“That is correct. Do you know where the Naval Offices are?”
“I believe so,” Garek said. Halas could tell that he was barely keeping himself together. “If not, I will find them.”
“Very well.”
The soldiers marched off. Garek closed the door after them. He sat down on the floor and began studying his hands. Halas looked at his brother, unsure of what to say. The silence was a chasm between them, and suddenly Halas was sure that he never wanted to be apart from Garek again.
“Was I just drafted?” Garek asked.
“I…I think so.”
“What do I do now, Halas?”
“Where is Father?”
“I do not know. How could this happen? I’m not yet twenty. I cannot own land, work for anyone but my family, nor can I marry. How is it that I am allowed to do this?”
“Every citizen of Ager becomes eligible for military service at fifteen.” Halas swore. How could this have happened? He knew about the draft, certainly, but could not remember the last time it had been put into action. Keep it together, he told himself. Who would know what to do?
It was only the second time Garek had been to Conroy’s house and, despite the way Garek had treated him the first time, Conroy seemed more than happy to see him again. He beamed at the sight of the brothers, practically dragging Garek to his personal collection to see a new artifact he had bought from the marketplace that day. Conroy seemed astounded that he had even found it. He claimed the vendor obviously did not know what he had. Halas followed along more than eagerly. It was the first time in a long time Conroy had actually seemed happy to see him. After the tour, he settled them down in his study, sitting down behind his desk. “What troubles you?” he asked.
“Garek’s been drafted,” Halas said quickly. Conroy frowned.
“Drafted?”
“Is that even legal, anymore?” Garek asked.
“I fear it is, though rarely used. There are more than enough soldiers and sailors who serve the king with far more loyalty than a draftee. How very strange.”
“Is there any way to get out of it?”
“No. King Melick has made it so such a thing is impossible. I’m afraid you are stuck, my boy.”
Garek put his head in his hands. Halas put a reassuring hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Is there nothing you can do?” he asked. Conroy shook his head. He truly did look upset.
“I am sorry.”
They left Conroy’s house and wandered the city in silence. There had to be something Halas could do. Something, anything. There had to be a way to help his little brother. Conroy had once taught him that in the days before King Melick, you could file a formal appeal against the court. That would no longer work.
Maybe he could hide Garek somewhere. Halas could purchase a home under another name, and move there with his brother. No one would find him—it would require the king to order a search of every home in the city, and that was out of the question.
Or it would be as simple as someone seeing him.
Garek would not live inside a cramped house forever. He would have to leave eventually, and if a Badge or an informant saw him, he would go to prison.
What other options were there? He and Garek could leave Cordalis—leave Ager! There were other lands out there, lands that tolerated deserters. There had to be. But the world was dangerous. If any of Conroy’s tales were true, it would devour them. Aelborough outside Ager was filled with wild beasts and monsters, highwaymen who would rob you blind and leave you stranded in the wilderness, corrupt warlords who would decapitate you for the joy of drinking your blood. There were even dragons! Conroy had said that dragons were rare but entirely real. Ages before, a band of adventurers calling themselves the Candlewood Trio swept through the territories north of the Frigid Peaks, slaughtering dragons by the dozen, but they were killed before they could complete their mission. Dragons were creatures of Equilibrium, evil incarnate created to fight all that was good and pure.
In other words, creatures that would eat all three boys without even tasting them.
No, he was being silly. But what else could he do?
“Halas?”
“Yeah?”
“I think…I think I want to go.”
Halas stopped, looking at his brother. “What?”
“I think I want to go. There’s no challenging the draft. Besides, I could do with getting out of here for six months.”
Halas knew Garek was right, but was angry with him all the same. He was angry with a lot of people. Still, he forced those thoughts from his mind. Garek needed his help. “Father won’t stand for it,” he said.
“Please, Father will love this. He’s been wishing me gone since I learned to speak.” Halas smiled. It was a sad smile, not one of mirth. “He will be all the happier, especially if I do not return.”
