Fire Sower

by Callie Kanno

  “What if the king is in danger?” asked Hildar.

  Drusi appraised the girl before answering. “The king is not your responsibility.”

  “But what if you and the captain have been killed and the king is left unprotected?” Hildar persisted. “Is it not our responsibility to go to his aid?”

  Drusi raised an eyebrow. “Do you really believe that you would be effective against an enemy that defeated Captain Cowan and myself?”

  “Perhaps not now, but maybe in the future,” Hildar said defensively.

  The experienced Guard turned and opened the door that led to the throne room. “Then we will discuss it in the future.”

  It was clear to Idris that Hildar was not accustomed to being dismissed in such a manner. Her cheeks grew pink and her eyes flashed with anger. Even so, she did not continue to argue. She swept into the throne room, which was now empty, as if Drusi had been holding the door for her.

  The others followed her, and the group made its way back toward the training grounds. As they walked, Hildar allowed Drusi to take the lead and then fell back until she was in the rear of the group. Idris was closest to her, and he could hear her enraged muttering in fragments.

  “…they assign the most skilled Royal Guards to the most important members of the royal family… just because I am a woman…my abilities are not even taken into account…should be protecting Prince Aribold…everyone knows that magical aptitude runs through the blood of noble families…”

  Idris quickened his step and tried to ignore Hildar’s quiet ranting. He could not stop himself from considering what she said, though.

  It was apparent that King Nikolas thought along the same lines as Hildar. He had been quick to agree to the suggestion that Idris—a mere farmer—protect the person he considered to be the least important member of the royal family.

  And yet Queen Arminell did not seem to hold Idris’s humble origins against him. She had spoken in his favor during the oath ceremony, and she had taken the time to remember his name when she spoke of him later.

  Why had she requested that he guard Princess Zorina?

  Idris could not begin to understand the intricacies of life in the palace, and that was rather worrying to him. He feared that one day he would find himself in the middle of a bad situation without knowing how he had gotten there. Was his father right in warning him against becoming entangled with royalty and nobility?

  Part of Idris felt wary against the plots and intrigues that were associated with the upper classes. In fact, that had been the biggest concern raised by his neighbors in Rest Stone Valley when they discouraged him from joining the Royal Guard.

  Idris shook his head and sighed softly.

  He had decided to train as a Royal Guard because he wanted to lead the kind of life that would teach him how to be courageous and extraordinary. Conversely, he had heard dire tales of scandals and men being falsely imprisoned for political gain. Idris wondered if it was worth it. Perhaps he simply had to accept all of the less savory things that went along with the opportunities.

  He did his best to put all doubts from his mind as he followed Drusi away from the palace, but he couldn’t help but continue to wonder why the queen had specifically asked him to watch over the princess.

  Idris and the other newcomers were taken back to their quarters and told they had the rest of the night to settle in. Training would begin first thing in the morning.

  Idris was glad to have some time to himself. For a while he stood and stared at the fire, which had been burning merrily in his fireplace when he’d entered the room. He wondered if there were special servants that attended to these quarters or if the room magically knew that it was now occupied.

  Eventually, he lowered himself onto his bed to take off his boots and he accidentally sat on the small bundle that his father had given him. He untied the rough string that held the bundle together and opened it.

  There was a tidy roll of new underclothes, courtesy of his mother. There were also small keepsakes from the rest of his family. Adwen had given him one of her rag dolls, which Idris knew was a great sacrifice on her part. He recognized an interesting colored stone from Rolant’s prized collection. Osian had given him his best knife, which Idris knew was his dearest possession. Which meant that the little carving whittled from a piece of wood was from Deri. Idris assumed that it was meant to be a dragon, but it took a lot of imagination to interpret it as such. Dafina and Elain had both made him handkerchiefs with colorful cross-stitching along the edges.

  Beneath all the other gifts, Idris found a family chain. He knew immediately that it was a joint gift from his parents. The chain was woven of colorful yarn and beads, with each bead representing a member of the family. In Rest Stone Valley, it was tradition to give family chains to those who left home, so that they could take their loved ones with them in their hearts.

  Idris discovered that his cheeks were wet with tears, but he did nothing to stop their flow. His heart ached to be home again. He could see in his mind what each of his family members were doing at that moment, and he wondered who was doing his portion of the chores.

  He got to his feet and took his gifts to the mantle. Idris carefully arranged them, blinking through his tears, and then stood back to admire his new treasures. He was homesick, but looking at the gifts from his family made him feel that he wasn’t alone.

  Idris didn’t feel like eating dinner, so he got ready for bed and laid down. Starting in the morning, he was determined to work harder than he ever had before. His family was counting on him to do his best, and he wasn’t going to let them down.

  Chapter Ten: Training Begins

  Idris felt considerably rumpled when the gong sounded in the morning to wake all of the members of the Royal Guard. He was not accustomed to sleeping on such a soft bed, and he had tossed and turned for a good portion of the night.

