A Kingdom Besieged (9 page)

T
HE HERALDS BLEW THEIR TRUMPETS
.

The entire court turned and bowed as the King of Roldem entered, escorting his wife to their twin thrones at the far end of the great hall of the palace.

The hall was bedecked in the royal colours, large banners of powder blue with golden trim, featuring the dolphin crest of the royal house. The King’s personal guard likewise wore tabards of the same colours, but the rest of the evening’s finery was a riot of different hues.

In years past the fashion of the court had gone through a phase Jim Dasher thought of as ‘drab’. Muted grey and black attire for the men and deep, dark colours for the women’s gowns, but this season those who decided such things had decreed that bright festive colours would be the choice. Jim felt a little odd in a brilliant green tunic and yellow leggings. He prayed that trousers would return to fashion soon; he disliked tights.

His black boots were ankle-high and the most valued item he wore; despite their fashionable appearance they were durable and versatile, just as useful for clambering over rooftops without slipping as for slogging through the sewers, since they could be cleaned with a simple wipe of a cloth.

Jim hadn’t clambered over a rooftop or slogged through a sewer for a few years, but some habits were hard to break. He glanced around the room.

Young Lord Henry stood next to Ty Hawkins, while Talwin Hawkins was in conversation with a minor Keshian noble. Jim made a note to ask Tal what the Keshian had wanted to speak of. He knew that war was almost certainly coming and he knew that every agent of Kesh in the Kingdom Sea region would be gathering every scrap of information out there, as were his own agents, some fifteen of which were currently on this island.

Jim kept his frustration buried: to the casual onlooker he would be another minor Kingdom noble come to the court of Roldem for personal or political gain, but one hardly worth more than a cursory examination despite his famous grandfather. At this point in his career, Jim knew he was known to his enemies, who were many, and appeared transparent to those who weren’t. This was as he wished it, for as long as the pretence was kept up, no harm would come to him when he appeared openly at court. It was when he vanished from sight and emerged among the shadows that murder would begin.

Jim moved among the crowd making his way slowly towards the throne. He could expect to be presented to the King in about an hour, some time just before the Champion of the Masters’ Court was presented.

He studied young Ty Hawkins, involved in an animated conversation with Henry conDoin. The King of the Isles’ distant cousin listened with a smile as his opponent of the previous day told a tale.

It was on young men such as these that the fate of the Kingdom of the Isles, and perhaps all of Triagia, would turn, Jim knew. Capable young men who were free of the corruption of politics and greed.

Ty was problematic, because his father was a Kingdom noble in name only. That fiction had been created by the Conclave to employ Tal as a weapon for the Conclave’s service, and it gave him entrance to certain venues in the Kingdom of the Isles, just as his rank as past Champion of the Masters’ Court gave it to him here in Roldem, but Talwin Hawkins was a grudging servant of the Conclave at best and no servant at all at worst. Still, keeping him at least as an ally would serve, if the son could be captured, thought Jim. And if the need arose, Jim had the power to make that false patent of nobility a real one. Not that Tal needed it, as he was becoming rich beyond the dreams of the mountain boy he had once been, but it might prove useful to turn his son into a Kingdom noble some day. In Roldem they would both have status as Champions of the Masters’ Court, but neither would achieve rank. And as Jim knew rank, as well as privilege, had its uses.

Now it was Henry’s turn to tell a tale. Jim had no doubt both stories were being inflated to bolster the young men’s standing; they stood like two young roosters with their chests puffed out, seeing who could crow loudest at daybreak. One day they’d be bitter rivals or like brothers, and only fate would determine which it would be.

Jim looked away from the throne and felt his heart sink. Making a beeline for him was the Kingdom of the Isles’ ambassador to Roldem, his excellency Lord John Ravenscar; and on his arm was none other than the Lady Franciezka Sorboz.

‘My lord,’ said the ambassador, fixing Jim with a sceptical look. ‘I was unaware you were in Roldem,’ he said. It was customary for Kingdom nobles to make themselves known to the ambassador upon arriving on the island.

‘Apologies, your excellency,’ said Jim. ‘The press of business caused me to be remiss in my duty.’

