In the Palace of Rygia: Chapter 1

It was a bloodbath.

General Justus Corden let his arm drop to his side, sword heavy in his hand. Hiking his silver shield onto his back, he lifted his eyes to scan the mountainsides. Empty. His own men were gone, routing any Temanites who remained alive after this latest battle.

Yet he was not alone. Bodies lay strewn throughout the grassy valley. Some had golden hair, like his own. These wore silver chainmail and many had blue cloaks. Others, by far the majority, were brown-headed and wore the red and gold cloaks of the Temanite army.

Religious fools. They never learn.

So many dead. More this year than the previous six combined. Seven years of war, all for what? We’ve gotten nowhere. Justus had made little headway, ground-wise. But worse, he felt no vindication. Perhaps there was none to be had, no matter how many Temanites found death at the tip of his sword.

Another scan across the mountains proved him still alone, so he knelt to clean his sword, grabbing the nearest piece of fabric—a fallen Temanite’s red cloak. This one was an officer, Justus knew. Only the officers wore red cloaks. The regulars wore gold.

He slid his sword across the cloak and watched the bloodstains disappear into the fabric. Red. Their cloaks, their blood, all the same.

Rising, he took a deep breath. The smell of death lay heavy in the air, but he had become accustomed to it. Sometimes he felt as though he wore the smell. Or perhaps the smell wore him.

He shrugged it off with something more of a shudder, then plodded up the mountainside. Topping the crest, he took in a welcome sight. Colorful pavilions dotted the northern slope—his camp. The tents were arrayed in no particular pattern, sitting on any flat areas they could find just above the treeline.

All quiet. Empty. No doubt his men were busy keeping the enemy away. That battle he had just left was the closest the Temanites had come to the Rygian camp. The Battle of Victory Mountain, his men had dubbed it. Justus didn’t know the true name of the mountain, nor did he feel they were any nearer to victory, despite the numbers of dead Temanites. Dead Rygians numbered rather high this year as well.

Justus gave himself a moment to take in the quiet, knowing it wouldn’t last long. His sword still in his hand, he stepped into his own tent—blue and white striped. Leaving the flaps pinned back to let in the September breeze, he slid his shield off his back and set it on the ground at the entry, leaning against a tent post.

He tossed his sword onto a wooden table that stood in the center of the tent. Spying a stool in the corner, he plopped onto it and rested his aching arms on his knees.

A shadow darkened the entrance. Justus looked up and squinted at the face of Captain Kelsie, dirty blonde hair hanging in sweaty strings around his unshaven face. His blue cloak, nearly as dirty as his hair, caught a breeze and whipped outward as he stepped into the tent.

“I got word that some Temanites wanna make a prisoner exchange,” Kelsie said, his voice as rough as his appearance.

Justus nodded. “Do it.”

“Whaddaya mean, do it? Just like that? We could gain some extra advantage here.”

“No tricks,” Justus said firmly. “Just exchange the prisoners and be done with it.”

Kelsie stared hard at Justus but said nothing.

“Did you see King Medan off?” Justus asked.

“Yeah, he’s on his way. Told me ta tell ya that war council starts in three days. Be sure yer there and don’t be late. Them’s his words exactly.”

Justus nodded. “How far did you get?”

Kelsie pulled a parchment map from his tunic and laid it out on the table. “We took the next mountain south of here. One more mountain range and then there ain’t nothin between us and the main road to the Teman castle. A couple small villages, but they won’t be no trouble.”

Justus heard the demand in Kelsie’s tone, but he wouldn’t be bullied into a snap decision. “Teman’s castle is yet a full day’s march once you clear the mountains.”

Kelsie spat on the ground. “So?”

“So the men are tired and deserve a rest before pushing forward.”

“Ya wait any longer and the Temanites’ll settle in, build their strength round the castle.”

“I’m sure they’ve already done that—”

“We got the upper hand, Corden! Don’t be wastin’ it!”

Justus rose. “That’s general to you.”

Again Kelsie spat. These standoffs between the two of them had been slowly increasing since the beginning of the war, when Kelsie was passed over as general in favor of the younger Justus.

“This is the closest we ever got, Gen’ral,” he said with a sneer. “We need to move forward now!”

