by Sally Green
“And where is he now?”
“I’m not sure. He was banished.”
“Ah . . . him. I’ve heard rumors.”
Edyon nodded and felt sick. “I’m sure all the court gossips about me and him.”
Byron shook his head. “No. Not about you and him, but about him attacking Regan. I heard that it was Thelonius who felt compassion for March, that he valued him as a servant, but had to send him away.”
“The truth is that I asked my father to spare him. He did try to kill Regan—not such a serious crime, it would seem now.” And Edyon thought of Regan in the cells at Birtwistle. He’d died that first night of his wounds, and Edyon felt some pity for him, alone in a cold, miserable cell. How the world turned, and no one could predict the future!
“Perhaps March could return now?”
Edyon tried to smile. “I’d like that, but the truth is that he is gone, and I don’t think he would want to return.”
“May I ask if he was your first love?”
“Not the first. But . . . the only one to stop me stealing.” Then Edyon asked Byron, “And you? Has your heart been broken?”
Byron nodded. “Once. I was much younger and perhaps my heart is stronger for it. It was a simple break—to the relationship and to me. He left me for another.”
He! Well, I had guessed, but still, that’s not unpleasant news.
“I’m sorry for the pain you suffered, Byron. And perhaps my heart will be stronger in the end too.”
Byron was a good person, Edyon thought. Brave, thoughtful, and, of course, handsome. Would it be so wrong to form a close relationship with such a man? Edyon blushed as he said, “I love March still, but that is over, and I need to find a way out of the loneliness I feel. Will you stay with me, Byron? Keep me company?”
Byron turned to Edyon, bent down, and kissed his hand, and said, “I will do all I can.”
MARCH
SOMEWHERE IN SOUTHERN BRIGANT
SINCE NOYES’S visit to camp, Harold had spent more time on his metal contraptions. The bridges were now all made, but they had to be tested. The brigades had discovered, then perfected, the best technique to raise, expand, and drop them almost as one movement. They could do it so quickly now that, even as the ladders were settling in place, the first boys were already leaping in the air to land on them and run across.
The “rungs” of the ladder were flat metal slats that were widely spaced, and the ladder was narrow to keep the weight of the machine down—as March had learned from Harold’s discussion with the blacksmiths who were making it. On the first practice the boys had leaped from rung to rung, but that had caused the ladder to bounce, and the whole thing had flipped up and out of place, sending boys flying through the air. The technique they then used was to run smoothly up the side of the ladder, which was narrow but flat—with smoke in you it was simple.
All the boys grew increasingly aggressive with the use of smoke, and fights between them broke out frequently. How-ever, with all the practice, smoke was running short and Harold’s patience, which was minimal at best, was approaching zero.
Finally, a week after Noyes left, Lord Thornlees arrived with his troops. They kept a quite separate camp from the boys, which seemed wise. Lord Thornlees came to Harold’s camp to deliver the smoke and March poured them both wine.
Harold told Thornlees, “When my brigades attack, your job is to follow us. We will take the wall and then you hold it.”
Thornlees frowned. “Yes, Your Highness. We will hold it together.”
“Yes, yes.”
“Though I’m not sure we can use the metal bridges that your boys are using. I watched the boys’ brigades practicing, and, well, the agility required may be beyond many of my men. And we need to bring our horses, obviously.”
“That’s your problem. Do you want me to do everything for you?”
“Not at all, Your Highness. I intend to dismantle the wall. I have the men to do it.”
“Fine. Knock your way through and make a path for the old men to use.”
And Thornlees was dismissed. He hadn’t even had the chance to sip his wine.
Now it was the morning of the advance. The smoke had been dispersed to the brigades. The ladders were hidden at the wall. Thornlees was holding position farther back from the boys’ brigades. His men were ready to join the attack, but, if Harold had his way, March suspected it’d be over before Thornlees arrived.
