Servant of the Crown

  “He insulted me. We are both captains.”

  “And you,” Duke Linz said, swaying forward angrily, “have no right to be an officer in his majesty’s army.”

  “I earned it with blood!”

  “And you’ll lose it with blood!” Duke Linz’s knuckles turned white on the hilt of his sword, and Tamas could sense him moments from drawing steel.

  Tamas fingered his own hilt, wishing that he had powder at his disposal. The duke seemed ready to surge forward when a soft voice suddenly interjected itself.

  “My good Duke of Linz.”

  The duke went white. Tamas turned to find a Privileged standing nearby, hands tucked into the sleeves of her long dress with just a hint of white to show that she was wearing her gloves. It was the woman from the House of Nobles, the one who smelled of jasmine, and he even now got a whiff of her perfume.

  “Privileged Dienne,” the duke said, ducking his head and taking a step back.

  “Excuse us please, Duke Linz.”

  “Of course, Privileged.” The duke gave another bow and hurried off.

  Tamas eyed the woman suspiciously. He had seen Privileged out on campaign. He knew that they could speak on an equal footing to most noblemen, but he’d never seen one dismiss a duke!

  Dienne turned her gaze toward Tamas. He felt his palms begin to sweat. “Privileged Dienne,” he said, giving her a bow somewhat lower than the one she’d received from Duke Linz. He tried to remember how one was supposed to address a Privileged. With a noble it was easy —a lot of bowing and scraping and “my lord this, my lord that.” But a noble could only have you flayed, while a Privileged could flay you themselves. That meant a world of difference in Tamas’s mind.

  “Captain Tamas,” Dienne said. Her voice was soft like satin. “I understand that you have just been to see the king.”

  “I have.”

  Privileged Dienne glanced at the nearest member of the royal guard and then walked a little further away. Tamas had no choice but to follow.

  “Please, Captain. Tell me what the king wanted of you.”

  Tamas tried to hide his confusion. He opened his mouth to ask her what she could possibly mean, when everything snapped into place.

  If his suspicions were correct, the Privileged were already watching Tamas and may have even encouraged his suspension. They didn’t like a man —a powder mage —who could kill from such a distance climbing the ranks of the army. The king, on the other hand, had no such qualms. Summoning Tamas to his personal chamber, even to just stand there for fifteen minutes, would cause a mighty stir inside the cabal.

  This was some kind of petty politics between the king and his Privileged. Tamas almost laughed at the simplicity of it.

  “Is something amusing, Captain?”

  “No, Privileged. I regret to inform you that I’m not at liberty to discuss my conversation with the king.”

  Dienne tilted her head. Her hands came out of her sleeves, baring her white, rune-embroidered gloves and their ever-present threat of elemental sorcery. “Are you sure about that?”

  “I am.” He eyed her gloves for a moment, then met her gaze. He would play the king’s game. For now. The Privileged would likely not believe him if he told her the truth anyway.

  Dienne stepped forward. There was something vaguely threatening in the simple movement, and Tamas steeled himself. “Captain Tamas,” she said in his ear, “Be very, very careful what you say and what you do. We’re watching you. If you misstep, even slightly.” She snapped her fingers, making Tamas jump. Then she reached up, touching his cheek gently with the fingers of one gloved hand. “Be careful, Captain.”

  Tamas left the city the next morning.

  He headed north past the university, then left the main highway to travel east toward the King’s Forest. It wasn’t a long journey, no more than three hours by horseback, and by the time he reached his destination it was just half past ten in the morning.

  The sun was shining but the world was bitterly cold, frost crunching beneath his horse’s hooves as he made his way down a little-used dirt track that ran along the very edge of the King’s Forest.

  Tamas crossed over a hill, upon which he turned to look back toward the city rooftops still barely visible in the distance. He contemplated the view for several minutes, wondering about his past and his future, examining the web of choices and actions that had taken him this far in life and trying to predict those which would take him even further.

