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“It’s not that I’m angry about losing,” said the king. “I just don’t like being lied to.” He nodded to William.
With the help of four burly knights, William dragged Sir Horace Pinchard, bound and gagged, up the stairs from the moldy, waterlogged cellar. Sir Horace tried to resist, but the riverbank was slick with fallen leaves, and he couldn’t find his footing. The king followed them, but did not stop to watch. He walked through the gate into the rose garden of his mansion next door.
This was the fifth time this afternoon that William had helped enact this little drama. The first time, the king had said, “It’s not that I’m angry about losing. I just don’t like cowardice,” because that officer had run from the fighting and had hidden in a church crypt.
The second time, the king had said, “It’s not that I’m angry about losing. I just don’t like incompetence,” because that knight had tried to intercept the advancing Sigor forces at Bullsley, but had taken the wrong road in the dark and ended up in Stretton, twelve miles to the west.
The third time, the king had told an Annenstruker mercenary captain, “It’s not that I’m angry about losing. I just don’t like carelessness.” Because that fellow had charged headlong at the enemy around Chickwell, in the Bishop’s Forest, without bothering to scout ahead at all, and had gotten three quarters of his men killed or captured.
The fourth time, to a Severnshire baronet who had taken a nap after receiving orders and had therefore gotten to the battle two hours late, the king said, “It’s not that I’m angry about losing. I just don’t like laziness.”
Now it was Sir Horace Pinchard’s turn. His sin had been reporting that all was well, even after he knew the enemy had taken Redlingham, so the king had told him, “I just don’t like being lied to.” Sir Horace wasn’t a dishonest man by nature; he had simply been afraid of what would happen if he was the one who reported the failure to the king. Which, William reflected, was perfectly understandable.
William could remember how little Sir Horace had ever wanted to leave home. If it had been up to the man himself, he would have stayed back at his estate with his apple-shaped wife and young son. No doubt, Sir Horace wished he could go back and send the twenty Sovereigns instead. But William had dragged the man here, so he supposed it was only right that he had to do this now.
William had the four burly knights set Sir Horace on his knees in the mud right by the gently lapping waters of the Trahern. The old Trahernshire soldier tried to cry out through his gag as William drew his long, narrow knife and rested its point in the center of Sir Horace’s chest.
“I’ll tell you a secret,” said William. “He doesn’t care about the lying. It really is the losing he cares about.”
Then he leaned forward, pushing the blade into Sir Horace’s chest and through his heart. He put a hand to the man’s neck, holding him upright as he spasmed, sagged, and died. Then he drew out the knife and kicked Sir Horace backwards into the water. The current grabbed the body, pushed it out into the middle of the stream, and carried it slowly around the bend and out of sight.
After sending the four knights back to their duties, William returned to the king’s mansion, went to the kitchen, and cleaned himself up. He was very careful, as a rule, but there was always a little splatter. Then he went into one of the front parlors, where a few of the king’s staff officers had set up an office. He borrowed some parchment and a pen, and started writing a letter to his wife.
Dearest Gwen,
I am well, and trust you and Robby are, also. Give him a kiss for me. I’m very busy with work. The king had some trouble today, and I had to take care of it for him. Hopefully the siege will be over soon, and I will get to see you again. It’s harvest time, and I imagine you must be baking a lot of pies. I’m sorry I will miss them.
He paused, remembering all the details of Gwen’s last letter. He had it completely memorized.
That’s very interesting that you’re making cheese now. I don’t know if I ever told you, but when I was a young squire, I was friends with the woman who made cheeses on the estate. She was very kind to me, and I learned a lot from being around her. Fascinating business, making cheese.
William scowled at that last sentence. He didn’t think even people who made cheese considered it a “fascinating business.” But he didn’t want to start the letter over, so he let it stand.
Kiss Robby again for me. Tell him if he’s a very good boy, I will carve him a horse and give it to him the next time I see you both.
All my love,
William
He sealed the letter and put it into an inside pocket of his cloak. Hopefully he would get to see that Immani woman soon, and she would be able to deliver the letter for him. Or at least pass it along to someone who could.
As he started to think about finding some supper, a knock came at the front door, and a somewhat gangly young man came in, bowing to William and the staff officers. It was Landon Halifax, second son of the Duke of Haydonshire, one of the squires to Duke Lukas of Severn, the captain general.
“Um...hello,” he said. “His grace’s compliments, and he asks if the king is...er, if the king can come to the command tent.”
Landon was 12 and rather new to being a squire. Until May, he had been at the Brancaster school, studying Immani declensions and Myrcian history in the happy belief he was bound for the church.
“The king is indisposed,” said one of the staff officers. “I’ll take a message.”
“It’s...um, it’s urgent, sir,” said the boy, his face reddening. “Lady Jorunn Unset is here, and she wants to speak with him now.”
