Fletcher

by P. S. Power

  When he was finished there, he was actually sent off to the proper meal inside, which seemed out of place. The other boys had to keep working, even if it was their meal time as well. Hunger overcame his fellow feeling, so he went inside at a jog. Making his clothing cleaner as he did it. That day he was in somber black, with a blue triangle on the front of his shirt that took up most of it. There was no real reason for him to do things like that, other than for the practice. Most people only had a few outfits that they wore, which was true for himself as well. Now he could just make them seem different each day.

  Not nearly as well as Depak Sona, of course. That man put intricate designs with birds and trees, or flowers into the weave of everything he wore. The material was made lustrous, being brighter than silk half the time. Even the cut of things was changed to fit his mood and situation at the moment.

  Anders wasn’t even copying those kinds of habits. His rough color changing was interesting enough, without being nearly as much as he should have been practicing.

  That night, when he went into the low hall, no ambassadors joined them for the meal. A few of the Modroc men and Sandra the lady’s maid were there, talking to different people at other tables when he walked in. No one waved for him to sit with them, so he took a plate of food from the side table, getting enough that he felt bad about doing it and settled in the lowest portion, near the last table, off to the far side. Out of the way, so he could merely eat.

  His middle ached at him to do so.

  It was tempting to bolt his food, using his fingers and some bread to shovel everything he had into his mouth. Which meant that, shortly after he picked up his fork, Master Belford moved in alongside of him. Eating slowly, and not pointing out that Anders had taken more than his share that night.

  There was no greeting or any other kind of acknowledgement that the man was there. Not until most of the food was gone from each plate. It was slower going, using good manners. A thing that was annoying in the moment, given how he felt.

  When Belford spoke, he actually looked away, at the far wall and kept his voice low.

  “You sent Daren Willet to me. He didn’t say why, exactly.” It was a mere whisper, not meant to be over heard by others nearby. They were alone at the table, seeming not to be engaged in conversation.

  Which indicated the other man was trying not to scream the topic to the room.

  “I’ve been told that if the local levies are called out, I’m to ride east inside a month. From the sound, I’m going regardless of that activation.” On a horse, a thing he still didn’t know how to do at all. “I managed to get Daren in as the afternoon room servant for all the ambassadors. Depak Sona should be looking out for him. I’ll try to make firmer introductions with everyone. That gives you a person in the room, part of the time, if I’m away.” They all could also simply go and make friends as well.

  That wouldn’t necessarily tell them if the dignitaries had everything they needed and were doing well, however. A boy inside the room itself, three times a day or more, would be able to do that kind of thing when they might not think, or even know, to ask after things for themselves.

  Which reminded him of something. Depak had asked after a library, if anyone had such a thing.

  Next to him, still looking away, there was a fractional nod. It was just enough to cause the man’s long black hair to shift.

  “Hm. Good. I’ll make certain he knows what to do. I have a book for you to memorize, on speaking the language of Yanse. How long will that take you?”

  The truth depended on a lot of things. Mainly the amount of time he had to work on it.

  “A few weeks? Faster if I have time to just sit and read, if it isn’t very long. I think I get time tonight, since I had my cooking lesson already today. Baking bread on a rock. With coals. That is not the tastiest way to prepare it. The idea is so I’ll know what to do if things get hard.”

  Again, there was a nod.

  “I’ll place the book in your room after this. Use what time you can tomorrow to learn it, if you have any. I know that isn’t much of a celebration. There was word today of a massive border raid from Yanse. I don’t know what that will mean as far as marching out. At the same time we’ve had troubling news from the south.” He stopped, as several people moved to sit with them. One of those was Lady Martya. The other Sir Humphrey.

  It was the mustache wearing man, who looked ruddy cheeked and strong, who spoke first, his plate being dumped on the table a bit sullenly.

  “I need information, Belford. I have some to trade, if you have anything?” The words were different, the man seeming tired, as if he’d been drained of life.