  His eye was caught by a small group of figures a couple of miles off across the farms and rolling hills, following his same dirt track. The village of Huntshire was further down the road. Not more than a dozen houses all told, but it seemed their likely destination.

  He continued on his journey, soon leaving the dirt path for a barely perceptible trail through the trees that took him down into a glen just outside the official borders of the King’s Forest. The cottage at the end of the trail was disheveled and falling apart. Weeds grew around the doorway and the thatched roof looked ready to cave in.

  He hitched his horse for long enough to check on the house. It had belonged to his parents since long before he was born. His father had passed eight years ago and his mother not long after, but he liked to keep the old place for when he was off campaign. He suspected he would be spending far more time here than he’d planned over the next few months.

  He swept the cobwebs out of the rafters and brought in enough firewood to last him for the weekend. Once he was done he rode his horse another mile through the woods, following a path that only he knew.

  The glade was a wide meadow in the forest, flat as a city street and almost three hundred yards from one end to the other. Tamas walked the length of it, the brittle fall grass crackling beneath his feet, and set up a number of cans and old newspapers with faces drawn upon them.

  Back by the close end of the glade, he sprinkled a charge worth of powder on his tongue before loading his pistol. He closed his eyes, listening to the chirp and rustle of the forest, letting anger flow out of him. He put his fist in the small of his back, then opened his eyes.

  He drew, leveled his arm, and pulled the trigger, all in the space of a heartbeat.

  A normal pistol had an effective range of not much further than ten yards. Anything beyond was wildly inaccurate and likely not even to make it to the target.

  Unless you were a powder mage.

  Tamas’s sorcery lit the powder still in his kit at his belt, transferring the energy with his mind, adding it to the strength of the powder that had been loaded in the barrel of his pistol. The bullet soared through the air. Ten yards. Fifty. A hundred. Two hundred.

  His sorcery focused and pushed the bullet onwards, allowing for less powder. He nudged the flight of it with his mind, correcting slightly for wind and the inaccuracy of the pistol itself. At three hundred yards it connected with a newspaper, shearing straight through the name of Duke Linz on the second page.

  Tamas nodded to himself. It was a good shot. In the city he was always limited by the length of the military ranges, and practicing out on some farm or another always attracted attention. It had been too long since his last attempt, and he was worried he had grown rusty.

  He only wished his shooting range was longer.

  He began to load the pistol again, already envisioning the next target. An old empty peach can, stamped with the portrait of a peach on the front. He aimed to take off the peach stem.

  Deep in his thoughts, Tamas barely noticed the crunch of boots in the leaves off in the forest. He paused, wondering if his ears had played a trick on him.

  It was a very slight sound. Someone used to moving stealthily was on the approach, their boots barely stirring the leaves. A normal person would not have heard them. But his mage senses picked up the slightest movements, and he swiftly finished loading his pistol.

  He couldn’t be sure if there was only one of them. He remembered the figures following him down the dirt track and cursed himself. He should have given
them more heed. He pictured them again, deciding that there had been five.

  He pulled his carbine down from his saddle and checked to be sure it was still loaded, then loaded and primed his rifle, leaning both weapons against a nearby tree. He took up a position behind his horse. The forest was dense here, and he was standing out in the open. They would see him well before he could see them.

  Reaching outward with his mage senses, he felt for black powder. No one nearby was carrying any.

  Whoever they were, they had come prepared for a powder mage. Had Duke Linz sent them? Or perhaps this was the Privileged cabal making good on their threat? Maybe neither party wanted to wait for the results of Tamas’s hearing.

  Tamas crouched down, listening carefully for the approach of his assailant. The rustle of the leaves drew closer and Tamas leveled his pistol. He thought he saw a movement among the trees, a flash of light blue.

  “How the pit did you know I was here?” a voice called.

  Tamas lowered his pistol. Glancing suspiciously at the surrounding woods, he stood. “I could hear you from a hundred yards.”

  “No one is that good.”

