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POWER COMES IN A VARIETY of forms and manifests in more ways than you can imagine. No one contests the authority of a captain on his own ship, but no one questions the power of the cook either.
—Doren, teacher at Scaleback Academy
* * *
"WE MET WHILE I WAS serving in the Midlands, Onin," said Torreg. "But we’ve never really discussed the reasons I was there so long. No doubt you’ve noticed most Guardsman are stationed in the Midlands but only for a few months at a time."
"Yes," said Onin. "I recall you spent most of my life there."
"I was vocal in my youth," said Torreg. "Still am, if truth be told. Hopefully a little wiser now, but it remains to be seen. Don’t you say a word." The last bit he aimed at Bolg, who innocently stared at the ceiling with a wistful, knowing smile.
"Do you know why the Guard exists, Onin?" asked Torreg.
"The Guard was formed to protect the king and the successor and serve the king’s will," intoned Onin.
"True," said Torreg. "Exactly what is taught in the academies, word for word. But tell me: What makes the king and the successor so important?"
Onin was speechless. He had never stopped to consider it in such a fashion. "Well, the king leads us . . . and protects the kingdom . . . and keeps the peace. Each king is chosen as successor by the previous king and represents the best of the Great Families. This ensures a blood descendant of the gods occupies the throne. It has always been the way of the Heights."
"Exactly what is taught in the temples and chapels of the city. Tell me, what is the king’s name?"
Onin was surprised by the sudden change in direction. "What?" he stammered.
"His name. What is it?" asked Torreg, unperturbed.
Bolg appeared to be enjoying Onin’s discomfort.
"I don’t know. He doesn’t need a name; he’s the king," concluded Onin.
"Have you ever met him or spoken to him? Have you ever seen him?"
Onin fidgeted in his seat before admitting, "No."
"How can a man who is never seen be a leader?" asked Torreg.
Onin had no answer to that, and it made him uneasy. Torreg wasn’t finished, however, and persisted with his questions.
"How does the king protect the kingdom and keep the peace?"
"He does that through the Guard," Onin breathed. He was relieved to have an answer to that one. "We go to the Midlands to advance the king’s interests there, like when we met."
"Again, that is true," said Torreg. "But earlier, didn’t we establish that the true purpose of the Guard is to protect the king and the successor? I’ve already spoken to you about the state of discipline here in the palace. No one has taken a threat to the king as a serious matter in a long time."
"No one has threatened the king in recent memory," countered Onin. "Which is not a bad thing."
"So if a region hasn’t suffered through drought in many years, would you consider it wise for them to forgo stockpiling the surplus?"
"No, that would be foolish," said Onin.
"That’s my thinking in this case as well," replied Torreg. "Just because it hasn’t happened in a long time doesn’t mean it can’t happen. Go back and check the old histories. The early days of the Heights were filled with strife and conflict between the Great Families. Kings have been assassinated in the past, as unthinkable as it is today. The mortality of the king is what makes the choosing of a successor so important. What lengths would the Great Families go to if the throne were up for the taking?
"The king keeps the peace in the Heights by simply existing. Otherwise, the rivalries between the Great Families would have the streets running red with blood, I am sure of it. It’s also why my deployment to the Midlands lasted so long."
"What?" Onin was confused again. "How did that lead to you getting reassigned?"
"Some of us in the Guard believe our original duty trumps all others," said Torreg. "We exist to protect the king and successor. Over time, we have become the king’s private army, to advance his ambitions in the Midlands. At any given point, the vast majority of our numbers are out of the city, stationed in the Midlands, whereas the Great Families keep the bulk of their fighting men in the Heights. Any house could challenge the Guards protecting the king."
"Unthinkable," said Onin. "Who would do that?"
"Exactly what most say, both within and outside of the Guard," said Torreg. "Why waste valuable manpower and resources protecting against an event which can never happen? Better that we be deployed to the Midlands, where we will serve the good of the kingdom, instead of lounging around the palace. In my early days as captain, I pushed the limits on the issue, and as a ‘lesson,’ the grand marshal sent me on extended duty to the Midlands so that I might ‘learn the value of our activities there.’ The man is insufferably superior. But I digress. The point is, all these years later, I am still of the same mind. We must not neglect our original purpose, and that is the exact state of things currently."