“Let the men rest. We’ve lost too many. If we try to stage a siege with numbers this low, there won’t be any men left come winter. We’d be foolish to barge ahead without a decent plan.”

“Are you saying you ain’t got no plan?”

“Not one that uses so few men. I wasn’t expecting our losses to be this high.”

“Well I got a plan.”

Justus crossed his arms and waited.

“First, we need to restock food supplies. I was expecting a wagon yesterday, but it got lost in the mountains.”

“Lost?” Justus asked.

“Fell down a canyon.”

“Typical,” Justus said. “So just how do you expect to restock supplies?”

“I say we raid the nearest Teman village—”

“You’ll do no such thing.”

“What’s the matter, Corden? Ain’t gonna let the men take their due spoils?”

“Raiding civilian homes is not spoils. It’s robbery.”

“It’s our due! We earned it!”

Justus knew he couldn’t let the men—especially Kelsie’s men—start raiding villages. They’d take more than foodstuffs, he was certain. Fighting soldiers face-to-face was one thing. Satiating appetites on civilian stores and maidens was unacceptable.

“Any soldier caught raiding civilians will face immediate dismissal,” he said.

Kelsie’s eyes and lips narrowed into a grim sneer. “We deserve anything we find on their land.”

“You heard what I said, I won’t say it again.”

Kelsie grunted, but at least he didn’t press. He tapped a finger on the open map. “Come here, I wanna show ya something.”

Justus joined him at the end of the table, their backs toward the open tent flap. His eyes followed Kelsie’s dirty finger as Kelsie spoke.

“This here’s the hill we just took. The main road to the city runs along here. It’s a long stretch from here to there, full day’s march, like you said. But mebbe only about a half-day by horseback. If we get a move on, our mounted forces can overtake the king before he retreats to his castle.”

Justus listened, but something else caught his eye. Barely turning his head, he stared at his silver shield, still propped against a tent post, slightly behind him, near the open tent flap. A formless reflection crossed the shield’s shiny surface.

Keeping his eyes on his shield, he said, “Your plan puts Temanites at our front and at our back. I don’t like it.”

“Well, just what were ya plannin’ to do after takin’ the mountain pass?”

“I wasn’t expecting the war to drag on so long. I thought we’d have the pass long before now, with much fewer losses.”

The figure in the shield’s reflection grew larger. Justus recognized it as Teman by the red cloak. A Temanite officer. Feeling his own scabbard empty, Justus spied his sword laying on the far end of the table, out of reach.

Kelsie was still speaking, but Justus missed most of it. He did catch the end, though, when Kelsie said, “Don’t tell me yer losin’ the will ta fight. Not after what they did ta Gen’ral Rolland.”

The reminder was well placed. With a surge of anger, Justus grabbed Kelsie’s sword with his right hand and shoved Kelsie aside with his left. Kelsie’s sword slipped out of its sheath as Kelsie fell to the ground.

Justus twirled and plunged Kelsie’s sword into the Temanite’s side.

For a second the Temanite stood still, shock and surprise covering his face. But then his look softened. As he fell to his knees, he grabbed at Justus’ arm, a look of determination on his face, as though he had something very important to say, as though sheer will alone could keep him alive one moment longer.

Justus put an arm behind the man and held onto him, trying to keep him upright. With intense effort, the man spoke. The words he said made Justus’ strength fail him.

“I forgive you.”

On the Isle of Caledron: Chapter 19

Justus, Philip, Paulus, and Anna rode into Archella shortly after midday. This time the streets were fairly empty, quite a contrast from last time. Even the few villagers who were in the streets paid them no attention, aside from an occasional stare toward Philip.

“Odd,” Justus said.

“Yeah,” Philip said. “It’s like they don’t even know you anymore.”

As the horses passed under the portcullis of the castle, Justus was surprised to see dozens of foreigners milling about the courtyard—burly warriors with white skin and long black hair. On closer look, their eyes appeared equally dark as their hair. He took special note of the wicked weapons hanging from their belts.

“Wow, look at that!” Paulus said. He turned this way and that, gaping at the newcomers. “Look at those daggers! Look at those jewels!”

Justus didn’t know why, but for some reason he did not like Paulus being so enamored with these strangers.

Anna said, “Who are they?”

“I don’t know. Philip?”