  Idris dressed by the light of the embers in the fireplace and twisted his hair into his usual topknot. After he had pulled on his boots, he walked over to his partisan, which was leaning against the wall. He picked it up and listened, as if expecting to hear Iona’s voice the moment they made contact.

  The silence in the room seemed rather pointed, and Idris sighed quietly. He buckled the straps of the harness that held the partisan on his back and walked out of his room.

  Demas was waiting for the new recruits, looking as though he had been awake for hours.

  “Good morning, Idris,” he said cheerfully. “Ready for your first day?”

  Idris gave an uncertain nod, feeling anything but ready.

  Aherin joined them shortly, and then they waited several minutes for Hildar to appear. She had pinned her chestnut hair into a knot at the base of her neck, which made her look even more formidable. Her beautiful features were darkened with weariness and she scowled at Demas when he greeted her.

  “You will need to learn to dress more quickly,” Demas said to Hildar as they began up the stairs. “Members of the Royal Guard are expected to be punctual.”

  Hildar’s expression grew stormier, but she said nothing. Idris was not looking forward to spending the day in the company of such an ill-tempered girl.

  They were taken to the hall where all members of the king’s military took their meals together. There was a long table at the far end of the room, where the food was served by the kitchen staff. Idris followed his companions to the end of the table. He was given a plate and utensils by a girl with downcast eyes.

  “Thank you,” Idris said to the girl, and she looked startled that he had spoken to her. He wondered if it was not considered proper for a member of the Royal Guard to speak to the servants, but his thoughts were interrupted by Hildar’s angry muttering ahead of him.

  “It is bad enough that they give us beds that are so lumpy they are barely fit for use, but they also expect us to eat this peasant food?”

  Idris looked down the long table to see what Hildar was talking about.

  There were plates of toaste
d bread, fragrant sausages, and eggs cooked in a variety of ways. There were breakfast pastries and bowls of fruit and a dozen jars with all kinds of jam. At the far end Idris could see tall pitchers of milk, fresh juice, and steaming pots of tea.

  It was certainly a grander feast than what he was used to eating, but it clearly didn’t meet with Hildar’s standards.

  “Is there any hot cereal?” he asked Demas, who was standing behind him.

  “What is that?” Hildar demanded sharply.

  Demas explained to her. “It is roughly chopped grain that has been boiled until it is soft enough to eat.” Then he addressed Idris. “No, I have never seen any.”

  Hildar sneered. “Why would anyone eat such a thing?”

  Idris felt his cheeks warm at her derision. “Farmers need food that will not leave them hungry between meals,” he retorted.

  “You are not a farmer anymore,” Hildar said coldly. “You do not need to concern yourself with such things from now on.”

  Demas had mentioned that the members of the Royal Guard typically sat together, even though there was no rule stating that they couldn’t sit with the other soldiers. Idris sat at a table with his companions, but he placed himself as far from Hildar as he could. He had not thought it possible to like someone even less than he liked Meic, but Hildar was certainly making it seem more possible every moment.

  After breakfast Demas showed them where they would be training and left them with the other army recruits. Idris was cautiously optimistic that the day could only improve, but then he heard a familiar voice behind him.

  “Well, well,” Meic jeered, “what an honor it must be to train with the elite. I can hardly keep my excitement contained.”

  Idris turned to see Meic standing with three other recruits. All of them were staring at Idris with undisguised contempt.

  One boy was small and wiry, with short black hair and a scraggly attempt at facial hair on his chin. The other boy was tall and broad, and looked older than the rest of the recruits. The third was a girl with a face that was hard with determination and defiance.

  “What is so special about the Royal Guard anyway?” demanded the wiry boy. “Having a fancy weapon does not make you a better soldier.”

  “It looks like your weapons are locked in that holder you wear,” said the tall boy. “You cannot even use them.”

  “Perhaps they just wear them to appear more special than they really are,” suggested Meic in a poisonous tone.

  Hildar stood apart from the rest of the recruits with apparent indifference to what was being said, but Aherin walked over to where Idris was standing.

  “Are you suggesting that we are not worthy of our positions?” he asked Meic quietly.

  Although it was only their second day in the city, Meic seemed to have been told stories of the famous Captain Dins and knew that Aherin was his son. Meic’s discomfort was clear when challenged by the child of a hero.

  “I do not doubt that you are,” replied Meic, leaving no question in anyone’s mind that Idris was not included in his statement.

  What might have followed was never to be seen, for the confrontation was interrupted by a firm voice calling them together.

  “Gather around me, soldiers,” said a man in his mid-thirties. “My name is Piton, and I will be your instructor for the next year. During this year you will receive your basic training as soldiers before you each separate into your specialties.”

  Aside from Meic and his friends and the Royal Guard newcomers there were about a dozen other recruits that were gathered around Piton. Idris silently prayed that they would be easier to work with than those he had encountered so far.

  Piton went on without pause. “How many of you grew up in small communities such as farms or artisan villages?”

  Roughly half of the recruits raised their hands.

  Piton took note of each face and nodded. “All of you have an advantage over your companions. Does anyone know why?”