‘You know the Lady Franciezka, I believe,’ said the ambassador. The sight of the portly bureaucrat, resplendent in a maroon silk surcoat, white ruffled suit, and white leggings made Jim wish even more fervently for the return of men’s trousers to this court, for he looked like nothing more than a fat-bellied, spindly-legged turkey in those hose.

Franciezka, on the other hand, looked magnificent in whatever she wore, Jim knew from experience. She also looked magnificent wearing nothing at all, which Jim also knew from experience. They had been lovers on several occasions, and she had tried to kill him twice, for purely professional reasons. She was one of the King of Roldem’s deadliest agents and ran the equivalent of Jim’s intelligence service, the Secret Police of Roldem.

She had the face of a girl ten years younger, a fact that had enabled her to disguise herself as a child when needed; she could look the part of a girl of fifteen or less or a crone of eighty years. She had a slender body bordering on the boyish, except for a round backside which Jim had always had a weakness for, but he knew her body to be as strong as a rapier’s blade, deadly despite being slight.

Pale blonde hair which was almost white in the day’s sunlight framed delicate features. Large blue eyes turned upon him as she said, ‘Why, Lord James, I’m almost as aggrieved as the ambassador at your not letting me know you were in the city.’

She wore a brilliant yellow gown with green silk trim set with pearls of white and black, and a series of gold-threaded tassels hung at the hem, sweeping the floor as she moved. Like the other ladies’ gowns this evening, her décolletage was cut low, the bodice was lifted, and the waist cinched. Jim wondered how women breathed in these outfits. The skirt flared out slightly to the sides and behind, with a daring slit up the front to knee height.

Jim felt some pleasure in noting that the colour of their clothing was complementary.

With a smile, Jim said, ‘I find that surprising, my lady. I would have assumed someone you knew might have mentioned I was in town.’

‘Oh, you underestimate how hard you can be to find, at times, my lord,’ she said, batting her long fair lashes in an almost theatrical way that seemed to captivate Lord Ravenscar and annoy Jim in equal measure.

Jim found himself wondering what Franciezka was after. She was not one given to idle banter or social small talk unless it was part of a ploy. She was an important figure at the royal court of Roldem, but few knew her real role. She was a minor lady-in-waiting to the Princess Stephané, a tutor-cum-surrogate elder sister. Certainly, Queen Gertrude couldn’t have found a better instructor to show the younger woman how to spot men of bad intent from across the room. But this was the sort of event Franciezka was usually more than content to avoid.

That gave Jim pause for a moment to glance towards the thrones. Three sons and a daughter and all ripe for state marriage. The two older princes, Constantine and Albér, were in attendance, both wearing the uniforms of the Roldem navy, Constantine an admiral and his younger brother a captain. Grandprey wore the dress uniform of an army general, and it was considered by most that he was the most able commander among the three. Some day his brother would be king and Grandy, as he was known, would be his Lord Marshall, while Albér would command the fleet as Grand Admiral.

Constantine was the prize, for his wife would some day be queen, but after him came Stephané. As the King’s youngest and only daughter, she commanded a special place in her father’s heart, and he would wed her carefully as much for her happiness as his kingdom’s security. No lesser prince of Kesh or an Eastern Kingdom minor noble would take her leagues away from her parents. She would probably end up married to a noble of Roldem, possibly a Kingdom noble, but one who would live here, close to the palace, for that was the King’s pleasure.

‘Those two boys don’t have a clue, do they?’ asked Franciezka.

‘My lady?’ asked Lord Ravenscar.

Jim smiled, knowing exactly what she meant. ‘No, but it’s their night – particularly Ty’s, though Henry having been forced to withdraw due to injury makes it his night as well. Let them dream of a beautiful princess for one night.’

And Jim was forced to admit the Princess had become a true beauty, which surprised many. Her mother had been judged a handsome woman in her youth, but never a head-turner. She had been the Grand Duchess of Maladon to the north. The Duchy of Maladon and Semrick had strong ties to the Isles, but her father had wished for strong ties to Roldem. So the marriage had been arranged. The King and Queen had come to care deeply for one another, and were temperamentally well suited as a couple.

Roldem’s position in the Sea of Kingdoms made it a unique power. Its navy wasn’t as large as Kesh’s or that of the Kingdom of the Isles, but it was the best, ship for ship. The royal court of Roldem had seen to that, employing the finest and most innovative shipwrights and ship-fitters in the world. Like the navy, the army of Roldem was a crack outfit, man for man the equal of any, though far smaller than either of its more powerful neighbours.