Philip had no answer, but his uneasiness showed on his face. No wonder, Justus thought. The more he watched the strangers, the more he noticed how intently they stared at Philip.

Trying to ease Philip’s worries, Justus said. “It’s probably nothing. You’re the only Temanite in the country. Can’t really blame them, I guess.”

Philip did not seem convinced.

Leaving their horses at the stablehouse, Justus led his friends toward the palace. The Rygian guard at the palace door gave Justus a nod when he passed through.

“Well, at least someone remembers me,” Justus said good-naturedly. But the guard did not seem amused.

When they reached the closed doors of the great hall, they found two hefty foreigners standing guard, holding long spears in their hands. As Justus reached past them to open the door, the guards crossed their spears in front of him.

“I would speak to Regent Vance,” Justus said.

“The regent is in conference with my liege,” one of the big men answered.

“And who might your liege be?”

“The prince of Caledron.”

Caledron? Justus had never heard of the place. Looking to Philip, he gave a start.

All the blood had drained from Philip’s face.

“What is it, Philip?” Justus asked.

Philip leaned in close and whispered, “We should leave this place right now.”

“Why? I’ve come to see Vance, and I intend to do so.” To the guards, he said, “Announce to the regent that I desire audience with him. I’ll wait.”

“And who might you be?”

“General Corden!” he snapped.

The guards looked him up and down. By the looks on their faces, Justus could’ve sworn they’d heard his name before. One of them went into the great hall and shut the door behind himself.

Philip pulled Justus aside. “I’m telling you, General, do not stay. We can come back another day.”

“What’s bothering you, Philip? What do you know about Caledron?”

Philip glanced at the Caledronian guard, who had not stopped staring at him. “Not here. Wait until we leave the city.”

“I’m not scared off so easily. Besides, I want to meet this prince of theirs. You can wait out here if you want.”

The first guard returned and said, “The prince will see you now.”

Presumptious, Justus thought. He had never told them he wanted to see their prince, only Regent Vance. He stepped in.

Philip began to turn Anna and Paulus away, but the guards stepped around them and ushered them all into the great hall behind Justus, nudging them with the hafts of their spears.

Justus walked right up to the dais, between dozens of Caledronian warriors seated at tables and standing here and there. Regent Vance and a few other barons sat at the high table on the dais. Several parchments were spread out before them.

Justus noticed that three of the eight barons were missing. Godfrey—typical. Beary, who was dead. And Alton.

I wonder why he’s not here.

But more than that, he noticed a strange newcomer seated among them. He looked much like the other Caledronians except that his hair was short. Justus also noticed that this particular Caledronian had not stopped staring at him. Justus returned the stare.

The young newcomer’s eyes were deep and dark, offset by his pale skin. His glare seemed almost magnetic. He wore a silvery shirt left open at the neck, revealing a circle dragon pendant on a torque. Over the shirt he wore a black leather vest riddled with iron studs.

But what Justus noticed most of all was the chill that had settled in the room. He shuddered.

Vance said, “Ah, General Corden, I’m glad you’ve come. May I introduce you to Prince Letah Drahkôn of Caledron.”

One corner of the prince’s mouth turned upward. “So this is the infamous Corden the Conqueror.”

Justus said nothing. He didn’t know why, but he disliked this prince immediately.

“General!” Vance said. “Have you no word of greeting?”

Before Justus could speak, Anna and the others were brought to stand before the table, next to Justus.

The prince’s eyes immediately fixed on Anna. He slowly rose to his feet. “And who might this flower be?”

Vance said, “This is General Corden’s daughter, Anna.”

“A-a-a-n-n-n-a-a.” Letah drawled the name as though it were a draught of fine wine to be savored slowly. He beckoned with his hand. “Come, my child. Let us look at you.”

Anna didn’t move.

Letah said, “There, there, child, do not be afraid.”

To Justus, the prince’s voice reminded him of the hissing of a snake.

“Come, Anna,” Letah said. “All I wish is to give you a proper greeting. Bring your friends if it will make you feel better.”

No one moved.

With a worried look on his face, Vance said, “Forgive them, Your Highness, they must be tired from their journey. General Corden, how dare you treat this man so impolitely!”

Letah said, “Do not concern yourself, I can go to them just as easily.” He made his way around the table and approached the group, his eyes devouring Anna all the while. He stopped within arm’s reach of her.

