Goddess of the Ice Realm by David Drake Page B

they’d been waiting for a chance. They were present to protect Prince Garric, and the crowding civilians—any of whom could be an assassin—made the guards’ job difficult. Add to that the fact that the soldiers thought of all civilians as soft, cowardly parasites, the thumps and shoving of the ball-blunted spearshafts were more than was strictly required to get Garric room to move.
    Garric touched the guard officer’s arm and said, “More gently, Captain Physos. The Shepherd knows it’s as hard to find good clerks as it is good soldiers. Despite that I don’t have time to deal with them right at the moment.”
    He grinned in response to the image of the king in his mind. Carus was nodding in morose agreement.
    The petitioners stepped back; they’d made their attempt, one which at least the courtiers themselves had known was unlikely to succeed. The outsiders fell into agitated conversation with the palace personnel who’d gotten them within sight of the prince but hadn’t been able to breach the final line of black armor. Powerful armies hadn’t been able to get through the Blood Eagles. . . .
    Transoms over the doors to the rooms on either side, and clerestory windows around the half-story above the second floor, were the corridor’s only illumination, so Garric’s eyes were still adapting. The man waiting in an open doorway was only a blurred figure to him until he raised his blackwood staff-of-office; its three gold bands glinted in a shaft of light.
    â€œA moment, Captain Physos!” Garric said, touching Liane’s shoulder to warn her he was halting. “Councilor Reise, did you need to speak with me?”
    Garric hadn’t had time—hadn’t taken time—to give Reise more than a cursory greeting when the new advisor to the Vicar of Haft arrived with Liane during the assembly on the waterfront. He felt a pang of remorse at not having done more, but he thought Reise could understand why the younger man had set his priorities as he had.
    â€œI’d appreciate a moment of your time, your highness,” Reise said, bowing and making an elaborate gesture with his left hand. That was Valles etiquette, more complicated than anything required by the court in Carcosa; but it was in Valles that Reise had learned his trade. Several men stood in the room behind him.
    Reise or-Laver was a middle-aged man of average height and appearance. He’d succeeded as a servant in the royal palace and later in the household of Countess Tera of Haft. When the countess died during the riots that put Count Lascarg in power, Reise had bought a rundown inn in Barca’s Hamlet and managed it so ably that he’d become one of the wealthiest men in the borough. There he’d raised a son and daughter who read classical literature and who were fit to rule the kingdom when fate made them rulers.
    The only thing at which Reise had failed was life itself. He was a sad, frustrated man, burdened with a shrewish wife and an indelible awareness of what might have been.
    He was Garric’s father.
    â€œYes, of course, Councilor Reise,” Garric said. “Liane, if you’ll go on and tell people I’m on my way. . . ?”
    She squeezed his hand, curtseyed to Reise, and gestured the four Blood Eagles who were her personal escort to proceed. The other nine soldiers and their commander remained with Garric. Captain Physos planted himself squarely between son and father.
    â€œCaptain,” Garric said, feeling his anger mount. “I vouch for this man.”
    â€œMaybe,” the soldier said. “But there’s the other three.”
    Garric opened his mouth, not quite sure what his next words would be nor where the business was going to end.
Reise is my father!
But all the guards cared was that Garric not be murdered—or at least not be murdered while they personally were on duty.
    â€œThere’s no reason soldiers shouldn’t