  Glancing side to side, the black-haired man grimaced a bit, then nodded.

  “We have a new man inside the ambassadorial hall. Master Brolly set that up for us. I also got word that Modroc and Barquea are officially at war. I don’t know how that will fall out. Anders, can you get with everyone on that? We have two issues there, since Istlan already has a marriage alliance with Barquea. Princess Aisla is high enough ranked there that we won’t be going against that. It would be best if the marriage with Princess Sweyn goes through, as well. That should cancel things out, so we won’t really end up involved in the main portion of their problems.” Finally, there was a look in his direction.

  “I’ll be there in the morning to clean up. I can ask after things like that?”

  Those words got nods from the men, with Lady Martya staring at him, closely.

  “How are you feeling? Lady Lyse was telling me not just this morning that you’d been set to running ever since climbing out of your sick bed. She’s worried that you might fall to illness again, if pressed too hard.”

  That was a different conversation and wouldn’t give him any information about what might be coming. Especially off in the east, since that was rather a concern for him, in the moment. A thing that was nearly as big as the rest of it combined. The very idea of riding toward a war zone, or even a place where some bad raids were taking place, was very counter to what he wanted to be doing.

  “I’m doing better. My strength is coming back. I can almost run for a bit without being left breathless again. Most of what I’m doing isn’t that hard, so far.”

  Downplaying things felt right, since it was rather clear that Lady Martya was planning to tell on him if there was even a hint of complaining. That was written all over her face. The woman, who was attractive, wearing a nice gown and makeup like she was, started to lean in, only to be interrupted in her further prying by Sir Humphrey.

  “Two towns taken on the eastern side. Yanse is… Well, they were in the right colors for it to be their army. If so, that will start things off nicely. No orders came down yet. I’m getting the heavy horse ready anyway. After tomorrow. No need to spoil the day, unless we get word of something happening for certain.”

  The others chatted then, as he worked on finishing his food. The hunger finally subsided, and when he was finished, he simply sat and listened for a while. It was instructive, if not in a way that helped him directly.

  Lady Martya glanced around the room they were in.

  “Everyone is eating in the high hall this night. I’m surprised you aren’t there, Sir Humphrey. You rate that level.” She seemed almost bored, bringing the idea up.

  The man made a face at her.

  “I was sent in here by General Nesmith, to see what I could uncover. Not everything important is disclosed in the big meetings. Brolly, you’re set to ride out with Master Tolan, aren’t you? Any word on what he knows?”

  His plate was clean, sitting empty in front of him, meaning that taking a bite to collect his thoughts was right out.

  “Nothing, yet. I should probably check in with him. I’ve only met him a few times. Twice really. At least to speak to. Both of those in the last week.”

  That got a nod, the large man closing his eyes for a moment.

  “Hmmm. He’s a good man on campaign. I’ve ridden out with him before. Not much o
f a fighter. Doesn’t complain much. Great when it comes to scouting for the enemy. The best I’ve ever heard of. Uses magic for that. Rides pretty well. Are you conditioned to that yet?”

  “Not at all. I’ve never even been up on a horse. I’ve petted a few out at the stable and given them some old apples. That’s about it.” It was a thing to do and had been out of the way enough that it made a good place to hide.

  No one had ever thought to teach him anything about the great beasts, in particular. His word just garnered a tired yawn, which was smothered by the powerful looking man.

  “Do that every day, if you can. At least an hour. Otherwise you won’t be able to walk for the first three weeks of the ride.”

  He nodded, then stood up, slowly. Moving back, he bowed to all of them, trying hard to do it right. Martya smiled at him, as if he was being cute.

  Anders backed away from the table, leaving the plate, as was the custom.

  “I have some work to see to, if I have time for it. Thank you all, for sharing the meal with me.” No one stood up to bow back, so he took that as a sign that things must be rather serious that day.

