Nikolis spotted a plump boy with brown hair chopping vegetables at a table in the corner. He looked kind enough, so Nikolis made his way over. When he approached, the boy looked up and smiled. “Hello,” he said.
“Hello,” Nikolis replied, “I was wondering if you could point me in the direction of Master Littlefield. I was told I could find him in kitchens, though I’m not sure if I’m in the right place.”
The boy continued to beam and nodded. “Master Littlefield, eh? Now there’s a sorry sort. Chores for you then, I bet. Littlefield’ll work ya to the bone, but he ain’t so bad after a while. You just come to the keep? I ain’t never seen you before, and you certainly ain’t the kin of no one important if you was sent here.”
“Um, well…I…” Nikolis searched for a response that would be sensible but found none.
“Leave him be, Garley,” a voice sounded, from behind them. Nikolis turned about and was greeted by the strangest looking fellow he had ever laid eyes on. By appearances, he was of an age with Nikolis, but his back was hunched, and his mismatched eyes, one slightly larger than the other, were both green and brown.
The little fellow was perched up on a table, letting his legs swing back and forth, and was peering at Nikolis with those uneasy eyes. His face was a bit drawn, making it hard to truly discern his age, and he made Nikolis’ stomach turn.
“I was just making introductions, Raife,” Garley replied. “No need to be bossy.” He finished cutting up a cucumber, and moved on to another, pushing the scraps of the first off the table with the edge of his knife.
“Those weren’t introductions,” Raife said, hopping down off the table, and moving over to Nikolis. “These are.” He extended a hand, smiled, and said, “Hello, my name is Raife. What is yours?”
Nikolis regarded the hand for a few moments, but finally took it. Raife’s grasp was quite strong for his size, though Nikolis could feel that the bones of his hands were strangely twisted. “My name is Nikolis,” he forced himself to reply.
“Ah, Nik, I’ve heard tell of you I think,” said Raife. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“Yes, yes, and my name’s Garley,” the plump boy said, pushing Raife aside and extending his hand. “Garley Dolbrand. My brother’s training to be a guard, isn’t that wonderful? I hope I can be a guard someday.”
“Never mind him,” Raife said, patting Garley on the shoulder. “He tells that tale to anyone who will listen.”
Nikolis smiled. “I don’t mind.”
“Raife’s brother’s becoming a guard too,” Garley continued. “In fact, he’s almost one already. He just doesn’t like to talk about it as much as I do. He doesn’t even like you to mention that he’s a Penderton, at all.”
Raife rolled his mismatched eyes and elbowed Garley aside. “I’m too pretty to be a guard,” he said, throwing his head back. “Now, you said you were looking for Master Littlefield, is that right?”
Nikolis was about to respond that, yes, he was looking for the master, but a loud voice cut him off before the words could come out. “Hey, you there, you children. Get back to work.” It was the tall man in the apron. He sounded just as mean as he looked.
“Yes sir,” said Garley, and he lowered his eyes and went back to chopping. Raife just shook his head and hopped back up on the table.
“Littlefield’s back there,” Garley whispered. “Aside of the big kettle.”
Nikolis found the kettle easily and an opening beside it, which he stepped through. Inside was a small room with a desk that barely fit from wall to wall. Behind it sat a balding man of middle years, scribbling on a piece of parchment with a quill. Nikolis watched as the man dipped his quill and then set it to paper, over and over again.
“Sir,” he said, after a few moments. “Sir, I was sent to find Master Littlef–”
The man at the desk cleared his throat noisily and continued to write. He kept his head down.
“Sir,” Nikolis repeated, “if I am in the wrong room, could you please tell m–”
“You are not in the wrong room,” the man said, not looking up. “I am just displaying to you the same courtesy you have shown me.”
“Pardon, sir? Whatever I have done…”
“Knock.”
“What?”
“You didn’t knock. Around here we knock before we enter someone’s office.”
Nikolis gulped and looked about the room. It had no door. “I’m sorry, sir,” he started, “I just…”
The man was ignoring him again. His hand kept moving over the parchment. He never looked up.
Nikolis decided to exit the room, turn about, and tap lightly on the doorframe.
The man inside the room looked up then. “Yes? May I help you?”
“I am looking for Master Littlefield,” Nikolis repeated. “I was sent–”
“Yes,” the man said, “I am Master Littlefield. What can I do for you?”
Nikolis started to take a step forward, but he noticed the master’s eyes bulge when he did, so he took a step back. “May I have your leave to enter?” he asked.
“Yes, you may,” Littlefield replied. Nikolis stepped inside the room again. The master looked him up and down. “Now, what is your name?”
“My name is Nikolis Ledervane, sir. I was sent by Master Drennen for errands. Or duties. Or what have you.”
Master Littlefield looked out the window, up at the sky. “You were due here over an hour ago. Right after sunrise. I was told you would be performing your duties to the master of arms before that, but that you would be here when the sun was bright in the sky.”
“Yes, sir. I didn’t know where I should go, no one told me–”
“Yes. Well, I’ll expect you to be on time tomorrow. I’m supposed to release you at midday for your duties to the master of arms, but now that won’t be possible. You’ll have to work straight through till sunset. Then you can do what you must for him.”