At the same time, Justus noticed that several of the Caledronian guards had positioned themselves behind him and his companions, leaving them no room to escape.

Letah said, “Now, beautiful golden flower, I give you greetings from my native homeland, far across the Great Sea.” He gave a slight bow of his head, never letting his eyes leave hers. He extended his hand.

Justus saw that Anna’s gaze was fixed on the prince’s eyes. She wasn’t smiling. She just stared blankly at him. Slowly her hand began to rise and stretch toward him. Their fingertips nearly touched.

Justus calmly wrapped his own hand around hers and returned it to her side. Anna shook herself and gave a shudder. The prince’s eyes flashed hotly at Justus.

“Excuse us,” Justus said. “We are tired from our journey. If you have no further need for me, Vance, we’ll be going.”

“Not so fast, General!” Letah said. “You have not introduced me to the rest of your party.” He stepped in front of Philip, his gaze moving from the top of Philip’s brown hair all the way to his feet and back again. “You are a long way from home, my sordid Temanite friend.”

Philip swallowed hard, his face ashen.

Letah moved to stand directly in front of Paulus. A smile grew on his face. “And who is this prodigy? I can see by the look of you that you have a promising future. There is the air of a great warrior about you. How did you find yourself with these underlings?”

Justus was glad to hear Paulus give no response.

Letah said, “If you are willing, I would take you back to Caledron with me. We could teach you so much more than you can learn here. We have ties not only to your land but also to the two continents across the Great Sea. We have the best weapons instructors of the world. I could make you the greatest warrior of history.”

Paulus never flinched.

Anna’s knees gave out from under her. “Father…” She grasped at Philip, who supported her.

Vance said, “Oh, the poor girl. Have her sit down. Bring refreshment.”

It was just the distraction Justus needed. He whispered to Philip, “Take her home. Paulus, you too.”

While the Caledronians made way for a chair to be brought to Anna, Philip rushed her and Paulus out the door. The guards made to stop them, but Justus planted himself in front of the Caledronian prince, hand on the hilt of his sword, glaring.

“Let them go,” Letah said. He returned to his seat at the high table. As he sat, he resumed his stare at Justus, fingers drumming on the table.

Vance looked unhappy as well. “General Corden, I’m surprised at you. The Caledronians have given us a most generous trade offer. They’ve brought a great deal of goods, things Rygia desperately needs, and are willing to wait until summer to receive their payment in Rygian gold. Here we are, finalizing the agreement, and you come insulting His Highness with your impudent behavior. I find the prince most gracious in not taking offense and leaving Rygia on the spot.”

Justus only heard Vance’s speech up to one point, on which his mind had riveted. “What gold?”

“Ah, yes, you’ve been away. We have discovered gold in the mine.” Vance motioned toward a cart sitting near the table.

Justus examined the contents of the cart. Something about this whole situation did not sit easily on his spirit. To the councilmen, he said, “Would it not be wise to give more consideration to this?”

“The papers are already signed,” Drake said.

“What?” Justus said. “Without the presence of the entire council? You can’t make decisions without a full representation of—”

Drake said, “Alton and Godfrey are the only members missing from this council. The position held by the late Councilman Beary has not yet been filled. King Medan is dead. Five of us are in attendance, and all of us are in complete agreement. A majority decision has been reached without the necessity of all being in attendance.”

For once in his life, Justus wished his old nemesis Baron Godfrey were there. He would never let this happen. With his pride and arrogance, he’d never condescend to dependency on foreigners. Especially ones they knew so little about.

Glancing from one councilman’s hardened eyes to another, Justus felt a heaviness settle deep in the pit of his stomach.

On the Road to Teman: Chapter 2

For the next three months, Justus learned what it was like to be a squire to Kelsie. Kelsie didn’t own a home, so they lived in the castle barracks with other landless soldiers. Although Justus was little more than a servant—cleaning up after Kelsie, delivering messages, doing whatever was asked—he at least had food to eat and a place to sleep. Sure, it was just a mat on the floor, but it was Justus’ mat, and it was away from Darkhaven.

Days weren’t too bad. At least there was some training with wooden swords, and always there was wrestling with the other squires. Justus often took out his frustration on the others, which turned out to his advantage. Anger spurred him to fight hard and never accept defeat.

