A Call to Arms: Book One of the Chronicles of Arden

by Shiriluna Nott

  Gib nodded so hard his curls bounced. “Yes. The conspirator mentioned how—forgive my directness, he said it, not me—Rishi Radek is overconfident. That he isn’t as smart as he thinks he is and they could use that against him.”

  Hasain’s face constricted into an ugly, red mask. He flinched backward, nearly causing the stool to topple. “Traitor! This common lowlife thinks he may speak of my father, our king, without title or respect?”

  Joel put a hand on Hasain’s shoulder. “Perhaps it’s someone who knows King Rishi well. It would make more sense for them to speak lightly of someone they know.”

  “A snake.”

  There was a pause. Joel bit his bottom lip, his next words chosen carefully. “One of possibly many snakes, Hasain—and if there are more than one, the others could still be poised to attack. We must warn the King.”

  Hasain was on his feet so fast Gib nearly fell back onto his bed. The young lord was already at the door before he stopped to look back at them. He pointed one long finger at Gib and growled through gritted teeth, “Say not a single word, Nemesio, until I tell you to. We have no idea where these snakes may be lying in wait.”

  Gib rose to his feet but found his knees shaking. He understood what Hasain was saying, but the weight of his secret was already crushing him. “There must be someone I can tell! Someone who can protect the King.”

  Joel snapped his fingers. “What about Dean Marc? He and my father are like brothers and they both work hand in hand with King Rishi—“

  Hasain waved the mage trainee off. “No. Both are with the King and his trusted council now. No precaution is being spared for the royal family. Gib will have to wait until I can speak to the King or someone trustworthy.” He opened the door and leveled Gib with another dark glare. “Silence, Nemesio, absolute silence.”

  Gib found himself tossing and turning the entire night. What if the assassin came back? What if King Rishi’s life was taken this time? His heart pounded at the thought of Arden crumbling. Who would lead the country if the King were to die? What would happen to poor people like Gib and his brothers? Or girls and women? Would the King be replaced by someone cruel, like Neetra or Liro Adelwijn? Gib sat up, gasping for air. Chhaya’s bane, why me? Why did I have to be the one to overhear those men? It should have been someone with power. Someone who knew what to do. If it had been someone braver, they could have stormed into the room and unveiled the assassin and none of this would have happened.

  “Gib?” Joel’s voice was soft as he sat up as well. The moonlight played over his dark hair. “You must try to get some sleep. Hasain is on your side now. You’ll be able to tell your story soon.”

  “What if the assassin gets the King tonight?” Gib blurted, unable to remain quiet. “What if he hurts the royal family before Seneschal Koal and the others can figure out who he is?”

  “It’s frightening, I know, but you have to understand that the King and his family are better protected than anyone else in Arden.” Joel paused and, even in the dark, Gib could see his roommate grimace. “King Rishi has a bodyguard who never leaves his side. And the entire family has the best trained and most loyal guards in all the land. Not to mention the Blessed Mages. Believe me, the King and his family are well protected.”

  Gib tried to find conviction in those words. The rational part of his mind knew Joel was probably right. He would voice his concern if there were any to be had. Likewise, the mage trainee wouldn’t lie and say he was confident in the protection offered to the royal family if he truly wasn’t. Gib knew these things, but he just couldn’t get his mind to calm, so he settled on a reference Joel had made. “Blessed Mages? Is that an elite faction of magery?”

  “No, not exactly.” Joel laughed, a whisper of sound in the otherwise silent room. “The Blessed Mages are rumored to be a gift from The Two—Father says the rumors are ridiculous but he’s never fully explained where they came from either—and their power is unlike anything any mortal mage possesses. The Blessed Mages are loyal to King Rishi and his family. Have faith in them, if no one else.”

  The story had merit, fantastical and otherworldly merit as it may be. It should have been able to calm Gib’s nerves but even as he lay back down, he knew sleep was a lost cause.

  When the first light of day crept over the horizon, he drew himself out of bed and prepared for his bath. Joel stirred, and Gib tried to comfort the older boy back to sleep with promises to wake him after Gib’s bath was finished.

  The mage trainee frowned. “You didn’t sleep at all, did you?”

