A Call to Arms: Book One of the Chronicles of Arden (4 page)

Gib walked in silence up the corridor which he’d been told led to the dean’s office. The passageway was so congested he dared not take his eyes from his sister’s back. All around him were boys and girls his age and a little older. They had their own bags of belongings with them. Some had little like himself and others had entire cases full of possessions. Parents were present as well, mostly with the well-dressed children, fawning over them and giving words of advice or encouragement.

Laughter drew his attention as they passed one boy who looked to be about Gib’s age but was a spectacle to behold with pale white skin and hair. Beside him, a well-dressed man was beaming proudly, as any father might, and Gib was struck with yet another pang of wistful yearning. If events had played out differently, his own father might have been here too, seeing Gib off to his classes.

His longing drew short when he collided with Liza’s back. She looked over her shoulder at him and smiled.

A giant door made of solid oak and taller than the highest point of Gib’s entire house loomed ahead. His mouth went dry. Was this where he was meant to go?

“This is Marc Arrio’s office. He’s the Dean of Academy,” Liza informed. “We’re in luck. There’s no line.”

Gib glanced around. Liza was right.
Am I late? Is that why there are so many people in the corridor but no one ahead of us? I won’t be arrested if I’m late, will I?
“Sh–should I knock? So they don’t think I didn’t come?”

Liza chuckled. “No. The closed door means there’s someone already in there. We’ll wait for your turn.” She looked him over narrowly and Gib fidgeted with the attention. Her hands, roughened by the work of a sentinel, ran through his mess of curls. “You’ll do well, Gib. You always have.”

He opened his mouth to say a word of thanks but nothing came out. Before he could try again, the door opened and he closed his mouth, stepping aside. With wide eyes, he watched a tall man with fair skin and dark, short-cropped hair with only the slightest trace of silver flecking his temples step past the threshold. He was talking to a young girl about her classes. His loud voice carried well but wasn’t offensive in tone. “All right, your classes have been set. You’re sure you don’t want to rethink them?”

The new student’s voice was gruff for a girl, and she didn’t smile as girls were encouraged to do. “I’ve had thirteen years to think, Dean Arrio. I know what I’m doing.”

Gib winced. Surely she shouldn’t speak to the dean in such a way. Her dark skin and features suggested she was not highborn but the mark on her brow, a simple red mark in the shape of a diamond, could mean she was foreign. If she was foreign, perhaps the girl didn’t know she was being impolite.

The tall man only laughed, loudly and infectiously. “Have it your way. If anyone has the right spirit for the job, it’s you. And remember to call me Marc—Dean Arrio sounds too formal.”

The girl bowed to the dean before turning to leave. Rounding fast, she almost ran straight into Gib. He noted with despair that she was nearly half a head taller than him.
Daya, will I ever grow?

Her mouth set into a thin line and she nodded at him, wild raven hair tumbling about her shoulders and down her back. “Apologies.”

Gib opened his mouth to assure her of no harm done but she was already on her way past him. He watched as the girl wove through the congested hallway and wondered where her father was. Things must surely be different here in Silver. Back home, girls were meant to be polite and soft spoken, and they weren’t typically allowed to wander off on their own—though she didn’t appear to be wandering.

“Liza Nemesio? Are you here to see me?” The dean was speaking. He sounded genuinely surprised.

Liza turned a quick smile on him. “I am, Dean Marc. Or rather, my brother Gib is.” She grabbed Gib around the shoulders and pushed him forward. Gib was intimidated by someone so tall and with such authority. He opened his mouth, but again his voice failed him.

Dark, clever eyes sparkled down at him and smiled on their own before the dean’s mouth followed suit. “Another Nemesio, eh?” He clapped Gib on the shoulder so hard Gib feared his knees may buckle. “All right. Let’s head inside and get you set up.” The dean whirled around and re-entered his office. Gib shuffled along behind him.

