by Callie Kanno
Tears stung his own eyes as he hugged her tighter. “I love you, too, Adwen. I will miss you.”
As Idris faced his mother he felt his tenuous grasp on self-control slipping. He tried to speak normally, but his voice cracked and betrayed his emotion.
“I will miss you most of all,” he said softly.
Prydwen’s face streamed with tears, but she smiled as she caressed his cheek. “And I will miss you, my sweet son.”
Idris gave a half-laugh and said, “Father says he will not come and visit me this winter.”
Cadell scowled and retorted, “That is not what I said. I said I would not promise to do so.”
Prydwen chuckled. “Well, I promise to come and visit you this winter.”
Idris felt his chest warm with the prospect. “That would be nice.”
“Well, well,” urged Cadell in a husky tone, “say goodbye to your son, Prydwen. We are late getting started.”
She held Idris close and for a moment she seemed unwilling to let go. “I love you, Idris. I love you always, no matter what.”
“I love you, too, Mother,” he whispered back, feeling safe in her arms and suddenly wishing she would never let go.
Prydwen finally released him and made an encouraging gesture with her hands. “Get along. Your father is growing impatient.”
Idris hurried to his father’s side, setting off down the familiar dirt road.
“We are late,” Cadell muttered to himself.
“Late?” Idris asked in surprise.
Cadell didn’t answer, but it soon became apparent why he was hurrying down the path. Owen and Meic were waiting for them where their roads met.
Idris groaned and received a reproving glance from his father.
“Owen,” called Cadell, “I apologize for being late. Saying goodbye to the lad took longer than I thought.”
Owen assured him that they had not been waiting long, and Meic gave Idris his most scornful look.
“Crying over your precious farm?” sneered Meic quietly enough that he wouldn’t be overheard by the adults.
“I thought you were waiting a couple of years before starting your training,” Idris shot back.
Meic snorted derisively. “There is no way I am letting you get seniority over me.”
“Well, there is no possibility of you getting seniority over me. The Royal Guard does not answer to the army. They receive their orders from the king himself,” Idris said with a smug smile.
He enjoyed watching Meic’s face mottle with anger, especially since their private conversation was forced to come to an end. Owen and Cadell had finished exchanging pleasantries, and were now paying attention to their sons.
“Joining the Royal Guard, eh, Idris?” asked Owen. “That is quite an honor. I must admit that I am glad to have another valley boy there to watch over Meic. You two can help one another through your training and keep each other out of trouble. It is good to have a friend close by.”
“Not likely,” Meic said sourly. “Idris will have his special training, so he will not have time for any of us commoners.”
Owen frowned in concern. “You will not be together?”
Idris flashed Meic an angry glance for worrying his father unnecessarily. It was clear that Owen was already having a hard time letting his son go. Why did Meic have to make it harder?
“We will be together for most of the training at the beginning,” assured Idris. “I will not separate completely until I am finished with all of my basic training.”
Cadell gave Idris an approving nod. “See, Owen?” he said in a hearty tone. “The boys will not be alone among strangers.”
Meic and Idris exchanged scowls, and Idris privately thought that it would be better to be alone than to have to deal with Meic.
The journey to Marath was not as Idris had hoped it would be. He had looked forward to some time alone with his father to talk. Instead, he was forced to listen to Meic brag about his budding skills with his sword and how he was sure he would get through training easily. Meic didn’t even stop when they set up camp for the night, and Idris wished that one of the adults would give the hint that no one wanted to hear anymore. Unfortunately, that didn’t happen, and Idris continued to suffer.
As they approached the gates of the city the following day, Meic hurried ahead and Owen followed. He seemed determined to at least arrive before Idris, if nothing else. Idris kept his pace and reached out to take his father’s hand just like he used to as a child. Cadell gave his hand an understanding squeeze and didn’t let go until it was their turn to face the city guard.
“What are your names?” asked the soldier wearing green.
“Cadell and Idris of Rest Stone Valley,” was Cadell’s subdued reply.
“What is your business in Marath?”
“My son is here for military training.”
The city guard nodded as he made a note. “You are just in time. You will need to proceed directly to the Water Palace without delay. Leave your son at the gate and he will be shown where to go from there.”
Cadell’s eyebrows shot upward. “I am not allowed to go with him?”
The guard shook his head. “No. Only members of the military are allowed on the training grounds.”
It seemed as though a cloud of gloom hovered over Idris and his father as they walked toward the palace. Idris couldn’t even find interest in the towering buildings and lively chaos of the city around them.
All too soon they stood at the gates of the palace with two impatient guards motioning Idris on. The young man stared at his father, as if he suddenly had no idea what to do.
Cadell gave an encouraging smile and caught his son up in a tight embrace. “Courage comes in many forms,” he said quietly in Idris’s ear, “but take care that you do not mistake it with recklessness. There will be many who will try to impress by making foolish decisions, but you must always remember that wisdom and caution are more impressive to those who matter.”
Idris nodded, but didn’t trust his voice. He struggled to hold back the tears that were stinging his eyes.
