Julie Côté

Money

Year 409

 

            “Get up, you stupid boy.”

            His legs were roughly kicked, and Mandell groaned sleepily. It took him a moment to really understand what had been said, but when he did he sprung to his feet. In front of him, with crossed arms and tapping one foot impatiently, was the boy who had kicked him.

            If Mandell had stood up straight, he would have been a good deal bigger than the other boy, but he didn’t. He stooped his shoulders and tried to make himself look smaller. Mandell was pretty sure that his size was one of the reasons the young lord hated him. Arsad was fifteen, about three years older than Mandell, so he must have found Mandell’s size annoying.

            “You were asleep, again,” Arsad said.

            “Sorry, my lord,” Mandell mumbled, staring at the straw-covered floor.

            “Excuse me?”

            “I’m sorry, my lord,” Mandell spoke more clearly.

            Arsad smirked and wiped some imaginary dust off of his expensive tunic. “Well, are you going to tell me why you were asleep?”

            Toying with the servants seemed to be Arsad’s favourite, and only, pastime. Mandell never fought back. Had Arsad been another farm boy, their interactions would have been very different, but Mandell needed the job. He needed the money Arsad’s father paid him.

            His situation was pretty common. He was the oldest son of a poor farming family. Before getting the job at the estate, Mandell had helped out on the farm. Once his younger siblings were old enough to help, he’d been sent off to find a way to make money.

            “Well? Have you gone mute?” Arsad asked.

            Mandell shook his head. “Sorry, my lord.” He knew better than to say that the reason he’d fallen asleep was because Arsad had given him so much extra work the day before. Mandell had been hired as a stable hand, but Arsad always found other jobs for him to do. “I was asleep because… I was tired.”

            “You were tired?” Arsad said. “What about the last time you fell asleep, or the time before that? We don’t pay you to sleep.”

            “No, sir,” Mandell agreed.

            “Shall I tell my father?”

            Mandell shrugged.

            Arsad leaned against the stall behind him and crossed his arms. “Aren’t you going to ask me not to?”

            Having seen the exchange between Arsad and other servants before, Mandell knew that he wanted a show. He wanted Mandell to beg and humiliate himself.

            Arsad sighed. “Well?”

            “No,” Mandell said firmly.

            “No?” Arsad’s voice went up as he got more frustrated. “What do you mean, no?”

            Mandell suddenly decided he had had enough. He straightened his shoulders and stared Arsad straight in the eye. “No.”

            “I’ll have my father fire you,” Arsad said. “I’ll make sure you never get another job. Your family will starve because of you, is that what you want?”

            Both boys were aware that they’d attracted a bit of an audience. Other servants and stable hands that had arrived for their day of work were starting to gather. They all disliked Arsad, and the thought gave Mandell a little more confidence.

            “I can find a better job.”

            “I highly doubt that, you stupid half-breed mutt.”

            Mandell didn’t realize he’d punched Arsad until the boy was on the ground, clutching his bleeding nose. Mandell glared down at him, his fists clenched. Arsad clumsily shuffled backwards without getting up. He seemed equally afraid and angry, his eyes wide and his gaze locked on Mandell like he expected another attack. None of the other servants moved to help him.

            Mandell stepped forward and was pleased to see that Arsad flinched. “I’d rather be a “half-breed mutt” than a spoiled Telt brat who can’t defend himself.”

            Furiously, Arsad got to his feet. He dragged his sleeve under his nose, staining the fabric red with blood. He paused as he took in Mandell’s size, and looked at the servants around them. “Are none of you going to stop him? He can’t insult me like that. He can’t insult Teltans like that!”

            Arsad didn’t seem to notice that most of the servants were Native, or like Mandell, half Native and half Teltish. For a moment, none of them moved. Then one older man stepped forward. His name was Vel, and he was the head stable hand.

Arsad smiled. “Finally. I’ll have you rewarded handsomely for – what are you doing?”

