never!” Jonathan replied as he kicked at his brother’s leg in an attempt to knock him off balance.

  “Pardon me,” a voice called out. “Have I come at a bad time?”

  Jonathan and Jason stopped trying to wrestle each other to the ground, but neither released their hold. They looked up, both smiling sheepishly and laughing. Jonathan had only met the youngest prince on a handful of occasions, but he recognized the prince very easily despite the fact the young man was at least a foot taller than the last time he had seen him and apparently dressed for a ride in the countryside instead of his usual royal uniform.

  “Forgive us, we were just settling a bet,” Jonathan said.

  “Draw,” Jason whispered before letting go and straightening himself up to greet the prince.

  “I see,” the prince said. “Is that how they do things out on the farm?”

  Jonathan cocked his head just a bit, but he knew better than to return the insult with one of his own. “I apologize, we behaved inappropriately. Forgive us.”

  “No matter,” the prince said. “I have come to inform you that my father is too busy to meet with you.”

  Jonathan frowned and looked to Jason, who looked as dumbfounded as he felt. “What time would work better for his majesty?” he asked the prince.

  “I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” the prince replied. He smiled and gestured for them to sit. Jonathan and Jason took their seats, watching the young prince as he walked around to stand in the center of the small library to address them. “You see, according to the law, my father cannot interfere with the inquisition. You will have to meet with Orin Ingbrethsen on your own to discuss your cases before him.”

  “But, the king has the right to throw out cases,” Jonathan said. “He can also pardon those convicted by an inquisitor.”

  “Are you in need of a pardon?” the prince asked.

  “No, of course not!” Jonathan fired back. He could tell by the prince’s scowl that his tone had been more forceful than propriety would have allowed, but he didn’t back down. “We haven’t done anything wrong. We have only ever served the kingdom to our utmost abilities. That’s why I came to see your father.”