“Do not say that!”
“Sorry Halas, but you know I am right.”
“Then I’m going with you.”
“No, Halas, don’t do that. Stay here with Cailin. Buy a house, marry her, have a dozen fat children. You deserve better than the navy.”
“You make it sound like it is a permanent post. I don’t care what you say, Garek. You will not go alone.”
“Desmond will go.”
“So will I.”
Halas and Garek went to tell their friends. Halas had a faint hope that someone, maybe Rufus or Olan or even Gale, would want to accompany them. He had no right to expect it, of course, but still he hoped. Olan was the first they found, rooting around in a park. He beamed when he saw them, puffing out his chest with the false enthusiasm that he summoned whenever there were greetings in order. “Ho there, Brothers Duer! How may I be of service to you on this fine, if not slightly overcast, day?”
Olan burst into giggles at the statement, much as he always did. He had aspirations of becoming a bard, and maybe even working his way into the Royal Theatre, but he never could help but laugh at his own folly. Halas and Garek pulled him aside.
“What’s the matter, chums?” Olan asked. He still retained that foolish accent, though he was beginning to sense the serious mood the brothers were in. Garek sighed; Halas spoke.
“Listen, Olan, I’ve bad news. Garek’s been drafted.”
“What?”
“It’s true. He’s to leave on the sixteenth, and I’m going with him.”
“What?” Olan’s jaw dropped. Halas nodded solemnly. Olan shook his head. “Are you out of your bloody mind, Hal?”
“I think so. I just wanted to tell everyone before…well, I don’t know. I just felt you all should know.”
“Well, I’m glad you told me, I suppose. Who else knows?”
“No one,” Garek cut in. “You’re the first.”
“I’m honored.” Olan’s eyes clouded, and then he looked around, almost frantically, as if he were looking for a way out. An escape.
Garek didn’t catch it. “What’s the matter?” he asked.
“I’ve…erm…I’ve just remembered what I’m supposed to be doing. I’ll see you later. Goodbye, fellows.”
He ran off without waiting for an answer. Halas and Garek found, throughout the day, that this was common. Some of their friends expressed their condolences, some shed a tear or two, but all found they had important things to attend to. And just before they ran off, they said goodbye.
To Halas and Garek, those goodbyes sounded awfully final.
No one offered to come along. No one even joked about it. Except for Desmond Mallon.
“Well of course I’m going,” he said. “You can’t stop me, either.”
“Can’t we?”
“Not a chance. I wouldn’t miss this for a million detricots!”
“Told you,” Garek said.
Halas shook his head. In the span of just a few days, Desmond had gone from slightly above a roach to one of Halas’ dearest friends. He wondered how he ever could have disliked him. “Des, we have got to be the stupidest people in this city.”
Garek did, in fact, know where the Naval Offices were. He led Halas and Desmond there, and they wandered until they found a door labeled Brennus. Halas knocked. A man answered, short, stout, and balding, with a round belly and cheeks. He looked almost like a gnome! “What is it?” he said gruffly.
“Captain Brennus?” Halas had not expected someone of this man’s sort to be a prestigious naval captain. Brennus was supposed to be somewhat of a legend on the Inigo. Halas chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, and raised his eyebrows. Did sailors really follow this man?
“Nuh uh. Cap’n’s not here. I’m his First Mate, Cloart. Whaddya need?” A sort of relief hit Halas at the confession. It burned inside him, making him feel ashamed. Cloart’s speech, though not exactly eloquent, was soft. Halas knew immediately that he was a kind man. He felt embarrassed. Halbrick had always taught him never to judge others by their appearances, but Cloart just seemed so much like a gnome. It was eerie.
“My name is Halas Duer, and this is my younger brother, Garek, and our friend, Desmond Mallon. Earlier today, Garek was drafted.”
“Right, yeah. Yer not supposed to be here till September sixteenth.”
“We know,” Halas said. “But I wish to sign on.”
