The Warrior Queen of Karth – Part 1: The Oath of Terms

The battle was over by noon. By dusk, the plain below the mountain fort was quiet, and the banners of the three rival houses lay trampled in the mud.

Queen Brannoch stood in the doorway of her war tent with her helm under her arm and looked at the man the guards had brought in. He was tall, scarred and exhausted, his armour dented, his sword taken. Ser Aldric had led the strongest of the rebel wings, and fought it well, and now stood bare-headed in the lamplight, waiting for judgment.

She was forty, a queen at twenty-two, a war leader at twenty-three, and in eighteen years she had never once taken a prisoner and not understood him. She was tall, broad-shouldered and weathered, her dark hair braided back with a leather cord, a long scar white along her forearm. When she spoke, men fell quiet.

"Leave us," she said to the guards.

They bowed and withdrew. The tent flap fell. The brazier ticked. She set her helm on the table beside a map, unbuckled her gauntlets and laid them down, one at a time.

"You may sit, Ser Aldric."

He sat on a camp stool. His hands were steady, though his jaw was tight.

"You expect to be hanged," said Brannoch.

"I expect to be judged, Majesty."

"A better answer than most." She poured two cups of wine from a flask and handed him one. "I do not hang men who fight well. But I do not release them to fight again. That leaves a third road. I will tell you what it is, and you may refuse it."

"Refuse it, Majesty?"

"Always." She sat across from him. "In my kingdom, a bond of service is not a chain. It is a promise made freely, by both. I will name the terms. You will name yours. If we agree, we speak the oath. If either of us wishes to end it, at any hour, we speak the word, and it ends. The word is Dawn. Do you understand?"

He stared at her. In eighteen years of war, in three kingdoms, he had never heard such a thing.

"I understand."

"Then hear the terms." She counted them on her fingers. "You will serve in my household and in my tent. You will obey my orders, in private and in council, within the oath. I will not ask you to do anything that dishonours you, and I will not harm you beyond what you have agreed. You will not be struck in anger. You will not be left without water, or food, or a way to speak. I will ask, at every watch, whether you are content, and you will tell me the truth."

"And if I am not?"

"Then you say Dawn, and the bond ends, and you are free to go, or to stay as a guest, as you choose." She held his gaze. "Do you want this?"

He was silent for a long time. The brazier crackled.

"Majesty," said Ser Aldric, quietly, "I have spent twenty years giving orders on battlefields. I would give a great deal to be told what to do, by someone I could trust, for the length of one night."

"Then you will say the oath," said the Queen. "In your own words."

He rose, and went down on one knee on the trampled grass of the tent floor.

"I, Aldric of the Marsh, freely and with my own will, place myself in the service of Queen Brannoch of Karth. I accept her terms. I will obey her orders within them. And I may end it at any time, by one word."

"And I, Brannoch," said the Queen, "accept your service, and swear to keep you safe. The word is Dawn."

"The word is Dawn."

She looked down at him for a long moment, and for the first time all day, something warmed in her face.

"Are you content, Ser Aldric?"

"Content, Majesty."

"Good." She drew a long breath. "Then, by the terms, you will kneel there until I give you leave. And we shall see what kind of servant a champion makes."

Continue the story: Part 2 – Dawn.