Onin tried to absorb all of this. He had never been politically minded and found it difficult to grasp some of the principles at work. "So the order is under pressure from the Great Families to place more and more emphasis on duty in the Midlands?"
"That or eliminate the order altogether," said Torreg. "Yes, I know it also sounds unthinkable, but trust me, there are those that do more than think it; they voice the opinion. But I am not willing to let us be shifted to active duty in the lands below, the lot of us."
Bolg interjected, "It would turn us from an order of guards to a standing army."
"Exactly," said Torreg. "We live to serve the king, but we serve him best by protecting him." He seemed to hear a sound and looked at the door anxiously. "This is why I fought so hard to get the palace detail. I want to restore discipline and purpose to the Guards here. I want the both of you to join me here."
"You can count on me," said Onin. "But why all the secrecy?"
"There are Guards stationed here already who have no eye for the king’s safety but a great interest in their own political future. The Guard is not their vocation but a stepping-stone to greater things. They are exactly the kind of men I want removed, but also those who can exact the greatest retribution on me. They have power and connections. I might not find myself commander of the palace guard for long. For that reason, we must proceed cautiously."
Bolg spoke up again. "How are you going to remove them? It's difficult to act against men with power and connections."
"I have a plan," said Torreg. "With a little effort, I won’t need to remove them. The king will do it for me. Here’s how."
Bolg and Onin listened closely as Torreg revealed his plan. It was risky, bold, and impetuous, despite Torreg’s own call for caution. Onin was quite happy with it.
* * *
RESPLENDENT COLORS graced the palace garden in the morning light. Indeed, it had been designed to present three distinct views, for the morning, afternoon, and twilight hours. The selection of exotic and colorful blooms were carefully arranged to offer breathtaking colors at any hour of the day, complemented by natural lighting, along with decorative walls, stone benches, and marble walkways winding throughout the grounds. The walkways meandered and interwove but came together to provide a main thoroughfare through the center of the garden. The outer walls were high and covered with a celebration of flowering vines and more than a few grape-bearing varieties. However, like any other thing of great beauty, daily exposure caused its grandeur to wear away on those so exposed, and with great boredom, the Guards Mekon and Henin surveyed the splendor before them.
The two men were passing the time with inane talk. They did not often agree with one another, so they would descend into argument on most occasions, but today they lacked the energy and will to do so. However, the previous night had proven a windfall for Mekon when his favored hound had won the primary race that day, and he had offered to share drinks with Henin. The pair had gotten carried away with themselves early in the night, and it had turned out to be a long, long boisterous night before Mekon’s coin ran out.
Mekon didn’t actually like Henin. He was a two-faced womanizer with a loose tongue, but Mekon wanted to be in his good graces. Henin, whatever his faults, would inherit a wealthy estate, replete with a splendid manor and significant holdings in the Midlands. He would also inherit responsibility for his unmarried sister, a plain-looking and simple-minded girl who served as nursemaid to their sick mother during her waning years. She would no doubt command a significant dowry and link the two families by marriage. Until then, Henin would habitually burn through his allowance from the estate and his wages from the Guard. Mekon knew his offer would be well received, and he considered his winnings well spent.
The night’s revelry had taken its toll on the two of them. When they reported for duty with the sunrise, the two had been informed the king would be in their part of the palace today. The king often visited the gardens in the morning, so the two struggled to look fit, should he arrive without warning. Otherwise, the two men would have taken this opportunity to stretch themselves out on the lush, green grass and sleep away the rebuke of their debauchery. As such, they remained on their feet and at their posts. Even still, the two struggled to keep their eyes open.