            Vel walked up to Mandell. “You need to leave before the lord finds out what you did. He’ll have you arrested for that. Maybe even killed.”

            Arsad had started yelling for his father’s guards. Mandell suddenly realized what he’d done. Vel was right. He’d be arrested and probably killed for attacking the young lord.

            “Mandell, listen. Go to West Draulin.”

            Mandell stared at Vel, hardly understanding what the man said. The horror of the situation was sinking in. “What?”

            Vel started dragging him between the stalls, towards the back door to the stable. Arsad was still yelling. “Go home, tell your family you were kicked out for falling asleep. Tell that story to anyone who asks, and go to West Draulin. It’ll be easy to find a job there. But if people hear you attacked a lord, even an idiot boy like Arsad, they’ll turn on you. So lie.” Vel swung open the back door and pushed Mandell through it. “Go. May the Sisters bless you.”

Not many people prayed to the Sisters. It was an odd belief that was hardly ever brought up outside of the family. It was the belief that Zianesa and the Teltish Goddess were a pair of long lost sisters who had found each other when the Teltans had landed on New Teltar. The belief varied widely from family to family, and only existed in families with Native and Teltish blood.

            Mandell was eager to give the proper reply. “And may the Sisters-“

            Shouting broke out behind them as the guards found Arsad, and Mandell ran off without finishing his sentence. He headed for the corn fields, hoping that the tall plants would make it easy to hide. Once among the corn, he slowed down and crept through the stalks, careful not the shake them. He knew that if he was careful he would be able to get to the outskirts of the lord’s land, and he knew that the guards wouldn’t care enough to keep chasing him then. They probably didn’t like Arsad any more than the servants did.

            West Draulin wasn’t too far, only a day on foot. There would be plenty of jobs there, Vel was right. It would be easy enough to find one, and send money back to his family. He could probably find a higher paying job, too. Mandell’s fears drifted away as he excitedly thought of the possibilities. He could help in a stable, he was good at that. Or maybe he could find work with a blacksmith or ship builder.

            Then something occurred to him. Why not go for the highest paying job there was? Mandell grinned to himself as he made up his mind. He’d enlist in the army.

​

Legacy

Year 410

​

            Jalor spurred his horse into a gallop and lowered his lance. He concentrated on the lance and his shield, trusting his well trained horse to run straight. As always, time seemed to slow down a bit and his mind focused on the opponent galloping towards him. He ignored the cheering of the crowd and fluttering banners and flags that adorned the track.

            Jalor’s lance shattered as it hit his opponent’s breastplate and the jolt of it broke Jalor’s focus. The crowd cheered louder as Jalor looked over his shoulder to see that his opponent had fallen off of his horse. At the end of the track, Jalor’s horse slowed and he tugged on her reins gently, getting her to walk back towards the middle of the track. The opponent was standing, unhurt, and pulled off his helmet as Jalor approached.

            Jalor slid from his saddle and took off his own helmet before shaking the other man’s hand. “Uncle warned you, Grenn.”

            “So he did,” the young man said with a smile. He was Jalor’s older cousin and had already made quite a name for himself in Vasel’s cavalry. “I expect you’ll be after my job, next.”

            The cousins turned to wave at the crowd and bow to the fancy spectator box. In it sat their uncle, Lord Vasel, his wife, and their children. The youngest daughter, Gallea, got to her feet and stepped forward. She was holding a white rose, which she held up to the delighted cheering from the crowd. Jalor had given it to her as a token before the joust. The eldest girl was holding a flower Grenn had given her, but she was still smiling and clapping. Gallea sat down when her father got up.

            Lord Vasel raised his arms to silence the crowd. Once they’d settled down, he started speaking in his booming voice. “Well done, Lord Jalor and Sir Grenn. Allowing my youngest nephew to show off his skills was the perfect way to end the day’s festivities! Jalor, you’re almost a man now. In front of the people of Vasel, I wish you luck as you travel to West Draulin. You’ll remind them that Vasel is not simply a small farming city as they like to believe!” The crowd broke out into cheers again. Compared to West Draulin, most cities were small. Vasel was even smaller, but the people were fiercely proud of their city. There was no hope in quieting them again, but Jalor just managed to hear the last line of his uncle’s speech. “May the Goddess guide you.”

