Myrl moved along the corridors of the palace, headed toward the Officers’ Quarter. His steps were slow, measured. But, still, he felt as though every step was pushing him along the halls at a faster and faster rate.
He was not looking forward to the conversation he was going to have to have this morning. It had to be done, sadly.
Ashe had spent a few hours informing the young king, and his chef, who doubled as one of the young monarch’s inner circle confidants, about all he had seen, felt, and suspected about the attack that had happened just as the beautiful moon had risen over the city, and Myrl had been entertaining his guests, though not the ambassadors from Parthique. Those explanations had been awkward. they had been, to his own ears, strained and thin.
But his dinner guests either understood, or they pretended to, for the sake of politics.
And then the attacks at the docks had happened.
Again, his dinner guests had either understood, or they had pretended to as he bid them eat, drink, and enjoy the entertainments the palace had hired and provided, while the King trotted off to see what horrible thing had just happened.
Those lovely people were currently scattered into several different rooms under the supervision of a full Centus of Guards, and in a few unique cases, were being kept under heavy sedation by several of the doctors of the Palace’s Leech Hall.
The three guards who now followed on his heels were freshly installed in their duty to keep Myrl safe, and his skin fairly crawled with irritation at being crowded in such a way. It was only different from any other day’s guard rotations so far in that there were three of them, instead of just the usual two.
Ashe was being paranoid. And Donk had agreed with Ashe in the opening throws of his own Orcish stirrings of paranoia.
As much as he valued the advice he received from Elbana, Donk, and Ashe, sometimes he felt as though their concerns for him were a stifling blanket thrown over his head in the hottest, muggiest of Summer nights.
Making the last turn from the main corridor into the Eastern Wing of the palace, Myrl let his footfalls accelerate into the almost dance-like rhythm that sent his boots tapping down the short set of stairs that led to the series of personal quarters held for those Officers and High Functionaries who, mostly by necessity, lived here in the palace.
Myrl noticed that most of the staff he encountered on this trip stepped aside and quickly turned their faces down to avoid his direct gaze. He thought he must look irritated, and decided that maybe this was the right protocol for the staff to employ today. He knew that he, if given his own inclinations, would not be on this errand.
But, such things needed to be done. And the sooner the better.
Within a few hundred paces, Myrl and his trio of guards stood outside of the open doors of the Minor Dining Hall. Taking a steadying breath, Myrl stepped through to a cacophony of military officers, off duty guards, and palace functionaries all standing to attention and then bowing as their King entered the room.
Off to the right, toward the back of the large room, he could see the Master of the Treasury, Count Iolo Alrachi’s heavy, stoop shouldered form beside that of the cadaverously thin, and tall form of the Kingdom Exchequer, Count Hask Burgen. Myrl briefly wondered if the two men were lovers; they may argue constantly, but they were never more than a few paces from one another. Even when not at work.
As his eyes traveled over the faces of those in the room, he didn’t see the one face he had been looking for. And so did the one thing a King can get away with that most other men cannot.
He asked a question to a large group of people that showed them all that he didn’t know everything and was completely willing to let them all know it.
“Please, be at your ease. I have no intent to disrupt any of your breakfasts this morning. But, if someone could please direct me to Captain Vogel?”
The stern, and possibly tired look he knew he had on his face must have given pause to most of the Officer Corps present, because it was a few moments before a very tall young woman wearing Cavalry Lieutenant’s crossed swords at her throat gave a pair of staccato steps, followed by a clipped bow.
She then stepped forward from the table where she had been eating. “Sire.” Her voice was a sharp, loud sound in the quiet room, and cracked like a whip in its precise enunciation of each word. She was from the Eastern Borders of the Kingdom, somewhere near where the Duchy of Toodvelt met the edge of the Duchy of Fastel. “Captain Vogel had late duties to perform last night, and was expecting to have a series of training exercises later in the day today. It was my understanding that he would not be joining us this morning for breakfast, but would be here for an early lunch before he expected to roust his Centus for training maneuvers.” She made another clipped bow, but now held it.
