A Call to Arms: Book One of the Chronicles of Arden

by Shiriluna Nott

  “Widen the space between your hands on the hilt.” Roland was beside them now, speaking to Diddy. “You’ll have better control over your blade. There, yes. Keep your hands like that. Very good, Your Highness.”

  Gib nearly dropped his own weapon. What? He was pretty sure his ears hadn’t deceived him. Had the Weapons Master just referred to Diddy as—as—?

  Diddy’s face flushed as he responded to the trainer in a quick, hushed voice. “Please, sir. Just ‘Didier’ while we’re in class. You said yourself, no favorites or titles.”

  Roland hesitated for just a moment before conceding. “Fair enough.” He gave Diddy a small clap on the back. “Carry on then, Didier.”

  Gib was pretty sure some form of exasperated groan left his mouth. His hands suddenly felt clammy as his nerves spiked. Tarquin was grinning up a storm beside him, and Kezra took it upon herself to lay a hearty thwack against his ribs while he was distracted. Gib felt like he’d received the blow. He was such a fool! No wonder all the other students were giving him sideways glances! He’d been talking to the Prince of Arden all this time and hadn’t realized it! Great going, you idiot. You’ve made yourself look like a bumbling fool.

  The Weapons Master moved past them. Gib knew he was supposed to be continuing the exercise, but he couldn’t raise his hot face from the ground to meet Diddy’s eyes. The prince, likewise, hesitated at first. It wasn’t until one of the assistants came by with a shrewd look that both boys fell back into their routine. They continued on in marked silence until the class came to its end and they waited to put away their weapons.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t reveal myself,” the prince whispered. Diddy’s voice sounded dim as he shuffled a foot across the ground.

  Gib shook his head, words lost to him. What could he say without making a further fool of himself?

  “I sometimes wish I could just be like everyone else,” the prince continued with a sigh. “I didn’t think it was important that you knew who I was.”

  Gib grimaced. “If I’d known, I–I would have spoken to you with more respect, uh, Your Highness—”

  “That’s exactly it,” Diddy cut him off. “I don’t want to be given special treatment. I don’t want people to be so afraid of my title that they won’t speak to me. I just want—” He swallowed and glared at the ground. “I want to be perfectly insignificant, if only for a short while.”

  Gib nodded, but he didn’t understand. The prince was speaking as though he was discontent with his life. How could anyone dislike being royalty? Sure, he probably had a book’s worth of rules and proper decorum to follow, but if being scrutinized by the public eye was the sole cost of living in luxury, surely it was a small price to pay. Diddy would never have to experience the pain of an empty belly or worry over whether he was able to purchase textiles to clothe himself. He wouldn’t grow cold during the long winter nights, and even if war were to break out between Arden and Shiraz, Diddy would certainly be one of the best protected warriors riding into battle.

  A sudden thought occurred to Gib and the bottom of his stomach dropped out. “Wait. Those boys from earlier—”

  Diddy bit back a smile as he examined his sword. “For them to have paid you so little mind, I’m sure they realized you didn’t know me or them.”

  “I’m a fool.”

  “Not at all. I’m sure they appreciated the rare anonymity as well.”

  Gib nodded. After they put their weapons away they were immediately lined up in front of several tailors and measured for their uniforms. Didier excused himself, explaining that he would be measured later and needed to be elsewhere now. Gib didn’t want to pry, so he didn’t ask where the prince was going. Before leaving, Diddy extended a wish for them to be partners again on the morrow.

  Waiting in line to be measured, Gib realized no one had said where he was to report next. Judging by the midday sun, he would guess it was time to take his meal but wasn’t certain. Looking around for anyone who might help, he discovered Kezra being measured beside him. They’d never formally been introduced and he was afraid to get her attention, but he didn’t want to bother an instructor. Hopefully she wouldn’t beat the hell out of him like she’d done with Tarquin.

  “Uh, do you know if we go straight to the dining hall from here?”

  Kezra didn’t respond at first. In fact, Gib realized she didn’t know he was speaking to her. She blinked a moment later and frowned. “Oh. Where you—? Yeah. Midday meal next then whichever class you have after that.”

