"Everything," the King suddenly yelled. He stepped away from Licius and sat back on his throne. "The two of you will remain here until the morrow, until all details of this squire’s life are revealed to me. And when you are done, you will go out in search of that which you do not know. Is this understood?"
Licius nodded his head slowly, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe, the fabric of the shirt tight against his throat.
Orsak glanced at Farco, who sat beside Licius, his hands on his lap, his eyes wide, and said, "Understood?"
"Ye—," Farco stumbled. "Yes, Your—"
"Good," Orsak interrupted and smiled. "Good." He released his gaze on Farco and turned to Malden.
"Your plan; can we count on the boy?"
"Sire, I believe he won’t be hard to persuade."
"Then do it. Allow a week’s time, or two, for the boy to feel at home in his training."
Chapter Fourteen
The days seemed short.
From sunrise to sundown, the squires spent their hours carrying out their masters’ orders, leaving them little opportunity to take notice of the passage of time. When not swinging broadswords or firing longbows, they brushed and fed the knights’ horses, polished their swords and armor.
Sir Wildon held Delcan’s archery lessons in the early light of the mornings. The squire’s skill, already exceptional, if a bit rough, had quickly improved nearly to the point of perfection with the knight’s leadership. Sir Wildon thrived on rising before the sun to watch the first light touch the kingdom and he demanded that Delcan do the same. Having helped his father tend to the farm since an early age, Delcan suffered no pain in waking before the rise of the sun. Yet, most mornings, Sir Wildon waited in the courtyard for the squire, open-eyed, sipping from a cup as if he had been waiting patiently for hours.
In the afternoons, as the sun slipped down into the horizon, Delcan’s studies focused on the broadsword. A master swordsman, Sir Wildon trained Delcan to study the weapon as he would a book. They spent an entire afternoon discussing the way the broadsword’s blade was made for enduring countless battles; another, just on grasping it, both hands wrapped around the handle, wielding it in slow, circular motions. A seemingly permanent ache had settled in Delcan’s arms and shoulders.
As Delcan grew accustomed to the sword, Sir Wildon performed mock battle drills which the squire imitated like the image on a looking glass. Then they performed the practiced moves against each other, developing Delcan’s timing and stamina.
A man of nearly sixty years, Sir Wildon was still fast and strong and able to train for six hours daily without rest; the young squire often felt the weight of weariness after two or three hours of continuous instruction.
Most days, while Delcan followed Sir Wildon up and down stone staircases, swinging his heavy sword at the knight’s deflecting moves, Sandrion and Stanlo underwent similar regiments in different parts of the castle, and throughout the kingdom. Sir Grainer trained Sandrion in archery in the afternoons among the trees along the roadside, using targets painted in greens and browns, pushing the squire’s keen eye to impeccable aim. Sir Liebert rode with Stanlo in the evenings along the rocky cliffs of the Eastern coast of Paraysia, driving the boy’s stallion to a gallop, forcing him to keep control of the excited animal. Each teacher molded his student in a different manner, emphasizing his greatest strength. After two years, the squires would be masters themselves and, if so chosen by the touch of the sun, perhaps be teachers of squires.
On what was the squires’ second day of instruction, the Head of the Guards himself interfered in Stanlo’s training; their conversation transformed the boy’s life and his ambitions.
Sir Liebert had just entered the castle gates with Stanlo following closely behind. As they dismounted from their stallions, Malden emerged from the castle keep in his usual, regal saunter and addressed the knight.
"Sir Liebert," said Malden, taking both knight and squire by surprise. Liebert stopped and stood with his back straight at attention. "A word with your squire, if I may."
"Yes, Sir," Liebert responded.
"Alone," Malden added.
Liebert bowed with subtlety and turned toward the stables, pulling on the reins of his horse.
Stanlo stood stiffly before Malden, visibly nervous.
