In the Service of the Queen

By Lazette Gifford

Two young men, vying for a post at court, find themselves caught in a web of magic, murder and mystery while enemies of the empire make a daring attack that may destroy them all. It's a time of treachery, war . . . and the making of legends.

• Language: English
• Publisher: A Conspiracy of Authors
• Release date: Apr 26, 2014
• ISBN: 9781936507481

Lazette Gifford

Lazette is an avid writer as well as the owner of Forward Motion for Writers and the owner/editor of Vision: A Resource for Writers.It's possible she spends too much time with writers.And cats.

Book preview

The first sign of trouble came at sunset just as Titus had sat down to his meal. A guard, standing on the high walls of the Campus Ashen walls saw an unnatural flash of light to the west, out across the sparse grasslands that edged into the desert. A line of dust showed a moment later and he immediately sent word to Commander Titus Salonius and his second in command, Nulin.

The two left their meals, grabbing weapons out of habit, and rushed out to climb the stairs and look across the empty expanse. Dust, colored orange by the dropping sun, hung in a wide swatch, advancing across the desert as Titus watched.

Lanveri? Titus asked, frowning as he stared.

Most likely, sir, Nulin replied, shifting uncertainly from foot-to-foot. Although . . . Well, this is damned obvious if it is them. I can't imagine why they'd drop their magic before they attacked, sir.

Titus grunted agreement and brought up his spyglass, training it on the dust. He could see shadows moving slowly in the falling sunlight, but nothing more.

Shall I sent out scouts, sir? Nulin asked.

No. Hell, they'll be close enough to attack before the scouts could get the horses saddled. Besides, I don't want to open the gate. This could be a decoy, you know. We should have had warning of some movement out there. They couldn't have come clear across the desert under a magic shield, not without killing their mages.

Yes sir. The gods know we can't have people everywhere in the desert watching, though.

Titus gave another grunt of agreement. Camp Ashen, on the border of the Kenelia province and the desert lands to the west, hadn't enough men to truly patrol the long border. Besides, the nomadic Lanveri had ways of hiding in the desert and they were known for the stealth of their attacks.

Which made this appearance, and still two miles off, increasingly troubling. Call out the troops, he finally ordered. Prepare for battle.

Word had already started to spread, of course. Nulin hurried down the stairs, shouting order as he went. Titus listened to the sound of his men moving to their places, but he kept his eyes on the enemy as they progressed through the failing light. Torches brightened the yard below, but night had fallen beyond Campus Ashen with only the last hint of light on the horizon.

People shouted in the fort as everything moved in well-managed fashioned that only occasionally verged into chaos. Nulin kept at the work of preparation and Titus stood like a common guard, staring out into the night. His spyglass did him no good now, so he pushed it back into the case that rested beside his scabbard.

Above the sound of his men preparing for battle, Titus finally heard another sound. Something odd. He listened for the battle cry of the Lanveri Koth, a sound that would put a chill into any soldier. Instead he heard. . . .

Sheep?

The first of the creatures came into the scattered light from the fort and stopped, braying in dismay. Scrawny, with matted fur -- they were nothing like the sheep which were usually the pride of the Lanveri. Another followed the first and few more came stumbling after them.

What the hell? Nulin asked, coming up to stand behind him once more.

By now nearly a hundred mangy looking sheep had reached the gate and finally the first of the humans arrived. Lanveri, yes; their robes and headgear proved it. However, they were not warriors. Shepherds had followed the sheep and they looked in no better condition than their animals. Shepherds, sheep, women and children all began to gather at the gate to the fort.

"This can't be good, Titus said when he finally found his voice again. Have the soldier stand ready, but don't fire unless we find this is a decoy, though I fear this isn't a trap. I want five guards to go out with me. I'll speak with their leader."

Yes sir, Nulin answered, staring in disbelief at the growing number of sheep and hapless people who gathered below them. He shook his head and looked back at Titus, his face pinched with worry. Sir, shall I have trail rations brought out?"

