by P. S. Power
When he left, not eating again, there were forty-four of them. Meaning he’d managed eleven per hour. That still wasn’t nearly as fast as the bowyer could do it. Meaning that he was lacking in the needed skills, still. On the good side, a lot of the men that had come in to make their own strings had been a lot slower than that. Giving him both a goal to look toward and the knowledge that he was making progress.
Cleaning himself as he moved, feeling ready to fall down, if only out of laziness, Anders got himself to Master Belford’s chambers and knocked. Which did nothing, even repeating it after a few minutes. Rather than waste the time in searching the castle for the man, who was clearly busy for some reason, Anders went and picked up the message from the Modroc Ambassador Chistos Fromet. It was ready for delivery, though it was also the third draft, since the man had wanted to get it right.
Moving quickly, no one stopped him as he moved to the door of Prince Robarts’s office. When it opened, after the gentle rapping, the man himself nodded at him. Then quickly bowed back and waved him in.
“We’re in here for the afternoon, Brolly.”
They being Master Belford, Prince Erold and Prince Alpert. Bowing again, he held out the letter.
“From Ambassador Chistos Fromet, of Modroc, for the King? I missed that the man was here earlier, so told him that I’d get the Heir himself to present the letter to King Matheus. That way it will be seen as important and grand.” He looked at the others and made a rather embarrassed face. “The truth is I didn’t know any other way to get that to happen quickly, so thought of this.” He waited, since it was almost certainly well out of order.
The oldest Prince simply bowed, to the whole room.
“I’ll deliver it at once. Thank you, Anders. I’d rather failed to understand the man was here as well. One moment.”
For the life of him, even through the closed door, it sounded as if there were footsteps running down the hallway. Which was the thing only allowed in emergencies. The rules were probably different for Princes. Being both not allowed at all and a thing that no one would take them to task for if it happened. Everyone else there pretended not to hear it taking place, as far as outward demeanor, so Anders did the same.
Prince Alpert looked at him, his face bland seeming.
“What have your days been bringing you, Anders?” There was no real weight to the words.
Which probably meant he wasn’t supposed to bother with great detail in them. A casual comment that was best answered with only a token attempt to inform.
“Working in the bow shop, mainly. That and seeing to some chores in the morning. Some lessons as well. Yourself?” He was uncertain as to what you asked a real Prince about their days.
Not that Erold was a fake one, it was simply that his answer would have been all about lessons. Things that Anders was barely even told about when the topic came up. It certainly wasn’t about making bow strings or arrows.
Rather than tell him that kind of thing was beyond one such as Anders, he waved at the room.
“Plotting, right now. That and seeking to find a way around war, which doesn’t seem to be coming to any of us at all. Have you heard anything to that end?”
It was a strange question and one that he didn’t really have anything new about that the men there didn't already know. As he started to say just that, the door opened again and Prince Robarts stepped in, quickly.
“There. Father is most pleased with the timely delivery, Anders. We can set up the first introduction for this evening. Are you two up for aiding the Ambassador in that? The Princess did a lovely job, last night and recommended that it was due to the aid of several of our own people. Your name came up, Master Belford. As did those of Lady Lyse and Lady Martya.” He looked at them all and then spread his hands, moving to sit behind his desk, which was across the room.
That was a large wooden thing that seemed important and commanding without being more than a nicely appointed place to write and interview people. From the color it was made of light oak, the grain on it tight and firm. The beast probably weighed as much or more than either of the smaller people in the room.
“With extra special mention of you, Master Anders.” There was a look at the others, Prince Alpert seeming ready to say something, his face hard. That got waved at with a rapid hand motion. “Her words, brother. Meant well, from the sound of their speaking. They, her contingent, do seem to think he might be a mighty Wizard or Magician, hiding himself as a young boy. I rather noticed that no one bothered to correct that idea, at the time.”
Master Belford spoke then, not interrupting, while also not commenting on what had been said.
“We were to go over the high meal dining and some court procedures today. Before I was called away. We can count the work last night for that. We should go and see to the Ambassador now? Or… If it is not insulting to you, or seem to be me pressing in where you have gone first to do the harder work, I could see to it myself?” The man smiled and froze at the same time, as if that kind of thing wouldn’t make sense to the child with him.
Which as it turned out was fair. Inside, the portion of him that had once been Anders Brolly honestly did rankle at the idea of being kept out, when it had been his work that had allowed them to even know the ambassador existed.
Old Farad smiled for them. Meaning it.
“That is the best plan. I can attend if needed to aid with clothing but I think that I did that for all of them this morning. The Princess had rather figured on getting herself sent back, almost instantly, then the other plans, using magic, weren’t allowed. The ambassador and many of the others have nicer things, having had no idea for that in mind. Other than bringing in aid for the evening, my part in that is done. You already have some introductions there. Perhaps Natan Smitt could get you to the correct person?” Not that showing up and saying who he was wouldn’t work for that as well.