March helped Harold to dress. The only armor the prince wore was a breast- and backplate, as these pieces helped his chest look wider and shone blindingly in the sunlight. There was a gold sun over Harold’s heart—assuming, of course, that he had a heart. Harold carried two flasks of purple smoke—one on each hip.
Harold inspected the Gold Brigade, as they had to complement the prince’s appearance. Harold even checked that Sam’s sword was sharp and clean, and gave him a spear to carry. “Yes, yes, yes. You’re my star boy, Sam. Now you look the part.” And Sam’s grin almost broke his face open.
Harold turned to March and said, “You’re hopeless with a sword, March. And not much better with a spear. So I’ve had a few of these made especially for you.” Harold held out his hand, on which rested three small pieces of metal, each the shape of a lemon but the size of a large chestnut.
“Thank you, Your Highness.” March wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do with them.
“I’ve seen you practicing with your stones. You used them to good effect against the other recruits in the race. These are my design, a good shape to fly fast and true, with more weight to add to the impact.”
March took the metal shot from the prince. “Thank you, Your Highness.”
“Let’s see what you can hit with them. Take a sip of smoke and throw one at . . . my chest.”
“Your chest!” March wasn’t sure what to think of this idea. “But, Your Highness. I don’t want to miss.”
“Then don’t.”
March backed away. Was this his one chance to end the attack? Kill Harold and end it all? He licked his lips.
“Farther back,” Harold called.
March moved away, feeling the weight of the shot in his hand. But also feeling sweat on his palm.
“I hope you’re going to look more fearsome in battle, March. You look like you’re going to pee in your pants.”
March bent down to rub his palms on his trousers and muttered, “Fuck you, Your Highness,” before standing upright, hauling his arm back, and throwing.
The shot zinged through the air, flat and hard, flying to Harold’s face. But Harold had smoke in him too, and he simply moved his head quickly to the side. “Your aim’s lousy. I said to hit my chest.”
March threw again, before Harold had time to say more. The shot hit Harold’s chest with a sharp bang so that he staggered back. “Ho, ho! March. That was a good aim and much more like it.” Harold looked down. “Shits, you’ve dented my armor. Right on the heart.”
March froze—spoiling the prince’s armor and appearance was possibly more dangerous than hurting him.
But Harold laughed. “I rather like it. Shows I’ve seen a fight. I’ve got a bag full of shot for you, March. You’ll be deadly with them.”
March had one last piece in his hand. He could kill Harold now. He could do it; he pulled his arm back.
“Hey,” Sam said as he grabbed March’s arm and wrenched him round.
“Hey yourself, Sam. Don’t you like me getting even a little praise for my skills? It can’t always be about you, you know.”
“It’s not that. I thought you were . . .” He let go of March’s arm. “Never mind.”
March could attack Harold, but actually Sam was right to stop him now. Thornlees would still want to take the wall; the Brigantine army would still come and attack Calidor. March’s one hope of being useful to Edyon was to stay alive and to use his
privileged position in the Gold Brigade somehow.
Harold rode out of camp with the Gold Brigade jogging behind his horse. Ahead, the boys’ brigades were lined up. The Bulls were in the middle, Rashford at their head. Many of the boys had war paint on and their hair shaved into strange shapes. They had already taken their smoke, it seemed, and had been worked up into a frenzy by their leaders.
Harold pulled his horse up and shouted to the boys. “Today is a historic day. Today is the day when we boys show the world what we’re capable of. We don’t need old men to lead us or tell us what to do. We know what to do. We know our power, our speed, our strength. And now the world will learn about it too. The world will learn to fear us. The world will learn to ignore us no more. Today we invade Calidor. We take the wall, and the Bears will hold it. I will run with the rest of you to Calia.”
What? That wasn’t the plan at all. That wasn’t what Harold had promised Noyes. He had agreed to hold the wall until his father arrived with his own troops. He had promised not to go on to Calia.
The boys were cheering and whooping. But March was silent, trying to take in this news. He turned to Sam, who was waving his spear in the air. “We’re going to go to Calia? He’s going to leave Thornlees at the wall?”