Cadell made no such efforts. His cheeks shone with tears. “Goodbye for now, my son. Be well and know that I love you.”
“I love you, too, Father. Thank you for everything,” Idris whispered huskily.
One of the palace guards cleared his throat and made another impatient gesture. Cadell handed his son a bundle wrapped in rough cloth. Idris tucked the bundle under his arm and walked down the path that was indicated. A glance over his shoulder showed him that Cadell remained at the gate, and he knew that his father would watch him for as long as he was in sight.
The path indicated by the guards led around the main courtyard and off to the side of the palace. A small gate was set in one of the walls, and two guards stood waiting. One of them had a large ledger propped up on a stand and a quill and ink bottle. The other stood by a small cart filled with carefully folded uniforms.
“Recruit?” asked the first guard brusquely.
Idris nodded, not trusting his voice at the moment.
“I need your name, lineage, and the name of your village or city of origin.”
The nervous boy cleared his throat and said shakily, “Idris, son of Cadell, son of Garan. I am from Rest Stone Valley.”
The first guard wrote it down in his ledger while the second guard gave Idris an experienced glance. He pulled a uniform from the cart and handed it to Idris.
“You are to take special care of this clothing, for you will not receive any more until you begin your second year of training. If you are in need of new boots or undergarments you may submit a request after the orientation.”
The uniform seemed to consist of a black tunic and matching leggings. Idris took the clothing and tucked the bundle under his arm.
The first guard gestured over his shoulder. “The path through this gate will lead you to the training courtyard. Wait there for further instructions.”
Idris walked through the gate and down the
cobblestone path, staring at his surroundings with a mixture of awe and anxiety.
The military complex was separated from the palace by a wall that was too high to climb without equipment. Palace guards walked along the top of the wall at regular intervals, watching everything that happened below. It seemed to Idris that the only way to enter the military complex was through the gate he had just walked through, and he thought that odd.
There were several long, low buildings that were labeled as barracks. There was a large structure that appeared to be the stables, and then there was a single tall building next to the wall that separated the palace grounds from the military complex. The rest of the area was dedicated to an open courtyard and various training grounds.
There were at least a hundred recruits milling around restlessly in the courtyard, and Idris uneasily joined the throng.
Most of the recruits were boys about the same age as Idris, but there were a handful that were older. Idris only saw three or four girls among the others, and they each stood apart from everyone else with aloof, determined expressions on their faces.
Some of the recruits knew each other and spoke in quiet voices as they tried to appear confident. Others, like Idris, stood alone among the crowd and watched those with friends enviously. Idris saw Meic briefly, but ignored him as pointedly as he could.
The wait seemed eternal.
Recruits continued to arrive, and soon the number in the courtyard was almost double what it had been when Idris joined it.
Finally, two men and a woman strode through the courtyard and up the steps of a platform that stood at the far end. They were also dressed in black, but their uniforms bore the sigil of two crossed swords wreathed in flames.
“Silence,” called one of the men unnecessarily.
It had been quiet from the moment they had entered the courtyard.
“Welcome to Marath, young recruits. I commend you for your choice to join the king’s army,” the man continued in an arrogant voice.
The man speaking had a thick beard, and his black hair was cropped close to his head. The other man wore his black hair shoulder-length and tied back with a leather thong. His expression was as mild as the other man’s was fierce. Both had the strong features that were common to the citizens of Calaris. The woman’s long black hair was braided and pinned up in a tight knot at the nape of her neck. She had beautiful and fine features, but her expression was hard and cold.
“I am Instructor Boyar,” announced the bearded man. He gestured to the man next to him, and then the woman. “This is Instructor Brayd and Instructor Larnen. We three are the administrators of this training facility. In a moment you will be divided into groups according to your preferred discipline. For most of you this will be a simple matter of telling us which weapon you chose from the Treasury. For the first few months you will be given basic training, and at the end you will be given an aptitude test. If you prove competent in your discipline of choice, you may continue with it. If not, you will be reassigned.”
This sent a wave of anxiety through Idris. What if he was not skilled enough to keep his weapon? Would he be kicked out of the Royal Guard?
Instructor Larnen took a step forward. “Before we begin any of that, you will each be required to swear an oath of loyalty to our sovereign and our nation. None may join the king’s army without first doing so. To proceed…”
But she stopped before giving any further instruction.
Two figures were walking through the courtyard toward the platform, and every eye turned to fix on them. One was a young man only a few years older than Idris. He had curly brown hair and a magnificent sword at his side. The other was a woman in her thirties, with short black hair and a stern expression. She had an ornate battle axe strapped to her back, and it seemed as though it were a part of her. Both wore uniforms of rich scarlet with the royal crest embroidered in gold on their chest.
Idris was fairly close to the platform, and he could see by the expressions on the soldiers’ faces that the Instructors bore no love for the newcomers.
The scarlet-clad soldiers stepped up on the platform, murmured a few words to the Instructors and then made an announcement to the recruits. It was the woman that spoke, and her voice was as abrupt as her manner.
