Chapter 12

For two weeks Stefan sat on pins and needles waiting for the royal summons that he hoped would never come. His small hope had been the report that he had given to his captain when he first arrived had been passed along and up the chain of command.

"Sat" was the wrong word, because a sergeant had many duties, and ten spoiled, rich young men who did not appreciate the position that their fathers had purchased for them. For the first time, Stefan understood the withering looks of the Black Shield as they gazed upon the antics of the lowest ranks of the King's Guard. Stefan was amazed of how he had cast distain upon his comrade, Gregor, when these recruits made the man appear like an angelic child. Only when Stefan openly debated allowing two, rather livid Black Shield, to take one of his charges to the King's dungeon for drunkenness and fighting, did the dullards gain an inkling of how to perform their duties with proper respect. Had the young man not responded properly, the next step would have been discipline with a whip in front of the stables; a task that Stefan had witnessed before, but had no desire to inflict.

The Black Shield had their revenge on the young private anyway. They caught him out in the open and beat the unruly man rather thoroughly, with the encouragement of the crowd that gathered round to watch the entertainment. When Stefan learned of the ambush, he asked his captain for the proper response. Taking his superior's advice, he invited the two offended soldiers to their favorite tavern and bought them both two tankards of ale to ease their throbbing knuckles. Both of the Black Shield suggested Stefan pay for their whores but he demurred, explaining that if they had disciplined his private in a more clandestine manner, without witnesses, he would have jumped as such a gesture.

During the week, Stefan noticed that the dirty stares of the Black Shield ceased when he crossed their paths. Whatever their rules of honor were, he had passed some sort of test.

Sixth Day was usually a slower, drowsier workday as the king and his court prepared to relax on Seventh Day. Stefan, still trying to adjust to his new position, was looking forward to an easing of the tension. He was strolling out of the stables when a page from the palace found him and handed him a red baton of summons. Stefan's heart sank.

He followed the page, trying to arrange the grimace on his face into a blank look. Through the private entrance, Stefan measured his paces steadily, sure of his coming demise as the news of his slaying of the priest reached the royal ear. As the page turned left when Stefan was fairly sure that he should have turned right, his fatalism melted into confusion.

Two Black Shield stood in the quiet hallway and above them hung the flag of their regiment. Stefan had never been to a captain of the Black Shield's domain; they handled their own messages without the interference of the King's Guard. Stefan straightened his tunic and stepped into the room. His captain sat with the Black Shield captain sharing a hot drink in two stuffed chairs.

"Sir," Stefan drew a salute, "You summoned me."

"Captain Cardobina issued the summons, Sergeant. You are here to answer certain questions, and you will answer them in full. Is that clear?"

"Perfectly clear, captain," Stefan responded to his captain.

What followed was a minor inquisition. Stefan was quizzed in detail on the incident between his private and the Black Shield. The questioning then moved on to his family and his education, with a close interview of the courses he studied. Finally, he was asked about the death of Gregor and his return trip. Stefan found himself forced to mention Marakand, although no questions were asked about any incidents there.

"I am satisfied," Captain Cardobina concluded to the captain of the King's Guard.

Stefan's captain arose and faced him, "One of our lieutenants has failed to return, and we have received word that he has succumbed to the plague. We are already dreadfully short in the ranks and I cannot afford to be handicapped at this time of emergency. Upon the approval of the Captain of the Black Shield, King Gringolas presents you with an officer's commission as a lieutenant in the King's Guard."

Stefan was dumbfounded, "I don't mean to sound ungrateful, sir, but why me? There are several sergeants with more years in the King's Guard."

The captain gave a wry smile, "I understand your confusion. First, you have the proper education for the administrative tasks that come with this thankless job. Second, you handled the incident with the Black Shield with tact and respect, without being bowled over. Finally and most importantly, you have received unsolicited, personal recommendations from Sardaford. Commissioned officers are valued for their loyal service to the crown and his subjects," he added cryptically.

Captain Cardobina arose from his chair and handed Stefan a heavy piece of parchment. The new lieutenant unfolded the paper and scanned the legal document, blinking twice at the royal signature and the wax stamp of the king's household.