            He and Grenn led their horses off of the track. Before they headed off to their separate tents, Grenn put his hand on Jalor’s shoulder. “West Draulin?”

            Jalor smiled. “Why try to take your job when I can get a better one?”

            Grenn laughed and turned away. “Good luck, little cousin,” he called over his shoulder.

            Jalor went to his own tent. Before bothering with his armour, he untacked his horse and started to brush her down. Unless he was in a hurry, he always settled down the horse himself. He had been training to join to West Draulin cavalry, and he firmly believed that personally taking care of his horse strengthened their bond.

            He left her happily drinking out of a bucket, and went into his tent to take off his armour. Normally he did this by himself, as well. Everything neatly went into the chest he kept his jousting gear in. He pulled a clean green tunic over his head and walked back out to his horse. It was late in the afternoon, and he planned to reach his family’s villa before the sun set.

            He swung his lighter riding saddle over his horse’s back and slipped the bridle over her head. The heaviest thing he had with him was his sword, which he only carried around because his parents insisted. They said that if he was going to ride into the city, he had to take a guard or his sword. He always chose the sword, although luckily he never had to use it.

            He rode through the city carefully, keeping to the less busy, outlaying streets. As soon as they hit the farmland, he nudged his horse lightly and she broke into a gallop. It was a wild, joyful run, and Jalor let her go for as long as she wanted. When she got tired, she slowed to a relaxed walk.

            There was nothing Jalor loved more than being out in the fields with his horse. On the way to the villa, they passed by many small farms. Jalor liked to greet the people he passed. He said hello to a young woman carrying a bucket of water from a nearby stream, he shook hands with an old man herding a flock of sheep, he smiled at a pair of boys carrying firewood. Just as he liked having a connection with his horse, he liked having a connection with the people who lived around Vasel.

            At his villa he rode through the gates and straight to the barn. A stable hand offered to take the horse but Jalor waved him away. He had just finished brushing her when a girl burst into the stall.

            “I was told today to start packing your things for your trip to West Draulin!” The girl threw her arms around Jalor’s neck. “You never told me you were going to West Draulin. How could you? What’s wrong with Vasel?”

            “Nothing’s wrong with Vasel,” Jalor said, hardly surprised by her reaction. “But if I want to do really well in the cavalry I can’t stay here, people may think my uncle is just favouring me. Not to mention Grenn. I don’t want to compete against him.”

            “No one will think that! Everyone knows how talented you are.”

            “Jousting is different.”

            The girl started crying. “But we’ll never see each other if you’re in West Draulin.”

            Jalor sighed. “Brina… we always knew this couldn’t last.” He had never planned for their relationship to last. Brina was pretty and loving and he did care about her, but his parents would have never approved. She was one of the servant’s daughters. He had first kissed her a few months before, the day after his fifteenth birthday, when he had been feeling particularly reckless. They’d had their fun, but he had known all along that he would be leaving.

            Brina was still crying, but she nodded. “I know, I do… But I thought it would last longer.”

            “I’m not leaving for a few more days.” Jalor gently wiped away her tears and gave her a quick kiss. “And I’ll visit.”

            “You’ll find a pretty girl in West Draulin and you’ll forget about me. I know that.”

            “I’ll be too busy training to meet girls,” Jalor said. “But you’ll forget about me quickly enough when the next boy comes along hoping for your affection.”

            Brina smiled, though it was clear she was still upset. “I’ll never forget you. But you love Vasel! The farmland, the forests, riding and hunting with your hawk. You won’t have that in West Draulin. You’ll hate it there.”

