A Call to Arms: Book One of the Chronicles of Arden (5 page)

Gib wanted to say something—anything—but his voice had vanished. He managed a nod before Liza turned away, but not before her tears got the better of her. His sister all but ran down the corridor. He was comforted by having been witness to her tears. Liza’s grief made his tears more acceptable. Marc’s hand rested on Gib’s shoulder, and he allowed himself to be guided away.
 

By the time they arrived at the room where Gib would live for the next two years, he’d been led through so many different corridors that he had no idea where he was or where he’d come from. He wasn’t even sure if he was in the same building anymore. Somewhere along the way, the grey limestone used to construct the walls near the front of the collegium had shifted to a pearly-colored marble. The arches in the doorways were also free of cracks and showed no sign of erosion, suggesting this section of the building had been erected much later.

Marc must have noticed Gib eying the architecture as they walked, for the older man cleared his throat and struck up a conversation. “You lucked out, Gibben. This wing of Academy is a lot newer than the side my office is located on.” The dean’s voice seemed to boom after such a long period of silence.

Gib wasn’t in the mood to chat, but he felt he owed it to Marc for being so kind. “Was this dormitory built recently?” Gib asked in a soft voice.

“Recent by a historical standpoint, perhaps. I was a boy—younger than you are now, I would wager—when the late King Eitan Viran suggested the academy building at the time be expanded to include a larger dormitory so more trainees from outside the city walls might have a place to live while they studied in Silver.”

“King Eitan was the ruler of Arden before King Rishi Radek?”

Marc nodded. “Aye. His daughter, Jorja, who was queen until her death, married King Rishi, who has since been remarried to Dahlia Adelwijn. Anyway, after the plans were laid out, the dormitory was built over the next twenty wheelturns. When Eitan died, King Rishi made certain the project was not abandoned.” The dean rolled his eyes with distaste. “As you can probably imagine, the High Council balked about the additional expenses throughout the entire process, but—” He reached forward and touched his fingertips to the fine marble as he walked. “—I dare say it was worth every copper spent, if only to see the privileges of the few be extended to the less fortunate. Now we have the means to offer residence and education to young men and women as far away as Port Ostlea.”

Gib swallowed thickly as he digested everything he’d just heard, and then he came to a simple conclusion: he liked the dean. Marc Arrio seemed genuinely kind, the type of person who wouldn’t judge another based on their social status or whether or not they were educated. He wanted equal opportunities for everyone, not only the elite. It was admirable, yet Gib still couldn’t help but fret. The dean had shown compassion—but would Gib find it anywhere else in this city?

“Ah, here we are,” Marc proclaimed, coming to a halt. Gib looked around. They were in a hallway lined with doors made of soft maple wood. “Most of the students on this floor are in their third or fourth year of study. We normally try to house the youngest students together, but due to—recent developments, we’re short on space. Don’t worry though, since you’re new to Silver City, having an older roommate will be beneficial.”

Gib wasn’t entirely convinced. He’d never lived with anyone other than his two brothers and sister.
What if I’m roomed with a highborn? Someone like Diedrick Lyle who will judge me the moment I walk through the door. Will I be laughed at? Scorned? Ignored? What if my roommate hates me so much I have to leave? What will I do then?
Gib’s head spun as he tried to steady his gasping breaths. “Am I to meet my roommate now, sir?” Gib managed to ask. He could scarcely hear his own voice through the pounding of his heart in his ears.

Marc rapped a fist against the door nearest to where they had stopped, the sound of it resonating down the empty corridor. “Indeed. Let’s hope he’s here.”

Gib held his breath as they waited. For several moments nothing happened. The door didn’t open and he could hear no movement coming from within. Perhaps his roommate had gone to eat lunch. Or maybe somehow, he’d gotten wind of Gib’s arrival and was purposely avoiding answering the door.

As more terrible scenarios traversed through Gib’s mind, finally a shuffling sound came from inside, followed by the jiggle of the brass door handle as someone from the other side pulled on it. The door slid open and Gib found himself staring at the marble floor, unable to raise his eyes.

He heard Marc speak in a casual tone. “Oh good! You’re here.”

A lofty tenor voice responded at once. “Marc? Is everything all right?”

“Mind if we come in?”

The other voice hesitated. “We?”

Marc touched Gib’s shoulder and he jumped. “I found you a roommate. This is Gibben. He’s new to Academy and to Silver. I think the two of you will get along.”

The dean gave Gib a gentle push forward. His stomach was churning and he was pretty sure his face had turned a horrific shade of crimson. He could feel Marc and the other boy staring, waiting for words or action. Swallowing the nerves down, Gib managed to raise his head just enough to be able to make eye contact with his new roommate.

A youthful boy stood in the doorway. The boy was tall and slender framed, with raven-colored locks that fell past his shoulders in gentle waves. His skin was light, untarnished by sunlight or malnourishment, and his facial features were soft.

He was well-groomed, clad in a flowing white robe embroidered with golden lace and intricate beading. A sash made of fine blue silk was wrapped around his waist and small precious jewels hung from his fingers and ears. Gib’s stomach flopped. This boy was most certainly highborn.

Two silvery blue eyes observed Gib warily, but the smile playing on his thin lips suggested the boy was attempting to be polite, if not friendly. Again the delicate voice came. “Hello, Gibben. My name is Joel.”

Gib’s voice was caught somewhere deep within his throat. His stomach was in knots. He shuffled his boot against the floor, barely able to hold the other boy’s gaze. Gib felt inadequate standing beside this wealthy boy in his fine clothing and jewels that probably cost more than Gib’s entire farm.

