A Call to Arms: Book One of the Chronicles of Arden (7 page)

A knot formed in the pit of Gib’s stomach and he glanced around, looking for an adult. Surely a teacher was around somewhere. Where was the Weapons Master to shoo these older, frightening boys away?

“Father can’t always protect you,” one of them was saying. He was tall and well-built with dark hair, olive skin, and almond-shaped eyes. His smile was smug.

“The real world is about to jump up and bite you in the ass, boy,” taunted a second one who was pale but just as tall as the first. The two of them seemed to be the leaders of this group of bullies and were certainly the most intimidating of them all.

Nage kept his voice low so as not to draw their attention. “What’s their problem? Why’re they bothering that boy?”

Gib swallowed a lump in his throat. The harassment seemed so much louder for the sudden drop in the surrounding noise. Every other student on the field had quieted and turned to look at the spectacle. “I don’t know but this isn’t right. Someone should say something.”

“And have our teeth kicked in for our troubles?” Nage retorted. “I’ll pass. Besides, look at them. Every single one is a highborn, I’d reckon, even the young one. We don’t need problems with their fathers.”

The young boy who was being taunted was trying to walk away from the bullies now. “Stop it! Leave me alone. Haven’t you had your fill yet?”

The others continued to laugh at him. Gib clamped his hands together and looked desperately for help once more, still not seeing any adults. He knew he didn’t stand a chance on his own, especially when even Nage was unwilling to help. He thought about standing down and turning his head the other way, but he couldn’t do it. It wasn’t right. Someone needed to say something.

“Stop.” Gib’s voice carried further than he’d thought it would. His insides shook but he took a timid step forward. “Leave him alone.” This time he was louder still and several people looked his way. His face went warm, but he could hardly stop now.

“
I said to stop!
” Gib’s legs trembled. He’d no idea how he was still standing. It got worse when the bullies turned to look at him, their eyes piercing and critical. Gib sucked in a sharp breath. Would they come for him next?

The taunting subsided and whispers were shared like a single ripple through the group. Gib’s attention was caught by the tall boy, who was obviously the leader, as he narrowed his eyes. When he swept closer, the others all followed.

His dark, slanted eyes shone coldly and his smile sent a chill up Gib’s spine. The leader was well spoken with a soft, haughty voice. “What was that, Little One? Did you call to us?”

Gib swallowed and took a step back. None of them were his age. They were all taller and broader than he. They each wore a sword on their hip and swaggered as though they knew how to use such weapons. He wasn’t even a threat to them.

“Spirit will only take you just so far,” said the second, louder boy in a nasty voice. “Better hope ya grow a bit more, boy.” He tousled Gib’s curls as he sauntered past. The others said nothing as they went along but each looked Gib in the eye, smiling victoriously. He tensed, prepared for a blow of some sort, but none fell. Indeed, they continued on their way and never looked back.

Taking a deep breath, Gib straightened his hair and willed his nerves to calm. Overall, that had gone better than he’d planned. Every single one of them could have hung Gib by his feet but none had. They hadn’t even offered. In hindsight, it felt odd that they should let him off the hook so easily.

The boy who was being bullied made his way over to Gib. “Thank you.”

Taller than Gib—nearly everyone here was—the boy’s highborn status seemed confirmed. If Tarquin Aldino’s garments had been pleasant to behold, this boy’s were pristine. The embroidered embellishments running up either sleeve were of red thread and stood out on his crisp white tunic. The sleeves were meant to resemble wings but seemed such a waste of time and money, something these highborn children of Silver City apparently had to spare.

Soft, dark locks gave way to large, expressive eyes. He wore a coat of arms, stitched into the front of his tunic and held in place by golden thread. Gib didn’t recognize the seal but remembered many of the wealthy families in Arden had such symbols so they could easily be identified. This boy must be the son of some rich lord, Gib guessed. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the other students in the class observing their interaction.

