Divergence

Broken Vigil

An arc of free standing pillars girdled the King's Arbor in a narrow crescent, open on the south side. Within that ring, a tight scatter of oaks and holly graced the center of the largest courtyard on the upper palace grounds. To the south of the yard the land fell away such that a man could stand at the edge of the trees, look clear out over the top of the palace walls, and meditate upon the bulk of Corandur below.

On this night, the first of the spring festival, lanterns hung high from each pillar, casting out pearls of light in an arcing string. That glow reflected off the gilded helms and breastplates of fifty men, arrayed in a guard of honor as the future king of Partha stood a ritual vigil.

Among that ring of men, Emmon Lauk caught himself itching at a pair of bone dice he kept in a belt pouch, and glanced guiltily to the side. Young Pauplin Steppe was staring straight ahead though, the picture of the honor guardsman. And it was an honor—standing vigil with the Duke. He imagined what it must be like inside the arbor now. Stark moonlight, concealing as much as revealing statues of all the men who had ruled Partha since the time of Atan, the Father. The stone kings weren't arrayed in orderly rows like history books on a shelf as he had once imagined they would be. There was a pattern to the arrangement, though an eerie one. Each king faced his successor so the collection formed one long, crooked chain of paternal oversight. He wondered if Donate would stand in the line of Varan's gaze and feel himself a part of history. Lauk had looked full on the face of Varan's father, Nevar, and knew it for a chilly place to stand. Truth be told, now he took a care to stay a bit to one side when he came before the old king. It just didn't seem right to stand in a king's place. Lauk wondered if Donate felt any more comfortable.

The sound of someone approaching from the arbor jerked Lauk back to his surroundings so hard he almost dropped his tasseled spear. He recovered himself and was both relieved and surprised to see someone other than the Duke step into the lamplight. It was one of the Garron boys—though gods help him if he knew the lad's name. He'd had charge of lighting the lamps and then was to spend the night here in case the Duke should have any need during his vigil.

"Is anything wrong?" whispered Lauk.

"No."

But something about the boy's tone didn't match his reply. Even Paup, who'd been afraid to so much as shift his eyes when he thought it was the Duke, turned a suspicious look on the boy.

"I need to find the Lady Yarven, do you know where she is?" The lad looked Lauk full in the eyes when he posed the question. It was a steadier look than most honest, grown men would give you, and it demanded either the open truth or a bald lie.

Lauk didn't hesitate to give the later. "There's a late crop of lords settling into the guest houses. Lady Yarven will be supervising, no doubt."

Without a word, the Garron boy angled across the courtyard toward the indicated gate. Lauk and Pauplin watched the Garron boy's brisk progress across the courtyard before sharing a look.

"Did he seem... queer to you?" Lauk asked in a whisper.

"Gods yes. His voice and... he walked funny. And what does he want with Lady Yarven?"

"I don't know." But the concern with which Paup asked about the Lady was like oil thrown on Lauk's smoldering suspicions.

"Paup, listen. I want you to check on Lady Yarven. Something..."

Paup was looking nervously toward the Arbor, afraid to leave his post. Lauk stepped closer so Paup had to look right at him. "Listen. Go to the library and stay there with the Lady until you hear different from me or—"

"The library? But you said—"

"I know what I said. Ser Kigren has run of the guest houses tonight, and I'd rather that Garron lad run into him than the Lady Yarven. Now you run along to the library and check up on the Lady, and I'll—"

"Check on her? What will I say?" Paup's shoulder's were resigned but his eyes still pleaded.

"Say to a woman?" Lauk smiled, but didn't get even a hint of a grin in return. "Do your best. Now run. Serious now. Run."

Pauplin gave himself a shake—he really did look more boy than man with that breastplate on his narrow shoulders—and Lauk was pleased to see him dredge up some courage. Paup started to give a salute but cut it off to a nod then turned and jogged toward the north arch.

Lauk's skin prickled with a chill that gripped him and shook him to his boots. He knew his fair share of Garrons, after a fashion. The palace was fairly thick with them if you thought about it. They were the meekest folk you'd ever hope to meet. Paup had hit it on the head though. Something about the Garron boy's walk didn't suit him. In place of a serving boy's stride had been a soldier's gait, and that march across the lawn owned a purpose no Garron he'd ever met could lay claim to. A gnawing fear spurred him into the Arbor. He gave his dice a little shake and hoped to the gods he was just being foolish.