As the sun rose fully above the high walls of the garden to pierce the eyes of the two beleaguered men, Mekon was surprised to see a dark shape scramble over the top of the high wall, and begin to climb down the other side, using the vines as handholds. As Mekon blinked and squinted to see more clearly, he could tell it was a man dressed in black leather armor and covered in ragged black furs. He also swore the figure was wearing some sort of white mask. Before he could decide if his eyes were playing tricks on him, the figure had reached the bottom and turned to face them. Even at this distance, Mekon recognized the mask as a crude skull shape, like the ones merchants would sell, claiming them to be real Jaga shaman masks. The figure drew two wooden practice swords and hoisted them in challenge.
"Mekon," said Henin. He continued hesitantly, even doubtfully. "I think we’re under attack."
"Impossible," said Mekon.
In defiance of Mekon’s assertion, the black-clad figure threw its head back and released a hideous cry, like a madman screaming for blood. The figure charged them with wooden swords at the ready. Both men stood motionless as the strange apparition loomed in their vision. Mekon realized the man rushing toward them was built like an ox. He suddenly remembered the sword at his side.
Mekon’s hand shot to the hilt of his sword, and he drew with all the speed he could muster, but he felt as slow as dripping molasses. Henin was completely stunned, and remained stationary even as the bearlike assailant collided with him shoulder-first. Henin went sailing through the air until his legs collided with a stone bench, causing him to tumble over it backward. The palace Guard collapsed in a heap and lay still.
Mekon had his sword in hand and turned his gaze away from his fallen comrade just in time to parry a powerful blow from the fur-clad warrior. Mekon raised his light, polished shield to parry the follow-up strike from the other wooden blade. Little more than a decorative piece, the shield crumpled under the first blow, and Mekon cried out in pain as he stumbled back.
Other Guards, four in number, arrived at the garden’s entrance, having been alerted by the cries and crashing sounds. They rushed to confront the savage attacker, who met them head-on with a charge of his own. The man was deft of hand and quick for his size and easily parried the clumsy attacks of the Guards. With each parry, the black-clad man would lash out with the other hand and strike a resounding blow. One by one, the Guards fell away to land in a heap on the ground. One lay completely still with a dented helmet. Others clutched some extremity or curled into balls to nurse ribs under dented breastplates. The decorative armor of the palace Guards, though impressive looking, proved ineffective against even hardwood practice swords.
More guards arrived, this time at least eight; Mekon couldn’t exactly tell. They hesitated, looking first at the huge fur-covered attacker then at the fallen Guardsmen strewn about the area. Before they could decide whether or not to attack, the black bear of a man took the initiative and lunged for them. These Guards were slightly better prepared and managed to mount a successful defense at first, but the fur-clad assailant flailed about with his wooden cudgels with such ferocity that the Guards found no opening to counterattack. The savage raider cleared a space around him with wide, swinging blows then suddenly switched tactics and crouched to strike at the legs of the Guardsmen. Two of them fell, clutching their shins and screaming in pain.
The attacker took two steps and came to rest on top of a stone bench. One of the Guards advanced on him with a series of wild swings, but the black bear deftly parried and sent the man tumbling to the ground with a ringing strike to the helmet. Another Guard circled defensively, trying to keep a wide hedge between himself and the imposing figure. With a sharp cry of exertion, the black bear jumped over the hedge and planted both oversized boots in the surprised Guardsman’s chest. The Guard struck the ground with terrific force, and the air whooshed from his lungs.
The black-clad attacker landed on the opposite side of the hedge, flat on his back. Sensing a moment of opportunity, yet another Guard stabbed desperately at him, only to have his attack batted aside with ease. The Guard underestimated the reach of the big man, and his legs were swept from underneath him by a sideways kick from the intruder. Quicker than Mekon thought possible, the brute of a man rolled to his feet with swords at the ready.
The remaining Guardsmen, having lost half their number, lost their nerve as well. They turned and fled into the palace, crying out for archers to take the man down from a distance. The black-clad attacker started to pursue them but stopped short, relaxing into a casual stance. He then began to stroll nonchalantly for the entrance leading from the garden to the palace proper.