            “I’ll have vacations,” Jalor said. He knew Brina was right, he likely would hate the confines of West Draulin. But West Draulin had a bigger army, and he was sure he could rise through the ranks quickly. “I’ll be important there.”

            “You’re important here.”

            Jalor took Brina’s hand and led her from the stall. “Not that important. I’m the younger son. Jallen will get everything and unless I achieve something great, I’ll become another obscure relative that no one remembers. I don’t want that.”

            “People get forgotten. I’ll be forgotten. But what’s the use in complaining about it?” Brina asked.

            “You won’t be forgotten, Brina. I’ll always remember you,” Jalor promised. They stopped walking in the shadows of the barn, where nobody could see them. “Now, let’s enjoy our time together and stop thinking about the future.”

            Brina sighed and hugged him tightly. “I’ll still miss you.”

            “I’ll miss you too,” Jalor said, and he meant it.

​

Excitement

Year 410

​

            There was a thud as the axe embedded into the wooden block. Evrik tightened his grip around the handle and gave it a sharp tug. When that didn’t work, he wiggled the axe back and forth until it was loose enough to slip out of the wood. Evrik smiled to himself as he ran his fingers over the cut. It was deep. The deepest he’d ever made. He was getting stronger.

            Behind him, the bushes rustled and Evrik spun around, holding up the axe. When he saw who it was he lowered the weapon with a sigh. “What do you want, Evran?”

            “Father sent you to collect wood hours ago. He told me to come out and make sure you hadn’t hurt yourself.” Evrik’s older brother stepped into the clearing and eyed the wooden figure Evrik had been attacking. It didn’t look much like a person, but Evrik had draped one of his father’s old shirts over it. “What are you doing?”

            “Practicing.” With the axe, Evrik gestured at a pile of chopped wood near his brother’s feet. “I finished with that first.”

            “So who is it that you’re killing?” Evran asked.

            “No one,” Evrik said with a shrug, turning back to his wooden figure. “Just a person.”

            “Just a person? What does that mean?”

            Evrik shrugged again.

            Evran was silent for a moment, then he nudged the pile a wood with his foot. “I’ll help you carry these back home, yes?”

            “Yes, thank you,” Evrik said. He walked over to join his brother, but couldn’t resist glancing back at the figure. “Evran, do you want to be a farmer forever?”

            Evran crouched and started to stack the wood in his arms. “What else is there for me to do?”

            “Something exciting.”

            “Killing people?”

            “I’m bored,” Evrik complained. His brother stood up with half of the wood, but Evrik didn’t move to pick up the rest. “All I do is check on the animals or chop wood.”

            “That’s because you’re still a child.”

            “I am not. Evral’s a child.”

            “You’re two years older than him, it doesn’t make a difference.”

            “I’m not a child,” Evrik said. He pointed towards the figure. “Look at what I can do.”

            “You can hit a wooden figure with an axe. Isn’t that the same as chopping wood? Anyone can do that.”

            Evrik frowned. He turned and took a step closer to the figure, while unhooking his hatchet from his belt. He held it lightly in his right hand, hesitated a moment, and threw it. It slammed into the wooden figure, just to the right of the middle of the chest portion. He turned back to his brother.

            “Tell me that anyone can do that, Evran.”

            Evran’s mouth was open in shock, his eyes wide. “How did you do that?”

            “I practice. I started with knives but I like the hatchet better.” As he spoke, Evrik walked to the figure to retrieve the little axe. “I used to play games when I chopped wood. I’d pretend I was a great hero and the wood was a horrible monster and I’d defeat it over and over again. But it was too easy, so I made up different monsters - flying ones that I had to throw knives at. I want to go to West Draulin.” Evrik returned to his brother’s side and picked up the rest of the chopped wood. “I want to join the army and go on adventures like the ones grandfather used to tell us about.”

            “West Draulin is days away, why don’t you go to Vasel?”

            Evrik could hear the new respect in his brother’s voice, and it made him smile. “West Draulin has more important lords and ladies. Vasel barely has an army.”