“I have the names of three recruits that are to come with us immediately. You are to bring all of your belongings with you.”
In the time it took her to take a short breath, the bewildered recruits began casting fearful glances around.
“Aherin, son of Dins, son of Tyll.”
Idris heard a rush of whispers around him.
“Dins, as in the famous soldier?”
“His son is here?”
“The Captain Dins?”
A young man Idris’s age detached himself from the crowd and quietly made his way toward the platform. His head was clean shaven, and his black eyes glittered with pride as he joined the scarlet-clad soldiers.
The woman called out the next name as if she hadn’t paused. “Hildar, daughter of Lord Wythe, Duke of the Hazelwood Province.”
Idris recognized the name and he scanned the crowd to see the beautiful young woman who had been at the Treasury the same day as him.
She tossed her hair in a haughty gesture and walked to the platform as if she was bestowing a special gift on those who stood with her.
“Idris, son of Cadell, son of Garan,” was the last name called by the woman in the red uniform.
For a moment Idris froze, and he heard a boy next to him whisper, “Who in the world is that?”
Chapter Seven: The Royal Guard
Idris could feel every pair of eyes following him as he walked up to the platform. He could barely force his legs to keep moving. All he wanted to do was run back to the farm where he belonged.
The woman did not waste any time once Idris had joined the group.
“Follow me,” she said shortly.
She walked at a quick pace and seemed to assume that others would keep up. Idris was glad for the speedy exit from all of the staring eyes.
They made their way back to the palace grounds and up the main staircase of the palace itself. From there they passed over a delicate golden bridge that spanned the palace stream, and then up a set of winding stairs. A long hallway took them to a beautifully carved wooden door, which the woman threw open unceremoniously.
The room was large, but not overly so. The walls were covered with colorful maps that had been woven like tapestries. A long table stood in the center of the room, and most of the chairs around it were empty. Five soldiers in scarlet uniforms stood as they entered. They studied the newcomers with unnerving intensity.
The man at the head of the table had a face that was heavily scarred. Everything about him spoke of an experienced soldier, even though Idris could not identify specifically what made that so. His white hair was sparsely peppered with strands of black, and his black eyes were keen and quick.
“Welcome,” rumbled the man. “I am Cowan, captain of the Royal Guard. You have met Farah and Demas,” he gestured to the woman and the young man who had escorted them. “Now you shall meet the remaining members.”
First he pointed to a woman with a long scar across her face and a halberd in her hand.
“This is Drusi, my second in command.”
Then he gestured to a woman with a long braid of black hair and a sword at her side.
“This is Jerin, who is next in seniority.”
Next was a man with dark auburn hair and an ornate bow on the table in front of him. Idris assumed that the man was of noble birth, based on his coloring. Nobility tended to be more fair than commoners since they often married foreigners as part of political alliances.
“This is Roth, and this is Palti.”
The last man was clearly a foreigner, and it surprised Idris that he would be a member of the Royal Guard. He had skin that was so dark it was almost black, and his hair was braided into hundreds of small braids and then pulled away from his fa
ce into a knot. Palti wore a beautiful sword at his side and gave the newcomers a wide smile.
“Now,” said Cowan in a voice that was almost a growl, “let us see who you three are.”
All of the members of the Royal Guard, including Farah and Demas, sat down at the table, staring at the newcomers with somber expressions. Idris was uncomfortably aware of his simple garb and the unwieldy bundles in his arms.
Cowan reached down for something that Idris couldn’t see. He set it carefully on the table before him. It was an intricately-made dagger, crafted so that the hilt and the sheath together made up the form of a chimera. The hilt was the serpent-like tail studded with hundreds of tiny emeralds. The sheath was the body and head of the mythical creature, made from gold and topaz and mother-of-pearl.
“Which of you was chosen by this dagger?” asked Cowan.
Hildar stepped forward, looking less confident and brushing back her wavy chestnut hair from her face.
“I was,” she said in a careful voice.
Cowan’s eyes were fixed on the young woman before him, but he seemed to be speaking to all three of them.
“It is rare that the Royal Guard receives new members. Our youngest member joined us three years ago,” he nodded toward Demas. “For there to be three chosen in the same year is unheard of.”
“Do you doubt my words?” asked Hildar, a look of outrage blossoming on her face.
Cowan picked up the dagger and held it out to her. “If this weapon chose you, you have a right to know its name. Tell me its name and you will be doubted no more.”
Hildar swept over to Cowan and took the dagger from his hands. An expression of concentration furrowed her brow as she stared at the sheathed blade.
After a breathless moment she gasped, “Savion. His name is Savion.”
Cowan glanced at Drusi, who looked at a slip of parchment and nodded.
“Welcome to the Royal Guard, Hildar, daughter of Lord Wythe.”
She glowed with pleasure, and Idris thought she looked rather smug.
The Captain of the Royal Guard reached down to pick up the next weapon.
Idris felt a jolt of panic as he realized that he would be tested in the same fashion. The partisan had not seemed very cooperative when he had spoken to it. What would happen to him if he failed the test?