“But, sir…” Nikolis didn’t know what to say. He had already missed his training before sunrise due to waking up late, and now he was going to miss his midday session as well. Master Drennen was liable to release him from his tutelage if he noticed, which he most assuredly would.
“Now, now,” said Littlefield, sitting up in his chair. “None of that. It says here you’re to carry messages as a page. Not sure how you landed such an easy task on your first visit, but these orders come from the King himself. Why I can’t be trusted to run my own servants is beyond me, but we must not question these things.” Master Littlefield was clearly perturbed, but he just shook his head and stood.
An easy task? The King’s orders? Perhaps he had been forgiven, for whatever it was he had done to upset everyone so much.
Littlefield grabbed a rolled parchment from the drawer of his desk, checked the seals and bindings, and then handed it to Nikolis. The boy took the roll in hand and looked it over. He looked back up to see Littlefield glaring at him.
“Take that straightaway to Steward Remton. You’ll find him on the first basement level, near the storerooms. You can take the western stair, or the southern hallway. I’d suggest the stair, it’s quicker. You have to walk the hall for some time to make your way down, and there are already too many servants loitering about there. Keep your head down and don’t talk to anyone. The Steward will check the seal as well, so don’t get any ideas about opening it.”
Nikolis nodded, trying to remember everything the older man had just said. He was sure he could find the western stair well enough. It has to be somewhere near the eastern stair, doesn’t it? Either way, Master Littlefield didn’t seem open to too many questions. “Yes sir,” was all that he said in reply, when the man was finished talking.
“Here,” Littlefield said, moving over to a cabinet and grabbing something out. “Wear this.”
Nikolis took a wadded-up pile of black cloth from the master and held it out. It was a coat, plain enough, but with a small yellow crown sewn onto the breast. Nikolis put his arms through the sleeves an
d drew it on. It was a bit big for his size, but he didn’t complain. Master Littlefield looked him up and down, and then nodded. “Now off with you, boy.”
Garley smiled as he passed back out of the kitchens and said, “Nice coat there, Nik. You’re doing fine already, if you need one of those.”
“Leave him be,” Raife said, from his perch on the table. “Make him late and we’ll all hear it from Master Littlefield.” Raife still made Nikolis uneasy, but he decided to ignore the feeling, as he was being rather nice in his own way. He smiled at Garley as he made his way out into the hallway.
He found the western stair without too much trouble and sprinted down. He encountered a few people before the first landing, but after that, not a soul was in sight. Torches on the wall provided ample light, but after he had descended to the next level below ground, the stairwell got very dark. The air seemed thicker, all of the sudden, and moist.
It was a long time before he came to the first lower landing, and although his eyes grew used to the darkness, he could barely make out his hands after a while. Torches set in iron sconces on the walls cast hard shadows about the twists and turns of the stair, and he had to place his feet carefully so he wouldn’t stumble or fall.
After what seemed like ages he came to a landing and a long hall of ironbound doors that curved around in either direction. More stairs continued downward into utter darkness, but this was where he needed to be. At least I think it is. These had to be the storerooms, although he had no idea in which direction he should venture. He stepped out into the dim-lit hall and looked left and right. He closed his eyes and listened. Sure enough, he could hear the faintest of voices trailing off to right.
Slowly, with one hand on the wall to his right for guidance, he made his way down the hall. He walked for some time, the voices slowly becoming clearer, more distinct. The torches became fewer and farther between. Door after door after door passed him on the left. The soft sound of his footsteps and the dim prattle of voices were his only companions. His stomach started to rumble, and he looked about in the heavy shadows. Images of outstretched claws in dark places sought to invade his mind, but he couldn’t remember exactly why.
A thump sounded ahead and Nikolis nearly jumped out of his skin. He dropped the parchment in his hand, and it rolled along the floor and stopped before a large, black boot.
Trin Remton dipped down and picked it up. Before him was a short man in green velvet. The two were in the thick of what seemed like a heated discussion. “Yes, Camber, yes,” Trin was saying as he stood up. “Two barrels of ale for your sister's visit. It can be arranged, although the King will have to approve it. She must be quite the drinker.”
“Why bother involving the King?” the other man asked, ignoring the slight. He was a greasy looking fellow, with dark hair streaked with grey. He had a flat nose and a wide forehead. “He has other, more important matters to worry about.”
“We’re nearly in the thick of winter,” answered Trin. “All large removal of stores must be approved by the King. We’ve all got to last the harsh months, not just you.”
The greasy man looked appalled. “I would never dream of taking more than my share from the castle stores, Steward, but as a cousin to the King’s own house–”
“Yes, Corwin,” Trin said, puffing out his large chest, “you’re a distant relative of House Ryland, and don’t we all know it? I’ve said you’ll have your ale, what more do you want from me?”
“Nothing more,” said Corwin Camber, putting his hands up and retreating a step. “I thank you.”
“Aye,” replied the steward. “Now out of here.”
“Of course,” said Corwin. He bowed stiffly and tuned about. After the man had disappeared into the shadows of the hallway, Trin Remton shot Nikolis a quick look and turned to the parchment.
