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

by Shiriluna Nott

  Instead, Gib focused his attention on the King and his council. Would Gib have to speak to him? Or worse—would he be questioned by the King directly? Gib didn’t know if he’d be able to answer. Neetra and Liro Adelwijn were standing close by, as were Diedrick Lyle, Anders Malin-Rai, and Joaquin Aldino. The other men who lingered were probably also council members. Gib didn’t know if he could speak in front of these learned, powerful men.

  The youngest royal children and Queen Dahlia were already gone, no doubt swept off to safety. The strange Blessed Mages had disappeared as well. Hasain was the only other Radek present, his features pale and drawn. Dean Marc hovered beside the King, muttering none too politely about how difficult it was to work on a resistant patient. Paying no heed to the healer’s laments, King Rishi paced and fired questions at Liro and Koal.

  “Who is this man? Does anyone recognize him? Is there any evidence of who he works for or if he acted alone?” The King narrowed his dark eyes at Liro. “He should have been brought to me alive for questioning, damn it!”

  Gib bit his bottom lip and leaned against the pillar. Liro shouldn’t have looked so collected and confident. He should have been nervous. Gib knew that in the same position, he would have been desperately trying to explain himself. Instead, Liro seemed apathetic. He also appeared to be backed by no less than half the royal council—Neetra the loudest supporter of them all.

  “My understudy acted as any rational man would, were they being attacked by an armed assassin,” the High Councilor replied. “Liro committed no crime by defending himself.”

  A commotion erupted in the arched entranceway and a moment later King Rishi’s personal guard, Aodan, barreled into the ballroom. His face was pulled into a fearsome scowl as he nearly flew down the steps with the assassin’s battered crossbow under one arm. His voice was loud, and he came at Liro with such ferocity that Koal stepped between the two of them.

  “What the hell happened up there? Why did ya throw him over?” Aodan demanded.

  Liro didn’t even flinch. “The assassin came at me. I tried to stop him, but in the struggle he toppled.” He fixed the red-headed man with a cold glare. “How many times will I be asked this same question?”

  Aodan pointed and snarled back, “Why were you up there anyway? Who called fer this whelp to be involved with security?” His one good eye glared around at the council.

  Neetra stuck his nose in the air. “That was me. Liro is my understudy and I sent him to act on my behalf—”

  “Yer a coward, Neetra Adelwijn, and this was a ploy to save your own neck.” Aodan aimed the crossbow, albeit empty, at Neetra and growled, “You sendin’ that boy up there has cost us our perpetrator. Who will we question now?”

  Neetra’s high whine grated Gib’s nerves. “How dare you point that weapon at me! I could have your head, you filthy—”

  “Damn it, Aodan, drop the bow!” Koal interjected. “And Neetra, calm yourself. We need to discuss this as rational men—”

  “Enough!” King Rishi ordered. All the other men fell into grudging silence around him. The King’s word was final. Rishi pointed at the lifeless body still sprawled upon the ballroom floor. “We need to figure out who he was and who he worked for.”

  Gib took a shuddering breath and couldn’t help but glance at the disheveled body lying motionless on the white marble floor. Three guards were posted around it, as if the deceased were going to jump up and go somewhere.

  The sentinel trainee looked to Joel. “Are they going to—cover his body or something? They won’t just leave it there, will they?”

  “No. They’ll get him moved,” Joel reassured. “His body will be cleaned and put in one of the common tombs.” Gib could feel the mage trainee’s eyes but lacked the strength to meet them. “If no one claims his body, that is.”

  “I know it must sound foolish, and I mean no disrespect to the King but—the assassin was still a person. He should be buried like a human being.”

  Joel’s hand was warm on Gib’s shoulder. “You’re right. And I promise you, the assassin’s body will be treated with proper respect. King Rishi wouldn’t allow for him to be defiled.”

  Dean Marc spoke next as he crossed the room toward the two students. “Of course he wouldn’t!”

  Gib jumped and turned to look up at the dean. Marc’s typical good humor was nowhere to be seen and his dark eyes held not a trace of a sparkle. In this moment, he looked like a worried father. Concern etched every fair feature of his face.

