Furious was a natural state of being for Elbana.

Sitting on her horse, in her wet armor, the padded gambeson chafing at her neck. She watched as the carriages and wagons rolled toward where she sat in the shelter of a small stand of hackberry trees by the side of the Royal Road. Once the caravan had passed her position, she would ride ahead along the edge of the stone paved road that wound through the northern woodlands and connected these parts of Myrl’s Kingdom, and wait for the advanced rider’s reports of the road ahead.

This was her main concern on this journey. Keeping Myrl alive, not allowing his bad decisions to endanger him, and to see him safely to the capitol. To the Royal Palace in Ghlow. Elbana had done everything to give him the best of possible choices, but the man kept coming up with new options, and insisting upon them. This only made her mood worsen as they drove forward into their third day on the road.

The rain hadn’t helped. She had thought it might; she had thought that the young King might take her advice and spend a day in one of the towns they had passed. Stay at one of the finer inns in the region. But no.

And her mood had darkened every day since their departure from Jibiril Keep. The Honor Guard that rode with them, for the King’s protection, as well as to cow anyone trying to waylay them, had been a generally undisciplined group of men on that first day of travel. Master Elbana, her armor displaying her rank, had been hard on them during that first ride. Then she had learned that the young man sent along with them as their “captain” was an under officer, sent on his first field detail.

She had been furious.

Then she spoke with the young man. He had been respectful and earnest in a way Elbana had not anticipated. She had been taken aback by his sincerity, and resolve to do better with “His Men.” She could see he meant it. Especially when he had asked her for her advice on how to reign in the unruly men. She had given him her very straightforward assessment, and he had taken it all in with quiet resolve. It was like seeing a puppy trying to salute.

That first night on the road, then men had been horrified to learn they would NOT be making camp. And then that they would NOT be descending upon any of a dozen of the roadside towns they had been passing.

“You will ride. And when you are off rotation, you will ride ‘in picket.’” the young captain, Vogel, had told them. By dawn of the second day, none of the men had been rowdy. None had complained.

By that midmorning, when they did finally break for a short camp, half of the men fell into preparing their own unit camps, while the other half picketed the horses, and secured all of the carriages and wagons. The men took heart in seeing Donk’s huge form making the camp kitchen ready to feed everyone. Guard rotations were called out, and the men fell-in to either their duty, or their turn at sleeping.

The royals complained nonstop.

At first they complained at not riding with the King in His carriage, or that he would not be riding in theirs. One or the other, they complained. Lord Ashe spent his time dealing with those people.

Then, when they drove through that first night, they complained. Lord Ashe, his face a gray mask of indifference, listened to the party and all of their complaints. They may as well have been making demands of the Gods of the Weather, for all the good it did them.

The Duke and Duchess were cordial to the new King that first camp, asking him, politely, why they rode so hard. Why had they camped off the road HERE, rather than staying at an inn, or with the mayor of one of the larger towns? Why did the King insist on such speed? Wouldn’t their own carriage be more comfortable to His Majesty? Didn’t his cook bring a different fare for the King and his guests, than he planned to feed the men of his guard? Oh my! That certainly is a lot of barley, maybe his majesty would allow them to send some of their men to the closest town for some more genteel offerings?

She had been furious. They were the kind of parasites Elbana had hated since her youth in Fastel. A knife needed to be in good repair, and be kept sharp to remain a knife. Gems just made a handle hard to hold, and made a hilt prone to breaking when you needed it most.

This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

And she had trained Myrl to be a knife when those around him would be pretty trinkets.

She could have killed the two simpering ninnies where they sat. And their Royal Herald, who stood behind them. Elbana didn’t trust him. He wore too much soft fabric for anyone who worked for a living. She watched him closely since the pudgy old man had arrived. She knew the pudgy old men were almost the absolute worst sorts to trust. Where threats were concerned, they were second in Elbana’s mind only to hard women.

Always trust a hard woman to do what she wants. What she thought needs doing. This Duchess Kalenia might be that kind of woman. And Elbana absolutely would not let her push her charge around for even a moment.

But, Myrl had just smiled at the two, and assured them that he had things well in hand.

Day two of their travels had gone about the same, but slightly more smoothly, as the men of the honor guard had been brought into line by Vogel. Though she had overheard him using the threat of herself to the men. That made her smile, if briefly.

Last night she had finally confronted Lord Ashe about their plans, and the man had told her that Myrl wanted to confront the Lady Yggrel, Duchess of Fastel. She knew they were headed to Fastel.

Elbana had hated the very idea of it. She knew Fastel. She had grown up in Fastel. It would either be relentlessly boring, or it would be a bloodbath. She approved of one of these options. She had smiled at the idea of dragging “Duchess” Yggrel from her castle and throwing her bodily into one of the spiked motes of the castle itself.

When Lord Ashe had made it clear that the king, …that Myrl ... would be taking the lead in all of their dealings with Yggrel, Elbana had almost broken her very carefully maintained composure to tell Lord Ashe exactly how bad of an idea this would be. Ashe had stared at her for longer than she had thought a man could stare without blinking, or possibly even breathing, before he told her in his deep, almost soothing, but flat voice that their King was planning to “make an example.”

Elbana felt a single droplet of water slowly run down the back of her neck, and trace its way down her spine before the fabric of her clothing beneath her armor stopped its motion.

Furious was Elbana’s preferred way of dealing with the world, and this week had given her many opportunities to swim those red, simmering waters.

She had attempted to be “pleasant” once. And found the experience left her wanting. If anything, being pleasant had caused her more trouble than anything. “Happy” was transitory by its nature and depending upon other factors to grind itself into focus through a crowd of other effervescent and transitory states of being. Anger, well, she could simmer in her anger for days without ever finding an outlet for it all, anger was a base, as Donk would say, not a meal in itself, just something to build a better meal upon. Furious was where she was most comfortable.

Furious let her get the worst aspects of her work done. Furious allowed her to forget… other things.

“Sad” happened when she had, on those rare occasions, failed in whatever task she had set for herself. As yet, she had not failed her prince, nor her duty to teach and protect him. Occasionally “boredom” was a possibility. She found those moments dreadful.

Some people would mistake being bored with “Being at Peace.” Her father had taught her Elbana that “Peace” was when those around you wanted what you had, but you were too strong for them to even try to take it. Peace was either a state of stalemate, or was the reward you earned when you closed your eyes that last time.

But, fury! Honest to All Holy Light FURY! Real tear-strips-of-flesh-from-morons fury. That she could always count on, and knew where she stood with a cloud of fury buoying her up and carrying her through her day.

Being the martial trainer and primary protector of the former prince had been a challenge. Now she had the added burden of a “King.” And so far, he was constantly making every choice he could make … wrong. It was absolutely infuriating. It made her work harder to see that he was safe.

Now… She watched the last of the supply wagons, followed by three ranks of rear stationed honor guard riding smartly past her position.

Elbana reached up to a branch above her head, and plucked from it a few hackberries. She popped one of the rice, sweet berries into her mouth, and looked northeast along the road to where she knew Fastel Castle was awaiting her king. She smiled at the idea of Yggrel being an example. “Wish dad could see this.” Elbana said.

She chewed a second hackberry, savoring the slight crunch of it between her teeth.

She nudged her mare into motion, saying simply “Aya, Pookie.”