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In Service to the King by D.G. Parker
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In Service to the King by D.G. Parker 
2 
 
Part one 
L IGHTNING streaked down from the sky in a fearsome vertical fork,
bringing with it a resounding crack of thunder. Adjusting the weight of the
deer across his lean shoulders, Nerom cursed as the wind whipped his
shabby cloak into his face. The animal had seemed so scrawny when he’d
shot it, but now it seemed to weigh as much as an ox. He squinted at the
dark afternoon sky, at the thick, rolling clouds that choked out the sun, and
sighed. He would never make it home before the rain started.
Nerom tucked his head against his chin and broke through the
brush, emerging onto the path just as another great crash of thunder
echoed through the forest. He’d barely set his boot on the dirt when
something large and fast-moving flew by. Losing his balance, he ended up
on his rump in the weeds, watching in shock as a horse pounded past. He
had time to notice two things – the saddle and tack were expensively-
made, and the rider was nowhere to be seen. After the horse disappeared,
Nerom climbed to his feet only to hesitate, his eyes moving from the deer
carcass, to the darkening sky, to further back down the path.
With a sigh, he reshouldered his kill and trudged down the path in
the direction from which the horse had come. He was going to have to find
a place to take shelter anyway. This direction was as promising as any.
In Service to the King by D.G. Parker 
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The first fat drops of rain began falling as he made his way down
the narrow path. The wind picked up to a furious pace. Branches sliced at
his face like thrown daggers.
He’d not gone far before he spotted the rider, a still heap of green
and red fabric half-hidden in the brush. Nerom swore softly to himself. In
times like these, a smart man kept to his own business and paid no mind to
that of others. A smart man would keep going, take shelter until the storm
passed and then go about his way.
Nerom had never been accused of being smart.
He moved to the fallen figure, dropping to one knee and letting the
carcass slide to the ground. Giving the man’s shoulder a rough shake and
getting no response, Nerom cautiously rolled him onto his back.
The injured man was no older than Nerom, perhaps twenty, with
close-cropped dark hair and a neat, short beard. A bloody lump was rising
on his forehead, just above his left eye. Nerom shook him again, patting
his cheek for good measure. The man did not awaken.
A quick check of the man’s limbs revealed a knee that was swollen
and hot to the touch, even through his leggings. Nerom settled back on his
haunches and cast his eyes around the surrounding forest. A few moments
later he spotted a promising stand of tall shrubs and went to work, bending
the branches and weaving them together to form a crude shelter. More
leafy branches secured on top formed a mostly-waterproof roof.
He spent another few moments gathering fallen branches and
stacking them in the shelter, and then he returned to the stranger, who was
still out cold. Nerom caught him under his arms and tugged him a few feet
at a time to the shelter. Once he’d arranged the man as comfortably as
possible, Nerom went back for his deer. The rain was driving down in
In Service to the King by D.G. Parker 
4 
 
sheets by the time he’d hung it from a nearby tree, carefully camouflaged
in the brush.
Stripping off his cloak, he crawled into the shelter with the
stranger. It was a tight fit, but there was room for a small fire. Nerom took
his flint from a pouch on his belt and managed to coax a flame from the
slightly-damp wood. He spread his cloak out to dry as best he could, then
turned to the injured man.
Nerom knew very little about the healing arts. He checked the man
for fever and found none, checked that the man was breathing steadily and
that the lump on his head had stopped bleeding. With nothing else to do,
he shoved his pack under the swollen knee and settled by the fire, feeding
it the occasional twig to encourage it. Outside the wind howled, bending
trees double and stripping them of their leaves. Nerom shivered in his
damp clothes and hunched over the meager warmth as the afternoon
passed into evening.
He awoke from a light doze, stretching his cramped shoulders and
assessing the weather. The winds had let up and the rumble of thunder
seemed more distant, but the rain continued to come down in a deluge.
Beside him, the stranger shifted and moaned. Nerom moved to his side
and reached for his water skin.
The man’s eyes opened, looking gray or perhaps blue in the tiny
sliver of moonlight edging through the clouds. His gaze took in the strange
surroundings with mounting concern. “Be at ease, my lord,” Nerom
soothed. “You’ve had an accident, but you are safe. Take some water, it
will help clear your head.” He eased the man into a sitting position,
propping him against the thickest tree trunk in their shelter, and handed
him the water skin. “You fell from your horse,” Nerom continued as the
other man drank. “I found you and brought you here to wait out the
storm.”
In Service to the King by D.G. Parker 
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The man drank and handed the skin back, wiping stray droplets
from his beard. “Then you have my thanks.” He raised a hand to gingerly
prod the wound on his forehead. “Fortunately it is only my head. As my
father would point out, it is impervious to damage.”
Nerom grinned. “Alas, you have also injured your knee, though I
don’t believe it is a serious hurt.”
The stranger reached forward and felt the joint in question, then
glanced outside at the driving rain. “Well,” he sighed, settling his
shoulders more comfortably against the tree, “it doesn’t appear I’m going
anywhere for awhile anyway. My name is Janus, and you are?”
“Nerom, my lord.”
“What makes you think I’m a lord?” Janus asked, amusement clear
in his tone.
“Your clothes. And your horse, both much finer than any I’ve ever
seen.”
“Very observant. Tell me, friend Nerom, from where do you hail?”
“A village a few leagues to the east. We call it Erynlea.”
“I’ve not heard of it,” Janus admitted.
“I don’t know why you would have, my lord. It’s very small, no
different from a hundred others.”
“Yet you stay.”
Nerom shrugged. “My parents live there. They are old and have no
one else to care for them. Besides, where would I go? One place is as good
as another.”

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