The young lord offered one of his hands and Gib took it, startling when he felt callouses on those long fingers.

“I mean it,” the boy continued in a soft voice. “I’ve never seen one as young as we stand up to my brothers like that.”

Gib stiffened. “Those were your brothers? All of them?”

The boy blinked as if confused before responding, “No. Not all of them—Tell me, where do you hail from? What is your name?”

“Gibben Nemesio of Willowdale.” Gib released the hand hoping to hide how badly he was still shaking. “Pleasure to meet you—”

When Gib deliberately left off in search of a name, the boy smiled. “My name is Didier. Please, call my Diddy.”

“All right, Diddy.” Gib glanced around once more. “Do you have any idea why everyone is staring at us?”

Diddy’s smile was genuine, even charming. “I suspect they’ve never seen such blind bravery.”

“I doubt that. My knees are knocking so bad that I can hardly stand.”

Diddy opened his mouth as if to say more but before he could reply, a horn was blown and everyone around them jumped to attention. Gib followed behind the other boys as they made their way toward the middle of the field where the entire class was gathering.

A man’s voice boomed over them all. “Line up. Face north.”

After some confusion about which way was north, the crowd of sentinel trainees did as was told. Gib realized he couldn’t see even one person that he knew and felt lost. He was surrounded by people taller than himself, so he could barely make out the silhouettes of two grown men standing at the front of the group.

“First years move to the front. Second years in the back, you know how this works. Help out the younger ones!”

In the shuffle of taller versus shorter bodies, Gib decided he was going to have to be in the front line if he was going to be able to see anything at all. The other boys were sluggish and no one wanted to get out of his way, but he refused to settle for a spot where he would be blind to what was going on around him.

“Gibben Nemesio. Come stand in front of me.”

Gib huffed a sigh when he recognized the voice of Nage’s pampered roommate. It could be worse. Standing in front of Tarquin meant not having to look at him. Lack of eye contact would hopefully mean no forced conversation. When a pale hand was offered, Gib took it and allowed himself to be pulled through to the front line.

“Thanks,” he muttered, choosing not to look the highborn in the eye.

An elbow knocked off Gib’s and he turned to see Diddy. Beyond the young lordling was Nage, who nodded with a lopsided grin. Gib breathed a short sigh of relief. At least he wasn’t alone.

Gib noted with some confusion that Tarquin and several other trainees kept casting dubious looks toward Diddy, and the ones standing closest behind the young lord were doing all they could to distance themselves from him without breaking formation. If Didier saw their sideways glances, he paid no attention, but Gib noticed. Diddy seemed nice enough for a highborn. Why was everyone acting so strangely around him?

Before Gib could dedicate any more thought to the matter, two grown men swept forward to stand in front of the class. The hush that fell over the crowd was all the information Gib needed. These men were important. He would have guessed as much on his own based upon their height and dress, with authority emanating from their stature.

The first man was broad-shouldered and imposing. His facial features were hardened, with rough skin and peppered brown hair. He was wearing light armor: a plated doublet over chainmail and protective leather coverings around his arms and legs. One large gloved hand rested on the hilt of a sheathed longsword as though he might draw the sword at any given moment.

The man’s hazel eyes were stern as they passed over each of the gathered trainees. “Welcome to your first day of sentinel training.” His voice carried across the entire field as he addressed the group. “I am Weapons Master Roland Korbin. Some of you know of me already. For those who don’t, you soon will.”

He began to stroll down the line of students. “I have only three rules in my class. First, you show up on time each day in
proper
attire.” The trainer’s eyes skewered the group. “And by proper attire, I don’t mean golden buttons, ruffled sleeves, and jewel-encrusted embroidery! What you choose to wear outside my arena is none of my business, but here you’ll dress yourselves accordingly. After today’s class, all students will be measured and fitted for simple linen tunics and boots meant for the physical demands of this class.” Several of the highborn boys in the group sighed.