He stood up and bowed, which Prince Erold and Anders did back, leaving the room quickly to see to his tasks. The door was closed behind him, with Anders still inside. That made little to no sense, even as Robarts started to speak almost instantly.
“I’ve heard that Yanse is running raids along the border, to the east. We’re likely going to be riding out in two months or less. The levies are already being told to ready themselves. It means having them gone for the harvest, which is less than good. This wedding couldn’t come at a worse time, except that it might stave off yet another conflict. Erold, you need to focus on that. I’ve already spoken to Father, who agrees that sending you to war is a poor plan, this close to the arrival of Princess Sweyn. Anders…” The man stopped and looked at him, then shook his head, slowly.
“Father flat out forbid the generals from taking anyone under sixteen. Even orphans and the oldest son of the family. That should have protected you. Mother foresaw that you will be going and that it is of need. If we ride that way, you’re to go with us. To that end, you’re being given a fine horse and a spare from the stable and will be working on bows, instead of fighting. That and acting as soft squire to Master Tolan, the Court Wizard.” He stopped then and spread his hands. “Soft squire just means you’ll tend his gear, not that you have to warm his bed at night or anything. Not that the old letch won’t suggest it. Say no, if you wish. Father rather likes you better than him for the time being, so you have some support there. Plus, I’ll be around most likely, along with Alpert.”
Anders snorted, since it sounded like a horrible way to spend the meat of a summer and into the fall, which was clearly the plan.
“I for one would like my first time to be with a woman, if it’s all the same.” The words were dry sounding, and off, coming as they were from a boy.
There were nods all the way around, with Prince Erold glaring at Robarts for some reason. When he spoke, his words seemed actually short.
“That isn’t the way of Master Tolan at all. He seeks men and as far as I’ve seen never strays from that. He’ll be more likely to come to you or Alpert for that kin
d of comfort than Anders. Really though, you should learn camp cooking before you go. Otherwise you’ll just be eating burnt things cooked on bare coals for half a year or longer. That’s what the tales all speak of at least.”
Anders nodded at the words. The old tales spoke of that as well, in the more realistic versions. On the march or long ride the needs were clean water, dry feet, well cooked food and healing supplies. That and the tools of war.
He gave the room a rather dry look then.
“Also how to sit on a horse, tend and feed one as well as use some kind of weapon in case we’re attacked. Two months… Plenty of time for all of that I’m certain.”
Everyone just looked at him as if he’d said something strange, then laughed, almost all at once. When they stopped, Robarts smiled at him. It was a big thing, fake with happiness that likely wasn’t felt.
“That’s the spirit. The whole thing will be hard, uncomfortable and might end in our deaths. Prepare as best you are able. If you need aid with that, come to me. I’ll assign people to the tasks. You already have magic lessons? Captain Ford will see to fighting for you… I’ll send one of the cooks over to help you with that portion. When do you have free time?”
Anders blinked, started to speak, then didn’t. The only things he could say would sound rude.
Finally, he admitted the truth.
“When I should be sleeping? Even right now, at the very moment, I should be making bow strings…” He felt like it was the wrong thing to say, until the oldest Prince got out some paper and started writing.
“You tend the Ambassadors yourself, in the mornings? Let’s end that at eight on the clock. Then you should quickly break fast and start on your fletching and bowyer efforts. Then a quick mid-meal. I’ll assign a servant to bring that to you. In the afternoon you’ll work with Captain Ford on bow and spear for three hours. Military horse riding as well. Then three hours for magic work before late meal. After that, you have three hours to learn cooking in camp conditions. That gives you no time for fun or enjoyment. For that… Take the celebration and festival days off. Well, part of them. We really don’t have a lot of time to aid your preparations.” Then the man signed the thing at the bottom, writing that the schedule was to be strictly held to.
Which was explained.
“Take this to anyone that has you doing anything. Their time with you ends when scheduled and you will sleep at night. There. Fixed, except for the part where this schedule is monstrous. That part is on me. Just so you know who to blame for it in three weeks when you wish you could do almost anything else.”
Anders stood up then, not knowing the time.
“Bow and spear now, then? With Captain Ford. I should see to that.” He waited, since he was asking, not telling the Prince that it was the time for that.
The Heir nodded.
“That sounds correct. Glad to see you’re taking things seriously. This is the time for that. I’ll try to keep you informed on various issues, as your schedule allows. Dismissed.”
He bowed to the three Princes. They all stood to do it back, this time.
That probably meant something he simply didn’t understand.
Chapter fifteen
Captain Ford read the paper he was handed, doing it carefully and more than once.
“Camp cooking lessons?”
The words were a bit amused, rather than upset about the extra work that the man was being required to do each day. Three hours of a person’s time was a lot to ask of them. Captain Ford simply help the paper and waved to a younger guard who was standing off to the side.
“Rollow! Work with Brolly here. Spear, and pole arms. He has no skills that way. Coming off of his death bed. Red belly fever. Keep that in mind. Focus on skills, not conditioning for now. You have him for three hours. Bow as well…” There was a sidelong look at him then. “How long before you have one of those?”