The youngest of the squires, Charles Iscuro, befriended him immediately. The two of them were the only fourteen-year-olds and the only first-year squires among those at the barracks. Charles helped Justus learn his way around the city and the castle, particularly the armory. Since Charles had been a page for the past seven years, he knew a lot more than Justus did and taught him what he should do and how he should act around certain people, especially the barons when they were in town.

Despite the change in his life, things didn’t move along as quickly as Justus would have liked. He kept thinking things were bound to get better. Surely some real weapons training would start soon. He spent every free moment in the armory, looking over the weapons, holding them, getting the feel of them, but as the days passed he began to doubt. It didn’t seem as though Kelsie wanted to make a soldier out of him after all. He just wanted a man-slave.

Nights were the worst. Kelsie spent nearly every evening at the tavern, drinking himself into a stupor. Then Justus would have to drag him back to the barracks, undress him and put him to bed, and keep everyone else from making noise and waking him. The next morning, Kelsie would be in a sour mood and took it all out on Justus. It was Uncle Milford all over again.

Finally, at the end of his third month, Justus felt a glimmer of hope when Kelsie took him to the armory and said, “Go grab yerself a sword.” Justus snatched up a wooden sword and happily headed toward the castle door.

Kelsie said, “King Arkelaus is gonna be watching all you squires today. Wants ta see how good ya are. Do me proud, boy.”

“Yes, sir!”

As Justus emerged from the castle and stepped into the courtyard, he passed a tall, robust man with graying golden hair and a weathered, unshaven face. General Rolland Longsword, feared and admired among all Rygian soldiers, Justus included. He had seen Rolland watching him at training, and he had seen admiration on the general’s face. Rolland’s face was stoic as Justus passed by, but Justus thought he caught a glint in his eye.

“Mornin’, Corden,” Rolland said with a slight tilt of his head.

“Uh, m… mornin’, General,” Justus stuttered, stopping to stare up at him. That was the first time the general had ever addressed him directly.

Rolland said, “Do your best today. The king’ll be watching.”

As Rolland turned to enter the castle, Justus stared after him, watching the ornate silver sword emblem on his blue tunic fade down the corridor.

“Hey, Corden, what’re ya waitin’ fer?” Kelsie hollered from the center of the courtyard. Justus trotted to join his master and a couple dozen other squires and their masters. “Here, gimmie that.” Kelsie took the wooden sword from Justus and motioned toward the other boys.

Aside from Charles, all were older, between the ages of fifteen and eighteen. All had seven years of page training under their belts before they had even become squires. Now, many of them had a few years of squire training as well.

Despite his drawbacks, Justus was the tallest and knew how to use his height to his advantage.

“Start warmin’ up, boys!” Kelsie shouted.

That was their cue to stretch their muscles through wrestling. Immediately four older boys approached Justus.

“Tired of the trouncing you got yesterday?” Justus teased. “Looking for revenge?”

He watched the leader of the boys motion to another, a stocky lad, who moved behind Justus. Justus kept his eyes on the leader and his ears on the crunching of footsteps behind him. When it sounded like the stocky one was right behind him, he spun around and grabbed him around the neck. Using him for balance, he kicked out a long leg and sent the leader sprawling. Tossing the stocky one aside, he gave a third boy a blow to the jaw.

A fourth rushed him. Justus grabbed him by the arms and swung him into the stocky lad, who had risen and was about to charge. Both boys rolled in the dust.

Huh, Justus thought, looking toward the castle door. I thought the king was gonna be here. Too bad he ain’t here to see that.

After long minutes of sparring with several other squires and downing each one, Justus was called away by his master. Kelsie approached holding a three-foot steel broadsword. “Here, Corden. Give this a try.”

When Kelsie tossed the sword, Justus caught it by the hilt. Finally! A real sword! It was heavier than it looked, and he found he had to spread his feet to steady himself. Imitating moves he’d seen the soldiers do, he sliced the air several times, back and forth, making figure eights.

“Ready?” Kelsie drew his own sword. Without warning, he swung the blade around and down.

Justus responded by instinct. His blade blocked Kelsie’s and threw it back. But Kelsie was quick, repeating the attack from the opposite side. Again Justus parried the blow.

