The Jake Thomas Trilogy: Book 02 - Sword of Light (19 page)

That’s the risk of being a soldier.
  He thought sagaciously.  His wife was supportive, but had been gently suggesting that perhaps it was time for another line of work.  Given everything that happened, he would have been receptive to that idea, except that he was promoted after the battle.  He did not see how he could turn it down, given the extra coin and increased social status.  So, he was now the deputy commander of the day watch on the East Gate.

The sound of approaching horses drew his attention back towards the city. 
It is a strange time for a ride, especially since the gates are closed.
  He thought.  From the sound, it appeared to be a fairly large party.  He made his way over to the stairs and headed down to the gate area.

When he arrived, he saw a dozen men on horseback, coming to a halt near the gate.  He noted that they were armed and wearing the symbol of Lord Marcelas’ house.  He looked at the big man slightly out in front of the rest.  He raised a hand in greeting.  “A little late in the evening for a ride, isn’t it?”  He asked.

“It isn’t for pleasure, I can assure you.”  The man replied.  “I would rather be back in bed with my woman.”  He pulled out a parchment and handed it to Jeffreys.  “We are here to provide an escort for an arriving prisoner.”

“A prisoner at this hour?”  Jeffreys said incredulously.  “Our standing orders are to keep the gate closed and locked until dawn.”  He looked at the men more closely.  “I don’t see anyone from the Royal Guard.  They are in charge of the dungeons.”

“We have been tasked by the king and Lord Marcelas to support the Royal Guard while we are here in the city.  We drew the short straw and got the dungeons.”  The man said with a shrug.  He pointed at the parchment.  “Those are my orders, signed by the king himself.”

Jeffreys opened the parchment, adjusting it to catch the most light.

The banner-men of Lord Marcelas are operating under my orders.  The gate is to be opened to allow the transfer of a prisoner.  Lord Marcelas’ banner-men will escort the prisoner to the dungeons.  This is an important matter for the realm.  Provide any aid required and follow their directions.

The
parchment was signed by the king, over the royal seal.  Jeffreys shook his head. 
I’m not sure what these nobles are thinking at times.

“When is the prisoner due?”  Jeffreys asked, handing the parchment back.

“I was told midnight.”  The man replied.  “They may be behind schedule.”

“Riders and a wagon approaching, Lieutenant.”  One of the archers called down.

“I guess they are on time.”  The man said with a smile.  “Open the gates, then draw your men back.”

“As you wish.”  Jeffreys replied.  He went over to the gate, releasing the locks, and went into the gatehouse.  He had his men open the gate.  Once the gate was open, he ordered them to stay where they were.  He went outside and climbed the stairs to the battlements on the wall.  There he ordered the archers to move down the wall until the wagon was safely inside and had left the gate area.

Before he climbed down, he glanced over the wall and saw the wagon approaching.  It was a large wagon, pulled by six horses with a single driver, made of dark wood bound in steel.  Instead of a wagon bed, there was a wooden cell, the walls and roof built of the same thick wood, without any windows.  While he told himself that it was only a wagon, there was something about it that he did not like.  Eight men on horseback were escorting the wagon, all wearing Lord Marcelas’ symbol.

He went down to check the gate, then ordered his men to pull back until the wagon passed.  They watched from a distance as the men and then the wagon entered the city.  Jeffreys felt a chill go through his body as the wagon slowly rolled past, the wooden wheels creaking against the paving stones.  It was only a couple of minutes before it was out of the courtyard and into the city.

The large man came riding over.  “Thank you for your cooperation, Lieutenant.”  He said with an amused smile on his face.  “You may now shut the gate before something gets in.”  With that, he turned and rode off after the wagon.

Jeffreys quickly got his men to close the gate.  He relocked it, double-checking his work and went into the gatehouse to get something to drink and figure out how to explain this incident in the duty officer’s log.