  “A little here and there.” The lie tasted bitter, but Gib knew the truth would cause his friend even more grief. “Please sleep a bit more. I’m sorry for waking you.”

  Joel didn’t say any more and lay still as if he were going to try to rest, but Gib was sure this was also a lie. The sentinel trainee left for the bathing chamber, trying not to feel guilty for waking his friend.

  Gib was unable to enjoy his bath with so much melancholy floating in his head and the secret still pressing on his conscience. When the morning bell rang, he made his way to the dining hall for breakfast. Perhaps a hearty meal would help clear his mind.

  As soon as he arrived, Gib knew keeping his silence was going to be hard. The entire hall was packed tight and all around him he could hear whispers about the royal scandal. Theories abounded, each crazier than the last, and Gib locked his jaw to keep from pointing out how ridiculous these students were making themselves sound. With tray in hand, he went about trying to find an empty seat.

  “Nemesio!”

  Kezra flagged him over to where she and his other friends had managed to hunker down.

  “Thanks.” Gib could think of nothing else to say as he sat down beside her.

  Tarquin lost no time in leaning across the table to interrogate Gib. “You must have heard the news about the King! What do you think?”

  Gib took a drink from his goblet in an attempt to buy time, but he wasn’t any good at stalling. When he couldn’t shake the three sets of eyes on him, he shrugged. “I heard, yeah, but I don’t know—maybe speculations should be left to people with more authority.” His answer sounded feeble, even to himself.

  Kezra cocked an eyebrow. She was entirely too clever for this game. Her sly voice suggested she wasn’t fooled at all. “You don’t think it has anything to do with what you overheard before Midwinter, do you?”

  Gib’s face burst with uncomfortable heat. Why was she looking at him so narrowly? And why were the others focused on him as well? Shouldn’t they all be eating their breakfast and preparing for class? “I, uh—I don’t know. I guess it’s a good thing the King is well protected.”

  Nage nodded. “It’s true. He has the best guards in all of Arden at his disposal. But someone almost got through them once already. If I were the King, I’d be looking for some better guards.”

  Tarquin balked and pointed out the soldiers who protected the royal family were the best trained. He went on about the honor of such a respectable position and that Nage had no idea what he was saying. Nage fired back and the two descended into a heated discussion about it. Gib wasn’t interested in anything they had to say, but at the moment he would give anything to be included in the argument. Their conversation would be easier to handle than Kezra’s hard glare.

  Gib deliberately avoided her gaze, but she wouldn’t relent. Leaning across the table and keeping her voice low, Kezra skewered him. “If I were you, I’d tell someone.”

  He nodded and took another sip from his chalice. Gods, he wished she’d stop looking at him. “Yeah. I mean, I guess I could. Maybe if I have time later.”

  Kezra leaned back into her seat. Her critical look was all he needed to know she knew he was being dishonest. Gib wished he could speak to her—to all of his friends even—but mostly Kezra. He wanted to tell them about the conversation with Hasain and how he’s been sworn to silence, but he couldn’t trust Tarquin to keep his big mouth shut and Nage was unlikely to have any helpful advice.


  Silence, Nemesio, absolute silence.

  Hasain’s words echoed in his mind like a sinister threat. No. He couldn’t tell her. Could she not see it in his face? Gib pleaded with her, silently, and Kezra finally withdrew just a little.

  “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  Gib wanted to thank her. He truly wished he could. Instead, he nodded toward her plate. “You’d better eat, Kez. Practice is sure to be brutal after having so much time away.”

  The space which served as the training arena during the winter months was so packed with students that Gib squeezed himself against the wall to enter the room. Kezra, Tarquin, and Nage stayed close by.

  Gib groaned. “Well, this is lovely. Why isn’t everyone in formation? Master Roland is going to make us all run laps outside in the snow.”

  “I don’t see him,” Kezra replied, her green eyes darting around the room.

  Tarquin stood on his toes, craning his neck as he looked for their instructor. “Roland’s the Weapons Master so maybe he’s at the palace because of—well, you know.”

  Nage coughed. “Speaking of missing persons, has anyone seen Diddy? He wasn’t at breakfast and he ain’t here either.”