“Thank you, Lieutenant…” He thought for a moment back to the briefings and reports he had read, and made it a question. “...Turgos?”
Through his ring, Myrl felt the woman’s burst of pride and joy that he had remembered her name correctly. The officer was practically glowing. “Sire! Yes, sire!” she now snapped in a voice that must be a terror on the battlefield.
“Lovely.” He said, though he thought that maybe he could have been more kind in how it came out. “Do you know where his quarters are located, Lieutenant?”
Her bow dropped a few inches, as she spat another clipped “SIRE!”
“Please, fetch the Captain for me, Lieutenant. As soon as possible.”
Long legs carried the officer from the room faster than Myrl expected to see in anyone not actually running, her progress as she moved past him flipped the edge of his mantle from his left shoulder.
Myrl raised an eyebrow as she sped off, and he fixed his mantle. Turning his attention back to the room, Myrl told those still standing, “Please. Take your ease.” and then he made his way to the buffet table that had a spread of the food the kitchens had sent up to this dining hall for those who lived in this wing of the palace.
He heard a shuffling of feet behind him as he purposefully prepared a small plate of food.
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‘My liege.” He didn’t recognise the deep, almost sonorous voice who spoke at his elbow. Turning his head slightly he saw one of Baison’s Herald approaching, though he stopped just out of reach of the young king. The presence of his three guards at work. The young man was thin armed and long legged, with a barrel chest, and a very wide neck beneath a squared off face with reddish hair and a short beard with a handlebar mustache.
“Please. You cannot want such poor fare. We don’t eat as well here as you eat in your own dining room, and it would be embarrassing for the chefs to hear that their scraps and orts were eaten by the king.” The young herald then flourished an extravagant bow.
Myrl turned back to the young man where he held his deep bow. He held up the small plate he had loaded with food. He glanced at the plate in his hand, and then at the room of faces turned toward him, many, indeed, looked scandalized at the thought that the king might want a few strips of ham and heavily buttered toast, and a serving of roasted buntata.
He looked at the plate.
He looked at the room of officers and courtiers.
He looked back at the herald, and then he addressed the room.
“I know my Aunt, and her husband, had a policy that had every step of the palace staff eating at higher and lower qualities than others, depending upon their station.”
Several heads nodded acknowledgement at that. Through the ring, he could feel a simmering of discontent.
“But I ended that policy the day I returned to the palace.'' He let that hang in the air a moment. “The ham you were served here this morning is the same ham that would have been served to me in my own dining room. The same toast. the same pot of rice, and the same roasted buntatas. While there are occasional little extras that the Head Chef of the Palace might put on my plate, Master Sergeant Donchaminar is under orders that the king eats what everyone else eats. And that NO ONE who works here in the palace goes home hungry after a day of work.”
The ring brought him wave after wave of heart fluttering shock at these words.
Myrl strode to the end of one of the few unoccupied tables, and with his trio of guards standing about him, turned a chair out from that table to face the room. He then speared a crispy, brown edged, roasted buntata on his dining knife and held it up to the crowd before he brought it to his mouth to take a bite.
As he chewed, he noticed several people in the room looking speculatively at their own plates.
“My lords and ladies of Rhiada, I know many of you witnessed my Aunt and her husband’s excesses. He thought to make himself King of Rhiada, rather than be content as the caretaker of the throne. And he wanted to be the kind of king that they write about in storybooks and fairytales for children. Every meal had to be some kind of feast. The food that was served to those who served him was never good enough for him to eat. He wanted his every meal to be better than what anyone else ate. He thought he was due some grand privilege far beyond what being a ruler has ever meant here in Rhiada.”
He put a piece of sausage on a piece of buttered toast. Put it in his mouth and chewed with a smile of great pleasure playing across his face. Through his ring he could feel the surprise of most of the diners present as he chewed.