  He nodded, a shuddering breath escaping him. “All right. Thanks.”

  She still didn’t smile, but the more he saw of her the less intimidating she seemed. “You remember where to go?”

  “Yeah. I think so. But do you know where I would go for the Ardenian Law class after midday meal?”

  Kezra shrugged. “That’s where I’m going after I eat. You can follow me if you don’t find any of your friends at the dining hall.”

  The knot in his stomach released a little. “I—thanks. I’m not even really sure who my friends are. I mean, I’ve met so many people so fast I can barely keep the names straight.”

  As they headed off together, she nodded. “I’m Kezra Malin-Rai. And you’re Gibben, right?” A sly but genuine smile finally graced her hard features. “Aren’t you the boy I almost ran over yesterday?”

  He heard himself laugh. “Gib, yes.” They shared a chuckle as they made their way to the dining hall, and despite the uncertainty of what lay ahead, Gib felt his mood lighten. Between Nage, Diddy, and possibly even Kezra, he felt like he’d as good a chance for success as any of them.

  Lunch went by quickly, but plenty of food was available and he managed to find Nage once more. Unfortunately, he was with Tarquin. Diddy was nowhere to be seen, but Gib supposed that made sense. The prince was busy and probably took his meal with his family.

  When finished eating, Gib nudged Nage and they both hunted down Kezra. She gave them a shrewd look, but when Nage confessed he also didn’t know where to go she relented and allowed the two boys to follow her. She’d suggested that they wait for Tarquin, but both Gib and Nage had assured her that he would find his own way.

  Their classroom, an audience hall, was bigger than any room Gib had ever seen. A stage in the center was surrounded by tiered benches. When Kezra picked a seat close to the front, Gib hesitated. He wasn’t even sure if she would allow him to follow her or not, but Nage made the choice for them and they stumbled in beside her. She glanced their way when they were all seated but didn’t tell them to leave.

  As time stretched on, more students filled the seats. Gib craned his neck to see everyone. “These aren’t all sentinel trainees, are they?”

  Kezra shook her head. “No. Everyone who will serve Arden in any way must take this class. In the next few days you’ll see different uniforms. Mages wear white robes, blue jerkins for the healers, black tunics for the older students interested in law and academics, and our grey soldier garb.” She stuck her nose in the air and put on a lofty sounding voice. “As well as the finery of the highborn classmen who wish to pursue a political career.”

  Gib rolled his eyes. “Do we all sit together or will we be separated?”

  “Why? Afraid you might have to sit next to an arrogant noble?”

  He huffed a laugh just before Nage sank low in his seat. “Tarquin.”

  Gib bit his bottom lip and looked over his shoulder. Tarquin was wandering through the aisles, appearing to be at a loss as he looked for a seat. Gib fought the urge to also slide down and go unnoticed. As the highborn’s search continued, however, a familiar pang of despair settled in Gib’s stomach. “No one is letting him in.”

  “Do you blame them?” Nage groaned. “He never shuts up. He’s always going on about his family and estate and whatever else.”

  Kezra sighed, rolling her piercing green eyes. “He means well. He’s not a braggart, just an idiot. Our fathers work together and he doesn’t have any friends that I know of.”


  “Why not?” Gib asked.

  Kezra fixed him with a skeptical look. “Isn’t it obvious with that mouth? And—his look is odd.” Her mouth slanted into a thin line.

  An uncomfortable silence rose among the three of them as they watched Tarquin’s plight. As the young highborn continued to search for an empty seat, his face and neck grew progressively redder. No one would slide down and give him a seat. People gave him narrow looks before waving him off. Gib swallowed. He knew better than to treat people this way.

  “Sorry guys, I have to let him in here.” Kezra’s apology was hushed but not ashamed. Gib nodded, relief flooding his insides and Nage let out his breath. Apparently they’d all rather listen to the fool chatter about nothing than watch him be rejected. Kezra stood and waved. “Tarquin! Over here.”

  Tarquin zeroed in on them in an instant, and the relief that passed over his countenance wrenched at Gib’s guts. They each shifted down a seat as Tarquin climbed in beside them.

