Suffered from a nasty migraine this weekend + Friday, still not feeling well, but writing waits for no man. Hope you had a better time!
Stephan awoke in his chamber at the keep. Not that of the Marshal of the East, since he believed himself a temporary replacement, but in the bedroom the late marshal had assigned to him. He had decided the previous evening, making a political statement among other things. Not the least of which was his unwillingness to spend the night in the room of a recently deceased couple.
For a breath, he did not move.
He lay on his back and traced the dark lines of the ceiling beams with his eyes, their intricate carvings of vines and leaves holding his attention. A pigeon was crooning just outside the window, and Stephan enjoyed his moment of peace, his mind remaining blissfully disconnected from reality.
Then, yesterday hit him like a charging destrier, hoof first. He was Marshal of the East.
He was lost. Out of the shallow waters he wanted to splash in, and swimming in the depths he didn’t even know existed a month ago. Worse, there was no agenda, no lesson plan, and Stephan had no idea what he was expected to do.
He swung his legs out of the bed, the stone floor cold against his bare feet. He got up and donned his ordinary recruit uniform. His fingers moved by habit over coarse wool and familiar buttons to confirm everything was in order. The ritual grounded him. He glanced down and found the abominable, foppish shoes.
He stared at them, thinking if anyone would notice if he threw them into the fireplace, then just kicked them under the bed. Hopefully, nobody would find them. His old boots awaited next to the door, and once he had them on, he was ready for the day.
When he opened the door, the corridor smelled faintly of beeswax and herbs.
“Good morning, Sir,” the late marshal’s servant greeted him, the same man who escorted him when he had first arrived. “Would you like breakfast, kaaf, tea?”
“Breakfast and kaaf, please.” Stephan had never tasted the expensive drink before, but if they offered it so casually, who was he to refuse? “Do I have an adjutant or someone I can discuss my schedule with?”
“I’ll have Captain Ernest Bellas join you in the study after your meal, Sir. Do you require anything else?” The man’s composure unsettled Stephan. His lord had been butchered not twelve hours ago. Yet his tone did not waver a bit.
“What’s your name?” Stephan disliked the prospect of addressing a man thrice his age as ‘you’ or ‘servant’.
“Dorian, Sir.”
“Thank you, Dorian, could you please take me to a small room where I can have my breakfast alone?”
“Certainly, Sir.” The man bowed and led the way down the stairs, not giving a hint of curiosity or desire to know why Stephan wished to isolate himself.
Halfway down, Dorian ordered food from a passing servant, then showed Stephan what would be his private dining room. The humble chamber was small by keep standards, with a narrow window overlooking the city.
Fifteen minutes later, Stephan was eating aged sheep’s cheese, crisp hot bread, garlic, and fresh carrots. He ate mechanically, barely tasting his food, when the door opened with a discreet click.
Dorian entered bearing a porcelain cup so fine, light shone through its rim. The little work of art was white, painted with delicate blue flowers curling along its sides. Dorian placed it down with care, revealing a black liquid with brownish-gold foam covering half its surface.
“Thank you,” Stephan said.
The man bowed and left.
Stephan leaned forward and inhaled. His nostrils flared as he enjoyed the pleasant smell of kaaf. Then he took a sip and gagged, nearly throwing the priceless cup and spitting the bitter foulness scalding his tongue.
Why would anyone ever drink this? He pushed the cup away and finished his breakfast. Once done, he left the room, finding Dorian waiting just outside.
“You could have waited inside,” Stephan said, embarrassed that the man was standing just outside the door as he ate. He didn’t have to share his meal, but at least he could have come in and taken a seat. Perhaps drink the vile kaaf.
Dorian didn’t seem to mind, though. “That’s my job, Sir. Are you ready to meet Captain Ernest, Sir?”
“Yes,” Stephan nodded, “and is there any chance I can have cornbread for breakfast instead of the regular one?”
Dorian didn’t blink. “Naturally, Sir.”
Five minutes later, Stephan sat at the desk in the marshal’s study; his study. Captain Ernest Bellas stood at attention before him. Broad-shouldered. Dark hair clipped short. His armor was immaculate; even the leather straps looked freshly oiled.
“Good morning, Captain,” Stephan returned the salute. He searched his memory for anything distinct about the man and found only fragments from last night’s chaos, needlessly wearing armor to a party being one of them.
“I will be perfectly frank with you,” Stephan steepled his hands, “I have no idea what I’m doing. If I had free rein, I would go to the library and read books, train with whoever is the best teacher, and learn holy magic from Lord Silas, but I have a feeling that, as the temporary marshal, I have other obligations.”
Captain Ernest’s face flickered, quickly stomping out a hint of a smile before it touched his lips.
“Sir, your growth is a very high priority for all of us. I could go through reports, the marshal’s incoming correspondence, and anything else, then summarize it for your benefit. That should reduce your administrative work to less than an hour a day. Various captains can perform inspections; there is no need for you to get personally involved.”
Stephan nodded. Delegating wasn’t a bad plan, assuming he could form a trustworthy team. “What about Lord Martin Harrington? Does he have aptitude for these kinds of tasks? Was his father grooming him as a successor?”
“Yes, Sir.” Captain Ernest kept a blank face. Suspiciously blank.
“You dislike the idea?” Stephan said, surprised he could pick it out so clearly when the man pointedly made no expressions.
“It’s not my place to comment, Sir.” And yet he was. “Lord Martin is a fine Knight with a good mission record. He is competent, brave, but too young to be a true elite.”