“Sounds like it. We can do it too. We’ll show them.” Sam’s eyes were bright with excitement.
Harold continued, “Calidor will be ours. Everyone in our path will learn to flee, or they will die. We boys will take Calia. We boys will take Calidor.”
The shouts and cheers were deafening.
Harold was standing in his stirrups, his arms out, his armor shining. “Are you ready to show the world what we can do?”
The shouts grew louder still.
“Are you ready?”
But March could hardly hear what Harold was saying now, the shouting was so loud. Harold leaped from his horse and ran ahead of the boys. March and Sam ran close at his heels, and the other boys were following as fast as the wind and on toward the wall.
The first wall was the lower one. Though it was solid and imposing, with smoke in his body March saw it as an easy obstacle. The thing he feared was the pit. If he fell in when it was on fire, then getting out would be almost impossible.
The place where Harold had chosen to breach the walls was between two lookout points, and the boys were hidden from them by the undulating land until they were nearly at the wall. But once the boys were in view, speed was essential.
The boys raced forward faster and faster. Ahead of March the first of the four ladders was being raised. The Bears and Wasps were working together on it. The Wasps scaled the lower wall with ease, and the Bears raised their ladder, scaling the wall and then pulling the ladder in an arc. As the ladder swung, it opened out to land with a huge clang across the pit between the two walls.
Calidorian soldiers were already running along the top of the main wall to meet the invaders. They unleashed their first arrows at the Wasps, who were crossing the pit on the first ladder. A second ladder landed across the span with a crash. The third was arcing down as one of the guards hurled a flaming torch into the dividing pit below the Wasps. More flaming torches followed as the last ladder fell into place.
Arrows zinged down on the crowd of boys as they threw grappling hooks over the first, lower wall. March was with them at the base of the lower wall and protected from the arrows, but not for long. Harold climbed up a rope and March had to follow. At the top he had a view of the battle. Flames in the ditch had already taken hold and were licking the bottoms of the ladders.
Calidorian soldiers were using their spears to lever a ladder over, tipping boys into the ditch. Archers were targeting other boys on the wall. Harold drew his sword and ran across the nearest ladder, showing no fear, no hesitation. The Gold Brigade followed, shouting as they went, even though the flames were round their ankles.
March ran across and could hardly see where to put his feet for the smoke rising from the pit. The ladder sloped upward and his boot slipped, but he regained his balance and ran on. Then he was through the smoke and on the second wall. Harold was ahead, swinging his sword into a Cali-dorian soldier who towered over him, but was no match for Harold’s speed or strength. Harold moved along the wall, cutting down each soldier he met with ease. The boys followed, and it was clear that the opposition was quickly crumbling; some Calidorians were already fleeing.
Was it really that easy? The wall had taken years to build, and hundreds if not thousands of men to construct, and so much money—March remembered how the Calidorian lords had complained—and now a few boys had breached it in moments.
Harold was shouting, “Kill them all! String their bodies up for all to see.” There was a scream as a Calidorian soldier was dragged forward. A young boy ran him through with a spear, then hoisted his body into the air, the boys around him laughing and cheering.
Harold shouted, “Bears, hold the wall. Give assistance to Thornlees if he needs it. We are off for Calia.” And, without waiting for a response, the prince was lowering himself down a rope and leaping onto Calidorian soil. Sam followed. March looked back. In the distance he could see the pennants of the Brigantine army—Lord Thornlees was coming.
Rashford joined March. “Well, that was easy.”
“I was thinking just the same,” March replied. “But we’ll see what happens in Calia. Getting past the castle fortifications will be harder than climbing this wall. And they’ll have been warned we’re on our way. The beacon is lit as well as this ditch.” March nodded toward a flame burning high on one of the Calidorian forts. “They’ll be ready for us.”