“Two days? That’s to let the oil cure. The arrows are fletched and ready. I need to finish up the bow string order… That came before the schedule. Two hundred of those.”
Rollow, who was three heads taller and about as lanky as Anders let his face tighten, almost as if showing sympathy for pain.
“Two hundred? That’s a lot to ask of a man. How many weeks do you get for it?”
“Two more days. I have a hundred and forty and a bit finished so far. It’s going to be harder to do if I have to keep to this schedule.”
Captain Ford simply shrugged.
“Find the time. Just do it in secret if you have to. That’s a long and honored tradition in the guard. The military as well. Those at the top are often intelligent and mean well… While not knowing which end of a sword to hold. You have orders and have to carry them out. New ones don’t get you out of the old. Hurry here and you can buy an hour and half in the bowyer shop. Do it right, Rollow.”
There was a firm nod from the man, who started from the very beginning.
“First we’ll cover non-formation spear and pole. That’s pretty basic. The real work is standing shoulder to shoulder with a massive armored war horse riding down on you. That takes nerve and mettle. If it’s ever your turn on the front line, you can’t break. Pike will destroy cavalry, if the men standing the line hold it. First, I’ll show you what to do, then you do it. Ready?”
Rollow was good at teaching and when he asked for a few moments to memorize the moves he just stood there, waiting each time. Then he went over them again, making any corrections needed. After an hour the man stood back.
“Everything. Do it all now.”
That was simple enough. Not that he had the strength or power to back up any of the movements. In the last half hour he called over two other men, to work in beside him. That required learning more names and linking them to the proper movements. In the end several people came to watch as commands were called off.
In order for it to work, they had to follow along at the same time.
“Move to right… Arms! Ready to meet charge! Hold… Meet charge!”
That had him holding the butt of the spear against the side of his shoe, using both arms to hold the spear out as he squatted down. Rear leg back for balance. Then he had to go over everything else he learned, including working with one of them holding a blunted spear. They were supposed to try and stab each other with them. Meaning he kept getting hit as the other fellow dodged, deflected and easily held him at bay.
His instructor waved at him.
“That earns you an hour and a half in the workshop for today. Good job.” Reaching out, the man in gray, his hair short and head slightly forward, waved him off.
Anders started to run, only to be waved at by Captain Ford.
“Your schedule! Hurry now.”
Then, breathing harder than he should have, even while jogging, he moved into the shop, passed the paper to the bowyer, then started working first thing. After three strings were done, the man walked over to him, the fletcher in tow.
Both of the men nodded at him.
It was Barkley that did the talking.
“We can’t work you on both with this schedule. Tomorrow you’ll finish the bows you’re on, then work fletching full time. This is a training schedule. Like a recruit gets at first. Except the cooking. The magic, too, so I guess they have you doing some funny things. You know why that is?”
“I’m being put in as soft squire for Master Tolan. I’ve been assured that doesn’t mean doing… soft things with him. The cooking is just so that I can make sure we don’t starve, I guess. Prince Erold suggested it, so it was put on the schedule.”
The Master Fletcher nodded.
“Damn. If they’re sending the Wizard then we’re headed to war, certain sure. Any guess which direction?” The fellow didn't seem that happy to be asking.
Anders nodded.
“It sounds like we might be headed toward Yanse. In two months or maybe less. That could not happen, if all goes well. It could be sooner. Or maybe just a jest to get me to keep working hard? In tha
t case we can all have a good chuckle over it, come fall?” That would be for the best.
Tapping his peg leg against the floor, Sergeant Barkley shook his head slowly.
“Damned indeed. That fits too well with the rest of the rumors. Anyway, get to work, Brolly. Report to Barret here in the morning, as to your orders.”
After that, he was left alone to try and get the rest of the strings twisted in time. It wasn’t enough, though he cheated a bit, openly practicing magic while he worked on the remaining strings. It was harder than it should have been, though he cleaned the shop, both of them, from the bow string jig, as well as changed the string colors on each and made some of them give off a bright light. The bowyer saw that and walked over.
“That won’t work in war…”
That was obvious enough.
“It will fade in a moment or two. Without doing anything to the strings at all. It’s just practice time. Do you want a glowing bow or one of a different color?”
“Nah. I bet we could use some whiter feathers, if you need a project? The last batch came in too gray and brown. They work but are harder to see in practice, so easier to lose. Let me bring the basket of those over.”
At first, he figured it would mean doing each feather separately. It didn’t, though the spell was a bit longer than some, without being too hard to manage. Even while working on something else the whole time. As soon as he said the words, the feathers over there, between there and there and there, all turned white. He didn't have a word for feather, so the basket turned the same color. No one screamed at him over it. The thing was just taken back into the other room.
Then, over the course of three more hours, holding to twelve strings for each of them, people brought him things and asked for different bits of work to be done. Not all of them were things he could figure out while working, so were set to the side. Not taken away, since he had three hours of needed practice the next day.