  Diddy. Gib’s guts were as tight as ever. What was going on? What if they were trying to figure out who the assassin was and Gib’s information could help them? What if they didn’t call on him, and because of that Diddy or one of the other members of the royal family were hurt—or killed?

  His anxiety must have shown. Kezra was glaring at him with no remorse. “Rethinking this vow of silence yet?”

  Gib opened his mouth but only a shuddering gasp would come out. He was supposed to wait until Hasain returned to him with further instruction. “I–I can’t. Kezra, you have to believe me.”

  Hunter green eyes narrowed into threatening slits. Kezra jabbed a finger into Gib’s chest and spat, “If your silence causes more harm, Gibben Nemesio, you’d best pray I don’t get my hands on you.”

  The sentinel trainee shuddered, knowing it was no idle threat. Kezra always meant what she said. “I know. If–if anything changes, I’ll find you. I just can’t say—”He took a breath, wishing he could make her understand. “My silence is taking all the faith I have. Please try to have as much faith in me.”

  Kezra frowned. “I put no faith in men.”

  A hush fell over the trainees as their instructor approached. Otho Dakheel, the assistant to the Weapons Master, stepped forward. Raising both hands, the young soldier demanded silence and the trainees conformed. Only a couple years older than Gib, the assistant commanded respect with his intimidating poise and eerie pale eyes.

  “You’ve all heard of the attack on the King.” Otho spoke quietly, though he didn’t need to raise his voice. The arena had fallen into complete silence. “Our Weapons Master is otherwise engaged until further notice. You’ll be taking your lessons from me.”

  No one questioned this pronouncement. They fell into formation and followed each command as though it had come from Roland himself. Otho ordered them to find their normal sparring partners, even stopping long enough to put Gib with Tarquin and Kezra. “Your partner isn’t here. Join up with these two.”

  Gib nodded. “Y–yes, sir. Uh, Otho, sir? Is Diddy all right? Do you know why he isn’t here?”

  Otho’s odd yellow-green eyes speared the student. “Fall in, Nemesio. You’re behind in your training.”

  Gib bit his tongue and followed along with the other two, despairing when he realized the words were true. He did have a lot of catching up to do. Even though he’d been close enough to see most of the new drills, he hadn’t had the practice of his fellow students due to his injury. Spirit dim, he nonetheless raised his wooden sword. He had only one way to improve—by practicing—even if he wasn’t in the mood to do anything besides fret about his current predicament.

  Tarquin did his best to show Gib how to properly do the new moves. Kezra, on the other hand, was relentless. Gib was so caught up with avoiding her angry sword strikes that he failed to notice a pair of newcomers entering the arena. Tarquin broke formation to look at the guests, and Gib finally realized they were being watched—or rather, he was being watched.

  Two royal guards, dressed in fine plated armor, were speaking to Otho and pointing in Gib’s direction. He winced as horrible thoughts flashed through his mind. I didn’t say a word! Are they here to arrest me anyway? Oh Goddesses, where is Hasain—

  Otho trotted over, flanked by the guards. Gib drew back but had nowhere to run, no place he could escape or hide from them. He was vaguely aware of the other students in the room shuffling out of the way—all except Tarquin and Kezra. If anything, his two friends moved closer. Were they trying to protect him? He didn’t have time to ponder it as Otho opened his mouth to speak.

  “Gibben, you’ve been summoned.”

  He blinked. Summoned? Summoned where?

  Otho motioned for Gib to follow the royal guardsmen. The sentinel trainee looked back to Tarquin and Kezra for assistance, but the look on his friends’ faces told him they could do nothing.

  Gib straightened his back and put on the bravest smile he could muster. “O–okay. I’m ready.” No, I’m not ready. I don’t even know where I’m being taken.

  He wasn’t sure if his words were decipherable, meek as they were, but the royal guardsmen must have heard him, for they turned on their heels and marched toward the door in perfect unison. Gib had to run to keep up with them. As he left the arena, the sentinel trainee was painfully aware that all eyes were on him.

  Gib was surprised to find Hasain and Joel standing in the corridor outside. Hasain was frigid as always, but Joel offered a faint smile in greeting. It was clear the two young lords had been waiting for Gib.