  “Thanks, guys. I, uh, it was starting to look like all of the seats were full. I guess I’ll have to be faster tomorrow.”

  The highborn sank down and took off his hat, pointedly ignoring how others stopped to stare at his washed out complexion and odd pale eyes. Gib wouldn’t ask, but the more he looked at Tarquin the more the highborn boy seemed not merely fair skinned. He’d also changed his tunic, still long sleeved, but this one was much less elaborate. Gib felt the sinking sensation worsen as he remembered thinking ill of Tarquin’s fine clothing earlier. Had someone said something to him? Or worse, had no one said anything at all? Had the desperation to fit in pushed him to change? Gib’s cheeks grew uncomfortably warm.

  “So how are your ribs feeling?” Gib asked.

  Tarquin smiled so hard it almost looked painful. “Kezra is a tough match. If you don’t believe it, you’ll have to trade with me tomorrow.”

  Gib forced a soft laugh. “No. I think I’ll just stand back and watch. I heard how hard her blows were landing.”

  Tarquin gave a hearty laugh. “Yeah.” He fidgeted with the sleeves of his tunic. “Thanks again. Really. For letting me sit with you.”

  The highborn didn’t make eye contact and Gib was grateful. He didn’t feel like looking into the face of someone he’d wronged. As he remembered how quickly he’d been judged by the Instructions Master, Diedrick Lyle, Gib came to the conclusion that perhaps he’d done the same to Tarquin Aldino.

  Gib stumbled back to his room. He was exhausted. Both of his afternoon classes had seemed to stretch on for marks. The professors were nice enough, but it was obvious right from the beginning that Gib’s reading and writing skills were lacking. He would need to find extra time outside of class to work on improving his literacy.

  Extra time—when he woke before dawn to perform his chores and then was in class until nearly dinnertime, directly followed by evening chores? When was he going to find extra time to study? And with whom? Almost all of his new friends were well schooled already, but he didn’t feel confident enough to ask them for assistance. Surely Tarquin and Kezra were just as busy as he. Gib’s head was spinning as he reached his room.

  As he raised a hand to push on the door, quiet laughter rose from within the room. Apparently Joel had company. Gib hesitated, caught somewhere between knocking and turning to leave. He was sure it would be polite to wait outside until he was invited in, but this was his room as well. Surely he could come and go as he pleased.

  Gib tapped his knuckles against the maple door just once before pushing it open. He was shocked to see Prince Didier perched on the edge of the bed. He’d changed outfits sometime after the morning sparring session, trading the elaborate winged tunic in favor of a more practical jerkin with a silver chained belt. Gib’s roommate, Joel, was sitting across from the prince and the two had been conversing. Both boys looked up as Gib blinked in shock.

  Diddy’s eyes widened and his lips curled into a smile of surprise. “Gib Nemesio?”

  Gib sputtered. “Uh, h–hello, Prince—I mean, Diddy. What are you doing here? How did you find me?”

  The prince laughed and looked over at Joel, whose crystal blue eyes were likewise clouded by confusion. “I didn’t know Gib was your roommate! Joel, this is the boy I was just telling you about. The one from Roland’s sparring class.”

  Joel chuckled in a light manner, eyes dancing. “I should have guessed by the way you described him.”

  “Wait,” Gib interrupted, scratching his head. His gaze fell back to Diddy. “You’re not here to see me?”

  The prince smiled sheepishly. “No. Joel is my cousin. I came by to deliver a message to him.”

  Gib’s eyeballs nearly burst from their sockets as he jerked around to face his roommate. “You’re related to the royal family?” Why? Why did everyone insist on keeping such important information from him?

  Joel shrugged, playing with the sleeve of his pristine mage robe. “You could say that. Didier’s mother, Queen Dahlia Adelwijn, is my aunt by blood. My father’s sister.”

  Gib nodded, still trying to digest this news when something else struck him. Adelwijn. That name was familiar. “Queen Dahlia Adelwijn? Like Koal Adelwijn, the seneschal of Arden?”

  The cousins glanced at one another before Joel lowered his crystal eyes. A faint rosy color stole over his cheeks and he was only half successful in keeping the laugh out of his voice. “Yes, like Koal Adelwijn. My father.”

