The queen once again sounded almost emotionless, but for my part I felt I was about to black out. My mind raced, spinning between joy at the prestigious assignment and absolute sheer terror at the prospect.

“Of course, we cannot overstate the importance of this mission, nor the quantity of trust we are extending to you. You will be duly compensated for your service, but first there will be a safeguard.” She rapped her knuckles on the arm of her throne, and a servant quietly removed the cloth from the table. Underneath was a small slab of rock, no larger than a man’s head. I blinked. It made too much sense…

“You may recognise this. It is a Holy Stone, from the Freibergen. You will swear on it that you will guard his Highness Prince Franz with your life on the journey, until you are released by his order and that of one of our representatives, and you believe him safe. You will swear to seek no personal benefit from this.”

If I was off-balance before, now I was staggered. I closed my eyes, thinking for a moment, but the decision wasn’t even remotely difficult. I set my hat down at my side and rose to my feet, keeping my gaze lowered, to approach the table where I knelt again.

Next to the Holy Stone lay a small silver knife with an edge like a razor. I picked it up with a surprisingly steady hand, glancing at it only long enough to adjust my grip. With the sudden rush of boldness, I looked up and locked eyes with Her Majesty.

“I will guard his Highness Prince Franz with my life on the journey, until I am released by his order and that of one of Her Majesty’s representatives, and I believe him safe,” I swore in a calm voice. “I will seek no personal benefit from this.”

Without hesitating, I brought the silver knife up and drew it down my left cheekbone, opening a shallow cut below my eye. Reversing the knife in my hand to move it out the way, I brought my still powder-stained fingers up to my face, wetting the tips of the first two with blood and drawing them across the top of the unassuming rock on the table before me.

I set the knife down and closed my eyes for a few heartbeats. When I opened them again, the rock was spotless as when it began. I reflexively touched my cheek, feeling nothing there but a clean patch where the powder had been wiped away.

It seemed like this should be an earth-shattering moment, like it should redefine my existence or lend some intangible weight to my actions, but instead I felt underwhelmed. The offering of blood was purely symbolic, the Heavens setting a barrier to prevent oaths taken in haste or without investment, and had no glorification of self-harm apart from the scar in token of the oath. Indeed, the knife was so sharp the whole process was less painful than cutting myself while shaving, and required about as much willpower. It was a strange feeling, the weight of Her Majesty’s gaze feeling so much greater than taking a binding oath.

“Then it is sealed,” the queen said. “The Major will discuss the details of your mission with you. We wish you the Heavens’ protection.”

Her tone making it clear we were dismissed, I rose to my feet. Some new rush of temerity led me to look up at the prince as I stood, sizing him up. Of course I had seen him before, as we all had, being members of the Guard Regiment as we were, but rarely from so close.

He was a young boy, of about thirteen years and a little lanky -- he’d had his first growth spurt but was yet to grow into it, I would say. Of course, he had the good looks of his parents, with well-defined, if still rather childish, features and though it was hard to say much about his physique through the fashionably puffy doublet he wore, he didn’t seem to be carrying too much extra weight. His hair was even darker than mine, nearly black, and fell to curls just above his shoulder.

He nodded to me and I kept moving, mimicking Major von Staffen’s deep bow and following him out quickly. We walked in silence for some time before the major spoke abruptly, the pain of his arm and the stress of his situation clearly still weighing heavily on him.

“Well, I’m sure you’re wondering what this is all about, and why you.”

“Yes, sir,” I admitted. “It’s a great honour, but I confess it is a much greater surprise.”

“As it should be, gefreiter. It would hardly do for His Highness to be escorted about by the rank and file as a matter of course!” He managed a chuckle at his own joke. “I feel you deserve to understand why you were chosen, given the weight of the responsibility and the weight of your oath. Very good taste, by the way, St. Morgan’s cut very traditional. Your education and culture was one of the reasons you were chosen.”

The St. Morgan’s cut referred to the vertical cut over the cheekbone. There was no requirement of how or where the blood should be drawn, as far as I knew, but it was traditional that the cut be made somewhere visible, as the scar would remain for the duration of the oath. St. Morgan was said to have borne scars for all the clerical oaths and an oath of pursuit on her cheeks, and it had become a sign that the vow was embraced wholeheartedly in spirit as well as word.