We aren't going -- He stopped and glanced down again. Nulin didn't mean the rations for their own men. He could hear children crying and babies wailing. One woman sat down, exhausted, a child held close to her chest. Her head rose slowly and she looked up the wall at him, her eyes small dark spots in the flickering light of the fort's torches.

Yes. Food, Titus said. Water. See if we have some feed for the sheep. How far to the grasslands, Nulin? What's the best route?

The Kenelia grasslands, sir? Nulin asked, shocked this time. Inside the empire?

We either move them or leave them to die at the gate. Neither the humans nor the sheep will make it back across the desert.

Yes sir, he agreed, steadier again. Yes, you're right. I'll pull out the maps and send scouts to find the best trail and start preparing for food stores to set up along the way. We'll need numbers.

Excellent. Get to work.

Nulin saluted and scurried away to leave Titus alone, watching the growing array of Lanveri and sheep. In some ways, he wanted this to be a trap. He would understand a trap. This, though . . . this was trouble of an entirely different type.

An old man came towards the gate, leaning on a staff with two younger men at his side. He wore the blue robe of a leader, though the cloth was tattered and dirty. The Lanveri were a prideful people, and the destitution of this tribe spoke tales of woe without any words exchanged. No, this was not going to be good.

Chapter One

Phaedrus shifted the bag on his shoulder and continued to walk straight to the gate despite the lightheaded feeling that came and went. He did not gawk like a country farmer come to the big city, though his eyes did flicker up to the palace quite often. He'd heard the city was beautiful, and he supposed it was in a northern sort of way. He preferred the bright colors of the south, though. Everything here seemed darker, muted.

He had slept the night before at the Temple of Kolanten down by the gate into the city. Many travelers took refuge in the temples at night, so he hadn't stood out in that choice, and he'd left at first light, even before they offered some bread for breakfast. He had taken the time to clean up as best he could, dressing in the nicest set of clothing he'd brought from home and not worn anywhere along the journey.

He'd reached the city late the night before, and hadn't seen the palace sitting on the promontory overlooking Arlana, the capital of the Nantali Empire. The morning light brought a grey, foggy day and he still couldn't see more than the outline of the huge building to which he went.

Fool, he told himself, but he didn't slow as he neared the outer wall. Two guards stood on either side of the postern door where others had gathered, come to do whatever duty brought them to the queen's home. Pride had brought Phaedrus this far. Pride and not a little stubbornness when others had worked so hard to keep him from this moment.

He took his place in line, a hand on the large cloth bag he had slung over his shoulder. He moved forward, slow step by slow step. The guards never looked at anyone, but a man just the other side of the gate checked every note presented.

At least he still had his papers. The thieves had stolen everything else of importance including his funds, and left him beaten and unconscious in a field. However, they had missed the papers simply because he had taken them out of the packet to look at the fine words. He'd had the insight to shove the envelope under a rock when he heard the others approaching.

They'd said nothing, simply beat him and took his money and strewn his belongings across the field. It had taken him two days to recover and collect everything again. Then he'd kept going. He suspected others had hired the robbers and intended for him to turn back at that point. They hadn't counted on his stubbornness.

One more person stood in front of him. Phaedrus put his hand to the ornate envelope inside his vest and calmed the rapid beating of his heart. He had made it this far against all odds.

The woman in front of him moved on. He stepped forward and carefully drew out the envelope, slightly smudged from travel and the night beneath the rock, and presented it with a bow of his head. He expected to be cast aside and ordered away, but he had made it to the gate. The man pulled the paper out gave a quick glance, checked the wax seals and nodded.

You're barely in time. Get straight up to the castle and present this. They'll get you in there. Go. No time to waste.

Thank you, he said.

