I had never been betrayed before. Not by an entire company. I’ve been hated in little ways, but never by a crowd. I have had to punish guards, of course, to put them in the stocks, or jail them, or set them to mucking out the latrines. Few commanders bask in the constant love of their people. A noble can, as they have officers to enforce their less popular orders. Nobles can float above it all. The grubbiness of camp life. The resentment of those who used to be your friends. But us officers are made to be hated. If it wasn’t for the better pay, few would want to ascend to my lofty status. I suppose that I should have thought myself lucky that I had served so long in relative peace.

  But the Garrison of the Courtly Palaces wouldn’t accept Dursehl’s death. It was because he was a nobody, an entirely average guard. If he had been very popular, some of them would have secretly rejoiced. Popularity breeds jealousy. If he had been well hated, they wouldn’t have minded much. But the fact that he was a nonentity, just one of them, someone who got drunk from time to time and was bad at gambling and visited the same brothels as everyone else, left them thinking that if it could happen to him it could happen to them.

  He was one of only five members of the garrison still left from the time of my glorious ascension. We had been young together. The other four had never loved me much, even if we had saved each other’s lives on many occasions. When you’re a guard, saving lives is just part of a day’s work. It creates a sense of camaraderie, it’s true. But that’s a web that’s shared among many people, and when one of the comrades is promoted to captain he steps out of the web, as it were. He’s no longer seen as one of the jolly company of oppressed equals. He becomes one of the oppressors. In their minds, I was the comrade of the other captains, the dukes and counts, the princes, even of the king. I wasn’t their comrade anymore. I imagine that they thought I went to tea parties and balls. I no longer lived with them in the barracks. I no longer diced with them in the taverns. And I have never lain with whores, or with anyone else. I was an oddball, separate from them, not quite an enemy. More like an old friend who has found a better clique, and left his former buddies behind.

  Enough. I am just trying to make sense of their betrayal. It gnaws at my mind. I will never reconcile myself to it.

  There we were on that hill, with the road stretching before us under a stand of hemlocks. The trees were very tall and they let in a muted, dappled light. Ferns stretched out over the hilltop on either side of the road. There were other hills to our left and right, and at least a third of the King’s Guard was ranging over them, trying to flush any archers. I had a guard of twenty-nine. Ten of them were clumped around Princess Iyedraeka and Martiveht. The other nineteen were fanned out, positioned in a line amidst the ferns. The king and his ladies were behind us, surrounded by the rest of the King’s Guard, about sixty veteran soldiers.

  I squinted down the road. After a moment a rider appeared. He surveilled us, then turned his horse and road away. Minutes past, but only minutes. Then the rider reappeared at the head of a cavalry column. They trotted forward and broke into a gallop. I looked to my right and my left. “Prince,” I said to Chahsaeda, “I need you to protect the princess.” He didn’t argue, but drifted back. We both knew that the calvary would break our line.

  We are descended from bandits, those of us who claim Rahasabahst as our home. Or at least most of us are. Yet it is easy to forget, when you spend your time in the livery of a guard. You assume that people will act like soldiers, and are taken by surprise when they revert back to their cutpurse ways. I did not reckon on our enemy being hidden amongst the ferns.

  I heard the first of them rise, rather than saw them. The sound of twigs breaking, of leaves stirring, as if a sudden breeze had started blowing across the hilltop. I looked to the right and saw shapes lifting from the undergrowth. Then I saw that my troops weren’t going to oppose them. I saw Jaelit, one of my contemporaries, a man who had spent his twenties perfecting a system for winning at dice, drop his weapons and kneel in surrender. I saw confusion in the postures of the guards around him who were still green troops, still uncertain of their place. They had to decide, in that moment, whether they were going to follow Jaelit’s lead or my orders. They followed Jaelit’s lead.

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  My ranks were collapsing, and the horses were thundering down the road towards us. I had very little time to decide what to do. One desperate, disappointed part of me wanted to plant a spear and face the charge and die. I felt that betrayed. But the part of me that is a father and a grandfather wanted to live. And I had Vaenahma at my side. They seemed to feel no conflict, and had no hesitation. They grabbed my arm and pulled me backwards, and we were running down the road, the sound of hooves thundering at our back.

  We swept up the princess, the Sasturi, and the prince and ran back towards the King’s Guard. Andraescav was barking orders at the rest of the garrison, the ten who had been protecting the princess. Two of them ran off, scattering into the ferns. The onrushing bandits let them go past. The rest stood their ground. They respected Andraescav and would take his orders, if not mine.

  Slaedrin was grabbing my shoulder. “Captain Haendil, what are you doing?”

  “Mutiny, sir,” I said, saluting automatically, my fingers still yellow from the curry of a few hours before.

  He was wearing his red helmet and his expression was obscured by his nose guard, but I thought I saw his eyes slide to the left and then to the right. I knew what he was thinking. If my guard was corrupted, his might be as well.

  There was a crashing sound as the remainder of my garrison met the first of the bandits to come onto the road. “Flee,” I said to Slaedrin. “Take refuge in the Shrine.” He didn’t like it. “Do it,” I said. “We’ll take a stand here. Get back down the hill before they come rushing down at you.”

  I turned and drew my sword. Vaenahma was to one side of me, and Prince Chahsaeda to the other side. Andraescav was ahead of us, and he was fighting like a madman. Our eight remaining troops were taking courage from his flailing about, and two dead bandits lay in the middle of the road. But the horses were rushing towards us, and we had no time.

  “Plant spears!” I shouted. “Plant spears!”

  To my great relief, they obeyed. They dropped to one knee and set their spears, bracing themselves against their long shields. Someone on the hill to the south had begun shooting into the fray, but they weren’t shooting at us. I watched as the lead horse caught an arrow and veered away, crashing through the underbrush and trampling one of my mutinied guards. The first wave of horsemen hit the spears. Screams as a horse was impaled, and the horse behind it crashed into it. One rider broke free, his horse leaping over the line with tremendous grace. I stepped forward and slashed its throat as it landed, then stepped away so that it could fall onto the hard packed dirt.

  The first charge was broken. Now arrows were falling on us from the underbrush, as the bandits who had ambushed us got organized. But Huehlscot had command of the hill to the south, and the King’s Guard had long bows. The bandits didn’t know which threat they should face. I glanced behind us. Slaedrin was beating a rapid retreat. The king’s palanquin was halfway down the hill already, and the multicolored robes of his ladies swished as they ran after him.

  “Captain,” Chahsaeda said to me, “we can’t allow the princess to be trapped in the shrine.” I looked at him. “If my brother lured her here, it’s because he means to kill her,” he said, his voice terse, his features thinned with anxiety.

  “Go after her,” I said. “Take her north along the stream bed. Get into the woods.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Guard her, Captain. That is your duty.”

  “We are protecting the king.”

  “You are not the King’s Guard,” he said. “You are everyone else’s guard. Guard her.”

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  Copyright KPB Stevens, 2025

  Dear Brihmi, if you're still alive

  The Letters of Abhar Aloejo, written in the Ninth Month, 2234