"Be calm, boy," Malden spoke in what may have been an attempt at a soothing voice but came out quick and harsh. He stepped closer, his lips inches away from the boy’s ear. Stanlo’s horse stood between them and the rest of the courtyard; no guards or passersby could see the conspiratorial manner in which the two conversed. Malden placed his hand on the horse’s neck and caressed it indifferently. "I wish to ask a favor of you," he whispered.
"Sir?"
"It is of dear importance." Malden said with his head cocked to one side, his eyes narrowing.
Stanlo’s body stiffened even more so, if such a thing were possible, this time with a rush of excitement and pride at the prospect of partaking in something of such significance. He nodded, wanting to speak, but finding it difficult.
"It is about a fellow squire. Delcan."
At this, Stanlo relaxed, only glad not to be the focus of Malden’s thoughts. Then, his mind began working around the question of how Delcan may be of such importance that the Head of the Guards wished to conspire against him.
“Delcan?” Stanlo responded. “Why is he—?”
"It seems the boy has not been truthful to the King,” Malden interrupted. “And the King would greatly appreciate your assistance in learning more about him. Some elementary information as to who Delcan is; what he is like; what are his strengths; his weaknesses. Where he gained his superior archery skills. Why he wishes to become a knight. And any other knowledge that you deem relevant." Malden stayed silent for a moment, allowing the words to descend into Stanlo’s mind.
Stanlo grinned and visibly relaxed. "A secret charge; I can do that," he said admiring the idea.
Malden smiled, satisfied, and nodded. "The King rewards such favors very generously."
The squire’s eyes sparkled suddenly as they met Malden’s.
"In fact," Malden continued. "Sir Liebert has already commented on your proficiency and your virtue. It is clear that you would make a fine knight."
Part of Stanlo’s mind had questioned the sudden interest in Delcan; a greater part, one that had been nourished by rage and disappointment, soon realized the potential to advance his own course. The opportunity being presented to him not only eased the road, it all but carried him to his destination.
"Do you understand me, Stanlo?"
"Perfectly, sir," Stanlo said without hesitation, his voice sounding to him for the first time like a man’s.
"Then we shall speak further," Malden said, putting his arm around the squire’s shoulders.
Delcan had hoped to see Aria about the castle while training in the yard, but even after a week’s time he had not seen sight of her. The gentle image of her face visited his thoughts often. He thought of the way her smile brought a luster to her brown eyes, making them so clear and bright he nearly saw through them.
One afternoon, while wielding his sword through the heavy air of early summer, Delcan saw Aria enter through the gates on horseback, followed by two guards. She nearly passed without seeing him but as she turned toward the stables, she looked at him and smiled briefly. Delcan’s heart beat rapidly; a rush of excitement flowed through him and he felt as if he had suddenly accomplished greatness—a strange feeling he was glad to acknowledge.
The following day, he spoke with her.
He had finished cleaning the stable stall for Sir Wildon’s horse when he heard her soft voice calling from behind him.
"So this is what knighthood training is all about." Aria leaned against the stable’s doorway, the afternoon sky cloudless behind her. "This is how you are conditioned to be fearless in battle, by cleaning after horses?" she said.
"Yes," he responded with all seriousness. "It teaches how to ignore the h
orse’s fragrance and concentrate on the task at hand." Then he smiled and she returned it with one of her own. He was surprised and pleased to see her.
"I hoped I would see you more often around the castle," he said, joining her outside.
"I visited Lady Beares’s estate for the last week. Medcina and I were sent away."
"Why?"
"As a punishment," she said. "As a result of the archery competition in which I embarrassed my grandfather, disgraced age-old traditions, and disrupted the festival."
"I thought you did exceptionally well. You did better than I."
"That is precisely how I made a fool of him. Martial skills are not meant for a lady, you know."
"So he punished you by sending you away from the castle a while."
"I suppose he did not want me interfering on your training initiation. It was meant to be punishment, but I rather enjoyed it. Lady Beare knew my mother well and she has always treated me with much love. This is not the first time I have gone to visit with her. The King reacts very predictably when I upset him. In fact, he will likely have them keep an eye on me for another two weeks."