            Evran laughed. “That’s true. Maybe one day you’ll even speak to Lord West Draulin in person!”

            “Don’t mock me. It could happen.” The brothers stopped at the edge of a road to allow a rider to pass by. Their family lived close enough to Vasel that they often saw nobles riding along the road between the city and their huge villas. The boys admired the fine horse and the rich clothing of the young man riding her. The lord, who was about Evran’s age, smiled and nodded at them in greeting. Once he was out of earshot Evrik turned to his brother.

“I could work for lords like that one day.”

            “Maybe.” Evran said.

            “Do you think I should go? I’ve been thinking about it for a long time.”

            Evran nodded as they started walking again. “I think, if this is what you really want, then you should go. I can take over the farm, our sisters can get married, and Evral can find a job in the city, if he wants. But what I just saw you do was special. A gift from the Goddess herself. I think it would be a tragedy if you don’t put that skill to good use, and use it to do something you enjoy. I want you to be happy.”

            Evrik thought about his words. He had always been afraid of sharing his dream with his brother. Evran loved working with the animals and the crops. He was perfectly suited to life as a farmer and Evrik had always been afraid that Evran wouldn’t approve. At the same time, he had always looked up to his brother and wanted his support.

            When their little farmhouse came into view, a new thought popped into Evrik’s head. “What will father and mother think?”

            “I think they’ll be worried but proud,” Evran said. The brothers carefully stacked the wood in the little shed beside their house. Their younger sister Elline was sitting on the porch, sewing. They knew their mother and older sister Ellana were preparing dinner, and Evril was with their father in the barn. “You should show everyone your skill before we eat. When they see what you can do, they’ll have to understand why you want to go.”

            “Do you really think so?”

            “I think it’s the best way to tell them,” Evran said with a nod. “I’ll get Evril and father. Elline! Get mother and Ellana to come outside. Evrik needs to show us something.”

            Their sister looked up from the tunic she was repairing and sighed. “Just because you’re the eldest doesn’t mean you can order me around like that.”

            “Please?” Evrik said hopefully.

            “Fine. I’ll do it for you, not because Evran shouted at me.” Elline neatly folded the tunic and put it aside before heading into the house. Evran, laughing, went to the barn.

            It took his family a few minutes to assemble, so Evrik took the time to set out a block of wood to throw at. He was nervous. Before Evran, he had never shown anyone his trick, and he was worried he’d mess up. He backed up a comfortable distance and stared at the target, taking deep breaths to calm himself. In the forest he could throw quickly and with relatively good aim. He knew that if he thought about it too much, he was more likely to make a mistake.

            When they arrived, Evran gathered their parents and siblings together. He said something, but Evrik didn’t listen until he heard his name. He looked at his family, taking in the confusion on their faces, and the encouraging smile on Evran’s. He made up his mind.

            Like in the forest, he unhooked his hatchet. He didn’t pause and think and try to aim, he threw it quickly, letting his muscles do what was familiar. The axe head buried into the wood with a loud thud, and then there was silence. Evran broke into a cheer and Evril joined in. The girls gasped. Their parents were frozen with identical looks of shock.

Evrik smiled at his family and with new confidence, said, “Father, mother, I want to join the army in West Draulin.”

            His parents moved forward and pulled him into a loving hug.

 

Family

Year 411

 

            “They’re Teltish!”

            “They’re half Crelan, mate. Don’t try to ignore that.”

            The twins hated it when their father and uncle argued. It was always about the same thing. Their father always insisted that the boys were Teltish, but no one could deny that they had taken after their mother’s side of the family. They had dark Crelan hair, they spoke like their uncle, and even their names sounded more Crelan than Teltish.

            Their father, Kander, hadn’t been around often. The boys didn’t dislike their father, they had simply spent more time with their mother and uncle.

