The soldier turned a fierce scowl onto Gib, reaching up to smooth the crimson cape rolling down one shoulder. “Watch where you’re going, boy!”
“S–sorry.”
As the man strode past, he reached out and gave Gib a nasty shove, sending him stumbling back. Cal placed his hands on Gib’s shoulders, steadying him. Both brothers scurried to get out of the way, but the tall soldier was already well past them. The man didn’t even spare a backward glance as he stormed down the corridor.
Cal huffed. “What do you think his problem is?”
“Probably worried,” Gib replied. “Just like everyone else. Stress brings out the worst in people.” Gritting his teeth, he resumed walking.
“He still had no right to push you aside. Doesn’t he know you’re Seneschal Koal’s understudy?”
“Doubtful, Cal. No one really knows who I am here.” Gib squinted as he passed by an open window and sudden, bright light flooded the corridor. “And besides, that man was wearing a red cape. That means he’s at least a captain. He outranked me.”
The wooden floorboards creaked beneath Cal’s boots as he ran to catch up. “Didn’t Koal used to be a captain?”
“Years ago, yes. Before he ever dreamed of becoming Arden’s next seneschal.”
“Maybe someday you’ll be a captain.”
“Perhaps. But I really doubt it.”
“Maybe someday you’ll be a seneschal.”
Laughter erupted from Gib’s mouth. “Goddesses, no! I don’t think I’d ever be able to handle Koal’s job.”
“It’s an entertaining thought though, isn’t it? Imagine, Gibben Nemesio, poor farmer from Willowdale, ascending to become the Right Hand of the King.”
“Yeah, imagine that.”
Gib furrowed his brows as he contemplated Arden’s many troubles. Things had only gotten worse since King Rishi Radek’s murder, nearly two moonturns ago. Neetra Adelwijn, brother of Seneschal Koal and the newly elected Steward of Arden, was running rampant, determined to undermine or destroy every bit of progress the late king had worked a lifetime to achieve. To make matters worse, Neetra had also managed to win over enough of the High Council to have the votes needed to send the country to war against Shiraz. The scale had tipped in his favor, leaving Seneschal Koal, Dean Marc, and the remaining loyalists to the Radek family scrambling.
Gib didn’t know what would happen, but he hardly had time to think about it. He hardly had time to think about anything besides the impending war. His own life seemed one misstep away from complete disarray, though the friendships he’d forged over the three and a half years he’d been living in Silver City remained strong. Kezra Malin-Rai and Nage Nessuno would be marching at his side. Tarquin Aldino, however, had been abruptly ordered—much to his dismay—to oversee production at his father’s Armorer’s Guild here in Silver. For the foreseeable future.
Gib supposed he should be happy at least one of his friends would remain out of harm’s way, except he knew how much Tarquin had wanted to go and how useless he felt having to stay behind.
But Gib couldn’t dwell on Tarquin’s plight now with far too many other people to be worried about. Zandi Malin-Rai, Gib’s new companion, had opted to ride to war, as well as Joel Adelwijn—
Gib’s stomach flopped. Why? Why did his thoughts always come back to Joel?
He’d put forth an honest effort. He’d tried to make amends with his former lover, but their relationship remained frigid at best. They’d agreed to be civil. Joel even wanted them to be friends.
But what kind of friends don’t speak for sennights on end? If Joel meant everything he said that night we talked at the Adelwijn estate, why is the warmth zapped from a room every time we’re both in it?
Gib didn’t know. Only the Goddesses could see what fate lay ahead. For now, all Gib could do was focus on the war. If Joel wanted to repair their broken friendship, it was on him to make the first move. Gib couldn’t dedicate any more energy to the cause if Joel wasn’t willing to reciprocate.
The narrow corridor again snaked in two separate directions, and Gib paused, trying to recall which path led where.
“Left again,” Cal said. “The other hall leads back toward the training courtyard.”
Gib peeked around the corner to make certain no angry soldiers stood waiting for him to blunder into their way. Much to his relief, the corridor lay vacant. “Okay, come on. We’ve gotta be close.”