…

With the late afternoon sun sinking low in the horizon, Nathen was glad to be outside, breathing in the fresh air, taking his time heading to the Temple.  He had a message for Brother Jonas, but fortunately, there had been no order to run.

He absolutely hated working in the dungeons.  Despite the Guard’s efforts to keep them clean, they were dark and dank, with the odor of unwashed men filling the place.  He sniffed his clothes, sure the smell had permeated the cloth.

Of all of the things he had seen and heard since working in the dungeons, last night had been strangest yet.  It was late in the night when a group of Lord Marcelas men showed up.  They had waved around an order from the king, and then had
all of the Royal Guard move to the far end of the dungeons, closing the doors behind them.  Then, about a half-hour later, they opened the doors and told the Royal Guard that the lowest level was off-limits to any but Lord Marcelas’ men.  He did not like the lower levels anyway, so that was fine with him.

One day, I will learn to keep my fat mouth shut.
  He thought.  He did not think that what he said warranted the punishment, something about looking pretty enough that their enemies would be smitten and surrender to their charms, but then again, Helgrant did not seem to possess a sense of humor.

He hoped to see Marcus while he was at the Temple.  When he had gotten off shift, Daen had told him what had happened last night and of Marcus’ banishment. 
I’m the one who shoots off my mouth, not Marcus.
  He would have liked to see it, though.  He could only remember a couple of times that Marcus had gotten really angry; most of the time, he was calm and collected. 
Marcus angry and shouting in front of the king would have been something to see.

When he reached the Temple grounds, he found an apprentice to lead him to Jonas.  Jonas was sitting in the small sanctuary off the main Temple, talking quietly with an older female cleric with gray-streaked hair.

Nathen sketched a quick bow.  “Greetings, Brother Jonas.  I have been sent to request your presence at the dungeons.  A new prisoner is apparently very sick.  Since they are not sure what is ailing him, I was to ask for you.”

“Of course.”  Jonas replied, rising.  Nathen saw him looking closely at his face.  “Aren’t you one of Marcus’ friends?  Nathen, I believe; the one who likes courting trouble.”

“Yes and no, Brother.”  Nathen said with a smile.  “I am Nathen, but I would not say I like courting trouble.  I blame it on my parents for my poor upbringing.”  He finished with aplomb.

Jonas chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder.  “Well, Nathen.  Let us be off.”

“Is Marcus here?  I would like to see him, if I could.”  Nathen asked.

“I’m sorry, but he is at Mastersmith Norlan’s.”  Jonas stated.  “I’m sure you heard about what happened last night.”

Just my luck.
  Nathen thought, shrugging.  He was turning to lead Jonas away when a young male apprentice came running in.

“Master Jonas, please come quickly!”  The boy said, panting.  Jonas interrupted the boy by raising a hand.

“Wait!”  Jonas said firmly.  “Take a breath and speak slowly.  A cleric must remain calm when others are falling apart.”

The boy flushed bright red, embarrassed.  He did as he was told.  After he released the breath, he spoke, choosing his words carefully.  “Forgive me, Master, but a young child was brought into the clinic.  She ran into the roadway and was struck by a wagon.  The wagon was fully loaded when it ran over her.  She is near death.”

Jonas seemed to hesitate, concern on his face, but the female cleric spoke up.  “See to the child, Jonas.  I will go with young Nathen here and check on this prisoner.”

“Thank you, Silvan.” 
Jonas said, sounding relieved.  He followed the apprentice out, moving quickly.

“Let us go, Nathen.”  Silvan said.  “I would like to get back before it gets too late.”

“Right away, Sister.”  He said with a mischievous grin.

While he led her back to the dungeons, he continued to try to get her to laugh.  She smiled at his jokes, but not even a chuckle from her. 
I always seem to get the serious types. 
He thought disappointedly.

