“I’ll take a look at this later,” Relam grunted. “Maybe visit the guards’ quarters to speak with the men.”
“Of course, your highness,” Eckle said, bowing low. “Good day.”
“Good day indeed,” Relam muttered under his breath as Eckle withdrew. Then, he returned his full attention to his briefly interrupted breakfast. The sausage, bacon, eggs, toast and potatoes were still wonderfully hot and perfectly cooked. Relam refilled his plate twice before deciding he was full and sitting back in his chair. As he dropped his napkin onto the table with an air of finality, Eckle’s list of names fluttered to the ground.
Snorting derisively, Relam scooped up the list of names. He scanned it briefly, recognizing only a few of the guards on the list. He frowned, wondering when so many of the palace guards had become unknown to him, then shrugged. A lot of new faces had been brought in since the assassination attempt the previous year, and with Narin departing there had probably been a few more guards replaced. Relam had been too preoccupied with his mother’s illness and training to take the time to learn names over the last several months. He glanced at the list again, then ripped it in half, slowly, so that it produced a satisfyingly loud and drawn-out shredding noise. He hoped that Eckle was close enough to the outer door to hear it. Relam ripped the pieces in half five more times, then tossed the scraps onto the small fire in the fireplace to burn to a crisp. Nothing he had done in the last week had been quite so satisfying.
Relam returned to his room and shut the door, intending to rest for the next several hours, to give his sore muscles time to recover. Then, a horrible thought occurred to him. What if his father and Eckle got wind that he had no intention of selecting a personal guard? What if they decided to assign him guards themselves? What if he was assigned guards he did not know? Or guards he did not trust?
He had been on the point of sprawling on his bed, but now the prince began pacing restlessly, moving from the far left window to the far right and back again, turning quickly at the end of each length of the room. He could send the guards away, but his father would send them right back. He could threaten Eckle with throwing him in the river if he did give him guards. He could have Oreius throw the man in the river . . .
Or he could thwart them by selecting his own guards, without their input.
Relam belted on his sword and hurried out of the room, not even pausing to speak with the guards outside the door. The guards’ quarters were on the first level, not far from the entrance hall but centrally located enough that in the event of an emergency guards could be swarming at every entrance in seconds. Relam stuck to the main corridors, since he did not know the servant’s corridors as well in this part of the palace and had no desire to get lost.
On the way to the guards’ quarters, Relam passed the open door to the king’s audience hall. He peeked inside for the barest moment and sighed inwardly. His father was there, sitting on the throne, his crown upon his head, staring off into space, sitting hunched forward, leaning on his bare sword which was standing vertically, the tip resting on the dais. Clemon hovered anxiously nearby, while Eckle stood rigidly at attention. The prince scowled at the sight of the pompous new commander and moved on.
A few more turns and a few more minutes of walking found him at the entrance to the palace guards’ domain. Two men stood outside the door, guarding the guards. They sprang smartly to attention as Relam approached.
“Your highness!” they chorused, bowing low. “How may we help you?”
“I’m here to interview men for my personal guard,” Relam replied, stepping closer to the door. “May I go in?”
“Just a moment, your highness, we’ll announce you,” one guard said quickly.
“No need for that,” Relam protested. But the guard had already shoved the door open and strutted into the room. Relam reflected that this was probably one of Eckle’s recruits.
“His highness, Prince Relam!” the guard cried, thumping the butt of his spear against the floor.
Immediately, most of the room’s occupants surged to their feet. Those who didn’t were sound asleep in the bunks lining the perimeter of the room, probably catching up after late night shifts. The rest of the guards stood at attention, most out of uniform, a few in full armor and carrying weapons as though they were about to go onto guard duty.
“At ease,” Relam said quickly. The room relaxed. “As you were,” Relam added.
The guards exchanged uncertain glances, then went back to what they had been doing. Eight guards moved past Relam, murmuring greetings, and slipped out the door. The rest either sat back down on their bunks or around the tables in the center of the room. A babble of conversation started up, hardly interrupted by the prince’s arrival.
“You can go,” Relam said curtly, dismissing the guard who had announced him. Then, he moved into the room, moving among the men, looking for any he knew.
Familiar faces were few and far between though. He knew a few of the sleeping guards by sight but not by name. Most of those who were awake he had not met. There were a dozen or so playing cards at one of the tables, betting night shifts and talking loudly as they played. Relam recognized one or two faces there, but none well enough that he