  More so than it had seemed at the time and that was pretty dire.

  From the low hall, he decided to go back to his quarters. Then decided that going to make certain Senna Grace was pleased with his practice for the day was in order. He had a schedule anyway and just because he felt done didn't mean he really got to be, all the time.

  Just as he turned, taking not three steps down the hallway, a horribly nagging feeling hit him. One that he’d had before, if only once. Inside, he felt a very strong, almost undeniable, desire to go and see Princess Aisla. She wasn’t in her rooms at the moment, if the feeling was correct, being in a different part of the castle totally. Near the important parts where people like him rarely, if ever, went.

  Still, if the woman needed him, then it was his job to go, so he hurried to a strange door, that had two men standing outside, in gray uniforms, holding nicely polished spears in front of it. They didn’t even bother to tell him to halt. That just happened, since the way was clearly blocked.

  After a moment the thing drew open, with Depak Sona bowing to him. A thing that was done back.

  “Ah! Very good, Anders. The King has asked for you to attend him. In here, if you gentlemen will allow?”

  The spears moved, snapping upright, leaving just enough space for a grown man to walk between them, if he were careful and turned sideways while doing so. It wasn’t nearly that difficult for him, being a boy. At least at the moment. He had enough experience to know that would change, eventually. If he didn't get sent off to die in the coming weeks and months. That seemed pretty likely, given everything.

  Inside the room there were ten people, sitting around a large table. King Matheus was at the top of the oval, with his sons next to him. Princess Aisla was next to Prince Alpert, looking over at Anders when he walked into the space. He bowed, going low, not knowing the rules for a thing like that at all.

  At the end nearest him, there were several men in different uniforms. Generals, along with Master Tolan. No one let him know what was going on, even if they stopped speaking because he was there. The silence stretched out until it was uncomfortable.

  Finally, the King cleared his throat.

  “We’re going to be sending a small force to check the situation in the East. The forward scouts will be riding out in the morning. You’ve been tasked to attend Master Tolan, who will be leaving in three weeks’ time, with the main body. There are visionary magics involved that tell us you must ride with them, or we won’t be successful in this mission. Otherwise we wouldn’t be sending you at all. I understand that this will be difficult for you and unwelcome, given your age and recent illness.” Then, after those words the man simply stopped speaking.

  No one else did for a while, with most of them looking at him closely. As if they expected him to react in some way. To say something, even if he didn't know what they wanted from him.

  “I understand. I’ve been learning some basic skills for that, having been forewarned.”

  The King smiled, suddenly.

  “That’s to the good, then. Do you need anything for your journey?”

  That was a thing he didn't know. Thinking about it he nodded slightly.

  “Some herbs and spices. Tools to fletch arrows and maybe repair bows, since I can do a bit of that. I was also told that getting up on a horse each day would be wise, if it’s an option, before I go.” That sounded like a whole lot to ask for.

  Also, like the man might have been asking him, expecting only demurring or silence.

  All he received was a somber nod.

  “I’ll see to all of that. This is a less than perfect situation. No one wants this for you, including myself and the Queen. Thank you for coming so promptly, Master Brolly. You may leave.”

  He bowed himself out, using the second courtly bow, trying not to stumble as he pushed himself out the door. Everyone watched him the whole time. As soon as the door opened, the guard there moved the spears again, letting him out.

  Then he walked away, pondering what had just happened in that room. To the boy portion of himself, it was clear that he was being sent away. Possibly due to magic, or maybe because the Queen wanted him to die in battle. The woman hadn’t seemed angry or mean to him the times they’d met but he was still the bastard of one of her sons.

  Inside, the old man figured that it was deeper than it seemed. There was no real-world reason to send a boy off to battle. Even if the Queen had a vision, such things could prove to be wrong and his being there wouldn’t change things by all that much. At the same time, the woman hadn’t seemed to hold anything against him at all. There was no reason to, as far as power went. There were a lot of people between Anders Brolly and the throne. No reason to even dream that getting rid of him would be useful, either.