The dungeons were situated in the Military Quarter, near the edge of the courtyard.  When they arrived, Nathen led her down to the first level, where the Royal Guard was posted.  Standing in the stone hallway that led to the cells, speaking with the officer in
charge, was the large man who served Marcus’ father.  Justian was his name, Nathen recalled.    He cocked an eyebrow at the sight of Silvan.

“You were told to bring Brother Jonas.”  Justian said sharply to Nathen.  “Was the order not clear enough for you?”

Nathen gritted his teeth, biting back a reply that could inflame the situation.  Before he could say something, Silvan spoke.

“I am quite capable of determining what is troubling this prisoner.”  She said directly, a frown on her face.  “If it is something that I cannot handle, I will return with Brother Jonas.”

“As you wish, Sister.”  Justian said with a nod of his head.  He pointed at Nathen.  “You can come and hold the torch for the cleric.”

Nathen looked over at the officer, grumbling under his breath, but the officer motioned for him to go.

Justian led them down the stairs, grabbing a torch and shoving it into Nathen’s hand.  The torchlight did not seem to penetrate very far in the ever-present darkness.  There was the slow steady sound of dripping water and the temperature grew colder as they descended.

When they reached the lowest level, Nathen saw that there were only a couple of Justian’s men standing guard outside of a heavy wooden door.  Several torches lit the area.  Nodding to the men, Justian turned to Silvan.

“The prisoner is being kept at the far end of the hallway, in the biggest cell.”  He said as he unlocked the door.  “I don’t know if what he has is catching, so be careful.”

“Why is a man being kept in such conditions?”  Silvan snapped, gesturing at the area.  “This is not healthy for the body or spirit.”

“I’m only following my orders, Sister.”  Justian said.  “You can address it with the king if you like.”

“I will do just that.”  She replied.  “Come along, Nathen.  Let us see to this poor man.”

Beyond the door was a long and wide hallway.  There were only a few torches lit, so the hall was checkered with patches of light and dark.  They made their way down the hallway, Nathen feeling more and more apprehensive.  He was looking around, trying to get familiar with the passage.  They were almost to the far end when the door closed behind them, a dull boom echoing down the hall.  As the door closed, it cut off the light from the outside torches and the sound made Nathen jump.

Suddenly, Silvan was blazing with power, the light throwing back the shadows.  Directly ahead was a set of cell doors, standing open.  “There is something wrong here, Nathen.  Be ready.”  She said.

Nathen nodded, drawing his sword.  Silvan cautiously moved forward, entering the room.

The room was wide and empty.  There was a secondary hallway in the far corner.  The hallway space was pitch black, the wall shading it from Silvan’s glowing form.  As they slowly approached it, a voice came from that blackness, freezing them where they stood.

“You are not who I was expecting.”  The deep voice said, the sound terrifying Nathen to his core.  Out of the darkness, a tall man-shaped figure stepped into the light.

“RUN!!”  Silvan screamed at him as she unleashed a blazing streak of clerics’ fire at the figure.  Nathen heard the crackling of conflicting powers and the sound of the demon laughing.  He stumbled back as the demon struck at Silvan.  She screamed a high-pitched scream as the dark fire burned into her.  Somehow, she stayed on her feet, fighting though the pain, and attacked again.

In the flashes of light from the battle, Nathen saw the small hole in the floor that acted as the privy for the cell.  Desperate, his terror overtaking him, he scrambled to it.  He clawed at the stones, trying to pull them up.  With the mortar weakened with age, he was able pry a few loose, enlarging the hole.

With a final cry of agony from Silvan as she fell, the battle behind him ended, the room plunging into darkness.

“Where are you going, my little rabbit?”  The demon chuckled behind him.  Over the pounding of his heartbeat, Nathen heard it coming for him.

Completely terrified, he dove forward, shoving himself into the privy hole headfirst.  Gripping the stones, he pulled with all his strength.  Suddenly, the whole thing gave way.  He felt the agony of the demon’s fire as it struck his lower leg right before he fell, tumbling into the darkness in a rain of stone.

Chapter Seventeen

“Marcus.”