Lady Jorunn was one of the court hillichmagnars. She was a member of Broderick’s privy council, as well, which gave her a perfect right to demand the king’s attention, even if she hadn’t been an angel with the power to kill people with a mere thought.
“His majesty is upstairs,” said the staff officer. “Go on up.”
The boy cringed and looked pleadingly at William.
“You don’t want to be the one to fetch him, do you?” said William. Taking pity on the boy, he said, “Don’t worry. I’ll do it.”
Landon left, and William went up the sweeping staircase to the second floor. He went down the long, tapestry-lined hall and quietly peeked into the last door on the left.
The king was lounging in a dressing gown on a long, blue velvet settee. Flora Byrne, Duchess of Keneburg, knelt on the floor in front of him in a gauzy silk robe that left nothing to the imagination, her head bobbing rhythmically up and down and her long, curly red hair spreading out to cover his lap. William withdrew and silently shut the door. He went down the hall a few paces—a polite distance—and waited.
He knew his presence had been noted. A couple minutes later, the door opened, and Duchess Flora looked out, modestly wrapped in a bedsheet and dabbing her lips with a handkerchief. “Did you need something, William?” she asked.
William explained that Lady Jorunn wanted to see the king at the captain general’s command tent on the edge of town.
The duchess rolled her big hazel eyes. “And of course her ladyship can’t come here like a normal person. We’ve got to come to her. Very well. Give us a moment.”
Both her grace and the king were used to life in hunting camps and on campaign, and it took them only a few minutes to get dressed. A different king, and a different duchess, might have insisted on waiting until a carriage was ready. But Duke Lukas’s command tent wasn’t very far away—barely a quarter mile, in a fallow field at the edge of town. So they walked there, instead, with William tagging along behind.
When they got to the command tent, they found Lady Jorunn at the map table in the innermost pavilion, pointing out errors in geography and spelling to Duke Lukas Ostensen, Captain General of Myrcia. Jorunn was more than a foot shorter than the duke, and far less imposing in every way, but she gave off the definite air of being in charge.
“You have the shape of the forest here around Redlingham entirely wrong,” said the hillichmagnar. “It’s no wonder you were taken by surprise there. Are you taking notes, your grace?”
She snapped her fingers, and a pencil and scrap paper appeared floating in the air by Lukas’s face. He took them and, with an exasperated sigh, made a quick scribble.
The hillichmagnar noticed Broderick, Flora, and William. She bustled out from behind the map table and curtsied. “Your majesty. Your grace. Your lordship.”
She had on an odd sort of purple and red robe, with a belt of wide metal medallions. Her long, thick brown hair was braided and wrapped with gold wire and little ruby pins. Presumably this was some kind of foreign fashion that she had picked up on her travels, and which she was trying to introduce at the Myrcian court. She had a habit of doing that.
“Lady Jorunn,” said the king, with his best Annenstruker court bow. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”
“I was intending to visit, anyway,” she said. “But then I heard of your recent reverses, and I hurried here as quickly as I could.”
“How very kind,” said the king.
“I have heard that Caedmon Aldred took part in the fighting. Is that true?”
Duke Lukas rubbed his eyes. “No, not really. He used some harmless spells as a distraction so that—”
“Yes, he did,” said the king quickly. “As the captain general was going to say, Lord Aldred seems to have used his magy to help the Sigor army deceive us as to its true intentions.”
“I see.” Lady Jorunn turned her stern gaze to Duchess Flora. “Is that your interpretation of events, as well, your grace?”
“It is,” said Flora, with a little curtsy. “I’m sorry to say that Caedmon has definitely chosen sides. And he’s on the other side, not ours.”
William watched Duke Lukas’s eyes grow wide as the truth dawned on him, and he realized that he had almost made an unforgiveable error.
“Yes!” Lukas cried. “Yes, Caedmon was definitely fighting for the Sigors. Saw it myself, in fact.”
“Very good,” said Lady Jorunn. “Just so we are all clear on this point. In that case, your majesty, I would like to offer you my services. I will retain the right, of course, to determine the scope of my own duties.”
“Of course,” said the king, fighting to conceal a smile.
Duke Lukas cleared his throat. “Look, could you start by dropping a fireball on the Bocburg? It would save us a lot of time, I think.”
“That is beyond the scope of my duties,” said Jorunn, with a prim little scowl at the captain general. “I thought I would begin by suggesting some changes in your command structure, your majesty.”
“Oh, William and I have already been working on that,” said the king pleasantly.
Jorunn raised a slim eyebrow. “Yes, I imagine you have been. In that case, you must have some vacancies to fill. You have professional Myrcian troops, feudal levies, militiamen, plus Annenstruker volunteers and mercenaries from—unless I have miscounted—at least six countries. You need someone who can coordinate all of this—under the captain general, of course. You need someone to see the larger picture and plan your grand strategy. In short, you need a chief of staff, your majesty.”