“As do I,” said Des.
“Why the infernos would you do something like that?” Cloart asked, scratching his head, flecks of something coming off with each stroke.
“I won’t let my little brother go this alone, sir.” Garek frowned. He hated it when Halas referred to him as his little brother. It sounded so very patronizing. Halas knew it just as well as Garek did, and for the most part he managed to avoid the phrase. Sometimes, however, there were slips. There were always slips.
“Eh, sure. There’s always deckhand spots to fill. Yer main jobs’d be cooking and cleaning the decks. Ye okay with that?”
“Of course.”
“Then welcome aboard.”
Desmond skipped off the stairs, spinning in the dirt to face the Duer brothers. Garek grinned. Only Halas was unhappy. He didn’t want to go at all, but who else was going to keep Garek safe? He watched as Garek grabbed Desmond’s waist and tackled him to the ground. They rolled away from the stairs. Desmond hopped up, pushing Garek over. They ran to catch up with Halas.
“What do we tell Father?” he said morosely.
“I was forced into this,” said Garek with a grin. “You’re the one he’ll be angry with.”
“He’s right, y’know,” Desmond said, his own grin widening. He shoved Halas.
“Not now.”
“Oh, all right.”
He didn’t have to worry much about telling Halbrick over the next few days, as he did not return. Halas wondered if he would before the sixteenth. He surely hoped so.
The sun was brilliant when Halbrick came home, casting the wrong mood for such a conversation as the one that had to be held. Halas and Garek watched grimly from the table as Halbrick sat down across from them, stuffing a wad of tobacco into the corner of his lip. He looked up at his sons, a questioning look on his face. “What is it?” he asked.
Halas immediately decided that he wasn’t going to tell. Not here, not now, not ever. He looked at Garek, who seemed to understand. The junior Duer brother nodded, then looked at his father.
“Father,” he began, “A few days past, some men came to the door. Soldiers.” At this Halbrick stiffened, as if he knew what was coming. “They… they spoke of the draft. I am to report to Captain Brennus at the Naval Offices on the sixteenth.” He said the last part in a single breath, in his rush to be free of his no longer secret burden.
The only sound was the gentle wind outside the cottage. At last Halbrick spoke, though it was barely a whisper.
Halas thought it was a swear.
They had finally moved the last of the crop to their buyer’s warehouse. Covered in sweat and dirt, Halas and Garek dumped out the last cart, letting the buyer’s gnomes sort them out. They walked to the man, now wearing a magnificent green suit with a yellow cloak. He looked strange indeed, but that was not their concern.
“Here you are,” the man said. “Five jewels, equal to three thousand detricots.” They had received the other gems after earlier loads.
“Thank you,” said Garek, brushing his hands off on his trousers before taking the bag. “It’s been good doing business with you.”
“And yourselves. You’re fine men; you take after your father. Good day, sirs.”
“How does he know Father?” Halas whispered as they left. Garek shrugged. They decided to take a shortcut through Desmond’s neighborhood to get to Amelia Gelbert’s bank. Halbrick had an account there, and Halas was authorized to deposit funds into it. The gems would go to Gelbert, who would give Halas and Garek official notaries for three thousand detricots. Halas would then take the notaries downstairs to a teller, and have them deposited into Halbrick’s account. It was a process that would take the better part of the afternoon. Desmond lived roughly in the center of Lord Bel, the mercantile district of Cordalis. The bank was only a short ten minutes from his house. Walking through an alley between a tailor shop and Mort’s Delicatessen, Garek tripped and dropped the pouch. Halas grabbed for it, but stopped cold. A young man stepped out of the shadows. He looked oddly familiar, though Halas could not place him.
“Good morning, boys,” the man said, casually scooping up the bag. “I trust you’re enjoying this fine day?”
“Put that down!” Garek yelled as he got to his feet.
“I don’t think so. These lovely gems are now property of Nolan Dooley, Thief Extraordinaire. Tell your friends about me, will you?”
