Christill came to with a fright. He looked out of the window again and saw the sun was now well risen. How long had he been dreaming for? He turned and walked over to Thibalt who was still huddled in the corner fast asleep.
"Get up!" he yelled, kicking Thibalt in the behind.
"Ouch! What was that for?"
"You sleep too long, you know that. We need to be up. Oswald wants to see us, remember?"
"Yes, yes," replied Thibalt, standing up and stretching his back. "I guess we should go. Don't want to be late."
Christill rolled his eyes and climbed down the ladder to the ground floor of the stable.
Outside they saw several of Oswald's workers bringing the morning feed to the pens that made up Steelfist Ranch. The Ranch was nestled on the eastern border of the city and was large by Feldonian standards. Holding up to eighty horses at any one time, it was littered with stables and pens for the animals; one of which the brothers had been temporary allowed to room in. It was the best that Oswald could offer, yet consisted of nothing more than two makeshift beds in the hayloft. The brothers had chosen the cleanest straw they could find and had thrown an old blanket and feather pillow into the corner.
They found Oswald tending to a new pair of horses that had just arrived from the city of Auldney. Unlike the rest of Oswald's stock, these were pure white in colour and spotted a thick coat of long hair that kept them warm in the frozen north. The elegant mares snorted in the chilly morning air as the brothers approached.
Oswald shifted uncomfortably upon seeing them and cleared his throat. "I expect you slept well."
"As well as one could given the circumstance," answered Christill.
"Yes...Well that is to be expected." said Oswald. They were left in an uncomfortable silence as Oswald ran his hands along the neck of one of the mares.
Christill turned to Thibalt who motioned for him to say something, and raised his hands silently in protest. He had no idea what to say.
"A rare breed," said Oswald after some time. The brothers glanced at each other in confusion until Oswald continued. "It is said that they can endure entire nights out in the wilds around Auldney. Most men would not last more than a few hours without shelter."
"And what do you do with them?" asked Thibalt, trying to continue the conversation.
"Do with them?" asked Oswald in wonder. "Why sell them. What did you think?"
Thibalt shrugged his shoulders. "There are no horses in Miirvk."
"Of course," said Oswald, with a look a understanding. "Well within the month you will know everything there is to know about them."
"Then what is to become of us?" asked Christill.
Oswald struggled to find an answer. "For the time being you will stay here with me. And not for free neither. I will put you to use if I am to see you cared for." He turned away from them, running his hands along the back of the mare. "Duke Poleus has burdened me with your wellbeing until such a time as you have proven yourselves."
"And then?"
"And then you will be able to leave," said Oswald. "I do not have the means to keep you here forever . I have barely enough to pay the workers as it is, let alone feed two growing boys."
"You own all of this," said Thibalt, waving his hand out over the Ranch.
"Exactly, and every coin I earn goes back into keeping it in operation," said Oswald. "Life is by no means easy, believe you me. And with the tributes demanded of me by the Honour Guard I am left out of pocket more and more each year."
"The Honour Guard?" queried Christill.
"Great Skiye!" mumbled Oswald. "You have so much to learn. The Honour Guard are the Maloreichar. The leaders of the Feldonian army and heads of state. But for the King, no men hold greater power in Feldom."
"And they force you to give tribute?" asked Christill. "That seems unjust."
"It is an honour," replied Oswald quickly. "I am proud to know that I have given my part in the everlasting struggle. Each and every Feldonian aids in the fight against Dargon in some way, be it through taxes or in giving their very lives to the cause. I have the means to provide the army with mounts and I am determined to do so whilst I still can."
"Then we are still at war with Dargon?" asked Thibalt. Their lessons with the Disciple had covered the long lasting conflict between the Feldonian and Karmanian alliance and the Dargonian Kingdom, however their information had been taken from accounts long past, when the Miirvkin had held greater contact with the mainland.
"Still," laughed Oswald. "The war has never truly ended. I recall a time many years ago, close to when you were born, when we foolishly believed that we had finally come to an era of peace. The Dargonian King had removed his forces from the Beon Ranges and opened peace talks with our ambassadors. Yet before they even began the tyrant King Zephra usurped the throne and renewed the war with an even greater ferocity. Thousands of men lost their lives in the first years of his reign."
"And was he ever stopped?" pressed Thibalt.
"Stopped...No. Though after some years the attempts to pass through the Beon Ranges lessened. It is rumoured that Zephra turned away from his armies, furious at their failure, and vowed to find another way into Feldom."
"Why are they so keen to sacrifice their lives to cross into Feldom?"
"Because their own homeland is a frozen wasteland." replied Oswald. "Dargon has been forsaken by the gods. Their country is wild and unforgiving. They have no rich soil to grow crops, no warmth to heat their bodies. To be forced to endure such a place, it is no wonder they are such a hateful people."
"And who are these for then?" asked Christill, motioning at the horses.
"These are headed to Precedin. They are my tribute for this season. These young mares are fated to bear our bravest scouts into the cold borderlands of Dargon."
"That seems an ill fate," commented Christill.
"We are not all given a choice in what path the gods place before us," said Oswald. "You should know this better than most."
The brothers could understand his reasoning.
"Now, you have kept me from my work long enough," said Oswald suddenly, his tone showing some discomfort. "I will put you to work with my handlers. They can show you where you can make yourselves useful." He raised his hand to nervously scratch his chin. "But don't get too comfortable," he added in a surly tone. "Once the Duke is satisfied that you have proven yourselves, you will be out of here, and I'll be able to get on with my life."
The brothers did not complain. They knew that their presence was enough to cause Oswald discomfort. From the little that they had gleaned, had they been raised in Feldom they would likely have had no contact with their father. He had abandoned them with their mothers and left Carlor. Now he was being forced to make amends for this by providing for their needs.
Whilst he led them to the handlers they overheard Oswald mumble gruffly, "Don't get too comfortable." The brothers could not help but smile.
Dawn of the Valiant (The Valerious Chronicles: Book One) Page 28