The man nodded and waved him on. He moved as fast as he dared up the long walkway, under trees that glittered with dew while the fog swept around him still. Ghosts walked here, he thought, and he almost slowed to watch them. His head pounded and he feared he would be ill -- but he fought the feelings off and went on to the large building ahead. A servant met him, looked at the envelope and paper, and took him through the halls which were bright with colors and murals, but he dared not look too closely, having trouble keeping up with his guide. The northerners at least had the colors indoors that they lacked out in the streets.

They reached a hall where several other young men were standing, anxious to see the queen. He took a place at the far end of the group and waited. A few looked his way and sneered; he wasn't one of them.

But he was here. They were ushered in before the queen and he had won his battle against those who meant to keep him away. Whatever else happened now, didn't matter.

Chapter Two

The moment she saw the young man standing with the other candidates, the queen knew he would be trouble.

Queen Hadrea, Regina Augusta of the Nantali Empire, settled on to her hard-backed throne, appreciating the pillows which had been re-stuffed, a comfort for old, aching bones. She was older than she looked; although her hair had silvered over the last few years, she still held the signs of age somewhat at bay, though she could not stop the passage of time. She felt the years she didn't show. Hadrea carefully maintained the illusion, but not many were fooled since she'd held the place of queen for very close to forty years now.

Her eyes narrowed as the ten nominees for Vox Reginae took their places against the bright mosaic-covered wall, obscuring the view of the mythical First Procession of the King to this throne.

Hard throne, she thought but dared no more than a subtle shift of leg. Anything else would be a sign of weakness, and there were courtiers and nobles looking for any such sign. At least the worst of the nobles wouldn't return until the Spring Court in a few more weeks. The previous Vox Reginea had retired before the newcomers arrived; it was an old tradtion so that he couldn’t coax a favorite.

Of the ten candidates, one from each province in the empire, only one wasn't wearing the tunic and toga required by fashionable society here in Arlana. Only one had not oiled his hair so that it laid slick against his skull, muting the colors. This fashion maverick came from the south; she knew the style of tunic and trousers, popular in the land where she had been born and raised, the place she had left nearly half a century ago. She still missed the sea.

I wish you well, child of my soil, she thought, though she had no hope he would pass the test. Hadrea also knew she wouldn't dare give way to sentimental favoritism.

Some of the other candidates showed open disdain for the southerner as they moved past him. He ignored their stares and the whispers she couldn't quite hear. Then one purposely jostled him out of the way. He bowed politely and stepped aside -- and tripped the young fool, whose floor-length toga had been wrapped so tightly she feared it would rip before he caught his balance.

Oh yes, the boy was definitely trouble.

Vetrian had moved closer to the trouble spot and nothing more came of the little incident. Queen Hadrea hid a quick grin beneath her bony fingers as she watched the boy in his blue trousers and embroidered shirt, both of which seemed loose. He wore is dark hair unfashionably long and his skin had the tan color of someone spent time in the sun, not behind a desk scratching away at papers. He held a black cloth bag in his arms and bent his head over it now, as though weary and ready to sleep.

Captain Tetrius had put a guard near him; the guards never trusted anyone who did not quite fit in.

Vetrian passed out the chits that would set the order in which the candidates would speak. She knew a long, dull afternoon stretched out before her, not made any better by the appearance of her ten Ladies in Waiting. The Gods forbid that she should sit here in her own throne room without the simpering gaggle to watch over her.

Greetings, Queen Mother, Filomena said, her voice clear and loud, though a touch more strident than usual. She leaned closer and her voice dropped, though not so much that anyone would miss would she said. Filomena always demanded attention. "There is a southerner in the group."

I am not blind, you know. Or senile. I saw the boy. You seem to have forgotten that there is always a southerner in the group, Princess. Valentia is part of the Empire.

Filomena's face reddened. She glared back at the candidates. They aren't usually so blatant about being so backwards.

The woman's hatred of anyone one from that far southern province had started the day she learned that her father had died at the Siege of Valentia. That had been the same battle where the Queen's only son had died as well, and brought her back to this damned, uncomfortable throne. The two men had fought with the people of Valentia, but that made no difference to Filomena.

