The King leads Alex to the study door with a gentle but firm hand on his shoulder. There are four guards outside in the hallway, all quickly snapping to attention as the King appears.

“Please, take Master Varga to the drawing room until Captain Alta is ready for him,” the King commands in a firm tone. “He is allowed to carry his weapons in the castle henceforth.”

“As your Majesty commands,” One of the guards replies crisply. He has a small brass button on each of his shoulders, clearly a mark of some rank that Alex isn’t totally familiar with. He’s never really had anything to do with the castle guards, preferring to keep a much lower profile than that.

“We will speak more before you leave, Master Varga,” the King informs him as he turns and closes his study door behind himself.

“You two, stay here for the King,” the senior man tells two of the other guards. “You, go and find the captain and let him know where Master Varga will be.”

“Yes, Sergeant,” the single man says firmly before turning on his heel and heading down the corridor at a brisk walk. While this is going on, Alex takes a few moments to pick up his blades and place them all carefully about his person once more. The reassuring weight of his sword hanging at  his waist helps to calm his mind, allowing him to relax a little for the first time since he arrived at the castle. The reassuring weight of the heavy purses tied beside his normal one doesn’t do any harm either.

The walk down the corridor to the drawing room is a short one and it is made in silence. Alex walks just behind the sergeant as he seems to be expected to do. He’s still not quite sure where he stands in his movements around the castle, the King didn’t make it clear whether he was to be considered a guest or a member of the staff. At a guess, being taken to one of the reception rooms must class him as a guest.

It appears that this eastern wing of the castle must house the more homely rooms that make up the royal apartments, as the doors are more normally proportioned and, when the sergeant opens the door to the drawing room and ushers Alex inside, the room itself is – while not exactly small by any means – comfortably furnished with expensive, but quite conventional furniture that does give it a homely feel.

“Make yourself comfortable, Sir,” The sergeant tells him as he remains at the door, hand on the handle. “I’m sure the captain will not keep you long.”

“Thank you, Sergeant,” Alex tells him as he walks across the room to get his bearings. There are three floor-to-ceiling windows along the opposite wall, heavy drapes hanging down to the touch the rich carpets on the floor. Few can afford so much glass, an expensive commodity, but the castle seems to use it everywhere, particularly on any inside walls.

Beyond the glazing, Alex can see a formally laid-out garden courtyard filled with early spring colour. On three sides, the courtyard seems to have similar windows looking out onto it, but the fourth wall, opposite, is the tall, castellated outer wall of the castle.

The walls of the room are plastered and painted, something that Alex has only seen in the houses of the richest of merchants before. Not needed during the day, the room must be well-lit in the evening by the magnificent gilded oil-fuelled fitting that hangs from the centre of the plastered ceiling above.

“I’m out of my league,” Alex mutters to himself as he examines the portraits hanging on the walls and the magnificent furniture of the room. Pride of place, above an ornate mantlepiece on the south wall of the room is a fairly recent portrait of the royal family. The King looks much as he has just appeared to Alex, with Queen Elsbet standing by his side, smiling. On either side of the King and Queen are their two sons; Princes Damien and Jamethon.

The two young men look very different to one another. Damien, the older man, clearly takes after his father, tall, muscular and slightly stern of countenance. Jamethon, the younger man by four years, is slightly shorter, somewhat slim and clearly very much like his mother with fine, delicate features and a smile that seems to light the room.

Alex is slow to turn when the door opens behind him, expecting to see Alta and his guards. Instead, it is the Queen who enters, accompanied by a young woman who must be one of her ladies-in-waiting. She has an even more regal presence than her husband and Alex bows almost without thinking. She is clearly not surprised to see him here.

“Ah, you must be the… Expert that my husband was talking about earlier?”

Alex manages a smile at her reticence. People often dislike to speak of the realities of the world. “At your service, Your Majesty. Feel free to call me by my profession. I am a mercenary guard and it holds no shame for me.”

“It saddens me that we need to have guards for almost every journey across this world, Master Varga. Your reputation for honour is well-known here. My husband would not have considered you to protect my son if that were not so.”

“I would like to think that I treat all my clients equally, your Majesty, but I am honoured to be chosen for this task.”

“He also said that you could be diplomatic when required. Come, Sir, admit that you don’t wish to be a babysitter!”

“Surely, your son is not a child?”

“Perhaps not, but he will always be my baby. Mothers often have a deep attachment to their youngest child and the two of us are very much alike. I regret that he may not be well-suited to such an arduous journey, no matter how much he might think otherwise.”

“I will protect him with my life, my lady.”

“We can only hope that will not be necessary, Master Varga.” The queen moves to sit on one of the couches in the centre of the room and gestures for Alex to sit opposite her. “Please, Master Varga, sit and tell me a little about yourself. I’ve heard all the reports of your work and your honour, but know little of your life.”

“There’s little to tell, your Majesty. My father was a merchant, a trader in textiles, from Salicia. I never knew my mother – she died giving birth to me and I was an only child.”

“Salicia? That explains your light complexion, Master Varga.”

“Indeed, Your Majesty. My father was a good man, taking good care of me and seeing to my education as well as he might. In my fourteenth year, he took me on a trading mission to the north with him, meaning to introduce me to his contacts in preparation for me joining his business one day. This despite my showing little interest.”