  Laying a hand on Gib’s free shoulder, Marc dropped his voice down low. “It would be bad form to disrespect the dead. Joel is right. The King won’t allow for that. The assassin will be buried after they examine his face and clothing for evidence about his origin.”

  Gib tried to find comfort in this but just couldn’t bring himself to stop feeling so—empty.

  Marc squeezed Gib’s shoulder. “You need to come with me now. Both of you. The King has questions.”

  Gib was certain he wouldn’t be able to lift his feet to cross the ballroom floor, but he found his body moving of its own accord. He and Joel shuffled in silence as they approached the King and all of his advisers.

  A hush fell over the room—even the gathered councilors dared not breathe. Gib swallowed, feeling oddly hollow. He should have been panicking by now. His breaths should have been growing rapid—but he felt nothing inside. He’d saved the King from death and watched the assassin fall to a gruesome demise, yet it was an empty void that ate away at the sentinel trainee’s heart. Was this what it felt like to be a soldier, exposed to death and danger each day? If so, would he ever feel anything again?

  They came to a full stop before the men, all of them giants in the moment. King Rishi scanned the students with dark eyes before focusing his attention on Gib. “You were there with the assassin?”

  Gib scarcely recognized his own meek voice. “Yes.”

  “What were you doing in the gallery?”

  “We wanted to watch the pyre from above.” When the King raised an eyebrow, Gib thought to explain better. “Joel and I. We were both up there.”

  The King turned his dark eyes to the mage trainee, and Joel immediately bowed. A hazy tingle in the back of Gib’s mind warned him that he should probably bow too, but he couldn’t quite relay the message to the rest of his body. King Rishi asked Joel something, but Gib’s ears were ringing so loudly he couldn’t decipher the words.

  Joel answered, voice heavy with emotion. “On the third floor. I wanted Gib to have a good view of the lighting ceremony. He’s not from Silver and had never seen a lighting before.”

  “How did you come upon the assassin?”

  Joel’s face went pale. “We found the body of a royal soldier. We wanted to yell down to you and the others, but the ceremony was too loud. I thought to get help, but Gib said there wasn’t time.” Joel took a shuddering breath. “He was right. If Gib hadn’t found the assassin when he did then—” He didn’t seem able to finish the sentence.

  The King nodded and turned back to Gib, who shrank into himself. “What happened to your face, little one?”

  Gib’s lip trembled. “He hit me. When I tried to stop him—I tried to make him stop but he fired at you anyway.” Gib stared at King Rishi through thick, damp lashes. The sight of the blood on the King’s uniform was nauseating. Where was the arrow? Who had removed it? The King must have been in pain. “I’m sorry! You could have been killed and I just—I couldn’t—”

  A hand patted the back of his neck and Marc’s gentle voice filled Gib’s ears, soothing his frazzled nerves. “Deep breaths. You’re doing well.”

  The sentinel trainee nodded but couldn’t seem to catch his breath. Why was he so overwhelmed? He’d dealt with raising his brothers by himself, bringing in crops, cold winters with little food, and even coming to this strange city alone. The death of one enemy shouldn’t have been enough to undo him so thoroughly. King Rishi glanced around before stepping away from his councilmen, impossibly tall as he a
pproached Gib. The sentinel trainee tipped his head back, trying to maintain eye contact.

  A moment later, the King had taken to one knee, meeting Gib face to face. Up close, Rishi looked like a person, just another man, and not so much a king. His dark eyes weren’t warm and compassionate like Marc’s, but they weren’t cynical either. The man looked so much like Hasain that it seemed odd he didn’t point his nose in the air when he spoke.

  “Yes, as Marc has said—breathe easy and know you’ve done all you could.” The King paused before pressing in a gentle tone. “How did you know to act? What made you look for the soldier’s killer?”

  Gib blinked. He wasn’t sure where to start.

  Koal, who had been quiet until now, swept forward. The seneschal kept his voice quiet as he leaned over King Rishi’s shoulder. “This is Gibben Nemesio of Willowdale—the boy who overheard the plot.”

