Brian McClellan - Servant of the Crown

“You and your damned arrogance,” he said. “It’s going to get you killed some day.”

He threw her from the roof, watching her body strike the cobbles with a sound like a hammer striking meat. She lay at an odd angle, staring upward at him, her neck almost certainly broken.

Tamas drew his knife and limped for the stairs.

With a Privileged, one always had to be sure.

Three days before his scheduled hearing Tamas was summoned to see General Seske.

He arrived half an hour early, feeling somewhat wary, and was made to wait in the sitting room outside Seske’s office. He sat stiffly, hat in his hand, wearing his best dress uniform, and practiced the breathing techniques that Erika had taught him for fencing. Calm, she claimed, could be attained without black powder.

The magistrates and generals for his hearing had been appointed and Tamas’s attempts to see any of them beforehand had been rebuffed. His appeals to General Seske-after his return from holiday-were dismissed. His letters to the Iron King had been ignored. Even Erika had been away with her family. He had not been able to see her for some time. He felt blind, betrayed, and entirely too vulnerable.

The clock struck the hour, and Tamas was left alone in the waiting room. Fifteen minutes stretched into forty-five before he was finally admitted.

General Seske sat behind his desk, fist beneath his chin, examining Tamas down the bridge of his nose with an annoyed expression. Colonel Westeven stood at ease beside him, a more welcoming smile on his face.

Tamas was not asked to sit.

“Good afternoon, General, Colonel. Captain Tamas reporting in.”

Westeven seemed about to respond, but he was silenced by a glance from Seske. Seske watched him for several moments, allowing Tamas to stand at attention, before he spoke.

“Do you know why you’re here, Captain?”

“I do not, sir.”

“The hearing about your duel is in three days.”

“Yes, sir, it is.”

“I know it is, that’s what I just said,” Seske said peevishly. “Or rather, it was. The hearing has been cancelled.”

Tamas frowned, not daring to hope. “Has it been rescheduled?”

“No. You will return home and await further orders. You are dismissed.”

His hearing cancelled? Surely there was more to the story than that. “Sir,” Tamas said, “May I know the details surrounding the hearing?”

“You may not.”

Colonel Westeven bent over to General Seske. “He has the right, sir,” he said gently.

Seske glared at Tamas before plucking an open letter from his desk. He produced a pair of reading glasses and lifted the letter, allowing Tamas to glimpse the broken seal of the king. Tamas’s heart soared.

“To whom it may concern,” Seske read aloud, “Hearing number seven four three five eight, regarding one Captain Tamas, has come to my attention. I myself pinned a medal on Captain Tamas eight years ago and therefore have a vested interest in the nature of his character. I have conducted multiple interviews with the captain and determined that he is beyond reproach. I consider the matter closed. He should be returned to active duty and his application to the rank of major reconsidered.”

Seske lowered the letter. “It’s signed by the king.”

Several moments passed while Seske reread the letter silently to himself, as if still unconvinced by the contents. “Our esteemed monarch,” he finally said, “pins a thousand medals on a thousand heroes every year. Why he took interest in you, I cannot fathom.”

“I don’t know, sir.” Tamas sighed inwardly, a great weight lifted from his shoulders. He had thought the king had forgotten him, or even gone back on their agreement.

“Of course you don’t know,” Seske snapped. “You’re a captain and a commoner. If this whole business is above my head, then it is certainly above yours.” He took off his glasses, pointing them at Tamas like a weapon. “The king has practically ordered me to make you a major. I won’t disobey that, but I don’t have to like it, either. The paperwork will take many months. In the meantime, you’ll be assigned to a garrison in the Black Tar Forest, well out of my sight.”

“Thank you, sir. I understand, sir.”

“Don’t thank me. Whatever twist of fate or fancy has swayed the king will not happen again. My fellow officers and I will not suffer your ambition. You will be watched, Captain, and don’t think you could ever hope to rise above the rank of major.”

“I would never dream of it, sir.”

“And don’t be sarcastic with me. You will be watched, I say. Now get out of my office.”

Tamas left from the room, glad to be away from Seske’s ire, but paused in the hallway to allow himself a victorious smile. Colonel Westeven met him there a moment later, offering his hand and congratulations. Tamas shook with the colonel and then left the House of Nobles, with a spring back in his step.

He jogged down the front steps, pausing in the public square to look around at the organized chaos of the daily traffic, feeling confident in his career for the first time in months. He spread his arms, breathing in deep. Spring would arrive soon. Black Tar Forest was cold and dark in the spring, but it was better than having his career dashed to pieces. Come the summer they would prepare for another campaign and he’d be back in Gurla where he could hope for advancement.

“Captain Tamas.”

The voice was sharp, like a whip. Tamas turned to find it belonged to a tall woman in her early forties, clothed in fine furs and standing beneath a frilled parasol. Two young retainers flanked her at a respectful distance, wearing demure black suits with small swords at their waists.

The woman looked him up and down, much like a noble preparing to buy a race horse. He stared back at her, suddenly defiant. Who was this woman? What did she think she was doing, looking him over like a piece of meat?

“My lady,” Tamas said, bowing hesitantly. “You have me at a disadvantage.”

She didn’t answer but rather approached him, walking slowly as she did a circuit around him. She was obviously a noble, and Tamas remembered that the king had done something similar to him on their last meeting. What was it about the nobility that made them treat the common people like cattle?

He felt his anger begin to rise. He did not deserve this. He did not need this. Not today of all days, when he had finally come away from a conflict with the nobility triumphant.

“What business,” she finally said, halfway around her second circuit of him, “do you have with my daughter?”

“Excuse me?”

The woman came to stop in front of him. Her eyes were severe, her chin raised in a distasteful vein of superiority. Tamas thought he saw a hint of Erika in this woman, but it was difficult to say. “You heard me, Captain. I am the Lady Pensbrook, daughter of the duke of Leora, mother of the duchess-heir of Leora.”

Nothing had prepared Tamas for this. He could see the resemblance now in the eyes. This woman was much taller than Erika, but she had similar ears, similar blond hair. He felt himself sweating, and said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Their voices had not raised above a casual tone, and no one seemed to pay them any mind as they stared at each other in the public square.

“You’re not a very good liar, Captain. I will ask once more, and I demand an honest answer.”

Tamas balled his fists at his sides. The curl of her lip. The disdain. This woman already hated him and they had barely met. It made him want to scream. “I intend to marry her,” Tamas said. “I intend to climb the ranks to field marshal, and then I will make her my wife, and there’s nothing you can do to stop that.”