Roldem’s power derived from its history: it was the first of the truly great courts on the continent of Triagia, exporting a great deal of its culture to the Kingdom of the Isles and the Eastern Kingdoms. Even Great Kesh, while an older nation, didn’t reach the heights of art and science that Roldem had for years after consolidating its far-flung empire.

And Roldem’s position had been enhanced when it moved in a combined assault on the Duchy of Olasko to thwart the evil plans of the mad necromancer, Leso Varen, resulting in the overthrow of Kaspar, Duke of Olasko. The installation of Duke Varen Rodoski, a cousin of Roldem’s king, brought Olasko into Roldem as its biggest duchy. While the Kingdom of the Isles muttered about this, Jim knew it was the only outcome that could have kept peace in the region. Besides, it made Roldem a better ally for the Isles in the fight that was surely coming.

Franciezka laughed. ‘I suppose there’s no harm in dreaming, is there, my lord?’

Lord Ravenscar looked completely lost as to exactly what they were talking about. ‘I . . . ah, of course,’ he agreed.

‘Come, Excellency,’ said Franciezka, ‘let us have a cup of wine and you can tell me the court gossip from Rillanon.’

Obviously glad to have her to himself, Lord Ravenscar bowed slightly to Lord James, than began to lead the lovely woman away. Franciezka let a green silken handkerchief slip out of her hand. It fluttered to the ground at Jim’s feet. At a carefully-judged moment, she turned and said, ‘Oh, dear. A moment, your excellency.’ She turned back before the ambassador could see what was happening to retrieve the handkerchief which Jim had just picked up. Smiling, she said softly, ‘My townhouse. Midnight. Come alone and don’t be seen.’

Jim handed over the dropped kerchief without a word. As he watched her retreat from him, he wondered whether this would be a social or a political call. Either way, he conceded, it would prove interesting.

Jim reached the thrones just as the two combatants were bowing and backing away. He had misjudged his status and had been presented after the two finalists in the Masters’ Court, not before them, and arrived just as the herald was announcing, ‘Earl Murroy, Envoy Plenipotentiary without portfolio from His Majesty, the King of the Isles, Lord James Jamison, Baron of the Prince’s Court.’

The last title was the reason Ravenscar and others who served as resident ambassadors disliked Jim so much; he had the King’s authority – really, his grandfather, the Duke of Rillanon’s – to do pretty much as he saw fit when it came to any political situation on the Sea of Kingdoms. It tended to eclipse their sun just a bit.

Jim moved forward, bowed before the entire royal family and muttered his wishes for their good health and long life. He nodded with a smile as the King muttered something pleasant in return, then departed.

As he did so, he noticed some familiar figures also approaching: four young men, two escorting young women. The two who escorted the women were as unalike as two men could be. One was slender, with dark hair and eyes and the quick moves of an athletic fencer. The other was red-headed, broad of shoulder and looked like a brawler. He grinned widely at the sight of Jim Dasher. ‘Jim! We didn’t know you were here.’

Jim made his greetings, first to the ladies who returned his genuine smile. Of all the people in Roldem he genuinely enjoyed spending time with, he now was in the presence of the majority. ‘A moment,’ said the red-headed man. ‘Matters of court protocol.’

The herald announced, ‘Your majesties, the Earl Servan and the Countess Lauretta.’ The dark-haired man bowed. ‘Uncle, Aunt, to your good health.’

The King smiled. ‘It is good to have you in court, as always, Nephew.’

As they moved away, the herald sang out, ‘Sir Jonathan Killaroo and the Lady Adella.’ They were greeted and moved on. The two single men were introduced as ‘Sir Tad’, and ‘Sir Zane’, and after they had made their obeisances the group continued with Jim in tow to a large buffet where food was being portioned out to the guests.

Sir Jonathan spoke softly in his wife’s ear, then kissed her cheek and moved off to speak to Jim in relative privacy. ‘Any word?’ asked Jim.

‘Nothing,’ said Jommy, which was the name by which the one-time street tough from the distant continent of Novindus was known to his friends. ‘The Conclave’s agents are just as silent as your own.’