Something stirred inside Mekon, watching this man walk into the palace unopposed. A sudden inner spark turned into a flame, and he clambered to his feet. His arm still ached from the previous blow, possibly broken, but he gritted his teeth and tightened his grip on the sword.
"Hold!" he said with as much authority as he could muster. "Hold in the name of the king!"
The black-clad figure stopped in his tracks and stiffened visibly then slowly turned his skull mask to look over his shoulder at Mekon, who stood boldly before him, brandishing his sword. After an appraising moment, the bearlike man turned to face Mekon. With a flourish, the savage raider of the palace raised his swords in a formal salute.
Slightly confused but reacting as his training dictated, Mekon returned the salute. The dark warrior attacked with both swords, one swinging high while other swung low. Mekon reacted by ducking beneath the high strike, while making a short cut toward his enemy’s midsection. He was rewarded with a slice across the big man’s abdomen. Unfortunately, the boiled leather and thick furs protected the large adversary’s torso, and the dark warrior suffered but a flesh wound.
Mekon, however, had no defense against the low strike. The powerful blow swept Mekon’s legs out from under him, so he landed on his hands and knees with a jolt. His blade spun from his grasp, and the fur-clad man kicked him in the exposed midsection. The blow sent Mekon flying into a bush filled with famously beautiful blooms and notoriously thorny stems. The kick stole the wind from Mekon’s lungs despite the breastplate he wore, and the persistent pain he felt at the impact point indicated the breastplate was dented and poking into his flesh as a consequence. Stars danced at the edges of his vision, and his head spun as he gasped for breath.
"That’s enough," came a barking voice, one familiar to Mekon. The fur-clad attacker immediately stopped his attack and replaced his two practice blades in his belt. The big man then removed the crude skull mask. Mekon was shocked to see a Midlander and realized he knew the man, at least casually. He was a Guardsman newly reassigned to the palace detail, but Mekon’s head swam too much to produce a name.
Another Guardsman entered the garden, sword in hand. Mekon, even through his haze, recognized the markings of the new commander. Mekon had never met Torreg but knew his reputation.
"That went as I expected, for the most part," said Torreg. He took a long, slow look about himself, then sheathed his weapon. Guards littered the entrance to the garden like so many dolls left by children after their play. Mekon wondered what in the world was going on.
The fur-clad Midlander nodded. "It’s sad, really. There’s not a bad swordsman among them, but they’re terribly out of practice. Some of them seem like they haven’t sparred since graduating the academy."
Mekon felt a slight pang of guilt. He, himself, never sparred and couldn’t frankly remember the last time he had drawn his blade, let alone fought with it. Certainly not since he had joined the palace detail; but then, that was the whole point of joining the palace detail, wasn’t it?
At that moment, another black-clad, fur-covered figure with a white mask and pair of practice swords jumped from behind a nearby hedge with a hoarse battle cry. The figure was very much like the first attacker but lacked the imposing stature, closer to average, by Mekon’s estimation. His mask was different as well; instead of a skull, it was a plain, featureless face.
"You’re late, Bolg," said Torreg. "The exercise is over."
The second raider pulled off the mask and furs covering his head. The man was ugly in the extreme, with craggy features and a bulbous nose with a nasty scar across it. Mekon remembered him as the new captain added to palace detail. The ugly captain cast an annoyed glance at the Midlander.
"You couldn’t wait for me, lad?" said Captain Bolg.
The Midlander shrugged in response. "I followed the plan," he said in his defense. "You said ‘start the attack just as the sun crests the outer wall.’ That’s what I did. When I got on the other side, you were nowhere to be seen, and I was in no position to wait. What happened to you?"
"That wall is higher than I expected," said the captain, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. "And I’m not as young as I used to be. Still, I would have thought you’d have left me one or two, out of politeness’s sake."
Commander Torreg laughed. "There will be plenty of opportunities for you, old friend," he said "Just wait until next time."
Next time? thought Mekon. He decided he’d had enough of the day and laid his head down in the thorny foliage beneath him. Within moments, blissful sleep claimed him.