In Service Of The King (Book 2) (23 page)

Looking down at his crimson robes, the Marshal took hold of them with cloth with both hands; the sounds of tearing cloth made the others look over at him. Tearing off the last sleeve, Hezekiah adjusted his common tunic and grimaced at the gaudy rags at his feet. With deliberate steps, he stood upon them and slowly wiped his feet. Dunner beamed.

“That’s the spirit!” he said. “Welcome back.”

As Jack led his family out the cage, Joseph strode back over to the wall of bread. Baith stood there, still firmly holding the bound, hooded bishop. Finding a loaf that looked fresher than the rest, Joseph broke off three large pieces. Walking to a wine barrel, Joseph plugged his sword into the top, cutting a large wedge out of the wooden top. Dipping the three pieces of bread into the wine, he handed them to Dunner and Hezekiah; they passed them to Jack and his wife; she knelt down, giving the soaked bread to her sons in small pieces. Jack urged her to eat.

“You must have something, Ruth,” he said, gently. “We must walk out by the tunnels. It is far; please eat...” The woman looked at him with fondness, her hollow cheeks visible even in the low light. She took of the bread and ate, though slowly. The boys finished their bread and looked for more. “Wait a bit, my son,” Jack told the oldest. “It will come back out. I will give you more in a short while.”

Holding fast the struggling Ostene, Baith glanced warily out the storage room door.

“I hear voices approaching, sir,” he called, jerking his head towards the door.

“Aye,” Dunner said, drawing out his scimitar. “Let us leave this hellhole...” Jack led the way, helping his wife walk. Backtracking to another chamber, Jack indicated they should take a different tunnel.

After what seemed hours, the group emerged in what appeared to be a house root cellar. From the amount of dust present, the room seemed long abandoned.

“We are near the sector gate...” Jack Rhine said, quietly; he carried one of his weary sons. Joseph carried the other boy while Dunner followed, supporting Jack’s wife. The Rhine family appeared to be on the verge of collapse. “This is a house protected by the priest’s seal.” Jack continued, leaning against a wall for support. “There will likely be a guard or two upstairs.”

Leaving the Rhines in Hezekiah’s care, Joseph and Dunner crept up from the cellar. They found the door above unlocked; as Jack predicted, two priest guards stood nearby; they fell quickly under the swords of the Shamar. Searching the run-down town home for more guards, Joseph glanced out one of the broken windows. The sun was just setting; billows of smoke could be seen over the eastern sector of the city, here and there a flicker of fire. Angry voices and screams sounded out from far inland, over by the plaza.

“Here...” Dunner hissed at Joseph, from the other side of the house. Coming to his side, the young lord peered out the window. The gate back into Angelo stood not a stone’s throw away. Unlike earlier, when they had entered, Kingdom soldiers now marched through the gate in formation, trooping down the filthy street.

Moving back to the cellar, the men told the others what they’d seen. Hezekiah was highly pleased.

“Excellent,” he said. “I’ll get us through the gate. The stables are just beyond, and from there... the monastery.” Hearing this, Dunner tore off the outer priest guard tunic and did the same for Baith.

“I’ve had my fill of that filth,” the aging sailor said, gruffly. Joseph disposed of the uniform he wore in similar fashion. They picked up the children again, though Jack Rhine’s wife wished to walk. She leaned on her husband heavily but did not stumble. Dunner and Baith brought along the prisoner; the hooded bound man balked at every step now. Dunner brought the hilt of his sword down on the back of Ostene’s head, effectively solving the problem.

At the gate, a uniformed lieutenant strode over to them, irritated at the interruption.

“State your business...” the soldier demanded, addressing Hezekiah. The man drew himself up to his full height, his blue eyes stern.

“Let us through,” he commanded. “I am Marshal Hezekiah Walters.” The lieutenant laughed.

“Are you then? If so, then I’m the King...” he mocked, with a sneer. At this, Dunner knelt down on the paving stones.

“Your majesty...” the aging sailor lisped. Joseph chuckled at the man’s theatrics. The lieutenant scoffed, turning to Hezekiah once more.

“Produce proof of your identity or I’ll...” the soldier stopped speaking; Hezekiah held the tip of his blade to the man’s throat.

“Here’s my proof,” the Marshal said, coolly. Soldiers nearby moved forwards, their hands to their hilts.

“Marshal!”

A new voice rang out over the din. On the other side of the street, a smartly dressed senior officer halted a line of marching soldiers and crossed the cobbled street in front of them. Seeing him, Hezekiah smiled and put away his sword. He clasped hands with the newcomer.