Halas rushed at the thief, but Nolan quickly spun around to the left, hitting him in the ear with the bag. Halas fell to his knees. The man kicked him in the side of the neck. Halas’ breath exploded from him, and he toppled. Garek started forward, but the thief had a thin foil in his hand. “Do not try it, young man. Step back.”
Garek ignored him, clenching his fists and closing the distance. Halas struggled to his knees. If they were going to take this man, they would take him together. Nolan seemed surprised at the resistance. “Stop!” he cried. Garek kept on. Nolan swiveled on the balls of his feet and pressed his blade to Halas’ chest. “If you don’t stop moving, you fat little cow, I’m going to impale him!”
Garek took a wounded step back, the anger on his face quickly turning to fear, fear that Halas thought he could match blow for blow. Nolan’s sword had pricked a hole in his shirt. It was cold on his skin.
The thief ’s words played quickly through Halas’ mind, and he discovered that Nolan Dooley wasn’t lying. He truly would kill Halas, if he thought he had to. After the forest, such things should have seemed laughable, but Halas couldn’t bring himself to think that way. The point of the foil was too cold; it kept him barred in reality.
Garek stepped back, his fists clenched. “Make no mistake, thief,” he said. “I will kill you.”
Nolan Dooley, Thief Extraordinaire glanced at Halas with a smile. “We will see about that.” And with that, he ran off. Garek chased him to the end of the alley, but the man was gone. He ran back to Halas.
“He took it all!”
Halas coughed and let himself fall over. Garek sat next to him and held his hand. It was several minutes before Halas could breathe easily again, much less speak. He burned where the sword had touched him. He thought he might have been bleeding. “It’s all right.”
“No, no it isn’t. That was nearly half our money, Halas. And he took it. He took it all.” Garek put his head in his hands. “What’s Father going to think?”
“The man had a blade,” Halas said. “Father won’t think any less of you for that.”
“So you say. You tried to get it back.”
“Yes, and he put me on the ground.” Halas coughed, but immediately stifled it, fearing Garek would think it forced to emphasize the fact that he h
ad been kicked in the neck, and then stabbed. If he was bleeding, he’d been stabbed. That realization came with an odd sort of vertigo. His head swam. He’d never been stabbed before.
Garek didn’t seem to care. He helped Halas up, and supported his older brother until he could walk by himself again as they headed home. As luck, or the opposite, would have it, Halbrick was inside the cottage when the brothers returned. He saw the bruise that covered the side of Halas’ head, from the top of his ear to the middle of his cheek, and went to him, taking him gently by the chin and angling his head toward the window and the light. “What happened?” he asked with concern. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” Halas said, pulling his head away. “We were attacked.”
“Attacked? What?” He briefly glanced at Garek, looking him over for any visible wounds. Satisfied, he turned back to Halas.
“He called himself Nolan Dooley, Thief Extraordinaire,” Garek mumbled. “Stupid name. He tripped me with something, a rope, or twine or something, and grabbed the bag.”
“What bag?” Halbrick hadn’t known that they were collecting the last of the payment, but from the look on his face, he suspected.
“The payment for the harvest.”
Halbrick held his breath, obviously trying to contain his anger. Halas looked from brother to father, ready to extinguish the flames before things became too out of hand. “How much of it? How much was lost?”
“Three thousand. Five gems.”
In a rage, their father flung his chair into the wall, breaking it in two. He snarled and rounded on Garek. “You lost three thousand?”
“Father,” Halas said, “it was not his fault! The man had a weapon.”
“Yes, but that obviously did not stop you! My good son. You, at least, tried to get our hard-earned money back. How will we last through the winter, Garek? How will we eat? Did you even consider that, or are you too weak, too stupid to do that?”
“Father!” Halas said, putting a hand on Halbrick’s forearm. His father shrugged it off.
“Halas, stay out of this!”
“I’m sorry,” Garek whispered.
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