Marcus turned from the furnace when he heard Norlan call over to him, wiping the sweat from his face.  He was at the smithy, wearing the same leather aprons and metal footgear as Norlan’s two apprentices.  Jonas had suggested that he go to Norlan’s for the evening meal, so he could be around friends while they figured out what to do about Keria.  After the meal, when Marcus and Norlan were talking outside, Norlan had suggested that he should come by the smithy and do some physical work to clear his mind.  When he awoke this morning, he decided to take Norlan up on his offer.

Marcus had been hauling loads of wood, coal and iron, as well as working the bellows at the furnace, constantly moving.  He only stopped when Madalin and Cherise had brought the mid-day meal for him and the others.  The exertions had the intended effect; he was able to think about what had happened more calmly and rationally.

Norlan was standing over near his small office.  Marcus was surprised to see Jonas standing there, but even more so to see Daen, his face looking even more serious than usual.  Nodding to Almos, who was using the furnace, he left the smithy area and walked across the small yard to where they were standing.

Jonas looked at him critically, nodding slightly.  “I’m glad to see you active.  Too much sitting around brooding is not healthy.”

“I am grateful that Norlan made the offer.”  Marcus replied.  “I think that it has helped.”

“Excellent.”  Jonas said.  He then lowered his voice.  “However, we have something more important to discuss.”  He turned to Norlan.  “May we use your office?”

“Of course, Jonas.”  Norlan said and led them into the small room.

Once they were inside and the door was closed behind them, Jonas spoke again.  “Daen came to the Temple looking for you, Marcus.  He has something important to tell us.”  He gestured to Daen.

“This morning, we began to get a series of orders, signed by the king.”  Daen stated.  “The orders began to reassign the Royal Guard.  Some were ordered to augment the solders at the gates, but others were being sent to the remote border forts.  At first, no one thought anything about it, since the numbers specified in each order were small, but when the orders continued, it became apparent that almost all of the Royal Guard was being sent from the palace.  Helgrant went to see the king to protest, but came back with Sir Alleon, who was ordered to leave for the western forts immediately.  Sir Alleon took twenty Guardsmen with him when he left.”

“Helgrant was assured that these deployments were temporary and informed that your father’s men-at-arms would fill in at the palace while the Royal Guard was away.”  Daen shook his head.  “Helgrant was furious, but gave the orders.  After Sir Alleon left, he pulled me aside and told me to
go and inform you and Brother Jonas.  I was ordered to stay with you and not return to the palace, so at least one Royal Guard would be left in the city.”

Daen looked over at Jonas, who nodded.  “Also, Nathen did not return from the dungeons last night.  He hates the place, so he is usually back in the barracks as soon as his shift ends, but I have not seen him since he left yesterday afternoon.”

“Sister Silvan went with Nathen to attend to a sick prisoner, or so we were told.”  Jonas interjected.  “She did not return to the Temple.  When I went to the dungeons this afternoon, looking for her, I was told that the logs showed that she had left around half an hour after she had arrived with Nathen.  They told me that I could come inside and look myself, but I declined.”  He paused.  “There was something about it that disturbed me.  Just so you know, all of the men at the dungeons were your father’s men.”

“What do you mean by that, Jonas?”  Marcus asked, but felt a sudden hollowness inside.  “I am angry with him and he is always in the middle of the court politics, but my father is not an enemy of the realm.”

“I appreciate your loyalty, Marcus.”  Jonas said gently.  “But something is very wrong here.  Why would the king send the Royal Guard away, only to replace them with your father’s men?  Also, when I went to the palace to discuss what happen to Silvan, I was turned away at the palace gates.   The guards, your father’s men, said it was orders.  I am the Chief Cleric of Sanduas; what reason would there be to keep me out?  The only thing I can think of is to keep me away from the king.  You saw how he was two nights ago.  Combine that with what Daen has just told us, we cannot deny that there is an effort to surround the king with your father’s men.  Who but your father would have the ability to so order his men?”