“Not bad,” Kelsie said between strikes. “You been payin’ attention.”

“Yeah, I been watching the soldiers.”

“Tell you what,” Kelsie said amid the ring of steel. “Disarm me, and I’ll buy you a pint.”

Justus smiled. But again Kelsie was quick. This time, he carved a tight arc around the blade and wrenched it from Justus’ hand. The sword lifted into the air and landed with a thud in the dirt.

Soldiers chuckled. Squires laughed out loud. Kelsie said, “Next time, don’t take a foolish bet. Be a few years before you can best your master.”

Standing over the sword, Justus stared down at it. Although the laughter had subsided, it still rang in his ears. A few years, huh? He picked up the sword and shouted, “Kelsie!”

Kelsie faced him. With a surprised look and a shake of his head, he said, “Don’t make no sense to humiliate yerself a second time.”

“Maybe I got no sense, then. Have at me.”

“Fine. I don’t mind puttin’ ya in yer place.” Kelsie drew his sword and immediately swung.

Justus parried that blow and the next. Another parry to the left, one to the right, then he cleaved a tight arc around Kelsie’s blade in the same manner he had seen it done. Kelsie’s sword flipped from his hand. It seemed to pause in the air before falling to the ground flat.

Soldiers and squires stared dumbstruck for a second then burst into cheers. Kelsie grumbled. For an instant, Justus saw something on Kelsie’s face he hadn’t seen before. Fear. Not a scared kind of fear, but the kind you might feel knowing you were about to be replaced. A hate-filled kind of fear.

A voice from atop the castle roof called down. “I say! Ho there, young Corden!”

Shading his eyes and looking upward, Justus squinted into the morning sun to see King Arkelaus standing with General Rolland at the parapet on the roof of the castle. The king’s golden, shoulder-length hair gleamed in the sunlight almost as brightly as the jewel-studded crown on his head.

So that’s where he was. I wonder how long he’s been there. “Good day, Your Majesty,” Justus said, sweeping his arm out as he bowed at the waist.

“And a good day to you. I say, how long have you been practicing with a full-sized broadsword?”

Justus peered at the sword in his hands, then to Kelsie, then back up to the king. “Why, it’s my first time, Sire.”

The king and General Rolland exchanged several quiet words, then the king turned and headed out of sight. No sooner had Justus begun to wonder if he’d made some offense, Rolland called down, “Stay there, lad. We’re coming to you.”

The soldiers and squires in the courtyard murmured as the minutes passed. Feeling certain he was about to be reprimanded, Justus asked Kelsie, “What’s going on?”

“Don’t know,” Kelsie grumbled. “And I don’t like it none.”

Finally the door opened and the general and king stepped out. King Arkelaus strode right up to Justus, who bowed.

“Look at me, boy,” the king said.

Justus straightened and looked the king dead in the eyes, which he found to be very bright and full of wisdom.

“You were right, Rolland,” the king said. “Fearless. Arrogant, perhaps?”

“Undoubtedly,” Rolland said.

“I can’t have that,” the king said.

Justus braced for a rebuke.

“Where are you from, lad?” the king asked.

“Darkhaven, Sire.”

“Darkhaven! Well, it’s no wonder then. You must’ve grown up fighting.”

“Yes, Sire.”

King Arkelaus stared at Justus for several more moments, looking him up and down before calling to Kelsie.

Kelsie bowed. “Yes, Sire?”

“I want this boy placed under Rolland’s tutelage.”

Justus’ eyebrows popped up, but not as high as Kelsie’s did. “You what, Sire?” Kelsie asked. “You can’t do that! I found him! He belongs to me!”

“Found him, did you?” the king said. “Rumor has it you bought the boy.”

“Well, I, uh…”

“Did you or did you not exchange money for this lad?” The king’s voice was demanding now.

Kelsie dropped his gaze. “I did, Sire.” For a moment, Justus wondered why Kelsie told the truth. Then he realized that he himself could verify the exchange of coin. Kelsie had no choice.

King Arkelaus said, “You know how I feel about the buying and selling of my subjects. Consider yourself fortunate that I don’t strip your title and banish you from the city. Taking the squire from you is a light punishment. Corden, you belong to Rolland now.”