The boy named Joel was still staring at him, expecting a response no doubt. Gib parted his lips, meaning to say something—
anything
—but no words came forth. It was as if some invisible force had fluttered by and stolen his voice away. Joel’s smile was troubled as he turned to Marc for help and Gib let out a strangled noise, mortified. He was making himself appear an idiot!

Marc stepped in to put an end to the awkward lull. “Sorry, Joel. I must have interrogated him in my office for so long earlier that his voice has gone hoarse.” The dean gave Gib a light tap on the back. “It’s my fault, really. You know how much I enjoy talking people to death.”

Joel’s smile was wistful. “All too well, Marc Arrio. Your wife must have the heart of a saint to deal with such a scamp for a husband.”

Gib was taken aback as he listened to their banter. Should a student be speaking so casually to a figure as important as the Dean of Academy? His head spun when Marc didn’t reprimand or scold Joel for talking in such a way. In fact, the dean was chuckling.

“Your wit almost exceeds that of your father,” Marc replied, an amused grin playing on his lips. “And for the record, my wife happens to be quite the intellectualist herself. She can appreciate a man who likes to talk.”

The older boy let out a snort and Gib felt as though he were witnessing a conversation between two lifelong friends rather than a teacher and his pupil. Joel turned his piercing eyes on Gib and gave him an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry for my behavior, Gibben. I don’t normally speak to Marc so informally while in the presence of other students as it tends to give them the impression that the dean isn’t worthy of respect. That, of course, is not the case. I’m allowed to make jokes with him only because Marc is a very close friend of my family.” Gib nodded, unsure of what else to do. Joel took a step back, white robes cascading around his feet. “I’m afraid I’ve forgotten my manners. Please, come in.”

Gib wasn’t sure whom the young noble was inviting inside—Marc, himself, or both of them together.

Fortunately, the dean answered before Gib was forced to ask for clarification. “I’m afraid I have to take my leave now. I regrettably have a very temperamental Instructions Master awaiting my return.” His dark eyes measured Gib. “You’ll be all right. Joel will help you unpack your things and show you the grounds. Isn’t that right, Joel?”

The older boy gave a stiff nod. “Of course. But Marc, before you leave, may I request a word with you outside the room?”

The dean’s voice was hesitant. “Yes, all right. But just for a moment. I’m really running behind schedule.”

Gib clenched his jaw as any hope that his highborn roommate might accept him came crashing down. Here it was. Seeing how lowly Gib was Joel was now going to beg Marc to reassign the vagrant boy somewhere else. Gib’s face burned with shame and he longed to be back on the farm, away from these city people who passed such harsh judgment. Where was he to go if no student would take him as a roommate?

Marc and Joel were speaking in the hallway. Gib didn’t want to listen, but the door had been left open a crack and their hushed voices carried back into the room.

“Are you sure this is a wise decision?” Joel asked. “I thought I wouldn’t be sharing a room with anyone again, given the circumstances, and especially after—what happened before. My family has already been put through so much for it.”

Marc issued an imploring snort. “That wasn’t your fault. You know that. I know that. Anyone who matters knows that.” The dean’s voice had a sharp bite to it.

“People will talk.”

After a pause of terrible silence came Marc’s response. His voice had lost all of its rigidity. “I’m sorry for what you’ve endured, Joel. It’s not fair, I know. But you’ve shut everyone out for too long. It’s time you learn how to feel again. This will be good for you.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“Trust me. Everything will work out, you’ll see.”

Receding footsteps sounded against the marble floor, and a short while later, Joel came back into the room. His face was drawn but as he raised his head in Gib’s direction, the young highborn gave him a half-hearted smile. Gib didn’t know what to make of the conversation he’d overheard, but his mind was such a whirlwind of confusion that it hardly mattered.

“I’m sorry for the mess,” Joel said as he moved through the room and began to pick up what Gib assumed were the highborn’s belongings. “I was under the impression I wouldn’t be sharing a room.” His voice was flat.

Gib winced and at last he managed to find his voice. “I—I’m sorry too.”

The older boy shrugged as he reached to pick up a crate filled with scrolls and unused parchment. “It’s not your fault.”

Gib bit down on his lip and took advantage of the silence to get a better look at the room. It was of modest size, though bigger than the loft which Gib had shared with his brothers, and crafted from the same white marble as the corridor outside. Two small beds sat on wooden frames, one in each corner of the room, and someone had taken the liberty of laying fresh linens and a wool blanket on the edge of each mattress. In one nook of the room stood a desk and stool for writing, and there was even a large window situated along the back wall. The wooden shutters were pushed open, allowing a breeze to flow through.

“So, I think I recall Marc saying you’ve never been to the city before.” Joel sat down on one of the beds and began sorting through his things.

Gib nodded. “That’s right.”

“So you must be a first-year student.”

Gib wasn’t sure if the words were meant to be a question or not, but he felt obligated to respond in some way. “I was sent a conscription notice. I’m meant to receive sentinel training here in Silver.”

Joel pursed his lips but didn’t look up. “I see.”

Gib could hear the pity dripping from the boy’s words but tried to ignore it. “A–are you a sentinel trainee too?”

The highborn boy did glance up now. He had a bemused look and the corner of his mouth acted as though it wanted to curl upward. “No. I’m afraid I wouldn’t even know which end of a sword to use if I ever were unfortunate enough to be handed one. I’m a mage trainee.” Gib felt as though he’d missed something that should have been obvious. He probably had. He didn’t know the first thing about magic or magery.