“It was a journey he had made several times before, and one which he considered safe. He was, sadly, wrong in this assumption. Our wagons were attacked by bandits, south of the town of Sulis. Father had hired four guards, but they were not men he had used before. They turned and tried to flee at the first sign of trouble. The bandits were without mercy.”

“Father screamed for me to run and hide, even as one of them cut him down. I was young, fit and fast. I ran into the woods and didn’t stop until I could run no further.” Alex pauses for a moment to catch his breath, a long slow exhale in an attempt to control his raging emotions.

“Forgive me, Master Varga. I did not mean to upset you.”

“It is fine, your Majesty. I don’t talk of it often, but it is now a memory from far enough into the past that the pain is bearable.”

“What happened?”

“I managed to make my way to Sulis, on foot, arriving late the next day. They sent out the constables and found only the dead and dying. Our wagons and trade goods were lost. There was no sign of our guards – they were presumed to have fled to the east or have been working with the bandits.”

“One of the town constables in Sulis offered me a home with him and I spent every waking hour training with the sword and other weapons. I vowed that I would never be like those guards that my father had hired. I would never run or cheat a client.”

“It is a sorry tale, Master Varga, but an all too common one, I’m afraid. My husband tries to maintain the level of security throughout our kingdom that he has inherited from his father, but it is hard to keep lawlessness at bay, even for a kingdom that is considered safe.”

“There will always be those who seek to live off the labour of others, Your Majesty.”

“I am afraid that this is true. Even Taneria is not free of the curse of banditry. The country is large and the population small. It leaves many places seldom visited and, sadly bandits can hide with ease.”

“I can only continue to live by my own code, hoping that at least my clients make their journeys safely.”

“Just so. You have seen much of the continent on your many journeys?”

“I have. I’m less familiar with the north of the continent, but have travelled widely in the south, east and west. There is much to see.” 

Alta had returned to collect Alex from the drawing room quite quickly, saving him from further conversation with the Queen. Not that Alex had minded speaking with her, but they really had little to speak about and he had definitely said more about his past than he was truly comfortable with revealing to someone who he did not know better.

As they walked back towards the main gate, Alta had a few questions. “I assume that you have your own horse, Varga?”

“Two, my mount and a pack-horse that carries my belongings. They are stabled at the inn.”

“I’ll send a groom with you to bring your horse to the royal stables for the time being. Can you arrange to leave the pack-horse at the inn, or do you wish us to stable it for you?”

“She can stay at the inn. I’ll speak to Bertran when I get there. I had assumed that we would travel light?”

“That was the plan, but the King has made it clear that you are to lead?”

“That was my understanding. I hope, Captain, that we will be able to get along. I’m not looking to build some elaborate command structure when there will be so few of us travelling together. We must work as a team, guards and civilians alike.”

“I will protect the young prince with my life!”

“As will I. Surely you have heard of my reputation?”

“You are well known, Varga. I believe I can work with you, as does my King.”

“Well, start by calling me Alex. I hate being addressed by my family name. There are memories associated with the name that I’d sooner forget.”

“I am Petaron, but my friends call me Peta,” Alta suggests. “Perhaps, the more casual we seem amongst ourselves, the less attention we will attract along the way?”

“Yes, a good suggestion. If we can appear as a group of simple travellers – merchants or traders – then we might go mostly unnoticed. Peta Alta?”

“I know. My mother, apparently, had a sense of humour that I have had to live with for more than thirty years now. I forgave her long ago, although my wife maybe has not.”

“You have a family, Peta?”

“Yes. My son is almost nine years and my daughter will be four in a few weeks’ time. My wife understands, however, that I may now be gone for some weeks or even months.”

“Well, we shall make sure that you return to them. Now, are these our traveling companions?” They have crossed the courtyard and stopped at the gate, where two guards are standing ready, hands resting on sword hilts. They both seem to have that experienced relaxation of seasoned soldiers, at ease but ready for any eventuality. Both are slightly older than Alex, but younger than the captain.

“Yes, Alex. Brion, Garvan, this is Alex Varga. He will be leading us to the west.”

Brion, short and stocky with a pale complexion and a receding hairline holds out a hand to Alex, shaking firmly. “I have heard of you, Varga. You are lucky, or so they say.”

Garvan, tall and rangy, younger than his companion with blonde hair and piercing blue eyes, seems a little more reticent but still holds out his hand and accepts Alex’s firm handshake. “Varga.”

“It’s Alex from now on. There will be no uniforms and no formality on the trail. We will travel as a companionable group of friends.”

“The prince might have difficulties with that,” Brion mutters. “He is young enough to enjoy the privilege of his position.”

“Enough Brion,” Peta warns him. “The King will impress the delicacy of the situation on all of the party before we leave, prince Jamethon included.”

“Do I need to be concerned?” Alex asks the group.

“No. The prince is indeed young and has really never left the confines of the castle,” Peta tells him with a wry smile. “He is overly keen to seek adventure and maybe a little unprepared for the reality of such a journey. He doesn’t ride often and studies rather than training with the sword or bow. He is used to being obeyed by guards and servants alike. It will be a shock to him to journey so informally.”

“Particularly when he has to sleep on rough ground or take a shit behind a bush,” Garvan adds with a grin. “I’m not wiping his arse for him, no matter how companionable we must appear.”

“If there’s one thing that I need to make perfectly clear,” Alex tells them with a returning smile, “it’s that everyone must wipe their own arses – no exceptions!”