Inside the office a wide desk made of red oak was polished to a smart shine. Dean Marc sat on it and leafed through a couple of documents, gesturing for Gib and Liza to take a seat in the plush chairs in front of the desk. The fabric on the chair was some of the finest Gib had ever seen, and he winced at the idea of sitting on it, fearing the dirt on his clothing may rub off.

Stiffly, Gib chose to rest only the smallest amount of himself on the edge of the chair. His legs would be screaming at him soon but he didn’t want to risk any harm to the fine things in this room which he could surely never pay to replace. Liza came over a second later and flopped down in the opposite seat. He gave her a sideways glare but a lazy smile was all she paid him in return.

“All right,” Dean Marc declared at length, never looking up from his papers. “Are you a volunteer or a draft—” He glanced up then and knitted his well-tamed eyebrows. A lopsided smile crossed his mouth as he looked over Gib. “Afraid of the chair?”

Gib’s face burst into flame as he struggled to find something to say. “I, uh, it’s a nice chair. I didn’t want to—my clothes might be—sorry.” His head swam as he tried to re-collect his thoughts.

Again came the laugh that beckoned others to join. “I have sentinel trainees in and out of here all the time. I think you’ll be all right. Unless that is how sitting is done where you come from.”

A smile threatened to curl one corner of Gib’s mouth, but he wasn’t sure if it was allowed or not. He tried to think of something to say but came up short.

The dean pressed on, opting to speak to Liza instead. “Doesn’t talk much, does he? You’ll have to teach him how to sit properly when you get the time.”

Liza laughed heartily, and the ice in Gib’s gut receded just a little. Perhaps this wouldn’t be as bad as he’d originally envisioned. The dean seemed friendly, not at all how Gib had imagined everyone in Silver City would be. His Pa had warned him of city people sometimes being cold—mean-spirited even—but thus far it didn’t appear to be true.

Gib found his voice at last. It was weak and choppy but audible. “Sitting doesn’t happen much where I come from. Forgive me, Dean Marc. Perhaps I’ll have to take a class on it.”

Marc tipped his head back and laughed some more. The sound echoed off the high archway ceiling filling their space. The dean was smiling so broadly that small creases had formed around his eyes and mouth, and Gib wondered if the dean was older than he’d first appeared.

Highborn or not, the dean seemed genuine, and Gib had just begun to relax when a new voice cleared its throat testily. Marc grunted and his smile fell away as he turned to look over his shoulder. Gib jumped when he realized someone else was in the room with them.

Sitting in a dark corner with a writing slate and parchment in his hands, another man glared back at them. His facial features were cold, and the stranger’s thin lips were pulled back into a sneer. Gib’s stomach flopped. Perhaps his father hadn’t been wrong after all.

“Could we wrap up these informalities so that we may continue about our day, Marc? Some of us have other, more pressing obligations.” Effectively having sapped all the merriment from the room, the stranger straightened his pristine white robes and fetched his quill from an inkpot by his feet. He pressed a blond wisp away from his face and refocused on writing. “This one’s name is—?”

Marc nodded but seemed to be merely obliging his companion rather than agreeing with him. The dean turned back to Gib and Liza with a dim expression. “Allow me to introduce Diedrick Lyle. He’s our Instructions Master. It’s his job to see each student gets the classes he needs.”

Diedrick snorted shortly and continued to scribble on his parchment. “I asked for
his
name, Marc, not to be introduced.”

Gib blurted without thinking, “Pleasure to meet you, Master Lyle. I’m Gibben Nemesio.”

The Instructions Master reacted as though someone had just slapped him across the face. He floundered, clearly offended by something, and Gib was sure he shouldn’t have spoken directly to someone so lofty. He knew better. His father would have scolded him for such “sass” but in the moment it had seemed like the best thing to say. What right did this Diedrick Lyle have to talk down to someone he didn’t know?
The right of privilege, idiot, something you don’t have
, Gib thought to himself with a grimace.

Liza’s eyes were wide and Marc coughed so as not to laugh. The dean drew enough attention away from the offence that Diedrick lost some of his rigidity and opted to slink back into his chair, glaring at the lot of them. He said not another word, only scratching his quill against the parchment in front of him.