Before Stefan could look up he felt a heavy hand come down on his shoulder, "Congratulations, Lieutenant. Welcome again to the King's service."

Bedazzled and dazed, Stefan replied, "Thank you, Captain."

Rayna had the same reaction that Stefan felt: elation and dread. "They know. They must know about Marakand, Stefan," she husked.

"They may know," he conceded as he paced the room, "and they must approve. Otherwise I would already be hanging from a tree, and you would be a young widow."

He stopped his pacing, "If they know, then we have little to fear from the regiments that surround the king. My real fear is if the captains of the Black Shield and King's Guard have knowledge, then the High Priest may have the same news."

Rayna couldn't keep the panic from her voice, "Heresy?"

"Possibly, but I doubt it," Stefan considered as he rubbed his fingers over the stubble on his face. "If the ranked priest of Marakand didn't have sanction to kill Delucians, he may have put the Temple in a compromising position; one in which the king could use as leverage against the Temple and her priests. The High Priest doesn't answer to the king per se, but he isn't independent of Gringolas's reign either."

"Then what does the High Priest have against you, if you removed an embarrassment from his Temple?"

Stefan snorted, "Revenge for killing his man."

Stefan stopped his pacing again. "Gather up all of the coin that you have hidden in the house. We have business."

"We are fleeing from the priests, husband?" Rayna asked with puzzlement.

"No. We are going to deposit our wealth with a recommended Delucian. As moneylenders, they have certain rooms that are secure and guarded for the sake of the coin they must hold at times. One can rent space in a vault for a small fee with complete discretion."

Rayna nodded at his wisdom of the moment. "Besides," Stefan continued with a slight smile, "it gives us an opportunity to learn if they have heard the news of their brethren in Marakand and Sardaford. We may have need of new friends and this time, the enemy of our enemy may, indeed, be our friend. Let us see what new bonds we can forge, dear wife."

How does one measure success?

Stefan left the Delucian house with Rayna with another insight into the power of information and knowledge. Money was only one lever amongst the powers of the kingdom, but not necessarily the most powerful all of the time. Perhaps in the long view of the world, words were more powerful than metal.

When Stefan and Rayna whistled a bit of the tune the penned Delucians had sung as they gazed upon their intended fate, their hosts for the evening responded with great enthusiasm. As the afternoon bled into the evening and evening into night, he learned a different history of the same world, a different philosophy, and a new appreciation of what could be gained by knowledge and study. The night closed with a hearty meal of offered hospitality, and a new avenue of friendship and security.

The cosmos turned again as they walked home. Engrossed in their latest adventure, neither noticed the hooded shadow that followed them all the way to their guarded neighborhood.

As a lieutenant, Stefan became much more aware of a second, dual role that the King's Guard performed, being the eyes and ears of the King out among the populace. What a King's Guard reported went directly to the royal wing of the palace, a fact that had somehow eluded the young man until now. In his new office, Stefan had a first taste of the information gathering called "intelligence." He liked it.

Although much of his work involved assigning out tasks and receiving reports on training, materials, and other mundane items that kept a courier and his horse moving, he also received first hand accounts of nobility, initiatives, and government actions. At times, he was tasked with delivering the information to the secretaries and advisors of the king or the crowned prince, a fine duty of rubbing shoulders with the powerful and mighty. Once in a while, he was summoned to cover up the minor infidelities of buggered pages, cuckolded husbands and betrayed wives, or to execute swift punishment upon petty extortionists and would be blackmailers of the palace denizens.

He learned the depth of the term "discretion."

The loyal soldier thought that there was little left to shock him until rumors reached his ears that the High Priest had been sending out feelers concerning his person. A stone settled into his belly. Stefan had hoped that with an officer's commission, any binding ties that the priesthood had upon his person had been severed. Yet, in his heart of hearts, he knew that they held sway over his family and kin at the least. His murder of the master priest in Marakand left him vulnerable to extortion and blackmail, if the Temple desired to put him to the screws.