“Second, you’ll give your fellow students the respect they deserve. Let me be clear. There will be no favorites here and most certainly no belittlement of your peers.” Gib stole a glance in Didier’s direction, wishing Roland had been present only moments before when the young boy was being taunted.

“My last rule is that you don’t quit. Every soldier has his strengths—and his weaknesses. You’ll experience failure in my class. I guarantee this. You’ll leave the arena with bruises, broken bones, and crushed spirits. You’ll want to quit. But only when you fail will you learn. You can’t learn if you quit.”

Gib swallowed his dread. He wanted to remain hopeful. Weapons Master Roland’s rules seemed reasonable, but what if the physical training was too much for Gib? Most of the other students in the class were bigger and stronger.
What if I can’t keep up?

Roland cleared his throat pointedly and bowed his head in the direction of the second man, who until now had stayed in the background. “Seneschal Koal Adelwijn will now have a word with you before we begin today’s lesson.” All eyes fell upon the other man as Gib’s breath left him in a whoosh of air. Seneschal?
The
seneschal? The right-hand man of the King himself and second most powerful man in all of Arden? Gib couldn’t help his gaping mouth.

Seneschal Koal was trim and had short raven hair flecked with grey that fell just below his ears. His fair skin was free of worry lines or blemishes. His mouth was set in a firm line, but something about the seneschal’s demeanor suggested he was not there to cause malice or intimidation.

His outfit was as elaborate as Roland’s was practical. He wore a magnificent silver tabard with sapphire-colored lace woven into the seams, and a ceremonial dagger was strung through the belt at his waist. An impressive red cape hung from his left shoulder and continued to cascade down his back. The detailed golden lines and arches stitched into the cape were constructed to resemble the crest of Arden, the phoenix. A light breeze rustled through the fine silk, and for a moment the phoenix seemed alive, fluttering in the wind.

The seneschal gave Roland a nod before taking a step closer to the gathered students. His eyes matched the blue embroidery on his clothing. He smiled, not unhandsomely, and spoke for the first time.

“On behalf of King Rishi Radek, I, Koal Adelwijn, Seneschal of Arden, extend his majesty’s gratitude to the young men and women who have accepted the country’s recent call to arms.” His voice was smooth and articulate—the well-trained voice of a diplomat.

Koal clasped his hands together behind his back. “Furthermore, I applaud your bravery. The life of a sentinel is not for the weak-hearted and courage can be hard to find in the face of adversity. Rest assured Weapons Master Roland will do all he can to best prepare you to protect yourself and defend your country, if the need arises. I expect all of you to uphold the values of our beloved nation and to represent Arden with honor and integrity.” The seneschal’s eyes flitted past Gib and the young boy flinched.

“If you must draw your sword, do so only in the name of justice,” Koal continued. “Your job is to protect those who can’t defend themselves, not to oppress them. You serve
all
the people of Arden, not only those who are in power or well liked.” He made eye contact with Roland. “I leave you now in the hands of our finest defense expert. I have full confidence in Weapons Master Roland and if I hear of any impudence directed toward him, such behavior will be dealt with swiftly. Carry on, Master Roland.” With that, the seneschal turned on his heels and marched away without so much as a farewell.

Roland was quick to redirect the trainees’ attention. “All right, today we’re going to learn the basics of sparring, so find a partner and line up in front of the utility shed to retrieve practice swords. Boys with boys, and girls with girls.”

Diddy turned to look at Gib even as he was doing the same. “Do you want to work together?”

Gib smiled with relief. “Yes, please. That would be great.”

As the two boys navigated their way toward the shed, Didier smiled. “So what did you think of Seneschal Koal?”

Gib looked over his shoulder to be certain no one of importance was standing nearby. “The seneschal was intimidating,” he admitted in a hushed voice. “I guess I never envisioned myself standing so close to someone that high in rank. It was like being in the presence of royalty.”