“I cannot believe that my father would move against the king.”  Marcus stated, shaking his head.  “They have been friends for a long time.  There has to be another explanation.”

“If there is, we need to find out what it is.”  Jonas said.  He looked over at Norlan.  “If you do not wish to be involved any further, Norlan, I understand.  There may be great risk in investigating what has happened.”

“If you are that concerned, Jonas, then so am I.”  Norlan said, squaring his shoulders.  “It is unlikely that if something bad happens it would pass my family by.  I’m not sure what help I can be, but I am with you.”

“Thank you, Norlan.”  Jonas said.  He looked at each of them in turn.  “We need to be cautious.  Daen and I will return to the Temple.  Marcus, you and Norlan should continue as if nothing has happened.  Finish your work, and then head home.  Once it starts to get dark, come to the Temple.  We have much to discuss.”

…

Keria pulled on her dressing robe as the seamstresses left her room, taking the fabric samples with them, deep in discussion over the details of her wedding gown.  She stepped off the small pedestal near the mirror and began pacing around her bedroom.

She hated that her father was forcing her to marry that odious man.  She had spoken to her father at length, alternatively pleading and demanding, trying to reach him and have him call the wedding off.  She had begged him to allow her to marry Marcus, arguing that it would still allow the joining with Lord Marcelas’ family, but with someone that she loved.  Her father rejected it out of hand, finally ordering her to her room and forbidding her to discuss it any further.

To make matters worse, when she had tried to leave the palace grounds this morning, she was turned back.  The Royal Guard on duty told her that her father had ordered her confined in the palace until after the wedding.  That had sent her into a rage.  She stormed into her father’s chambers, demanding to know why she was a prisoner.  He told her that it was for her own good, to prevent her from doing something rash.  That was too much for her.  She lost any sense of propriety, yelling and cursing at him, threating to cut him out of her life forever.  He had responded in kind, his face growing red, bellowing at her, telling her to stay in her quarters or he would have her put in chains.

Despite her frustration and anger, she was worried for her father.  He did not seem himself.  When she first spoke with him after the announcement, he was pale and sweating, his hands shaking slightly as he drank his wine.  He had refused to allow her to send for Jonas, saying he was fine.  He did not look any better today.

Lost in her thoughts, she did not realize that her door had opened until she saw Rolas striding into her room, a tankard in his hand.

“How dare you
?!”  She hissed at him, pulling her robe tight.  “You cannot just come into my chambers uninvited.  Leave or I will have you taken away in irons.”

“Is that anyway to treat your future husband?”  Rolas, eyes slightly bloodshot, asked with a smile on his lips, unconcerned.

““You will leave now or I will inform my father about your boorish behavior.”  She said, trying to recover her calm.  He stood there watching her, and then took a slow and deliberate drink from his tankard.

“You will regret disobeying me.”  She said flatly, drawing herself up.  She raised her voice.  “Guards!!”

Despite her cry, Rolas simply stood there with that evil grin on his face.  After a few moments, when the guards did not show up, he laughed.  “It appears that there is no one coming to your rescue.”

He came over to her, reaching out to touch her face.  She jerked her head back, but he reached out and grabbed her neck.  He squeezed tightly and pulled her close.  She could smell the alcohol on his breath.

“You belong to me now.”  He snarled quietly, smile gone, eyes flat with anger.  “You had better learn to guard your tongue.  You will soon take an oath to obey me and I will hold you to that oath.  Once we are married, your only duty will be to produce an heir.”  His smile came back, cruel and cold, though humor did not touch his eyes  “I prefer my women a little rougher around the edges, but we are stuck with each other.  You had better make peace with that.”

Before Keria could do anything, a woman’s voice came from the doorway.  “Rolas, release her.”

Grimacing, he shoved Keria back, letting
go of her throat.  She stumbled backwards, but was able to catch her balance.  As she lightly rubbed were he had grabbed her, she looked over to see Lady Arelia and Captain Justian standing in the doorway.