  Chapter Four

  “How are your studies faring?”

  Gib glanced up from the manuscript he’d been trying to decipher and smiled as Joel came into the room. Joel Adelwijn—son of the seneschal of Arden—Gib reminded himself. The shock of learning this information had been given adequate time to settle, and the two roommates had transitioned past the awkward silence. Joel continued to be aloof and they were not what Gib would call friends, but their relationship was amiable enough.

  Gib had, however, forged friendships with Nage, Kezra, and even Tarquin. They were an odd quartet, but having such companionship helped Gib adjust to his new life.

  Prince Didier was another constant in Gib’s new world. Although the prince was often busy outside of class, the two had time to chat in the mornings before training with Roland commenced. Diddy was surprisingly humble, despite his privileged upbringing. He was curious about Gib’s life, often asking the strangest questions, but without hint of mockery or scorn. The young prince’s innocence about the outside world was genuine. In a way, Didier reminded Gib of his young brothers back home. He missed them despite his newly forged friendships.

  Liza stopped by to see him twice in the sennights since Gib’s arrival. She even brought fresh parchment on her most recent visit, and the two siblings sat down and wrote to Tayver and Calisto. Simple words were all they could manage, but it was enough to assure their younger brothers that he and Liza were all right. Gib hoped the boys were safe too.

  Gib set the book aside to answer Joel’s question, letting out a frustrated sigh. The words had begun to blur on the pages. “I’m doing okay. My professor says I’m a natural with arithmetic, but not so much with reading. I’m still struggling with the letters.” He motioned to the frayed tome. “Hence the extra studying, though I’m not sure I’m doing myself any favors. I think I’m just making matters worse.”

  Joel stood before the window, locks of his raven hair rustling in the light breeze that came through. He didn’t speak for a long moment, but finally, soft words flowed from his mouth. “I should take you to the library. I could sit with you if you’d like—if you need some help with the words, that is.”

  “Oh, uh, I mean, I wouldn’t want to be a burden,” Gib replied, feeling strangely flattered that his roommate—always so distant and reserved—was offering assistance. “You’re probably busy with your own studies.” Gib closed his mouth as a means to end his rambling.

  Joel didn’t look away from the window but shrugged his shoulders. “I have more free time than you might imagine.”

  Gib wrung
his hands. “I figured you would have a full schedule, being the son of Seneschal Koal and related to the royal family. Surely you must dine with the royal court on occasion.”

  The mage trainee let out a sharp snort. “The court is full of petty, hateful nobles with nothing better to do than spread rumors and prey upon the vulnerable. I’d sooner dine with pigs than the likes of them.”

  Gib was taken aback by Joel’s outburst. Something had the young man terribly upset. “Surely they can’t all behave that way.”

  “They do.”

  “You’re not like that.”

  After a stifling pause, Joel turned his crystal eyes toward Gib, shock registering on his fair features. For a split second, his eyes flashed with pain. Gib could see the isolation and fear. A strange sensation made its way from the pit of Gib’s stomach to his throat. Never before had Joel seemed so genuine, so real. In his state of vulnerability, he at last seemed human.

  And then the trainee seemed to remember himself, and the mask of a smile was restored. Joel’s voice was hushed. “I suppose you have no idea who I really am.”

  Gib bit down on his bottom lip. It was true, but that was hardly his fault. He’d tried to talk to Joel, but it wasn’t easy.

  “And that is entirely my fault,” the mage continued with a sigh. “I’m sorry, Gibben.” Joel took in a breath of frantic air, and Gib was certain his roommate was about to say something important, something groundbreaking.

  An abrupt knock sounded on the door. Both boys jumped and turned their heads toward the sound. Gib was suddenly aware of the rapid pounding in his chest. He’d been so absorbed in the conversation that he hadn’t noticed his quickening pulse.

  Joel was on his feet a second later, his robe sweeping across the floor as he went to answer the call. Gib ran his fingers along the binding of the tome which sat before him, a prickle of defeat tickling his heart. It was unlikely Joel would choose to open up again.

  “Hello, little brother.”