  King Rishi’s eyes came into sharp focus. “You’re the one who overheard the assassin? And you happened to be in the right place at the right time tonight?”

  Gib nodded. He couldn’t think of anything to say. Looking back on it now, he supposed his story would sound incredible, maybe even unbelievable—

  As if the High Councilor could somehow read Gib’s thoughts, Neetra Adelwijn tore away from the group of advisors and came at them. “Who is this boy? Why are we wasting our time with him?”

  Koal narrowed his eyes and whirled around to face his brother. “Gibben has valuable information about what has happened tonight and possibly how the event was planned. You would do well to hold your tongue.”

  Neetra’s face contorted and his shrill voice rang off the high ceiling. “Don’t speak so lightly to me, Seneschal! I represent the Royal Council of Arden and my questions are their questions. Now, I demand some answers.”

  The King rolled his eyes but nodded. His attention flitted back to Gib. “Tell my council what you overheard.”

  Gib looked around at the shrewd faces watching him. His lungs threatened to seize again until he found Hasain within the sea of strangers. The young Radek lord met Gib’s gaze and offered silent encouragement with a simple nod.

  “When I broke my wrist before the first snow, I was running a message to Dean Marc.” Marc’s hand squeezed just a little—more encouragement. “On my way back, I heard two men talking about killing the King.” A collective gasp came from several of the councilors.

  The King seemed unfazed. “Continue.”

  Gib’s breaths were choppy, but Hasain kept eye contact and Marc’s touch was reassuring. Joel was by his side and Seneschal Koal nodded as well, encouraging him to continue. He wasn’t alone. “They were in one of the empty lecture halls in Academy. It was during class time, so I was the only one in the halls. They spoke of killing you, Sire, and I heard coins jingling.”

  A wry, wolfish smile crossed the King’s face. “Someone wanted me dead badly enough to pay this man?” He turned a devilish look onto his council. “My reputation precedes me!”

  In general, his grin was met with rolling eyes or no reaction at all. Neetra alone winced and took an unwilling step back. His thin face was blank.

  When the High Councilor managed to recompose himself, crimson stole over his fair features and he shrieked, “Are we really going to believe the words of this one peasant child? If he heard this news so many moonturns ago then why is he only telling us now?”

  Murmurs rose from the councilmen. Gib’s stomach twisted painfully. Not this again. He slammed his eyes closed, trying not to think back to when he’d been questioned in Dean Marc’s office after Midwinter.

  Hasain cleared his throat, voice meek. “He told me.” Still pale and wringing his hands, the young lord cast his eyes to the floor when everyone directed their attention toward him. “Gibben voiced his concern to me on the eve he overheard the plot.”

  An outcry came from several of the councilors at once, namely Anders Malin-Rai and Diedrick Lyle. They fired questions and accusations about Hasain’s lack of action.

  Hasain shivered and took a step back. “I was wrong! I’m sorry, Father. I thought you were too well protected to worry. It’s my fault you weren’t informed sooner.” His face was crimson and drawn into an ugly grimace.

  King Rishi looked over his shoulder and Gib could see no trace of anger or disappointment there. He looked like a father, like Gib’s own Pa when the children had made mistakes. The King’s voice was level as he replied, “Calm yourself, Hasain. Apologies can be made later. Keep your head while in council.”

  With a deep breath, the young lord nodded once and seemed to regain control over himself.

  Neetra didn’t seem to be satisfied by Hasain’s apology. “So then, really, this is the bastard’s fault.” His words scalded and even Gib flinched. “Had he not been so errant in his assumptions then this whole thing may have been avoided!”

  King Rishi rose from his knee with only the slightest wince as he cradled his injured arm. Standing to his full height, he strode over to Neetra as silently as any shadow might cross a floor. Indeed, the High Councilor didn’t realize he’d drawn the King’s wrath until Rishi was closing in. Neetra’s shrill words fell off, and he lifted an arm as if to shield himself.

  Gib sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and wished he could take Joel’s hand. He didn’t want to see any more violence tonight.