As Kelsie stomped off, Justus peered up at Rolland, mouth agape.

“Shut your fly trap, boy,” Rolland said without smiling. “Come with me.”

“Where are we going?” Justus said as he followed.

“My house.”

“What for?”

“If you’re gonna work for me, you oughta know where I live, don’t you think?”

“Am I going to live there too?”

“Yes. If you got any belongings, best get them now.”

“I don’t got nuthin.”

“‘Don’t got nuthin’?”

“No, sir, not a thing.”

“I’m not talking about your stuff, Corden, I’m talking about your speech. ‘Don’t got nuthin’. Hah! The king’s highest commander won’t have a squire who can’t talk right. You’re gonna be spending a lot of time in the castle now, serving the king and whatnot. Can’t be talking like peasant-folk. Look, I know I don’t always talk right, but at least I can talk respectable most times. I don’t suppose you can read or write.”

“No, sir.” Justus found he had to hurry to keep up with the general’s long strides. They had passed through the castle gatehouse and now headed south across the Cherith River bridge.

“Well, we’ll get started on that,” Rolland said. “Maybe some reading lessons will get you talking right.”

Shortly after crossing the bridge, they took a road that led westward through the woods. Not far down the road, a small cottage sat in a glade, its thatched roof shadowed by tall oak trees. Behind the house, a wooden fence held two horses at pasture.

“This your house?” Justus asked.

“Don’t be asking stupid questions. Of course it’s my house.” Rolland pushed open the door and stepped inside, Justus following. The cottage was small—just one room with a small round table in the near corner, a bed in the far corner, near the fireplace, and a couple of trunks for belongings. On second look, Justus spied a cot against the wall on the other side of the fireplace.

Rolland motioned toward the cot. “That’s your bed.”

“A bed? I get a bed?”

“You’ll get a bed whenever we sleep here. Sometimes I stay in the castle. On those days, you’ll take a mat in the barracks with the other squires.”

Justus stood over the cot, looking down at it, saying nothing.

“Something wrong?” Rolland asked.

“No, nuthin’s wrong. Ain’t never had a bed before.” Justus sat on it. “Why’s this here, anyway? Did you know the king would give me to you?”

Rolland chuckled. “You’re not the only squire I’ve ever had.”

“Oh.” For some reason, Justus felt a little jealous not being the only one. Despite Rolland’s gruff manner, there was an underlying kindness to the man. Not to mention the fact that being squire to the highest officer in the realm was quite the step up.

“Why’d the king give me to you?” he asked.

“He wanted you brought up right.”

“Brought up right? What do you mean?”

Rolland sat at the small round table and motioned for Justus to join him. Taking the chair opposite the general, Justus looked straight into his steel-blue eyes.

“That’s good, looking a man in the eyes like that,” Rolland said. “Not a lot of squires got that kind of pluck.”

“Fearless?” Justus said, repeating the king’s word proudly.

“Arrogant,” Rolland said decisively. “Like Kelsie. King Arkelaus won’t have that.”

“I thought you said it was good. Plucky.”

“It’s good if it truly is fearlessness. But with you, I think it’s arrogance. You stay with Kelsie and it truly will be. It’s my job to drive it out of you.”

“What if I don’t want it driven out?”

Rolland leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “Yup, it’s arrogance.”

“Arrogance, fearlessness… what’s the difference? It keeps me on the winning edge.”

“You think so, huh? Tell me, Corden, what does Kelsie do in the evenings?”

“He’s at the tavern, usually.”

“What’s he do there?”

“Drinks, mostly. Ain’t that what everyone does?”

“Drinks? Drowns in it, I’d say. Where does that leave you?”

“I take care of him after. Guess I don’t see nuthin wrong with it.”

“That’s your problem right there. You don’t see ‘nuthin’ wrong with it. Pretty soon it’ll be you needing someone to drag you home to sleep it off.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“To lots of folks, nothing. To King Arkelaus, it’s everything. He’s looking for good men. Good men, Corden, understand? Men who care more about loyalty and uprightness than temporary pleasures. Men who keep their wits about them at all times, not compromising themselves with too much drink. Men who care more about obedience and lawfulness—more than money, more than esteem, even more than this.” With his last word, Rolland smacked his own forearm, grabbing at the thick muscle there.