  He was met with blank stares, which seemed to be what he expected. He pointed to two boys, one that had raised his hand and one that hadn’t. They both happened to be Meic’s new friends.

  “What are your names?”

  The small, wiry boy said, “Cato.”

  And the tall, broad boy said, “Leor.”

  Piton cleared a wide circle around the two, so all the recruits could watch what was about to happen.

  “I want you two young men to face one another,” instructed their teacher. “Each of you is to strive to force the other to the ground and keep them there for three seconds.”

  A murmur of anticipation passed through the onlookers, and Idris smiled expectantly. Such matches were common at celebrations in Rest Stone Valley, and he enjoyed watching them. He only regretted that he and Meic had not been chosen for the competition. They were quite evenly matched, and it was always exciting to see who would be victorious.

  “It is no competition,” said Hildar quietly. “The larger boy will obviously win.”

  Idris didn’t reply, but he grinned. He knew that size was not the most important element in a competition such as this.

  It was all over rather quickly.

  Cato was smaller, but he was fast and dexterous. He used his legs as a lever against his opponent, throwing Leor off balance and heaving him over his shoulder. Leor landed on the ground with an audible grunt, and before he could get back to his feet Cato had pinned his arm in an awkward position, preventing further movement.

  Appreciative applause broke out among the observers, and Piton nodded in satisfaction.

  “Every village boy is taught how to wrestle,” their teacher said as Cato and Leor got to their feet. “Therefore, they will already have the foundation for the skills you will be learning first. Those of you who grew up in a different environment will be starting from the beginning.”

  Idris saw Leor scowling at the ground, his face flushed. He didn’t see why the other boy was angry. It was as Piton had said—not everyone had the same skills and knowledge.

  Piton went on with his instruction as if nothing was amiss. “We will begin by teaching you how to fight without the aid of weapons. You must learn how to control your own body before you can master control of anything else. This will be a particular challenge to those of you,” his eyes rested on Idris and Aherin, “who will have to learn to overcome the obstacles of your uniform.”

  Idris felt his earlier satisfaction drain away. It was true that he had learned to wrestle along with all of the other boys of Rest Stone Valley, but he had never had to do it with a six-foot pole strapped to his back.

  Aherin would have a similar challenge, since his weapon was a bow. Hildar’s dagger was small enough that it would not hinder her at all.

  “First we shall focus on your feet,” announced Piton, pacing back and forth with his hands behind his back. “Your feet are your foundation, and if that foundation is weak then so is the rest of your body.”

  Idris found himself looking down at his feet, wondering if his foundation was adequate.

  “Form into four lines,” barked Piton suddenly.

  Idris jumped slightly and hurried to obey. He instinctively moved to stand next to Aherin, and he noted that Hildar stiffly remained where she stood. It was as if she expected the lines to form around her.

  Piton demonstrated the best way to position the feet so as to keep balance while changing direction. The recruits spent the next hour marching around the yard and attempting to follow Piton’s abrupt orders without losing balance.

  “Forward.”

  Idris trotted forward with his fellows, keeping up with the brisk pace that had been set.

  “Left.”

  Idris started to change direction, but Piton quickly shouted a new command.

  “Right.”

  The young man stumbled over his feet and struggled to correct himself without falling over. He was able to save himself, but others were not so lucky.

  “Stop,” ordered Piton.

&nb
sp; Idris was glad to obey and take a moment to find his own balance again.

  Their teacher pointed to an area off to the side. “Those of you who fell, go over there.”

  The fallen did as they were told, most with faces that seemed to be flushed with more than physical effort. Piton then proceeded to ignore their existence and went on with the exercise.

  Idris frowned and murmured to Aherin, “That does not seem right. How will they ever improve if they are not allowed to practice with us?”

  Aherin, who was going through the exercise with a bored expression on his face, shrugged carelessly. “They can practice on their own time. Every soldier needs to learn to keep up or get left behind.”

  Idris glanced at his companion and noticed a slight hardening around his eyes. “Is that how your father taught you?” he asked quietly.

  Aherin’s expression became distinctly stony.

  “Yes.”

  The tone in which he answered warned Idris not to pry further. Aherin’s father had probably always assumed his son would grow up to be a soldier, much like how Cadell had always assumed that Idris would be a farmer. Aherin had probably been given his basic training years ago, making this exercise unnecessary for him. Idris wondered why Aherin didn’t ask to be excused to move on to something more challenging.

  Hildar also seemed to be at ease with the task they had been given. Her movements made it appear as though she were dancing rather than trotting along with her companions. Idris guessed that it must be due to her upbringing, too, that she was able to keep her balance so well. After all, fine ladies were expected to be filled with grace.

  This made Idris feel out of place all over again. He already felt that he was at a disadvantage with his fellow Royal Guard trainees, but this made it appear more pronounced. He had never been taught how to keep his balance like this. Why would a farmer need to know such things?

  Now, if the king needed him to mend a harness or plow a field, Idris would be perfect for the job. He could milk cows and slop pigs and build almost anything out of wood. None of these skills would help him to become a better soldier, though.