They walked the length of the corridor in silence, Gib leading the way and Cal just behind. At the end of the hall, a lone door stood open. Gib’s boggled mind finally cleared as he stopped before the threshold. He remembered the heaving beams above and the unpolished, splintering door from his previous visit. A jolt of hot resentment rushed to his head. Why were the women’s quarters in constant disarray? Did the people in charge not care?
No. Of course they don’t.
Gib poked his head into the room. “Liza?”
Sitting on a worn mattress near the distant corner of the room, Liza Nemesio glanced up. Her square face brightened, and a second later, she was on her feet and rushing toward the boys. “Gib! Cal! I was worried I wouldn’t get a chance to see you before I left.”
Liza spread her arms wide and wrapped Gib in a firm embrace. Tufts of her wild, mousy brown hair tickled Gib’s nose, but he paid the unruly locks no mind, hugging her tight. “I sent a message this morning that I was coming to see you. Didn’t you get it?”
“No. But with the way things have been around here lately, that doesn’t surprise me. Everyone is frantic. The note probably got lost somewhere. I’m sorry.”
“Hell, it’s not like it’s your fault,” Gib replied, stepping back so he could meet her kind eyes. He remembered, years ago, having to look up when he spoke to his sister, but now, even with his modest stature, he stood taller than her. But only just so. “Where is everyone?”
Liza’s face contorted. “Neetra ‘pardoned’ the women soldiers. He told us we could remain in Silver if we were willing to permanently renounce our positions as soldiers.”
Gib’s mouth fell open. “He did what?”
“It happened just this morning,” Liza explained, her voice worn. “Many of the women were afraid. They—they opted out. There weren’t many to begin with, and now there are even fewer.” She squeezed Gib close. “I’m glad you came. My troop is leaving within the mark. Where’s Tayver?”
“Tay couldn’t make it,” Cal said, rubbing the back of his neck as he wandered closer. “He had to stay and help Master Nireefa finish stitching the tabards the Tailoring Guild was ordered to craft for Arden’s army. He asked us to send his regards.”
Gib reached into a pocket, his mind still reeling from Liza’s news. “I have another note to give you.” He pulled the folded parchment free and held it out to her. “It’s a reassignment order. Koal signed it last night.”
“Reassignment order?” Liza made a face as she snatched the parchment from his hands and unrolled it. “For me?”
Biting his lip, Gib nodded. “If you want to, Koal says he can reassign you. You’d work directly for him, alongside me. You can take this note to your captain. They can’t refuse an order from the seneschal.”
Liza let out a sharp breath. “Gib—”
“We could be together.” Gib could hardly stand to meet his sister’s eyes. He’d known there would be a chance Liza would reject the offer, but he had to try. “We’d be able to watch each other’s backs this way. And surely the safest place to be is by the seneschal’s side.”
“Brother,” Liza replied, her voice firm. “I appreciate the offer. I really do. But I have to decline. I’ve been with the same unit for five years, and I’m just now finally beginning to earn the respect of my comrades. I can’t start over again. And I can’t accept Seneschal Koal’s charity. He’s been so good to you boys, but I’m not and never have been his responsibility. You understand, right?”
Gib stared past Liza, fixing his gaze on the shoddy wall. “If you change your m
ind, the offer still stands.”
“I know. And I promise to check in on you as time permits.”
“Right. In an army of ten thousand soldiers, how hard can it be to find one person?”
“I’ll just ask for Seneschal Koal. I know you’ll be close by.”
“I still can’t believe Koal is going,” Cal remarked. “He’s the seneschal of Arden, not the general of Arden’s army.”
“It’s custom for the king to march with the army,” Gib said.
“But there isn’t a king right now.” Cal, always candid, stated the obvious. “Is that why he’s going? Because there’s no one else?”
“He’s going because Neetra is a coward and won’t go himself.”
“Seneschal Koal used to be a captain,” Liza added. “He’s seen combat firsthand. He fought in the Northern War years ago, before we were even born. He’s really the better choice to send. Neetra couldn’t manage to lead a thirsty horse to a water trough.”