Marc cleared his throat to ground their conversation. “All right, Gibben, did you say you were a volunteer or drafted?”

Gib instinctively reached for his rucksack and the conscription notice within. “Uh, I got this—I’m drafted? I guess?” He was blushing again. Every word from his lips seemed to land without grace. Why did he have to sound so dimwitted? He found the scroll at last and offered it with a shaking hand. Marc accepted and his smile felt warm and reassuring.

The dean read over the scroll once and nodded. He asked if Gib’s name was spelled correctly on the scroll and then relayed the letters to Diedrick. “You’ve seen thirteen summers then?”

“Thirteen wheelturns. Yeah.” Gib fidgeted with his hands, unsure if he should offer more.

Marc graciously didn’t wait. “Just old enough then. You’ll need to be trained in basic hand to hand combat as well as Ardenian law and policies.”

Gib nodded, head swimming again.
Laws? Policies? I hope this will all be explained
. He tapped his fingers on his knees and tried to focus.

Diedrick spoke again, addressing only Marc. “That’s all the recruited need. Anything further would be a waste of funds. He’ll pay back his debt to Arden by having extra time for chores.”

Gib winced but kept his treacherous mouth closed.

It was Marc who came to his defense, as Liza seemed to know when to keep quiet and had offered to say nothing since they’d first arrived. The dean held up a hand, signaling for Diedrick to pause. “Can you read, Gibben? Or write? Calculate?”

Gib swallowed, but his mouth felt bone dry. “I, uh—I can read some. And write my name, some small words. There’s a bit of calculating to be used for farm work but nothing grand.”

Diedrick snorted again as he continued to scribble.

Without any trace of scorn or pity, Marc came to a quick decision. He glanced over at Diedrick again. “Add him for basic literacy skills and arithmetic.”

The Instructions Master looked up, his face drawn and eyes fierce. “Literacy and arithmetic? What
exactly
do you think he’ll be reading and calculating on the battlefront?”

“I said to add him to the roster. Do it,” Marc reiterated.

Diedrick Lyle set his quill down and gave the dean a withering glare. “This will be considered a waste of funds and will have to be approved by the council—”

“I’ll speak to King Rishi. Don’t concern yourself.”

The argument ceased there and the only sound in the room was the rapid scratching of quill on parchment, along with muttered curses and various inquiries as to what a common peasant could possibly learn from further classes. Gib tried his best to ignore the ranting.

Marc clapped his hands together. “All right, Gibben. Let’s take you to your room, shall we?”

Diedrick Lyle may have had something venomous to say about that as well, but Gib leapt from his seat and was out the door so quickly that if any words were spoken, they were lost in the bustle of movement. Liza and the dean followed and the three of them put the office behind them.

Once the door was closed, Marc let out a deep sigh. “Thank the Two Goddesses for midday meal. It will be a while before I have to go back in there.”

Gib thought to smile, but all at once an arm closed around his shoulders and Liza was pulling him in close. He looked up at her, wondering why she was hugging him, but he should have known already. The look on her face caused a cold knot to form in his gut.

“I have to go, Gib. I need to report in.”

He grabbed her hand. “You have to go now? I mean, don’t you want to know where my room is? In case you should need to find me?”

“I know where the new recruits’ wing is. I’ll come find you as I have time.”

Gib swallowed. “Are you sure you know where to find me? You would have stayed in the girls’ wing, right?”

She smiled and nodded as if to assure him but before she could say anything, Marc cut in. “Actually, I think I’m going to take him over to the eastern wing. There’s an older student there who has an empty bunk. This draft has filled my halls so full that I’m going to have to get creative.”

Gib’s insides froze, but Liza smiled. “Eastern wing? That’s fine. I know where it is. I’ll come see you when time permits. Probably in the evenings, after dinner.” She hugged him again, squeezing him so tightly Gib found it hard to breathe. “You’ll do well, Gib,” Liza whispered into his ear. “You always have.”