He’s older than me, though. How do you feel about that, Captain? But Stephan kept his thoughts private.
“He doesn’t need to be one to carry out inspections.” Stephan had a feeling he was going to have problems even where he hadn’t expected them, and given the circumstances, he didn’t wish to catch a whiff of internal strife.
“That is true, Sir, but he accompanied his father to those inspections making the same face conscripts make when drafted to the battlefield.”
Stephan nodded. He didn’t want to argue. “Invite him here today. Do I have an agenda or something I need to follow?”
“Yes, Lord Marshal had one, Sir. Today he was supposed to meet with Lord Silas, and Lord Silas wishes to speak with you. As for other scheduled appointments, they got canceled because of the unfortunate happenings last night. While not required, I believe everyone would appreciate it if you attended the funerals at noon.”
Right, there’s that. Stephan wasn’t looking forward to the event. Deep down, he was glad he had missed Bernard’s sendoff to his final journey.
“What about the upcoming siege? Do we have the enemy numbers? Supplies, allies, the standing force, number of conscripts…” Stephan kept listing, barely scratching the surface of all the things he needed to know. “Anyone I can talk to about that?”
“There haven’t been any sieges since I was knighted, Sir. The kingdom has enjoyed an epoch of peace more than one hundred years long. But historically, any large happenings meant a war council, whether a full or partial one should be up to your discretion. The full war council means all officers, civilian representatives, and any party you find relevant enough to extend an invitation to, Sir.”
He imagined a hall filled with Knights, nobles, civilians; all eyes on him. Waiting. The prospect intimidated him more than a little. At least Lord Silas should offer some good insight.
“Right, one more thing, Sir.” The captain straightened. “Her Majesty, the Queen, asked for an hour of your time to go through certain matters I am not privy to.”
Stephan nodded. “In that case, we will organize a preliminary war council tomorrow morning. Today, we are going to handle the immediate concerns and conclude last night’s meeting. Please notify everyone that we will continue the meeting after lunch today, and I will visit Queen Eleanor once I’m done with Lord Silas. You are dismissed.”
Captain Ernest saluted and left the study without a word, but obviously excited. He should have been sad or afraid or thoughtful, and Stephan wondered what had elevated his mood.
When the door shut, the chamber seemed larger. Emptier. Stephan’s eyes lingered on the stacked maps and wooden figures before turning and speaking into the concealed hole in the wall, just behind the desk.
“Could you please tell Captain Anita I would like to see her after I’m done with the Queen? I hope I’ll manage before the funeral.”
In the mirror, Dorian bowed and headed down the stairs. Stephan watched him through the marvelous contraption, admiring the complex system as much as he once would have appreciated a particularly fine pair of shoes.
Stephan closed his eyes. This came more naturally than I expected. But military can’t be all. How did Lord Marshal run the city? How many tiny details will slip past us without the Strategist preparing for the siege?
Fortunately, he wasn’t alone.
A soft chime drew him out of his thoughts. He looked at the spy-mirror to see Lord Silas approaching.
“Thank you for coming,” Stephan said into the speaking hole. “Please come in.”
The frail, elderly Priest pushed open the heavy door with one hand before entering.
“Sir,” he nodded and stopped before Stephan’s desk.
Stephan stood and gestured toward the chair. “Please sit; we have much to discuss.”
“Yes, we do.” Silas sat, shaking his head slightly.
Stephan’s heart sank. “How bad is it? Tell me.”
“I’ll start with the benign.” Silas drew a breath and started. “The clergy is dissatisfied with you taking up the role of the Marshal of the East, even if it’s temporary. It’s a poor precedent, and while nobody claimed it was a bid for power, a few pointed out it would open such possibilities for future Paladins. When I asked for better alternatives, some suggested I should have assumed the position.”
Stephan crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat. It wasn’t a bad idea, just poorly presented. “And if you did?”
“It would set an even worse legal opening to many men less scrupulous than the Paladin.”
“And the Knights?” Stephan asked, still unsure whether to feel relaxed or disappointed.
“On your side for the most part. I say that because Cliffort has one hundred and fifty household Knights and another twenty in training or sworn to other lords. Unfortunately, I have to include Young Martin in the latter group, as his loyalty was to his father, not the Marshal of the East. I don’t think he would betray us, but his judgement is compromised. He lost a brother, a father, and a mother in a span of weeks, all of them suffering tragic fates.”
Silas closed his eyes as if he couldn’t face Stephan with what he had to say.
“I’m not the Strategist, but I can tell you that men of unknown loyalty are a liability. It would be best if they left on their own. As for what to do with those who don’t,” he shrugged, “that’s for you to decide, Lord Marshal.”
Stephan straightened in his seat. Things didn’t sound good, and Lord Silas had only covered the two factions from which Stephan had expected full support and unquestionable loyalty.
[Stephan Cobblerson, Paladin level 15
Class skills: In Living Memory XVI, Blessing of Healing II, Blessing of Arms II, Smite II, Blessing of Protection I, Inspiring Aura I, Blessing of Conviction I, Blessing of Intuition I, Blessing of Health I, Bane of Darkness I, Mercy I, Chivalry I, Holy Magic I
Attributes: Agility: 22, Charisma: 22, Composure: 25, Dexterity: 20, Endurance: 24, Intelligence: 19, Luck: 22, Perception: 21, Presence: 23, Strength: 24, Toughness: 24, Vitality: 25, Willpower: 24, Wisdom: 23]