Wincing, Gib ran his fingers through his curls. “While I agree with you about Koal’s experience on the battlefield being beneficial, having the seneschal absent from the council chamber has the potential to be disastrous. Koal is a voice of reason on the High Council—one of the only ones left, I fear. With him gone, Neetra is going to run Arden into the ground.”
Cal snorted. “The new steward is already doing just that, regardless of whether Koal is here or not.”
“Unfortunately, you’re right.” Gib’s thoughts wandered to the many things he’d seen and heard in the council chamber over the past two years. The meetings of the past had always been vicious, but since Neetra’s election, there was almost no contention to be had. In fact, with the exception of Koal, Marc, and a handful of other councilors still loyal to King Rishi’s law, no one disputed anything the new steward proposed.
It’s almost like the rest of the councilors are mindless sheep. They’ll follow any path Neetra chooses, even if he leads Arden straight to war and death.
A sharp voice bellowed from the corridor, cutting through Gib’s thoughts. He raised his eyes from the floor even as Liza did the same.
“That’s the order to move out,” Liza said. She turned penitent eyes toward the two brothers. “I have to go now. Tell Tay I said goodbye. I love you all.”
“Be safe, Liza,” Cal murmured into the worn fabric of her uniform as they embraced one final time. “We love you, too. And we’re so proud of everything you do to keep Arden safe.”
Liza pressed a soft kiss to Cal’s forehead. “I’m more proud of you boys than you’ll ever know. Stay out of trouble while I’m gone.” She ruffled his hair and stepped back. Raking the back of one hand across his eyes, Cal nodded in silent agreement.
“I’ll find you on the road,” Gib said, giving Liza a gentle hug.
Liza trudged to the far side of the room, where a rucksack and leather-bound sword were propped against the wall. She slung the pack over one shoulder and fastened the sheathed weapon to a girdle around her waist. A linen tabard woven around polished leather armor and the golden phoenix of Arden, embroidered into the cloth, glittered in the low light.
“How do I look?” she asked.
A sense of pride mingled with the dread of knowing Liza stood in harm’s way. Gib’s stomach twisted into a knot. Seeing his sister standing before him, donned in her sentinel uniform with a sword on her hip, suddenly made everything feel real. Arden was going to war. Liza would march into battle. He would march into battle. Thousands of lives might be lost, including those closest to him.
I have to be brave—for Tayver and Calisto. I can’t let them see my fear. They have to believe everything will be all right, even if I don’t.
Gib inclined his head. “You look like a true warrior of Arden, and I know you’ll defend her with everything you are.”
Sunlight filtered into the room through an open window above the workspace, bringing in the fresh scents and sounds of springtime. The fragrance of newly blossomed flowers wafted into the Academy classroom, and the light breeze trickling through carried a songbird’s melody, enticing the occupants to stop and listen to the beautiful tune.
Joel Adelwijn, mage of Silver City and son of the seneschal, paused his lecture and let out a deep sigh. Surrounded by such serenity, it was easy to close his eyes and believe he sat in the midst of a lovely garden and not a classroom at all.
And while I’m at it, perhaps I can lie to myself and pretend everything is fine—that I’ll wake up tomorrow to just another peaceful spring day.
He wasn’t very good at telling lies, however. He never had been.
What was it Gib used to jest about? “Your features are so much better suited for honesty, Joel Adelwijn,” or something like that.
He suppressed the urge to frown. It didn’t matter. Nothing did anymore. And not even the best liar in Arden could convince him he wasn’t about to leave to war.
The sound of someone clearing his throat snapped Joel back to the present. Across the room, Kirk Bhadrayu stood with a small gathering of first-year mage students. The former Imperial made no attempt to hide the concern in his deep green eyes or the downward curl of his lips. “Are you all right?”
Bless him. I don’t think Kirk could be uncandid even if he tried, Joel thought with a wistful smile. He’s always worn his heart on his sleeve. I’m so glad I accepted this teaching position with him.
“I’m fine. I seem to have momentarily lost my train of thought.” His grip tightened around the satchel he held in one hand. “Shall we continue?”