            Uncle Roland was the epitome of a Crelan sailor. He had dark hair and a beard, with tattoos running down both arms. He always arrived at their house dressed in black, always with a sword, and often wearing his large hat with the blue and green feather. The twins had spent much of their time with him, practicing knots and learning everything their uncle knew about sailing. They had listened with rapt attention at the stories he’d told them about the Old God of the Sea and the Sailor King. They had memorized the words of all the old shanties the Crelan sailors sang.

            The boys thought of themselves as Crelan, a fact that constantly upset their father. It was why he had insisted on them picking up a skill that wasn’t associated with most Crelans - archery. To his delight, the boys were naturals. Kander had high hopes for them joining the army, a respectable Teltish occupation, as opposed to joining their uncle’s crew.

            Kor and Ender were hiding in the hallway when their father and uncle started the familiar argument. The men never argued around their mother, but she had just gone out to the market to buy some last minute things for dinner. The boys weren’t sure what to do. They didn’t want to pick sides; they didn’t want to upset either of the men.

            “My boys are going to get high paying jobs,” their father was insisting. “You’ve seen them shoot, they’ll do well.”

            “Aye, they’re good,” Roland agreed. “But they’re my nephews, mate. You know how well they’ll do in the navy. Lord West Draulin is much more likely to notice them if they’re with me.”

            In the hallway, Ender nudged his brother. “We should say something.”

            Kor rubbed his neck, feeling the thin scar there. It had almost been a year since the boys had tried to shoot each other’s arrows out of the air. They’d improved since then, but never again made the mistake of aiming at each other. “Say what?”

            “That we’re not one or the other.”

            “We’re Crelan.”

            “Aye.” Ender nodded. “But they’re never going to stop arguing about us. So, we should say we’ll join the army. That’s what father wants. And we’re good.”

            Kor sighed. He knew his brother was right, but despite how much they enjoyed archery, neither of them wanted to join the army. They wanted to be out on the water with their uncle. He nodded, and pushed open the door.

            The twins walked into the room and stood side by side. Their father and uncle fell silent. Kor and Ender exchanged a look, and then Kor took a deep breath.

            “Ender’n I were thinking. We’re old enough to be squires, ay- yes? So, we want to enlist.”

            “We thought Uncle Roland might put in a good word for us,” Ender said, trying to appease both men.

            Kander smiled, “I’m glad to hear it, boys. We’ll go up to the castle tomorrow-“

            “Wait, father,” Kor said. “There’s one more thing. We want to keep sailing when we’re given free time.”

            “Ander.” Their father crossed his arms. “You won’t have time for sailing in the army.”

            Kor narrowed his eyes, and Ender stepped forward slightly. “Father, you know he wants to be called Kor, aye?”

            “And you’ll have to drop that ridiculous habit,” their father said dismissively. “The men won’t take you seriously if you stick “aye” at the end of every second sentence.”

            “My name’s Kor.”

            Kander looked at him. “Of course. You decided to drop the only part of my name either of you had,” he said bitterly. “Kor. Could a name sound any more Crelan?”

            “Mate, don’t take the lad’s choice so personally.” Roland’s voice was calm. He was used to derogatory comments and didn’t let them bother him. “It was confusing calling them Ender and Ander. The choice is a practical one. Lads, if this is what you want, I’ll talk to Lord West Draulin.” Roland smiled kindly at his nephews. “I’ll try to gain you some favour, but you’ve got to earn it, aye?”

            The twins nodded.

            Their father still looked annoyed. “Very well, then. Tomorrow I’ll take you two to enlist. You should be ready to do some shooting, show the men what you can do.”

            They all heard the telltale sound of the front door opening, meaning that their mother was home. Kor and Ender glanced at each other, relieved. Although Kander and Roland didn’t get along, they both loved and respected Rinila enough that they wouldn’t fight when she was around. She walked into the room a moment later, carrying a loaf of bread and a bag of potatoes.

            Kander moved to take the bag from her. “The boys want to enlist.”

            “They’re only ten,” Rinila said.

