Broken Rule | Chapter 22
This post is chapter twenty-two of my not-previously-published epic fantasy novel Broken Rule, which I'm serializing here on Steemit.
The story so far:
Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21
Duke Benedek sat uncomfortably on a small stool wrapped in furs to fight off the cold. He was debating whether to go back outside to warm himself at the campfires or stay inside out of the wind. The small cabin that formed the base of the new Midway Hill watchtower was the only place he had found where the wind couldn't find him, but he was reluctant to have any open flames inside it lest the whole thing go up like a torch. Benedek's men had felled all of the trees for five hundred yards around the small round hill and used the material to build the watchtower and enough earthen berms and wooden palisades to make the place defensible. From this position half way between Gorton and Haverwood he was able to send out sorties to respond to any goblin raiding parties that threatened either town. He hadn't lost a man in over a week.
Baron Joszua Chase opened the door and poked his head inside. Benedek waved him in. “Your Grace,” Joszua announced, “I present Learned Marek, envoy of the king. I have checked his seals and warrants and they are all in order.”
“Thank you, Joszua,” Benedek replied. He peered at the envoy for a moment, hoping to puzzle out the reason for his visit, but couldn't even begin to guess. A priest might have been helpful when they'd had to bury men by the score, but now he seemed superfluous. “Pray tell, Learned Marek, what brings a man such as yourself to a land so forsaken by the Most Holy?”
Marek seemed shocked by the blasphemy, and Benedek regretted not being more careful with his tongue. “Your Grace jests, I'm sure,” Marek answered. “As Your Grace well knows, the Most Holy is with us at all times and in all places, although he may choose to test and challenge us from time to time.”
Hearing these pious platitudes relieved Benedek's regret. Did he truly owe this priest any courtesy? “You wouldn't say that if you'd seen what I've seen. This expedition has been cursed nearly from the start. To see so many young men used so poorly, it tries a man's faith.”
“Many things in this world try our faith, Your Grace, but a man's response to these trials is the test of his soul." Benedek scowled. He should have guessed that the priest would reply with more empty words. The priest paid little mind to Benedek's reaction and continued. "I bring news that this particular trial is at an end for you. The king has given his leave for you to depart the field and return to your home.”
Marek handed over a document bearing the king's personal seal, but underneath it was a signature Benedek didn't recognize. Bishop Vasili? That was a puzzle. The words the priest had spoken finally registered with the duke. They had leave to depart? “Truly?” he asked, glancing at the paper. “That would be a blessing, my friend, make no mistake.” Benedek thought for a moment. “The goblins, though. I can't leave Haverwood and Gorton undefended. Without troops to put down the goblin raiders the people would be at their mercy.”
“His Majesty understands that, Your Grace. So he has dispatched a separate force to deal with the goblins.”
A separate force? What nonsense was this? “The king would have an army in the field without his Lord Marshal? It has never been done that way in the whole history of Tarkannan.”
Marek shifted his feet and seemed reluctant to respond. “Your Grace, I am sorry to be the one to bear this news to you, but the king has named a new Lord Marshal. He rides with the new force. The burden is lifted from your shoulders, Your Grace. Everyone knows that you have served this kingdom long and well, and that you deserve to spend the rest of your years at your beautiful home.”
Benedek's felt as if someone had stabbed a knife into his heart. He threw his furs off and marched forward to loom over the priest. “I am Lord Marshal. As my father, and his father, and his father. Is this some mummer's farce that you engage in?” The priest cowered before him, and Benedek realized that his hand had instinctively gone to the hilt of his sword and pulled it a few inches from his scabbard. He got control of his anger and pushed the blade back.
“Your Grace, please. Don't let anger overtake your good judgment. I am but a servant of the Most Holy, and today a servant of the king. See for yourself.” Marek passed another document to the duke.
Benedek's hand shook as he read this one, and eventually he tossed it away in disgust. “That upstart Gavril? Has Radoslav taken leave of his senses? Has someone laid some bewitchment upon him? How could this happen?” If not for the king's own seal, Benedek wouldn't have believed it. Benedek's family had been loyal to Radoslav's for generations, and now he was being rewarded by being stripped of his title.
Marek breathed a sigh of relief and stood up straight again. “Your Grace, it is not my place to judge the mind or the heart of a king, but his command is that Duke Gavril be Lord Marshal of Tarkannan. Of that there is no doubt. You see His Majesty's seal on the document, do you not?”
Benedek snorted. He may be old, but his eyes had not yet failed him. “Yes, I see the seal." He also remembered the other unusual feature of the document. "I also see that it was signed by a bishop rather than a nobleman. Is this some plot by the church? Will you seek to usurp my lands next?”
“Your Grace, please. I have come as a messenger on behalf of the king, not some foul conspiracy.”
Benedek let his shoulders slump. He had regretted the words almost as soon as they had escaped his lips. His anger had been wild, searching for any target to latch on to, but he couldn't sustain it. The only one who deserved his ire was back on the throne in Kubara, but Benedek doubted he would even be able to muster enough passion to stay angry at him. Surely King Radoslav would pay dearly soon enough, with an ambitious man like Gavril at the head of the military.
The priest had produced another document, although this one was less grand and had been spattered with mud. “I know this news stings your honor," said the priest, "but I urge you on behalf of your soul to find the good in this. Long has your family waited in solitude while you have served the kingdom. Do you not have a new wife and son, who would be glad of your company?”
Those words completely banished any thoughts of the king. “A son? Has Suzana given birth?”
“That is my understanding, Your Grace. You see, I do bring good news. Try to find the goodness in the other news I bring.”
Benedek read the letter. He hadn't known his wife long enough to recognize her signature, but the seal appeared genuine. A son. An heir. Someone to carry on after him. Benedek closed his eyes and tried to picture his wife and son, but couldn't do it. He opened his eyes again, annoyed now, but reminded that his duties as Lord Marshal had kept him away from his own home for far too long. “Fine," he said. "If Radoslav wishes to hand the kingdom over to this Gavril, I shan't stand in his way any longer. The two deserve each other. What of the men I have here, shall they be joined to the new Lord Marshal's rabble?”
Marek produced a final document “These are our instructions in that respect, Your Grace.”
His rage completely expended, the only emotion that Benedek could muster now was puzzlement. “A company of engineers to remain under your command? What nonsense is this? You're a priest.”
The priest spread his hands apologetically. “On that matter, Your Grace, I am sworn to secrecy. I can only assure you that the men will be on a mission of utmost importance.”
Benedek shook his head, having lost interest even in puzzling it out. “Joszua,” he said, handing the final document to his lieutenant, “see that this gets done. And prepare to return home. It seems that some of our wishes have come true today.”
“Indeed, Your Grace,” said Joszua. “And if we are to disband our little troop anyway, perhaps we should break out some of the casks of brandy from our stores and hold a celebration in honor of your son?”
“Yes,” Benedek said with a smile. “No sense in leaving anything of quality for that ruffian Gavril. I'm sure he'll find some sour ale to plunder along the way. Our men could use some good cheer after what they've endured, and there's been precious little good news until now. Prepare a celebration, and then we'll strike camp when the men sober up.”