“General Fitz-Raden,” he said, gladly. “I see you received my messages.” The officer nodded, looking out over the eastern sector. Even in the dying light, the fires and chaos could be seen and heard clearly.

“The fires had just begun to take hold when the orders came,” the man said, soberly. “I’ve sent men as you asked, though... five thousand troops to Morronai? Why, sir?” Hezekiah nodded, his face set like stone.

“I will explain presently,” he said. “For now, take one battalion through this house here; there is a tunnel in the basement, leading down through the sector to several storage rooms; after an hour there is a maze of tunnels and prisoners working in caverns in the tunnels leading east.”

He turned and looked at Fitz-Raden, his eyes reflecting the seriousness of his words.

“This sect of clergy is utterly corrupt,” he continued. “They have hoarded food away from the poor, keeping it to spoil underground merely to foster hate against the king.”

The general looked shocked at this information; his expression quickly changed to one of anger. “Have the men distribute all they find to the sector folk.” Hezekiah continued. “The main dissension is in the cathedral square. The roving gangs are to be rounded up and executed. Arrest any and all priests, assistants or priest guards. Quell the rebellion but there are kingdom citizens here and families, many starving.”

“The brigands will not escape, sir,” Fitz-Raden said, saluting.

“I need one prison cart and a unit of men for this prisoner,” Hezekiah continued, gesturing at Ostene. “And also, a carriage for this man and his family. I’ll escort them to safety, and take charge of the prisoner myself.” The general nodded, turning to bark orders to his subordinates.

Within ten minutes, the groaning priest was loaded into the prison wagon, along with a unit of blue-uniformed Kingdom soldiers. Jack Rhine saw his family into comfortable carriage.

“We will ride with you to the monastery and see you inside,” Joseph told the thin man. Through the open carriage window, Jack Rhine reached out and clasped Joseph’s hand a moment, his eyes holding much gratitude. Shaking the man’s hand, Joseph nodded once and turned to find the stables entrance, and Belator.

BISHOP RUBAR looked truly aghast at Hezekiah’s brief report, even more so at the pitiful guests the Shamar had brought with them.

“My dear madam...” Rubar said, taking hold of Mrs. Rhine’s skinny hands. “You are welcome here at our sanctuary; the sisters will attend to you. We’ll bring you up broth and bread. Escort them upstairs...” he said, aside to a group of monks. “Carry the children up with us. They can stay together in the larger room in back, overlooking the garden.”

“Bless you, sir,” Jack Rhine said, his voice tight. “They’ve ‘ad a hard time of it.” Rubar nodded, patting the man’s shoulder. Leading his wife forward, Jack followed a monk to the stairway; the monks gently picked up the exhausted children and carried them after the parents.

In the dining hall, Hezekiah sat down at the table immediately; taking up quill and ink he began writing out messages with haste. The remaining monks hovered nearby, hoping for news. Baith and Dunner came in, bringing the bound Ostene with them. An armed monk stepped forward, beckoning to another.

“Take him to the brig,” Hezekiah said, pointing to Ostene. “Do not feed him this night and give him no blanket. Guard the door at all times.” The monks nodded and took the prisoner away. The prisoner mumbled and yelled through his gag, to no avail. The monks gripped his arms tightly, their faces set. The priests had no friends among these men.

Dunner sat down heavily in a wooden armchair. Looking into his tobacco pouch, he sighed.

“A good day,” he said, putting the empty pouch away. “One devious priest arrested, hordes of food discovered, a family rescued... and the eastern part of the city’s on fire.” Joseph smiled a little at this, looking down at Hezekiah as he wrote.

“Shall I call for a courier?” he asked, indicated the messages. Hezekiah shook his head, his quill moving quickly.

“No; Rubar already has hundreds of them ready,” the man said, evenly. “Small, white and feathered.” At this Joseph’s eyebrows rose, a little. Dunner laughed at the young lord’s expression.

“Pigeons, Lord Asher,” the aging sailor said, chuckling. “Rubar’s long had messenger pigeons here, though the smell on the roof is terrible.”

“They have their uses, brother,” Hezekiah said, smiling a little. “Mainly that they fly at night and cover ground ten times faster than a mounted courier. The King must be informed.”

THIRTEEN

At dawn, the Shamar broke their fast.

As the men ate, a monk appeared in the doorway, walking toward Hezekiah. The men spoke quietly for a moment before the marshal nodded.