            “They’re the perfect age.” The pair of them walked into the kitchen, leaving Roland and the twins behind. The door swung shut behind them and their voices were muffled.

            Ender was the first to speak. “Uncle, we don’t want to join the army.”

            Roland put a hand on his shoulder and crouched in front of his nephews. “I know.” He lay his other hand on Kor’s shoulder, turning him slightly so he could look both boys in the eye. “I know it’s a hard decision and you made it to please your father, but I believe you’ll do well. You’re very talented, both of you. Your parents and I are very impressed.”

            “Father never seems impressed,” Kor said.

            “Aye,” Roland agreed with a slight smile. “He’s upset quite often, but he’s upset because of how much he cares for you both. He doesn’t feel like he has much in common with you.” Then he glanced towards the kitchen door. “You’re young. If you decide you don’t enjoy being squires, we’ll work something out, aye? I’ll help you.”

            The twins smiled, grateful for their uncle’s understanding.

            “We have to give it a chance. Maybe it won’t be so bad,” Ender said.

            “Maybe,” Kor said with a shrug. “Maybe next year, we can join your crew, uncle.”

            Roland chuckled. “Maybe. But Ender’s right, give the army a chance. The pay is excellent, and I know you two are talented enough archers to go far. Promise me you’ll try for two years. Then, if you’re still unhappy, I’ll help.”

            “Aye, we promise,” Ender said.

            “Aye,” Kor agreed, a little more reluctantly. “We promise.”

            “Good lads. You’ll do fine. Roe and the Goddess will look out for you.”

            “Won’t Roe be angry we’re not sailors?” Kor asked.

            “Of course not, lad. You’re Crelan. We’ve got the blood of the Sailor King. Roe always watches over us.” Roland squeezed the boys’ shoulders and stood up. “It’ll be some time before dinner, why don’t you two go outside and play for awhile?”

            The boys gladly went outside to get away from the adults and sat on the porch. Their house was at the end of a street, giving a clear view to the port and ocean below. The twins sat silently, watching the tiny people moving around the port and ships.

            “As long as we stay together, I’m happy,” Ender said quietly.

            Kor smiled and nudged his brother. “Aye. Soldiers or sailors, we’ll stay together. I swear it in the name of Roe and the Goddess.”

            Ender nodded solemnly. “I swear it in the name of Roe and the Goddess.”

​

Duty

413

​

            “Atricen! What have I always told you about pulling out that knife during a fight?”

            “That is isn’t respectable,” Acen replied dutifully, but he didn’t let the matter drop, he never did. “I don’t understand, father. You say that the lords won’t trust me, but if using my knife saves a lord’s life, will he really care that it isn’t respectable?”

            Acen’s father stood across from him in the small courtyard. It was supposed to be their last duel, a father and son bonding moment before Acen was sent off to join the army. It wasn’t surprising that they’d started bickering. Acen had been training his whole life, and he was just as good, if not already better, than his father. However, where the older lord loved all the spoken and unspoken rules about fighting, Acen didn’t see the point. When it came down to it, he thought that being able to defeat his opponent was more important than following the rules and dying because of them.

            “Atricen, who are you?”

            Acen knew what his father was getting at. “Lord Atricen from West Draulin, second child to Lord Atrick, never going to inherit anything because Aveya’s getting it all.”

            “And?” his father prompted.

            “And a knight, one day.”

            “And knights fight like knights. I haven’t been training you your whole life for you to turn around and fight like some farmer’s boy. You’re a lord, Atricen, so you must act like one.”

            “But it doesn’t make sense,” Acen said. “Why should we all fight the same way? Everybody has different strengths and weaknesses and wouldn’t it be more effective to play to them? If I was one of the big lords I’d appreciate it if my guards fought to the best of their abilities instead of being chivalrous towards the people attacking me.”

            “If you were one of the big lords you could hire those people, but you aren’t,” his father said. “Now, put it away and let’s get back to fighting like gentlemen.”