  The King’s unscathed arm shot out and his hand clenched the front of Neetra’s doublet, bringing the miserable gnat within an inch of the ruler’s face. King Rishi’s voice was a dangerous whisper. “If you ever call my son a bastard again, I’ll rip your wagging tongue from your mouth.”

  The High Councilor’s face went white. His typically sharp and prolific vocabulary left him, and all he could do was nod. The silence fell so thickly that Gib’s chest heaved from the weight of it.

  King Rishi shoved Neetra back hard enough that he stumbled. No one moved to help him. No one dared speak. Under the iron curtain of quiet, time stood still. Only when the King began to pace did life seem to lurch forward once more.

  “Enough of this for tonight. Go home, everyone. At first light, there will be a meeting.” King Rishi turned to look at his councilmen. “All of you will attend and we will figure out what to do about this.”

  The next three days blurred together. Gib had a hard time recalling what he’d said when he was called upon to go before the King and his council for a second time. He was grateful Joel was also there. The two boys were questioned yet again, more thoroughly than the night of the incident. Neetra and his supporters fired all manner of demeaning questions as if they felt Gib and Joel could have been involved with the assassin. The bile and terror rose within Gib until he could no longer speak and only then did the King stop the interrogation to remind his council the students were heroes, not enemies.

  Life at the Adelwijn estate was barely any more comfortable while the two boys awaited the final few sennights of Academy. Carmen and Heidi watched the boys’ every move, concern and something else—perhaps pity—etched into their faces. However, the girls did their best to respect Gib and Joel’s space and never once asked a single question about the assassin. Indeed, they barely spoke at all other than to offer a cup of tea here or some other form of comfort there. Gib found himself wringing his hands, wishing to go back to the dorm room and the solitude it offered.

  A rider arrived the day before they were due to return to Academy. Nawaz Arrio’s voice boomed from the door as Otos ushered him inside. Joel looked up from a scroll he was studying, and Gib locked eyes with the mage trainee. They shared a smile and bolted for the stairs.

  Lady Mrifa and Heidi made it to their guest first, but Nawaz took it all in stride, even showing the good grace to kiss Heidi’s hand and console her twittering concern for his welfare. Gib caught the young lord rolling his eyes, but all in all, the smile never fell from his face, even as he excused himself to speak to Gib and Joel.

  As soon as the three of them were alone, Nawaz put his hand over his face and laugh
ed. “How do the two of you put up with her? I’ve never known someone to fret like Heidi does.”

  Joel cut a shrewd look at the healer trainee and folded his arms over his chest. “I assure you, Heidi doesn’t fret over anyone else nearly as much as she does for you.”

  Nawaz grunted. Rolling his eyes, he flopped onto one of the lounges in the study and fixed his crystal stare on Gib. “How you feelin’, Gib? Both of you, really.”

  Gib forced a smile as he sat in a chair near the fireplace. “Fine. Why do you ask?” He fought not to cringe at the sound of his own voice. He was a terrible liar and could only hope Nawaz was stupid enough not to see. Of course, the young lord wasn’t, and Joel was having none of Gib’s denial anyway.

  The mage student cleared his throat and looked directly at Gib. “He’s having nightmares. He can’t sleep. Is there something you can do for him?”

  Gib opened his mouth to protest but was cut off by Nawaz, who jumped to his feet and flashed a wide grin. “Marc is busy tending to the King—who’s the worst patient ever—so you’re stuck with me.”

  His long stride brought him across the room in an instant and he was looking into Gib’s face as if it could give all the needed answers. Nawaz’s hands were heavy on Gib’s shoulders and the genuine look of concern was nearly enough to undo him on the spot.

  “Specific nightmares or something more vague?”

  Gib thought to lie and press that nothing was wrong—but Joel knew the truth and Nawaz was sure to know as well. Hanging his head, the sentinel trainee heaved a sigh. “I—it’s always about the assassin. I mean, it’s only been the last two nights but each time it’s the same thing.”

  Nawaz nodded and his mouth set into a thin line. “All right. Have you talked to anyone about the dreams? Or about your experience with the assassin?”