“Let him in,” he said. As the monk withdrew, Hezekiah turned back to his meal. “Fitz-Raden, with the night’s report,” he told his fellows. Dunner nodded, lighting his pipe. His back to the fire, Joseph turned to watch the general stride into the room. In a room of gray-cloaked monks and men, the bright blue of the man’s Kingdom uniform sang out.

“Marshal...” Fitz-Raden said, bowing. He nodded at Dunner and Joseph as well. Rubar also appeared, anxious to hear news of his city.

“I hope Eastern Angelo’s citizens were spared in this brutal uprising, General” the Bishop said, heavily. The officer bowed to the priest.

“Some citizens have perished, Bishop,” Fitz-Raden informed him; he turned to Hezekiah. “Most stayed hidden, sir, which was a blessing. Of our men, 107 have been killed this night; to my knowledge our men have slain more than 3,000 rioters. Many among them were bandits and murderers, wanted by magistrates this long while.”

At the numbers, the men dipped their heads a moment in respect for the fallen soldiers. Fitz-Raden continued his report.

“My men found the bands very well armed, and trained to fight,” the general told his superior. “They dug in well into abandoned buildings, and for some time we were unable to break through. The fires the rioters had started, though proved a boon as the wind shifted, sending the bandits from their hiding places. We put out the last fire near dawn.” Hezekiah nodded, pleased so far at the progress his army was making.

“And, of the battalion sent through the tunnels?” he asked, watching Fitz-Raden’s face. The general’s brow darkened, his expression grim.

“I was intrigued by your order for the tunnel, sir,” the general admitted. “I attended them personally. The supplies... there were three more rooms such as we first came to; many prisoners in cages, many working melting down gold ore. Over 900 of them, to my reckoning, though we have not numbered them exactly. All were enslaved and... starving. Some did not survive the journey out of the tunnels.”

Joseph looked down at the half-finished plate of food in front of him and placed his fork and knife on it. Dunner puffed in silence, his craggy face harboring lines of quiet wrath. “We arrested the priests guards; 167 in all; these remain alive,” Fitz- Raden continued. “I made carry them supplies out of the caverns below; it is piled in the plaza under guard.” Fitz-Raden paused; the man appeared to be unsettled. “Once the riot was put down, and the fires out... the citizens came out from hiding, at least the ones who were able. All of them seemed desperately hungry, sir. Units of my men are stationed at each block, with several more carrying baskets of food house to house. The entire sector should be reached before sundown.”

Rubar sat down, his face pale.

“It is unfit that Kingdom folk should be treated so!” he exclaimed, taking off his bishop’s cap. “That good folk should starve... and we not know if it, all this while!”

“My men report that nearly one-third of the homes are empty of life,” the general. “We have found bones within some of them... and packs of feral dogs.”

“Make certain all the dogs in the sector are destroyed,” Hezekiah said, gravely. “Once they eat human flesh, they are fit for nothing.” The general nodded.

“My men report from fortress Morronai,” Fitz-Raden said, still standing tall. “There is no sight of Kingdom soldiers within it, only priest guards. They’ve drawn up the bridge and will not respond to any communication. We surrounded it in the early morning hours and captured a high-ranking guard. We... persuaded him to give us information.”

Dunner gave a short laugh.

“Good man...” the aging sailor said, smiling.

“We gathered from him two things: there are four thousand armed men within, even barbarian mercenaries, of you can believe it, sir.” Hezekiah nodded.

“I can,” said he. “What else did he say?”

“That Bishop Sytel arrived there four days ago,” Fitz-Raden replied. “He is there still.”

At this, Hezekiah sat up with a slight smile.

“Excellent, general,” he praised. “Keep what men you need in the eastern sector, but send as many as you can spare to Morronai, along with the heavy bombardment carts from Fort Angelo. I will travel to Morronai directly.” At this, Fitz-Raden bowed and strode from the dining hall.

Dunner puffed on his pipe in a thoughtful manner for some moments.

“Sytel’s no fool,” he said, looking into the fire. “Morronai’s a strong fortress. Twill be a difficult siege, even for us.”

“It will indeed,” Hezekiah said; turning, he beckoned to a nearby monk. “Brother, our horses should be saddled and watered as soon as possible, if you please,” he asked. The monk nodded and hurried from the room. “A siege such as I have not fought in decades,” he said, looking at Dunner. “The fortress sits up on the foothills, backed by cliffs; the moat is wide. We will need trebuchets and...”