“More than strength?” Justus asked.

“Don’t be a wise-acre. Yes, more than strength, what else could I mean?”

Justus wondered if he was going to have to put up with Rolland’s put-downs for the next seven years. Still, something within him stirred, as though a small spark of decency, dormant since birth, suddenly sprung to life. More than that, he felt as though he finally found someone he could look up to—literally.

Rolland rose and removed his sword belt. “Here, you can start by sharpening this. There’s a whetstone on the hearth.”

As Justus pulled the sword from its sheath, his mouth dropped open. “Whoa, this is beautiful!”

The silver blade was etched in ivy from the hilt all the way to the point—heart-shaped ivy leaves, each intricately filigreed. Just under the hilt, the ivy came to full bloom with a three-petaled flower. The length of the crossguard bore the wings of an eagle outstretched in both directions—white wings edged in gold.

But what really drew Justus’ eyes were the gems—a ruby at one end of the crossguard and a sapphire at the other. A diamond sparkled in the pommel. “It’s just like the sword on your cloak.”

“What did you think it would look like?” Rolland asked.

“I thought you carried a plain sword like everyone else. I thought your emblem was just, well, an emblem.”

“No, it’s my family emblem and my family sword. And it’s old, so treat it with respect.”

“How old is it?”

“I don’t know. Been handed down for generations.”

“How many generations?”

“If I knew that, I’d know how old it is, wouldn’t I?”

Feeling a bit embarrassed for all his stupid questions, Justus turned back to gaze at the sword. On closer look, he could see tiny symbols filigreed in gold next to each jewel. “What’s this?”

“Don’t know,” Rolland said.

“Are they symbols of some sort? They almost look like—”

“Letters. Yeah, I know. But I’ve never seen letters like that before. Don’t know what they mean.”

“Didn’t anyone in your family know?” Justus asked.

“Maybe they did, long ago. But time has a way of losing things.”

While Justus ran his fingers over the delicate filigree, Rolland asked, “What about your family?”

Justus stiffened, anger simmering in his belly. “What about ‘em?”

“Who are they? What does your father do?”

“He’s dead. Died before I was born. I never knew him.”

“Sorry to hear that. How did he die?”

“He was murdered, all right? Anything else you want to know?” The rage began to come out in his voice.

“Do you know who did it?”

“Didn’t ya hear me? It happened before I was born.”

“Did your mother know who did it?”

“I dunno. She died when I was four. Been livin’ with her brother ever since.”

“Was he good to you?”

“Not ever.” Justus knew his tone was sharp, but he couldn’t help it. Nor could he help the cold shadow that he felt on his face. “Liked to remind me that my pa got himself killed. And he didn’t never say nuthin’ nice about my ma ‘cause he didn’t like that he had ta care for me.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Guess you got a lot of black marks to start you off in life. I’ll have to start rectifying that right off.”

Rectifying it? Justus wondered. Slowly a new feeling overcame him, pushing away the cold shadow and the anger. He almost didn’t want to feel it, almost stuffed it back down inside, but then Rolland did something that made Justus nearly break down.

Opening a small box on a shelf on the mantle, Rolland pulled out a silver brooch shaped like a leaf of ivy with intricate filigree etching just like the ivy on his sword and his emblem. Just like the brooch Rolland wore at his own shoulder.

He set the brooch on the table in front of Justus. “Here you go. It’s yours now, as long as you work for me.”

Justus choked back the lump in his throat. He didn’t like this kind of emotion washing over him, didn’t want to show that kind of weakness, so he squelched it.

Rolland retook his seat. “I’ve been watching you, Corden. King Arkelaus and I’ve been talking. You got a lot of potential. But you also got a lot of anger bottled up inside. You gotta let go of it or it’ll kill you.”

“How did you know what’s inside me?” Justus said, fingering the ivy-leaf brooch, embarrassed at the way his voice caught.

“Cuz I got it too.”

Mouth agape, Justus said, “How’d you get rid of it?”

“I’ll let you know when I do.”

What? Rolland? Full of anger inside? He never showed it, at least not that Justus had seen. Sure, he was terse, his manner gruff, but he was also even-tempered. His eyes shone with intelligence, sometimes even compassion. How he managed to be that way while harboring anger from some unknown source, Justus couldn’t fathom.