  “I’m not no one.”

  Erika ja Leora emerged from the forest a few moments later. She wore an outfit much like the one she’d worn to the duel the previous week; pants with a loose blue jacket and riding gloves, though she now wore a greatcoat and bicorn to cover it all. She wore a small sword and stiletto at her belt, but had no pistol or musket.

  “You’re very stealthy,” Tamas said. “You move quieter than I could have in all these leaves.” Plenty of nobles learned to hunt, Tamas noted, which required a light step, but not a lot of them had real talent as woodsmen. For Erika to almost sneak up on him was impressive.

  “I was raised in forests like these, just on the other side of the mountains to the south,” Erika said. “You’re in a powder trance, aren’t you? That’s the only way you could have heard me.”

  Tamas tapped his kit where he kept his prepared powder charges.

  Erika licked her lips and eyed the kit, and Tamas wondered just how much experience she had with powder. It was said that the few powder mages in Kez who avoided the culls were men and woman with rank and connections, and that even they had to be forsworn of the powder, taking an oath before the king that they would never touch the stuff or even fire a gun. It made him wonder why she was so eager to learn to use her powers.

  Tamas put his pistol in his belt. “I suppose I should ask why you followed me out here?”

  “I want you to train me.”

  “I told you no.”

  “And I think you should reconsider.”

  “Why? Because you followed me into the middle of nowhere? That seems awfully foolish for any woman, let alone one of your station.”

  “I left my guards halfway between here and the cottage.”

  Tamas frowned at her. “Guards, or chaperones?”

  “I’m not that young,” Erika protested. “If they were chaperones, they wouldn’t have stayed where I told them when I went into the woods to speak with a dangerous man.” The corner of her mouth went up, and Tamas could have sworn she was flirting with him.

  “Why are you so eager to learn?” Tamas asked, getting control of himself. He could not let his guard down. Especially not with the young, attractive heir to a duchy.

  “So that I can be stronger. Faster. Better than everyone else.”

  Reasons similar to why Tamas had taught himself to use his powers. But he had done so by necessity. She didn’t need that. Was this some passing fancy to a noble’s daughter? “Is that all?” Tamas asked.

  “All that you need to know.”

  “I won’t train you,” he said. She was holding something back, but that wasn’t his concern. For the safety of them both, he could not become involved with her.

  She seemed to ignore his statement. “What happened to ‘my lady?’”

  “I won’t train you, my lady.”

  “No, no. Don’t correct yourself. I’m curious, do you drop these pretenses when you go off alone?”

  “I’m not sure what you mean.” Tamas steeled himself, unsure as to whether he should be offended.

  “I think you do. I’ve heard cousins speak as if commoners are another race entirely. As if their subservience is part of the natural order. But you, out here, seem to defy that.”

  “Nature has nothing to do with it,” Tamas blurted before he could stop himself.

  “Go on.”

  “I shouldn’t.”

  “Go on, please.”

  Tamas knew he was treading dangerous waters. No matter how forward thinking this young woman might be, she was still a noble. “Nature,” he said, “would not see one man or woman above another by right of birth. That is earned. And the duty of those who earn such a right is to protect those that cannot protect themselves.”

  Erika paced the edge of the glade, watching Tamas through half-closed eyes. It reminded him of a big cat he’d seen once in a Gurlish shah’s private zoo. He wondered if he was the meat.

  “You say these things as if you mean to do something about it,” Erika said.

  “Change can only be affected from the top.”

  “And?”

  “And I intend to be field marshal someday.” Tamas could hardly believe that he’d said those words. Not here, not to her. He’d never spoken them aloud before to anyone he thought would matter.

  Erika stopped pacing, a smile half-formed on her lips. “I’ll fight you for it.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Fight me. A duel.” She removed a pair of wooden balls from her pocket. “I have two blossoms here. We’ll fight to the first touch. If I win, you’ll agree to train me when it’s convenient for us both. I won’t interfere with your campaigns or the rest of your life. If you win, I’ll leave you alone. You’ll never have to see me again.”