Queen Hadrea had been born in Valentia, long before the siege, which had not improved their personal relationship. Filomena, the daughter of her late husband's half-sister, was the closest relative to the throne and expected to inherit it on the Queen's death. Filomena was not a patient woman.

Be seated, ladies, she finally ordered. She had thought to order them out of the room, but there was no reason why they shouldn't suffer with her. Princess Filomena took her place at the Queen's right hand, sitting on the dais, while the others took their accustomed seats on the four stairs below the famous throne. Vetrian, well used to the intrusion of these puppies, waited while they women adjusted their pellas and tunics and made certain their golden bracelets caught just the right light.

Having finally made it through the delay, Vetrian took his place below the dais on which the Throne of Nantali rested and bowed his head to the queen. The show was about to begin.

With your leave, the ten candidates are ready, Queen Hadrea.

Thank you, Vetrian. You have my leave. She thought to add he had her leave to take up the tower and drop them over the edge, but she refrained. After all, she could think of worse ways to spend the afternoon. She could have been sitting in council listening to reports about the border patrols by men who treated her as though she wouldn't remember the names of the provinces from one meeting to the next. Listening to ten young men make their pompous little speeches in hopes of winning her favor was not so bad when put in perspective.

Stand thou now before Queen Hadrea, Empress of All Lands, Vetrian announced. He still had a strong voice at fifty, though his hair had gone sparse and gray. Her Master of the Ceremony loved the show. The Vox Reginae for the coming year shall be chosen from among you. Even of greater importance, on the eve of the Queen's second Quindecennial Festival, the chosen voice of the queen will also speak at the Temples on each of the Holy Days during the festival. You are the ten chosen from your provinces to display your skills and from whom she shall choose her Voice. Speak well, and remember that brevity is a virtue in oration. The subject today shall be the Creation of the World.

The ten shifted, minds already working through their memorized pieces, finding the one that best suited to the challenge. Since each piece had to be original, they each would have written and memorized dozens of their own works. A few of the younger ones looked frightened, and one glanced her way with such arrogance that she didn't care how well he spoke, she wouldn't choose him. She had enough conceit to deal with from the nobility and she didn't need to reward it here. In fact, the boy had the look of a Lord's overindulged son. Her guess was the House of Cornelius. They were all insufferably smug.

Unfortunately, she quickly learned she had more than her share of pretentious, officious and boring candidates this year. As far as she could tell, brevity wasn't a word any of them knew. Only her years on the throne saved her from yawning halfway through the first oration; a boring hexameter that, by the count of the water clock, took nearly an hour to recite. The candidate from the province of Kenelia finally finished and she gave a polite nod, praising the gods that there were only nine left.

Vetrian announced the second candidate as Tetricus Atticus Cornelius, confirming her earlier guess about his background. He wasn't as young as he tried to look, with his carefully slicked hair and his painted face. He did represent the capital province, Nantali Major, though. He would have the sort of backers she didn't want to offend.

Queen Hadrea smiled politely and leaned back.

May the Great Gods smile upon great and lovely Arlana! he shouted, startling even stone-faced Filomena. May the Empire stand forever!

He had a strong voice, certainly, and not a bad one. However, his version of the creation proved to be so damned partisan that even Vetrian winced as the boy sang out the praises Nantali Major and how the gods had created only the best men to live here, where is own family held power.

He took nearly an hour to deliver this bit of overindulgent propaganda aimed as much at her as anyone else not from Nantali Major. When he bowed his head, she saw the smugness in his face. She held her temper, barely.

Another spoke. She still smoldered from the Cornelius fool's affront and hardly heard him except to note that he came from the Baiea province. She noted that he would be a good speaker one day, but not just yet.

The next, from Nantali Minor, did another long-winded piece, and not well. He'd adopted the old-fashioned style of wringing his hands and crying out at odd times. It gave her a headache.