“Justian, escort Rolas back to our quarters.”  She said, looking coldly at her son.  “If he were to happen to stumble into the wall several times along the way, I would hope that would convince him to give up drinking.”

Grumbling under his breath, Rolas turned and left, with Justian right behind him.  Lady Arelia came into the room and sat down in one of the chairs set near the wall.  She motioned Keria to join her.  After a moment’s hesitation, Keria came over and sat down.

“If you wish to find some happiness in marriage, my dear, you will need to learn to identify and manage Rolas’ moods.”  Arelia stated.  “Try not to antagonize him.”

“I do not plan to marry him.”  Keria said sharply.  “After my father learns of this, your son will be lucky to keep his head.”

“That is exactly the wrong thing to do, Highness.”  Arelia stated firmly.  “The king and my husband have agreed on this union.  You would not wish to see a schism develop between them, do you?  That could lead to unfortunate consequences.”

“I will be Queen someday, so I will not tolerate such a man to sit beside me.”  Keria retorted.  She took a calming breath, softening her voice.  “Lady Arelia, if you truly want to see our families united, convince your husband to agree to a marriage with Marcus.  He and I are a much better match.  We love each other.”

“While I wish my son the best, that will not happen.  Rolas is the first-born and Marcelas’ heir.”  Arelia said, studying Keria.  “If you wish to be a good queen, you must put the best interests of the realm before your own interests.  Starting a conflict with the richest noble house would not be in anyone’s best interest.”

“I would rather die than marry such a man.”  Keria stated.

“I have heard many women say that.”  Arelia said, rising.  She looked down at Keria, eyes now cold.  “Noblewomen such as ourselves must find a way to endure what fate deals us.  Not everyone gets to have the man of her dreams.  You should think on that, Princess, as well as how to make peace with Rolas.  You will be marrying him, whether you like it or not.”  With that, she made to leave.

At the door, she turned back.  “I should warn you.  Your father has replaced the Royal Guard in the palace with my husband’s men.  Do not try anything foolish, child.  There will be no one to help you if you do.”

Keria stared in disbelief as the door shut behind Arelia, suddenly shuddering.  The sound of the doors closing reminded her of the cell in Creatos’ fortress.  She knew that she was a captive again.

…

As Marcus walked next to Norlan, heading into the Temple, passing the apprentice clerics igniting the torches in the garden to provide light against the darkening sky, the calming benefit of working at the smithy had faded.  His mind was turning, desperately trying to figure out what was happening and why.

He was still uncertain what to believe.  He just could not fathom what would cause his father to plot or act against the king.  That would be so out of character for him.  But, with the strange movement of his father’s men into positions that rightfully belonged to the Royal Guard, he could no longer be completely sure.

They made their way to the sanctuary, finding Jonas and Daen already
there, sitting in two of the four chairs in the room.  There was a pitcher of wine and four glasses, sitting on a small table near the chairs.  Marcus went over and poured the wine into the glasses, handing one to each man, then sat down in the remaining chair.

“I am still not convinced that my father is behind what is going on.”  Marcus said.  “I agree that something odd is happening, but the orders that are being carried out are from the king.  Could his apparent illness be affecting his judgment?”

“Maybe.”  Jonas said, stroking his beard.  “There are some illnesses that impair judgment or cause the person to be open to suggestion.  But, until I can examine him, we cannot know for sure.  I tried to send another cleric to the palace this afternoon, thinking that it might just be me that is barred, but she was turned away as well.”

“Without wanting to cause Marcus any offence, but perhaps the king and his father have been compromised in some way, maybe something happened that leaves them open to coercion by others?”  Norlan suggested.  “They do seem to be working together.”

“No offence is taken, Norlan.”  Marcus said.  “I doubt it, though.  I have never heard even a whisper of my father doing anything that would be considered dishonorable.”