"Them?" Delcan asked.
"The guards,” she said. “He has likely posted two outside my door."
"That is a bit harsh," he said.
"I antagonized him." Aria shrugged her shoulders. "I demanded that I be shown the same privileges you receive as squire."
Delcan watched her eyes, her mouth, and the way she stood; the way everything came alive when she spoke.
"Although I qualified just as any other contender in the kingdom, the challenge of a maiden, of his own granddaughter, being considered equal to a man is of great distress to him. He would not have it. I shamed him, tarnished his authority, by being so confrontational and by being so foolish as to want to pursue such an endeavor."
"You wish to become a knight."
It was not a question; Delcan stated the fact without realizing he had spoken it out loud. He looked at her with open admiration.
"It would be the one way I know I can make a real difference in the kingdom."
"But you are a princess; you can make a difference."
"Not when I am nothing to him but a reminder of the prince he will never have. But as a soldier, at a level where I may be equal with the bravest men in the kingdom—"
She fell silent for a moment.
"He cannot stop me from learning the skills though. The archery, the swordplay. I’ve learned each of those things myself by watching from the tower as each year new squires are trained. I practice my skills alone when I have a moment to hide away in a corner."
Aria turned her face toward the castle’s gate where a group of knights stood about, one arm resting on the hilts of their swords, as they laughed.
"There has never been a squire as prepared and as skilled as I."
"I do not doubt it," Delcan said, studying her profile. "You have great talent."
"And so do you," she said excitedly, turning toward him. "The way you fired that arrow—" She stopped as if hesitant to give away any hidden emotions.
"You are the best archer I have ever seen," Delcan said. He smiled then said, "And certainly the most beautiful.”
She blushed. Delcan’s heart tumbled inside his chest.
"I have been hoping to see you and have the chance to talk with you."
"I—" Aria hesitated. "I should return to the tower. If the King realizes I have been talking with you—"
"You seem like one who is not afraid of taking a risk," Delcan said, reaching for her hand.
Aria pulled away slowly and said, "I do have to go." And walked away.
Delcan watched her go and regret slapped him hard across the face.
He had been too bold. He had let his nervous anticipation take control. He feared she would not look at him, or talk to him, in the same manner again.
As Aria walked away from the stables, heading toward the Royal Quarters, she passed Stanlo, who stood with his back against the wall.
"Good afternoon, Your Highness," Stanlo said, bowing. "I hope you are enjoying this pleasant day."
He meant the sentiment, in his heart he truly did, but the tone of his voice was one of scorn. This was a common problem with Stanlo; he did not intend harshness to accompany his words. And yet, the same Spirit that had granted him the ability for wit had cursed him with a bitter tongue. His thoughts and emotions, once released, were like good men who were ignored because of the dirty clothes they wore.
Aria nodded and smiled a thin smile as she passed him by, as if preoccupied with making certain that she took one step after another in her intended direction.
Stanlo watched her, and then glanced toward the stable door where Delcan stood also watching the princess. Malden’s words played like children in his mind.
Stanlo’s father was the owner of the largest liquor house in Marlain and for most of his years Stanlo had heard how The Black Dragon would be his future. At the age of twenty-one, his options were running out. Most young men in Paraysia began at seventeen the work they would keep for the remainder of their lives. In most cases, that work consisted of farming or fishing; others learned skills with wood and iron; while a very few became merchants. The merchants were the fortunate ones, for they would create the wealth of the kingdom. But for a boy who had grown with the stench of liquor in his nostrils and the red imprints of his father’s hands on his face, commerce was the driving force of all evil.