  “I’ve seen you fight,” Tamas said. “I know you’re better than me.”

  “But you’re faster. Your powder trance and the fact you know how to use it gives you a clear advantage.”

  Tamas conceded the point. “Even if I thought I’d win, why would I agree when I’ve already refused to teach you?”

  “I give you my word that you’ll be free of me if you win. And because you’ve been looking at my chest and ass every time you think you can get away with it.”

  Tamas blanched. “You …” he snatched the wooden blossom from her fingers and fixed it to the tip of his small sword, his cheeks warm. He discarded his pistol and took up a position with his off-hand balanced to one side. “If that’s the case,” he said when he’d found his tongue, “Then why would I want to lose?”

  Erika smiled and crossed to Tamas. He felt his cheeks warm further as he felt a tug on his belt, and he dare not look down. A moment later she stepped away holding one of his powder charges. She split the end with her fingers and licked the granules off her thumb. Not nearly as much as he’d imbibed, but it was enough for any powder mage to get a buzz. “Shall we begin?”

  “Whenever you’re ready.”

  Tamas knew he was fast. He had fought hundreds of men, both in duels and on the battlefield. In a full powder trance he could carve through half a dozen men in the blink of an eye and carry on with a charge, gore dripping from his blade. He’d always lacked finesse, but what he lacked he made up for in speed and strength.

  It was different fighting a duel. He knew this. He had lost a few of those duels because of his own overconfidence. But he didn’t think that would be a problem now.

  He leapt forward, determined to end this quickly. His sword was a blur, flashing in a shaft of sunlight.

  He barely felt the gentle tap of his blade being parried to one side before the wooden blossom on Erika’s sword smacked him in the throat hard enough to leave him choking. He stumbled back, clutching at his throat, bewildered.

  “Predictable and sloppy,” Erika said clinically. “You can be as fast as lightning and a good duelist wil
l still beat you. How about this; you teach me to shoot and to use my powers, and I’ll teach you how to fence. Deal?”

  Tamas had never been so easily beaten in his life. He tried to cough out a reply.

  “Excellent,” she said. “I have time this afternoon. Let us begin.”

  Three weeks after his first visit to the Iron King, Tamas was summoned once more to Skyline Palace.

  The summons was more immediate—that very evening—and Tamas wondered how the king’s people knew he was in the city, or that he had been in Budwiel last time. Snow had fallen on the city but the palace and its gardens seemed to have been missed by the storm. The bushes were wrapped for the winter and the smaller fountains drained, the gardens much quieter than his last visit.

  Inside the palace he was led past the royal chambers and into the king’s billiards room. Like all the rooms in the palace it had vaulted ceilings. The walls were red, the floors black marble, and the light provided by gas lanterns at regular intervals.

  Manhouch studied the single billiards table in the middle of the room. He stood on the opposite side from Tamas, a cue held lightly in both hands. He did not look up when Tamas was quietly introduced by one of the royal concubines.

  Tamas dropped to one knee ten feet from the table. “My lord summoned me?”

  “Yes, he did,” the Iron King said distantly. “You may stand.”

  Tamas adopted an attentive stance and wondered whether this would be a repeat of the last time. Was this another visit to annoy the royal cabal? Or was this finally something else?

  Perhaps he’d changed his mind about helping Tamas with his hearing?

  Manhouch slowly paced around the table, squinting at the one red and two white ivory balls. He tapped the end of the cue gently in one hand before he stopped and lined up a shot. The cue ball ricocheted along the flat walls of the table a dozen times, brushing the other two with each carom, barely moving them.

  It was the type of shot that would have won him the night at any officer’s club.

  Last visit Tamas had come away thinking that, despite the cabal sorceries that kept him young, the king seemed his advanced age. Slow, impatient, perhaps weakened by age. But now, watching him prowl around the table, his eyes focused, step light, Tamas reconsidered that opinion.