“Thank you, sir.” I waited for him to elaborate on the other reasons.

“Of course, our hand was a little forced by the way the situation developed this morning. The escort must be a strong rider, naturally, which suggests of course that they be a hussar or a dragoon trooper. But then the hussars tend to be of a… certain disposition, besides which we hardly maintain a cavalry regiment in the palace, and so we are presented with a choice of the 1st Company, 2nd Battalion, or the same of the 2nd Company. Naturally the escort must be an excellent soldier in the field of battle, and so our honourable Company was chosen.

“I fear you know too well how our ranks have been thinned, although perhaps you should have been chosen in any event, but when we sought someone who was all of a skilled fighter, a good rider, well-educated so that their presence with a gentleman might not be questioned, cultured so that they may not offend His Highness, and finally familiar with the region between here and Szekerya -- well, it was as though the Heavens themselves had made the choice for us, seeing as your place of birth and upbringing satisfy everything and more. And your loyalty and patriotism are second to none.”

I blanched slightly, tucking a strand of hair that had escaped my plait into my hat.

“I’m flattered the officer corps knows so much about me, sir.” I said, honestly more nervous than proud.

“Oh, it’s no cause for concern, gefreiter. Your upbringing we knew from the regimental records -- we can hardly have unknown soldiers serving in the Queen’s Guard -- and the rest filtered up from the leutnants, who heard from sergeants. It’s a mercy this was planned in advance. I fear we lost too many good men today to have planned it now.” He fell silent again, lost in thought, and I could not blame him. It had been a harrowing morning, one I was trying not to think of.

In pursuit of that goal, I broke the silence again. “May I ask what the plan is, sir?”

The major exhaled. “Of course. Pardon me. Professor von Schentel has verified several protective enchantments on the palace, which should allow us to hold out indefinitely, but certainly at least until this evening. Under cover of night, what remains fighting fit of the 2nd Battalion will secure a path to the stables and prepare the horses. You will follow with His Highness, and ride towards the east gate.

“The intention is that you will pass inconspicuously as a lone rider with a passenger, but the 2nd will be in support if necessary. Before you leave, you will be furnished with letters of instruction to be followed after you depart Nachberg, depending on the Torrean response and circumstances. Initially you will make for Kurnich. Before that, though, you’ll be issued with new equipment, being as your current kit is in… less than satisfactory condition.”

I smiled wryly. “Thank you, sir.”

He didn’t respond to that, and we walked in silence the rest of the way back to the hall where the Guard was mustering when it wasn’t actively fighting. The closer we got, the more the place became a hive of activity. Soldiers with grey facings and white on their coats rushed about, some in squads fully armed and some individually or in small groups laden with packs or sacks, delivering water, food, or ammunition. At intervals even uncharacteristically harrowed-looking nobles moved past with books, scrolls, or loose sheets of paper in hand. The one glimpse I caught of a page made no sense, just a collection of inky scribbles.

Just before we parted ways again, a new question occurred to me. “Sir?”

“Yes, gefreiter?” The Major replied, sounding a bit strained. He was fiddling with the sling on his arm, and I guessed the pain was not improving. There were a few ways to get a broken arm in a fight with monsters, and most of them weren’t pretty.

“Will I have to wear white facings, sir? Since it’s a formal position, sir.”

Major von Staffen hacked out a surprised chuckle. “No, gefreiter, you can keep your powder stains. You may need to wear civilian clothes at times, but not the white.” He shook his head, smiling over his wince. “The Queen and the land forever, huh?”

I smiled as well, glad to have lightened his mood for a moment. “Yes sir, thank you sir. You can take the man out of the 2nd Company sir, but you can’t take the 2nd Company out of the man.”

He shook his head again, still smiling, and turned to leave. “Get re-armed and get some rest, Schreiner. You’ll be riding through the night.”

“Sir.” I saluted, and set out on the glorious quest of finding out where in this marvellously immense, centuries old, fortress-heart of the Empire of the Immer the blasted field armoury was hiding.