Without taking a second look at the seal he ripped it open and read. “More food, another banquet. More, more, more.” His eyes darted back and forth across the page and then he folded the it up and stuffed it into a pocket. “It’s near on to midwinter and all they want is to waste food and drink, while our hunters can barely find game. It’s a good thing the harvest was ample, else we’d all be starving soon.”
Nikolis simply stood and listened, as seemed to be fast becoming a regular practice. He found the steward to be an interesting man. Gruff, but nice.
Trin turned to Nikolis and smiled. “New to the keep are ya, boy?”
Nikolis nodded. “Yes, sir. I am apprenticed to Master of Arms Arthur Drennen, but have now taken on duties in the keep as well.”
“Ah,” said Trin, “I remember. You’re Ledervane’s boy. Fair enough man he was, and nice. Shared a drink or two with him, so many years ago. Shame how it all ended”
Another recognition of his father. Things couldn’t possibly get any stranger. “How what ended?”
A crease split the steward’s forehead. “Ah, well, never mind.”
“Steward–”
“Thanks for the delivery, Ledervane,” said Trin, cutting him off. He then reached into his pocket and drew something out. He pressed this into Nikolis’ hand, smiled and turned away. After the steward had gone, disappearing into one of the many doors along the hallway, Nikolis opened his hand. There, in his palm, was a dull, scratched, copper coin. Nikolis smiled. He had never had any money before. Had never thought to need any before coming to the castle, and now…it was an odd feeling.
The harsh words of Master Littlefield echoed in his mind and he decided he’d best hurry back. He turned and raced down the hall, feeling along the left wall as he went. He soon came to the staircase and raced up. He forgot how clear the air could be, and how bright the light of day was, when he finally found himself back on the ground floor. He raced back up to the kitchens, smiled at Garley and Raife as he went by, and headed back to Master Littlefield’s office.
He spent the rest of the days running messages and delivering packages to all ends of the keep. Despite his best efforts, he still couldn’t visualize the layout in his mind. The keep was simply massive. So large, in fact, that he got lost several times, but always seemed to be able to find his way back to the kitchens again.
It was on his way back from one such errand, that he found himself on a high floor of the castle. It didn’t take long for him to realize that he recognized where he was. His suspicion was confirmed when he passed the door to the king’s meeting chamber and found himself face to face with the aged man. When King Alginor caught his eyes, he glared and clenched his jaw. It was every bit as menacing and hateful a look as the one he had received his first day at the castle.
He thought to say something to the man, to step forward and talk to him. But that inspiration was quickly quashed as a yellow-haired man in a grey coat stepped forward and slammed the chamber door shut.
The encounter left Nikolis feeling uneasy, any hope that the king had settled down about his presence in the keep, cast aside. For the rest of the day, as he went about his chores, he did so with a downtrodden spirit. When the sun was finally setting, Master Littlefield released him for the day.
His stomach was growling as he marched out into the field beyond the armory, but he forced himself to ignore it. He had missed both of his training sessions today, and he knew the master would not be pleased. Perhaps he was too busy training the nobles, or seeing to some other matter, to notice?
Nikolis was not that lucky. There, in the center of the field, stood Arthur Drennen. He looked a wisp of a man from so far back, yet he was strong and powerful, and awaiting his pupil.
“You missed both your morning and midday training,” Drennen said, when Nikolis was before him. “Your excuse?”
Nikolis had thought long and hard about what he would say if the master of arms were to ask him that question. He knew what he would answer now. He knew what Drennen would want to hear, what he should say as a devout student.
“I have none,” the boy replied, barely a whisper.
Master Drennen looked long and har
d at him. Nikolis could read no expression in his face. “That,” he said, after many moments, “at the least is admirable.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“Again,” Arthur Drennen said, his arms crossed before his chest, his foot tapping in an irritable manner. “Say it again.”
The sky overhead was growing dark, but Nikolis just sighed and nodded his head. “I shall bear my sword well and true,” he began. “I shall use it for the right of men.” He went through a few maneuvers and stances with his pole held out before him. He circled around, squared himself off with an imaginary opponent, struck, pivoted, and came around again.
“Continue…” the master droned.
“To protect the innocent,” Nikolis said. “To guard the weak.” With each sentence came another stance, another maneuver, another position. “To fight in times of war, when I am called. To protect my brethren and to serve them.”
“And…” said Master Drennen.
“To shelter my brethren when they are in need, and to never turn my sword against them.” Nikolis finished the last with a huff and leaned against his pole.
“One day you will have to swear oaths with a real sword in your grasp, before king and court. That just so that he might take you into his service. Think long and hard on those words, and make sure that when that day does come, you mean them.”
Nikolis nodded, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “What about the King?” he asked.
“What?”
“The oath makes no mention of the King.”
“King Alginor stands for all of those things, my boy. More than any man living.” Arthur Drennen turned and headed from the field.
For weeks now, he had been training three times a day and then running messages in the keep. It was really starting to take a toll on him, although all his aches and pains had long ago faded and had been replaced with hardness and, almost it seemed, muscle. He felt stronger than he had before, he felt an entirely different person.
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