Duchess Flora beamed. “You see, Broderick? That’s what I was saying earlier. Now, my husband would be the obvious choice, and my son Pedr could act as his second-in-command—”
“I had someone else in mind,” said Lady Jorunn. “Forgive me, your grace, but I believe the king needs someone with more professional experience. I would like to propose Colonel Lord Volker Rath for the position.”
“Oh, Rath!” said Lukas, rubbing his long chin. “Very good soldier. I could always tell he disapproved of me, which is a point in his favor, as far as I’m concerned. What happened to him?”
“You gave him a title and forced him to retire, as I recall,” said Flora, addressing the king. “He was becoming a tad too light-fingered. And to be frank, he was never the most imaginative thinker. More of a blunt axe than a rapier, if you know what I mean. Now, my darling Hugh, on the other hand—”
“I never had a problem with Rath in wartime,” said the king. “Some people aren’t suited to peace, I’m afraid. But I’ve never really been able to replace him.”
Duchess Flora objected that Broderick hadn’t given other officers a fair chance, yet. By which she meant her husband and eldest son, of course. But William understood exactly what the king meant. He didn’t want someone with divided loyalties—someone who would always be going to Flora or Lukas or some other noble patron for advice. He wanted someone who owed his job to Broderick Gramiren, and no one else. Someone who would do precisely what Broderick wanted him to do, and nothing else.
What the king needed was someone like William. Not William himself, of course. William was suited to life behind the scenes, life in the shadows. But the king needed a counterpart to William who knew how to act the part of a loyal lieutenant on stage. And since Rath had retired, no one had stepped forward to take that job.
“Very well,” said the king. “I will consider bringing Rath out of retirement. Lukas, have a messenger brought in here. If we send a letter right now, we might be able to get Rath here in a week.”
“More like two weeks,” said the duchess. “He’s probably gone all soft, and it’s harvest time, so he’s probably busy with his estates.”
“If you’ll forgive me,” said Lady Jorunn, “I took the liberty of anticipating your wishes, your majesty.”
She snapped her fingers. The front flap of the tent rippled and swayed, then rose of its own accord, revealing the compact figure of Volker Rath. He was dressed in his old uniform as a knight of the king’s retinue, with a jaunty red half cape over his shoulder and a new gold-handled sword at his waist. Unlike most men, he seemed to have slimmed down in retirement rather than going to seed. In fact, except for having a bit more gray in his close-cropped hair, he might have been the Rath of ten years ago, helping to plan a new attack on Loshadnarod.
He bowed to the king, and the king rushed forward to shake his hand.
“Exactly the man I wanted for the job,” said King Broderick. “Marvelous to have you with us again.”
“Yes, marvelous,” said Duchess Flora, who was not nearly as good at hiding her annoyance at the hillichmagnar’s presumption.
“Lukas, where’s your squire?” said the king. “Ah, Landon, there you are. Fetch us some wine. Let’s drink to Colonel Rath. No, wait. Not ‘colonel,’ anymore. You deserve a higher rank. Shall we say...lieutenant general?”
He looked around the tent, as if honestly soliciting opinions, and of course no one objected, not even Duchess Flora, who stayed only long enough to have a tiny sip of whiskey and then excuse herself, muttering under her breath.
Lukas fetched some of the division commanders and council members, and they all shook Rath’s hand and said he was “the perfect choice.” What else were they going to say?
William watched from the dimmest corner of the tent, glass in hand but drinking nothing. After a few minutes, while the king regaled Lady Jorunn with some story of his travels in Annenstruk, the land of her birth, Rath spotted William and came over.
“Together again,” said Rath, clinking his glass against William’s.
“Indeed, sir.”
“Trust me, I’m as surprised as you are by all this.”
“No doubt you are, sir.”
“Still, when the king calls, we have to answer, don’t we?” Rath smiled grimly. “Don’t worry, William. We’re going to fix everything around here. I’ve already got some ideas. We’re going to leave no stone unturned.”
William would very much have liked to know what those ideas were, but at that moment, the Duke of Haydonshire grabbed Rath and took him over to speak with the Earl of Kelwinn.
Everyone was pretending this was all completely normal and above-board, but William was suspicious, and he was pretty sure the king was, too. Why had Lady Jorunn done this? What was her goal here? And how had she enticed Rath out of his comfortable retirement?
More than anything William wondered how this would affect his ability to meet with Intira, the Immani spy. The last thing he needed was someone like Rath poking around and “leaving no stone unturned.” Duchess Flora was right—Rath had all the keen penetration of a blunt axe. But as William could attest from personal experience, a blunt axe could do the job as well as a stiletto.