As he finished and went to take his place on the benches to the right, she finally glanced at the southern boy again. He stood with his head bowed over the bag he carried, staying towards the back of the room, even while the others moved forward, anxious for their turns. When she glanced at Vetrian, he knew (as he always did) where she had been looking. Last, he said silently. She wondered if he had put the boy at the end on purpose.

Another three took their turns, representing Sulin, Avaricum and Tingi. Either the speakers were getting better or else she was going deaf. They were nearing the end, and she began to think about the council to attend this afternoon. The Ladies in Waiting began to fidget, expect of course, for Princess Filomena. She would never do anything so demeaning. A glance from her to the others stilled them, in fact. She was good at cowing the group, at least.

The candidate from Naissess stood, the last before the Valentia boy. Adrian Papira Lemona was a tall, good looking young man. And here, finally, she found a speaker of worth. He knew his creation stories and told the tale of the goddess weeping tears to fill the sea with such power that she thought he must be a true believer. Even the puppies at her feet stopped squirming. When he finished and bowed, she saw the Cornelius whelp knew he had been bested, and he didn't like it.

Only one left. The Valentia boy settled his bag on a bench and came forward. He bowed very well.

Phaedrus of Valentia, Vetrian announced.

Only a single name and no link to a larger family? This young man had no background at all, which made his choice for this honor all the more strange. Even though no Vox Reginae had ever been chosen from the south, there was still prestige to stand among the candidates.

The boy took his place below the throne. When he smiled she reminded him of . . . but she chased that thought away. He looked into her face. None of the others had dared watch her as they spoke.

Before the creation of the world,

The Gods lived in chaos and strife.

They had no pastime except to argue

Until one day they decided to see

Which of them could create a land so beautiful

That each God would envy the other.

And so they made the world,

Each with their own domain,

Fashioned with care and love,

Filled with beauty and hope.

Creation for the joy of creation,

A world made in perfection.

At last came the day

The Gods finished creation.

They looked upon the world

And found each had created such beauty

That no place was more perfect than another

And finally the gods found peace.

So each went to their own creation:

Sheriken-De to the golden deserts,

Kolanten to the snow-bound mountain peaks,

Helensha to the fertile emerald valleys

Peralin to the sweet-scented forests

And Lishel to the sapphire sea.

But the Gods had never lived alone before

They missed the companionship of others.

Worse, they missed the arguing and battles

So they made humans to fill that void.

So we were made in the image of the gods,

Companions in a world of wonder.

We are favored with their blessings and their gifts

But it is also why we are so well-versed in arguing:

It is, truly, a gift of the gods.

She had not expected the little joke at the end and she laughed aloud, startling even herself. The Cornelius boy muttered about impiety but she didn't care, especially since his family had been banned from becoming priests or priestesses in any temple for another two generations because of impiety that went far beyond making a joke. When she looked at Tetricus Atticus Cornelius he finally had the wisdom to at least lower his head.

Phaedrus smiled and bowed once more. He had known, of course, that no Vox Reginae had ever been chosen from Valentia . . . but by the Gods, he had a lovely voice. And he had made her laugh. That was no small thing.

If this had been truly only a matter of her choice and a little gesture she could weather over the year, she would have named him. However, she feared what memories the young man would bring to the court with him. Most people had forgotten, finally, that she came from the south.

And what had that won her? She'd ruled for fifteen years after her husband's death as her son came of age. Then, at his death, she had been called back to take the rule again. Now she had governed for a second fifteen years and at sixty-three, Queen Hadrea wanted this little piece of home.

She looked at the young men (and some not as young as they pretended) who sat on the bench before her. In another month, she would be testing young women to be the court singer for the year, and aother chance for a province to have someone special at court. This was not the only post that showed favor. Still, she had to be careful. Politics nearly always won over ability in a case like this.

Phaedrus had taken his place on the bench with