  “Hasain? Joel? W–what are you doing here?” Gib dared to ask.

  Hasain turned a shrewd eye. “We’re going to Seneschal Koal so you can tell him everything you know.”

  Gib’s heart was pounding in his chest so viciously it hurt, but he had no time to ask further questions as Hasain had already turned on his heels and begun to stride away. The two guardsmen followed behind the young Radek lord, ominous and silent.

  Joel set a hand against Gib’s trembling arm. “It will be all right. You aren’t in trouble,” the mage trainee assured. “We’re going to Marc’s office. Follow.”

  Gib nodded, keeping one eye on the guardsmen. If he wasn’t in trouble then why did he need soldiers to escort him? The sentinel trainee glanced at Joel, who gave a gentle nod. It was a small comfort.

  All too soon, they were standing in front of Dean Marc’s office. Gib swallowed. He wasn’t sure if he was relieved to be there or terrified of what questions he might be asked once they went inside. Hasain struck the heavy door, echoes jumping off the stone walls around them as they all waited for a response.

  The door opened, and Dean Marc poked his head through the crack. The scowl contorting his fair features quickly retreated. “Thank the Two. I thought you were Diedrick Lyle, returning early from his midday meal.” His dark eyes darted back and forth across the corridor before opening the door fully and standing aside. “Come in, come in!”

  Hasain nodded curtly, sweeping inside, and Gib hurried along behind the young lord, vaguely aware of Joel’s hand offering silent support on Gib’s shoulder. Marc ushered the three boys into the office, closing the door behind them. Gib blinked in the dim light, unsure of what—if anything—he should do or say.

  “Gibben Nemesio, have a seat.”

  Gib reeled when he realized Seneschal Koal Adelwijn had spoken. How had Hasain convinced the right hand of King Rishi to come away from his duties long enough for this? A hard knot formed in the pit of Gib’s stomach as he followed orders and sat down.

  Koal swept over from the depths of the shadows near Diedrick Lyle’s desk, his features grim. The Instruction Master’s desk was occupied by Roland Korbin whose sharp eyes focused on Gib.

  Marc sat on the corner of his desk and fo
lded his arms over his chest. His voice pressed, but he wasn’t condescending. “Gibben, it has been brought to our attention that you may have valuable information about the recent attempt on our king’s life. Is this true?”

  Gib’s heart was pounding. “Y–yes. Well—I mean, I don’t know if it’s valuable or not.”

  The seneschal was pacing across the marbled floor but stopped long enough to give Gib a withering glare. “Damn it. Don’t you realize the importance of the royal family’s safety? Keeping silent in such a situation is punishable as treason.”

  Oh. He hadn’t considered—was he a traitor? Would he be hung or beheaded for such a terrible lapse in judgment? Gib’s mouth fell open but no words came out.

  To his right, Joel stiffened and started to raise his voice—only to be cut off by Hasain.

  The young Radek lord took a deep bow before leaping in. “Apologies, Seneschal. The fault is mine, not Gibben’s. He came to me on the day in question, but I discredited the threat as that of a disgruntled servant or teacher. It was my lack of judgment that may have—” His smooth voice shuddered there as he sucked in a breath of air. “—caused my father harm.”

  “Or cost him his life,” the seneschal spat. Gone was the reserved gentility of the worried father Gib had spoken to three nights past. This Koal Adelwijn was more terrible and frightening than anyone the student had ever seen. No one in the room dared to move under the seneschal’s heavy glare.

  Even Hasain, who had seemed so powerful and in control only moments before, kept his head low. His voice was weak. “I know. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I let my pride cloud my judgment.”

  A stretch of uncomfortable silence fell upon them until Dean Marc cleared his throat. “Gibben, please, time is of the essence. What do you know?”

  Insides churning, the sentinel trainee managed to open his mouth a second time. The words spilled forth like a flooded river. Gib told them where he’d been and why. He tried to recollect every detail and answered each question to the best of his ability. Koal pressed for details about who the two men may have been while Roland spoke up to ask about what sort of plans may have been discussed. It was frustrating to have so few answers for them, and the men seemed to grow upset as well.