Without awaiting a response, he reached into the pouch and pulled out the last remaining runestone. He set it upon a marble pedestal with the half dozen others he’d already retrieved from the bag and did his best to cast away thoughts of warfare and death. He owed it to the students to not become distracted.
Rays of light poured down from the rafters, illuminating the pearly-white stones. Small enough to rest in the center of a palm, each was perfectly oval in shape and smooth as silk, polished from centuries of tumbling in the treacherous waters off Arden’s western coast.
Joel motioned toward the pedestal. “Everyone come take a runestone.”
The five students trundled to the front of the room, each taking their turn to select a stone.
“So,” Kirk picked up where Joel left off, giving him a needed reprieve to collect his thoughts. The two mages were aptly matched, often knowing the other’s thoughts even before speaking. Dean Marc had been wise to place them together as trainers. “Can anyone recap yesterday’s lesson?”
Inez Adelwijn, the steward’s daughter and Joel’s cousin, raised a hand. Feisty and quick-witted, she was one of the brightest students in the class, and despite being Neetra’s daughter, she was well-liked among her peers and professors. “We learned how to imbue runestones with energy.”
“Correct,” Kirk replied, praising her with a gentle smile. “And why did we learn how to do this?”
“So we’d be able to utilize the power later. We captured the excess energy inside the stones to call upon in the future when it’s needed.”
Kirk drew his hands together as he sat on the edge of a desk. “And why is the ability to tap into the power of the runestones important?”
Inez’s twin brother, Inan, answered this question. “Because, as mages, our personal energy stores are always finite—so the imbued runestones give us the ability to push past our boundaries if the need arises.”
“Very good,” Kirk said. “And true. No mage is invincible, even those with extraordinary power. We all have limits.”
Inan raised his chin proudly, looking every bit like his father but without the arrogance that constantly tarnished Neetra’s fair features. They looked so alike it might be easy to fault the young lord for his sire’s atrocious acts, but Joel knew better than to judge. Inan’s gentle soul was a stark contrast to Neetra’s cruel and cold heart.
Inez bumped her brother’s elbow. “Showoff.”
“What?” In
an made a sour face at her. “Professor Kirk asked a question. I was merely replying.”
Joel cleared his throat, redirecting the siblings’ attention before their banter could spiral into all out bickering. “Runestones can be beneficial to a mage in other ways, too. Not only can we imbue and hoard power within them, but we can store messages—even memories—as well. Today, we’ll be learning about—”
His words were cut short as the heavy wooden door swung open, banging against the wall. Joel exhaled sharply on instinct, and all eyes turned toward the doorway.
Liro Adelwijn, Joel’s elder brother and newly elected councilman, sauntered into the room, tendrils of dark hair wisping around a firmly set jaw and the tail of an immaculate robe trailing like a shadow behind his boots.
Joel took an unwilling step back, his stomach rolling. He did his best to remain calm, but his voice came out sounding almost as flustered as he felt. “Liro, what are you doing—”
“Good day, brother.” Liro’s sleek voice flowed from his mouth like the hiss of a viper. His cold blue eyes flashed around the room, flicking from one person to the next. “I do hope I’m not interrupting anything of importance.”
“We’re in the middle of a lesson here.”
Liro glared down the narrow bridge of his nose at Joel. “Teaching the whimsical drivel of your father, no doubt.”
Joel’s heart hammered. “He’s your father, too, Liro, and you should pay him a little more respect. Father raised you to be better than this.” When his older brother offered nothing, Joel crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m teaching mage lessons. Magical techniques and theories. Nothing more or less. So you can stop throwing accusations—”
“No need to feign innocence, brother. Don’t think I’m unaware of the treacherous lies you’ve been spoon-feeding Arden’s youth. The High Council would be most displeased, were they to learn the truth.” Liro’s eyes flashed with dark intent. “You might find yourself without a job—or worse—subjected to the full weight of the law—as would any accomplices discovered to be in league with you.”
Out of the corner of Joel’s eye, he saw Kirk flinch and the small group of students exchange worried glances with one another. Whether or not they understood the severity of Liro’s threat, Joel couldn’t be sure.
Battle Dawn: Book Three of the Chronicles of Arden Page 2