March looked toward Calia. Edyon would be there. Perhaps he’d be safe. If Edyon stayed inside the castle, perhaps they’d hold out. And if not, March would do all he could to protect him. He knew that might mean killing Harold. And if it came to that, then he also knew he’d not escape with his life.
EDYON
CALIA, CALIDOR
EDYON WAS half-asleep, wrapped in a sweaty tangle of sheets. It had been a long and leisurely afternoon of lovemaking, and now it was evening. Byron was gentle, tender, and possibly the most handsome human Edyon had ever lain with. It was lovely, but it wasn’t love. Byron was beautiful, but he wasn’t March.
But I can never have March, and so I need to stop thinking about him.
Especially when I’m lying with another man!
Byron was asleep, breathing softly, and Edyon stroked his finger down his chest. Could he love Byron? Could his heart move on from March? Certainly Byron was a worthy partner. But was Edyon worthy of Byron? Edyon was supposed to marry—a woman—and sire children—future heirs. The future of Calidor rested on him. He looked down at his naked body. The future of Calidor rested on this body.
Edyon got out of bed and went to the window. The view took in the sea and coast to the south. This was his land. As Madame Eruth had foretold, he’d made a difficult journey to a far land and riches. She’d not spoken of happiness, though. He’d assumed the riches would make him happy, but now tears filled his eyes, because it was March, only March, who had made him happy.
Below him, in the streets, some revelers began shouting, disturbing his thoughts.
At least someone’s happy.
Then Edyon noticed the light on the distant hillside. And he heard more shouting, closer, inside the castle.
“Master! Master!” Talin burst into his chamber, and, seeing Edyon naked, turned to the bed, and, seeing Byron naked, turned to the door. He spoke, his voice breathy and desperate, his arms flapping strangely as he hopped up and down. “Prince Thelonius has called for you, Your Highness. You’re required to be with him immediately. The beacons are lit. We’re being invaded.”
And Edyon knew that for all the wealth and riches he had, death was still all around him.
Byron was out of bed and pulling his clothes on. He came to the terrace to look. “It’s
true. The city beacon is lit.”
Edyon dressed as quickly as he could, and they ran to his father’s meeting room. Edyon had expected the chamber to be full of panic and clamor, but it was surprisingly quiet. Several lords were there, but most had returned to their own estates after the tour. Edyon went to stand with his father.
Thelonius spoke in a clear, serious tone to the whole room. “The beacons are lit. Brigantines are attacking the wall. Once again our northern neighbors want to take what isn’t theirs. However, it seems that my brother’s tactics have changed from those he used, and failed with, in the last war. I have received a report sent by bird that the wall was taken by the Brigantine boy army, eight hundred strong. Behind them are conventional troops led by Lord Thornlees, but that too is merely two thousand men. Aloysius and his forces aren’t in sight. Our army is five thousand. We have the strength to beat them.”
“They must be sending more of the main army,” the chancellor said.
Thelonius replied, “The most recent reports from our brave spies in the north of Brigant say that the main army is not yet moving. It would appear that this attack is intended to take the wall and hold it. If they do that, then Aloysius can come south whenever he likes. We must act swiftly to counter this attack, retake the wall, and secure our borders. The ports are safe, and there are no signs of an attack by sea. However, as we are now in a state of war, all towns and cities must activate their defense procedures—all people must take shelter within city and town defenses, and all members of the army and defense are on full alert.”
Thelonius turned to Edyon, saying, “I ride out immediately, but you must stay here, Edyon. Your life must not be put at risk. Stay inside the castle until it is safe.”
“Father, I’m aware you know much more about war than I do, but please be aware of the risks of the boy army.”
“I remember your demonstration, Edyon. And I remem-ber Byron’s strength at Birtwistle. But I have confidence in my men too. However, you must take care. They may send a small force south to Calia, aiming to assassinate you and other key individuals, but as long as you stay within the walls of the castle you’ll be safe. However, should anything happen that would threaten you directly, we have boats prepared to take you back to Pitoria.”