He then took a large draught of his tea, and sighed in happiness. He could hear the sounds of two, maybe more sets of hard soled boots moving down the hallway outside of the dinning hall in which he now sat, and through the ring Myrl felt the confusion, irritation, and trepidation from one of those approaching.
A smug sense of anticipation ran alongside that first set of feelings. The imposing lieutenant, most likely.
Putting down his mug, he turned in his chair just as a very fatigued looking Vogel came into the room escorted by the tall cavalry lieutenant, and another officer walked along beside Vogel.
It was Master Elbana.
Her face was stoic.
But beneath that calm veneer, Myrl could feel her mild anger warring with her own dogged, trudging fatigue.
Addressing the crowd again, “Where’s that red headed herald? Did he scuttle away?”
“Here, sire!” The man was now doubly flustered, and scurried forward from where he had been sitting with others.
“Open my Court, please.”
The man stared at Myrl, his mouth slowly dropping open.
“You ARE a herald?”
‘Sire!”
“Yes. I am the king. I have now had some breakfast, and you are a herald, and I now have need of you to Open My Court.” With a minor effort of Will, he pushed his voice forward with a mild sense of command.
The red haired young man spun on his heels, almost like a marionette on strings. The man adopted a pose usually associated with performing poets about to orate an opening soliloquy of a play before a packed house of eager theater-goers.
“ATTEND ALL WHO HEAR MY WORDS! The Blessed Light of Grand Rhoona shines upon us all as thus we now open the Court of His Royal Majesty, Myrl Vac Fadric Rhiad IV, King of Rhiada! May his Light and Wisdom Bring us all Peace and Warmth in the Shelter of his Munificence!!”
The young herald looked back at Myrl nervously.
Myrl winked at the herald. Myrl whispered “Very nice. Captain Vogel, if you please.”
“His Majesty calls before Him this Day, Ansel Vogel of House Vogel, Captain of the First Capitol Royal Cavalry Guard, recently of the Fifth Cavalry Guard of Jibiril Keep Garrison!”
Myrl was a little impressed. The young herald knew the proper address of a random Captain called into Court without any prior preparations. He nodded in what he hoped was with a sense of serenity, but maintained a blank, almost stern visage.
Vogel walked toward his king, and dropped to one knee before him.
Looking directly into Vogels gray eyes, Myrl called out to his Master of Sword and Horse. “Master Elbana!”
Elbana stepped up. “Sire.” She said it calmly, but the ring told him she was mildly curious and confused.
“You have told me that Vogel here is far more capable than a Captain has any right to be.”
She raised a dark, scar crossed eyebrow. “Not in those words, but that would be the assessment I wanted to leave you with, yes, Sire.”
“Excellent. Captain Vogel.” The man’s focus sharpened. “Our city was attacked last night. The total number of dead in that attack is a hideous insult to Our city and Our people. I would see the beasts who committed such an attack brought low. And if it can be managed, brought back to Our City to stand trial. These beasts were men. And those men wounded and killed Our People. I will not have it.”
Shock moved through the crowd. Many had known “beasts” had attacked people. But now the king had just told them it had been men. And he had told them that those men would not be suffered to live.
“Ansel Vogel, You have acquitted yourself beyond the expectations of a Cavalry Captain. And so we see fit to raise you to the rank of Colonel. You shall have the command of the Capitol Cavalry Guard und Master Elbana. Do you accept this commission?”
The man bowed deeply, head almost on the stone floor. “Sire, I will be the arm that directs Your sword against those who would do Rhiada harm.”
Myrl let the silence crawl for almost a full minute. He wanted everyone present to mark this.
“Rise Colonel Vogel. Your new uniform is already being prepared by the Quartermaster’s Office. your raise will be reflected in your new station and responsibilities. This will be taken care of by the Kingdom Exchequer.”
Myrl closed his eyes, and readied himself. This would be the hard part.
“Colonel Vogel, my first command to you in your new role is to find me those who have done this, no matter who they may be, and either bring them to Justice, or bring Justice to them.”