            Acen slipped the knife back into its little sheath and held up his dull duelling sword.         He attacked first, suddenly, and in moments had knocked his father’s sword to the ground. He stepped back to allow his father to retrieve his sword. Duelling was boring. It was all the same patterns, the same movements, over and over again. Acen doubted that a real enemy would stick to the arrangements. Anyone who was desperate to kill someone would do whatever it took. His father had never seen a real battle. His father looked at fighting like a gentlemanly sport. Acen rolled his shoulders and held up his sword again, but his father shook his head.

            “No, Atricen, we’re done for now. You’re clearly ready. Now tell me, when we go meet Lord West Draulin tomorrow, what are you going to tell him?”

            Acen slipped his sword under his belt to free up his hands. “That I’d like to be a knight?”

            “You’ll have to be more polite than that, but yes. Now tell me what you’re going to do. What is the goal?”

            Acen sighed and repeated the words he’d said time and time again. “I’m going to go into training to be a knight, within a few years I’ll be knighted and then I’ll try to become the captain of a unit.”

            “You’ll try?” his father asked.

            “I’ll become the captain of a unit,” Acen corrected himself, although he knew it wasn’t a certainty. “I’ll make the family proud.”

            “And do you know what the greatest achievement would be?” his father asked, but continued before Acen could answer. “Next year, Lord Tandrix will be ten years old, which means there will be tryouts for his guard. You’ll be the perfect age. If you really want to make me proud, you’ll become the captain of his guard.”

            “Everyone in his guard will be highly talented, father,” Acen said. “I think it’s unrealistic to assume I’ll be the captain.”

            “If you want to achieve our goals you need to assume you already have,” his father said.

            Annoyance bubbled up in Acen as his father said “our goals”, but he didn’t comment. Instead, he nodded. “Yes, sir.”

            “You’ll be an excellent captain, Atricen. This time next year you’ll be one of the most famous knights in the city. You’ll do our family proud.”

            “Thank you, father.” Acen couldn’t deny that the idea exited him. Becoming a captain would allow him some control over his knights, which meant that he could let them fight to their strengths. He could show people like his father that fighting wasn’t a game with strict rules. A good knight had to be creative and spontaneous. A good knight had to be able to use a variety of weapons and know how to fight against a variety of weapons. The possibility of sharing his ideas with people who would listen was thrilling.

            “You’ll be in the meeting rooms and you’ll learn the kingdom’s secrets.”

            “Lord Tandrix will be going to Zianna, to join the Order,” Acen said.

            “Yes, but that will give you more time to train. And when he’s a grand general, you’ll be his right hand man.”

            “Why wasn’t I sent to the Order?” Acen asked, distracted by the thought. He was a lord who wasn’t inheriting anything, which made him perfectly eligible for the Order. “Lesser lords have gone.”

            “You know this, Atricen. I decided that you would not go. We are from West Draulin. Our family has served the West Draulin lords and ladies for generations. Your duty is to become a captain, just as it’s your sister’s duty to carry on the family.”

            Acen’s attention shifted. He’d heard a noise behind him, and his father’s voice faded into the background. Acen resisted the urge to look over his shoulder. It sounded like light footsteps, followed by the quietest scraping noise.

            Acen spun around, his training sword already in his hand, and met the other blade mid swing. He twisted the tip of his sword, catching the other blade and flipping it away from the attacker’s hand. The man, one of their family’s guards, backed up and held up his hands.

            “Very good, Atricen,” his father said.

            Acen held the other man at sword point for a second longer before relaxing and turning around. “Am I to expect attacks until I leave tomorrow?” He was annoyed, but pleased with his reaction. He could tell his father was surprised.

            “This is the kind of testing and training you’ll go through. You need to be alert at all times, especially when you’re guarding Lord Tandrix.”

            Acen gestured at the guard, who looked wary. “Clearly I’m on alert.”

            His father smiled. “I suppose we’ll see about that, my boy.”