  People went against the visions of even good seers all the time, since the things could just be wrong, so very often.

  In his case, him riding with the main body of troops marching off to war, carrying two bows and speaking the language of Yanse could mean anything. He might just travel with them for the first days, then turn back. It could even be something less than that. An illusion of him being cast for instance. True, no one in the world would bother doing that, so it probably wasn’t that.

  Farad knew, from a lot of things he’d read in his life, that visions were, in general, the least exact of all the magics. Also, the most common. What was seen was, then, not what would be. Not for certain. In this case it was probably going to turn out that way. The Queen wanted it and that seemed to be enough. It was going to take place. At least he’d been getting a little bit of training already.

  He would have liked more himself. Four to ten years felt right for that kind of thing. The time it took a man to grow up and learn a trade or discipline. It seemed that he was getting three weeks, instead of that. From the sound of it, he wasn’t really being sent to be a fighter or even a Magician. His task would be in making sure Master Tolan was cared for and that his gear was kept as it was supposed to be.

  The news was still great, for him. Huge, and overwhelming to both boy and man.

  They were, like it or not, going to be riding to war. A thing that he wasn’t at all ready for.

  Rather than cry about it, or act scared, even if the whole thing left him feeling uneasy, Anders went to his room. There, once inside, was a single book. One that wasn’t terribly thick, sitting on his reading table. Using a spell, a muttered thing that sounded a bit distant to his ears, he created a light. Opened the slim tome gravely. Then dropped into a trance.

  The one skill he had that he was a true master of, was capturing the words of a book. Languages were well known to him at the same time. Setting up a new hallway in his mind, Farad spent the whole night committing the work to memory. All of it.

  After all, he wasn’t going to be sleeping any time soon anyway.

  Part II
<
br />   The Yanse Campaign

  Chapter twenty

  Dust was thrown up all around them as they rode on the eastern path toward Yanse. It was more of a large trail than it was a nice paved and cared for thoroughfare.

  Luckily, they were traveling with only two hundred men, over all. Fifty heavy riders, one hundred and forty foot-soldiers, who weren’t levies at all, meaning they didn't have any dedicated bowmen, one Prince, an army Captain and a Wizard. That, five cooks, and two attendants. Well, three if they were counting Anders. He hadn’t been told exactly how many were going, so had counted, several times. There wasn’t a lot else to do for entertainment while they traveled.

  The Queen had been partially correct, in that he did have two bows with him. For some reason, he’d figured that he would be taught how to shoot from a horse, meaning that he’d have a horn bow and his long bow with him. Instead it was simply that he’d been sent along with two long bows. He’d made both and they were heavier than his first one, even if it was still hard for him to draw them for all of his daily practice. He wasn’t shooting the arrows, just pulling the string back and releasing it slowly, using good form, with an arrow set in place, in case things went wrong.

  That way he could save the bow, even if whatever was in front of him was in danger. That was all about conditioning his body, a task set by Captain Ford, before they’d left.

  The King had actually given him all he’d asked for and a bit more, so on his spare horse, a nice mid-weight bay called Brownie, he had a small fletching kit, some tools for repairing bows if it was needed and a spice and herb kit that would have left the cooks feeling jealous if he’d had need to get it out as of yet. Which, honestly, hadn’t come up at all. Since he had the extra horse, Anders had been packed off with food supplies as well, even if the five wagons behind them were filled with things to eat.

  Ingredients, anyway.

  They’d been traveling for eleven days so far, which had been instructive, he had to admit to himself. For instance, riding for an hour a day, while it had clearly helped him, wasn’t nearly enough to stop his legs from aching each night as he slept on the ground. Several times he’d waken with his neck not allowing his head to turn, and cold all the way through, even if they had warm fires and blankets to sleep on.