Stanlo decided at a young age that his fortune lay outside of Paraysia. But living in an island where ships, other than sanctioned fishing vessels, were banned by the King, did not leave many opportunities to explore the unknown world. Since his early teenage years, Stanlo practiced archery with a makeshift bow that had taken him two years to carve into shape. He was clumsy with his hands but relentlessly patient. Living so close to the castle, he often retrieved lost arrows from the surrounding land and set his sight on becoming a squire. That was the only exit Stanlo saw and the only one in which he believed. He would risk anything, his life, to achieve it. Once knighted, the world would be in the palm of his hand, and his face away from the palm of his father. The old man would be forced to acknowledge him and look upon him with respect rather than with the discontent and rancor to which Stanlo was accustomed.
In his first appearance at the Flarian Festival one year before, Stanlo was hardly noticed. He continued to train alone and when he qualified this time, he returned to his father’s liquor house full of pride. That night’s beating was the most satisfying—he actually grinned as the old man’s fists struck his face and stomach, for he knew it would be the last.
Now, as he watched Delcan gaze at Aria’s figure walk away, the blue and purple bruises made by his father’s fists still tender to the touch, Stanlo began to resent the younger Delcan’s indifferent accomplishment of that same ambition for which he had worked so hard to achieve. Suddenly, his conversation with Malden made sense. As he turned over in his mind the things the Head of the Guards had pointed out, Stanlo came to the conclusion that Delcan was different; apart from him and Sandrion. Considering Delcan’s skills alone, one would suspect his abilities to have been given a keen edge somehow. Their sharpness was unlike any peasant’s. The sureness he displayed came only from formal training, and formal training in Paraysia was only gained as a Royal Guard or as a knight.
And the aloofness of him. The way he placed himself above the other squires. The clearly superficial friendship he and Sandrion shared. It was transparent that Delcan saw Sandrion as nothing more than a supporting mule—his own sort of squire. Even though older by two years, Sandrion still seemed subservient to the younger squire, as if his life were peripheral to Delcan’s.
As Malden had said, there was sufficient suspicion of Delcan’s conspiratorial intentions against the King. He had already lied about his father and perhaps about much more. That alone gave Stanlo reason to assist in thawing Delcan’s plan, whatever it may be. But the promise of knighthood in
the horizon, and Delcan’s pursuit of the princess…This is where Stanlo’s thoughts turned the deepest black. Aria had no interest in Delcan, Stanlo was sure of it. He was not surprised at having seen her escape Delcan’s advance in the stable. She would grow tired of Delcan’s forwardness and Stanlo would be there, prepared to draw his sword and stand between them.
Stanlo drew in a deep breath as he stepped forward and toward the barracks. He saw his destiny unravel before him and smiled. On the day he knelt before the King, after the adorned sword of Marcius the Great touched his shoulder, he would stand before the princess and ask her hand in marriage.
Chapter Fifteen
It had been a month since Delcan had spoken to Sandrion. They saw each other on occasion in the courtyard while training under the knights’ gaze and exchanged distant greetings but it was not until late one evening that they were able to converse.
As part of their training, squires came to know all the duties of the King’s guards as well as those of the knights. From valiantly carrying the King’s banner into the battlefield to standing atop the watchtower for the night, the Royal Guards served as the first rank of defense to the castle and the kingdom. Delcan, Sandrion, and Stanlo were thus assigned the mundane task of standing watch atop one of the wooden platforms that ran along the front wall during the night shift. They were teamed to guard the north-western side of the wall, each armed with crossbows, and stood about ten feet apart from one another. Sandrion in the center, his arms holding the crossbow against his chest; Stanlo to his right; Delcan to his left.
"How are you surviving the rigors of squire life?" Sandrion whispered to Delcan, turning his face slightly toward his friend. There was the usual mockery undertone in his voice.
"Surviving," Delcan responded quietly. "You?"
As they spoke, the soothing, night’s breeze travelled north, carrying their whispers toward Stanlo’s ear.
"It is tiring, I must admit, but the thrill of it is addictive."
"Yes. It is like playing ’knights’ when we were children." The two of them laughed causing Stanlo to give them a stern look.
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