Eye of the Labyrinth Read Free

as an officer.
    “You’ll find things a little different here on Kalarada, your highness,” Rove Elan had explained to him. “You’ll be just another soldier, I’m afraid. Rank is earned on merit in the Queen’s Guard. Your civilian rank, that of the Princess Alenor’s consort, or even our future regent, counts for nothing here.”
    “I know that, my lord. I expect no special consideration because of who I am or who my father is.”
    Rove Elan smiled faintly. “Oh, you’ll find yourself judged on who your father is, your highness, but it may not be the reaction you imagine. This is the
Queen’s
Guard. The Queen of Dhevyn, not Senet, and you would do well to remember that.”
    “I’m not ignorant of the political situation, my lord,” he said, which was not entirely accurate, but neither was it actually a lie.
    “You’re likely to be sorely tested here, until the others have accepted you. You will be judged on how you react to that testing.”
    “I believe I can look after myself, my lord.”
    Rove nodded. “From what I hear, you’re more than capable of taking care of yourself, but we’re not like your father’s Palace Guard, full of mercenaries and men seeking fortune and position. Here, you are expected to put your comrades and the protection of the queen above personal glorification.”
    “And you think I can’t do that, sir?” he asked, a little offended.
    “I’ve no idea if you can do it or not, your highness,” Rove said with a shrug. “But it will be up to you to prove that you can.”
    The training grounds of the Queen’s Guard were located inside the small keep that guarded the steep access road to the palace. The shadow of Kalarada Palace loomed over the keep, its bulk concealing the sun for a good part of the day and most of the night. Kirsh had found the gloom a little disconcerting at first. He still remembered the first time Rove Elan had led him toward the high paling fence that surrounded the fighting arena in the shadow of the gray stone outer wall.
    There were two hundred or more men present, training in pairs with blunted practice swords, thick quarterstaves or short, broad-bladed spears. Kirsh looked around with interest and the professional eye of a man who had been trained to handle weapons as soon as he was old enough to pick up a blade. The men of the Queen’s Guard were competent, he decided, but not outstanding. There was not a man he could see that he did not feel he could best.
    “So this is Antonov’s cub.”
    They stopped and turned toward the voice. The man who had spoken was about the same height as Kirsh, but of a much heavier build. He had tossed his shirt aside to train, and his well-developed muscles glistened with sweat. He had a head of thick dark hair and a scowl that made Kirsh wonder if he practiced it in the mirror each morning when he shaved. He glanced around to find all activity in the yard had come to a halt. Everyone was staring at him.
    “This is our master-at-arms, Dargin Otmar,” the Lord Marshal explained with a nod to the other man. “He’s all yours, Dargin. Try not to break him. Or damage that pretty face of his. I believe the Princess Alenor may have a use for him someday.”
    Kirsh stared after the Lord Marshal as he turned and headed back to the barracks.
    “I hear you think you’re pretty good,” Dargin remarked, wiping his hands on his discarded shirt and throwing it aside.
    “I never claimed to be anything of the kind,” Kirsh answered, glancing around warily. The other men had abandoned their training and were leaning on the railing of the yard, watching him with interest. He smiled disarmingly. “Perhaps my reputation has preceded me.”
    “Oh, your reputation has preceded you, Latanya, I can promise you that.”
    Kirsh grinned and flexed his fingers in anticipation. “What’s this then? The traditional let’s-beat-the-crap-out-of-the-new-boy ceremony?”
    “No,” Dargin replied, “it’s more along the lines of a