by M. S. Brook
“That will take some getting used to,” Mama said.
“Mm, it’s heavy.” I pulled the short-sleeved tunic over the mail and belted it with my sword belt. When I looked in the mirror, I was so pleased with Mama’s results that I didn’t want to change back into my normal clothing.
“You do look like a Guardian,” she said.
I saw the wistful look in her eyes and wanted to say how much I would miss her, but I couldn’t seem to find the words.
Not long before we were to leave, Papa asked me to come round to the smithy. “I have something to show you,” he said, leading me out to the stables. There, in one of the stalls, was the most beautiful stallion I’d ever seen. His coat was a shiny golden color, and his mane and tail were creamy white. My heart turned over, and not just because he was beautiful. He was the exact likeness of the golden warhorse in my warrior dream. I’d told no one that particular detail, but there he was—ears pricked, proud neck arched, looking at me with intelligent brown eyes.
“Papa! Where did you get him?”
“I found him up at Redmont at the horse farm. What do you think? Do you like him?”
“Like him? Papa!”
“His name is Morningstar, and he’s a fully trained warhorse. He won’t shy away from noise or danger.” He patted Morningstar’s golden neck, and the stallion showed off for me, stamping and blowing, shaking his powerful head. “A warrior princess needs a noble steed, and Penmar, bless him, is getting a bit long in the tooth for it.”
I felt a sharp twinge at the thought of losing Penmar, but Papa was right, he was getting too old for the hard riding we would do every day on patrol.
“What will happen to Penmar?”
“Don’t you worry, we’ll take good care of him. I’ll have to take on an apprentice when you leave, and he’ll need a horse. Penmar will have plenty to do without being overworked.”
I swallowed. I hadn’t thought of Papa taking an apprentice, but of course, he would have to. Penmar wasn’t the only one about to be replaced. I took another long look at Morningstar. “He’s fit for a king, Papa.”
“Well, then, he’ll be just the horse for you, won’t he?”
Morningstar threw his head back and blew a few puffs through his nostrils, almost as if he understood what Papa had said.
“You and I are going to get along just fine,” I said to the golden warhorse. “Now, how about a run down the training trail?”
“I’ll leave you to it,” Papa said.
On the last day, Uncle Leo and I packed my treatment bag with all the herbs, ointments, tinctures, and bandages it would hold. “Hard to believe you’re leaving tomorrow,” he said. “It’s all gone very fast.”
“I guess it has.”
Uncle Leo’s busy hands paused for a moment. “You’re very quiet today.”
“There’s a lot to think about.”
He looked at me, and I sighed. “I should be happy…it’s just that I’ve dreamed all these years of being a warrior, and now, here I am. I have the armor, the sword, and the warhorse, but I am still not recognized as a warrior. Every time I wear the Red and Blues, I must remember what I am not.” I grabbed a stack of neatly folded bandages and shoved them into the treatment bag. “Why do I never fit the mold?”
“Ah.” Uncle Leo straightened the bag and made room for another pot or two of ointment. “Sometimes the closer you are to your dream, the harder it is to believe. I once told you that no one can tell you what you can or cannot be. Do you remember?”
“Yes, Uncle.”
“Well, then. You must believe all the more. It matters what people think of you, but it matters much more what you think of yourself.”
My talk with Uncle Leo gave me the idea of making a copy of the king’s letter to carry with me. I found a blank sheet of paper among my old school things and copied the letter word for word. I folded it to the size of my shirt pocket. When I wore the mail coat, I would feel the creased corners of the letter underneath forming a shield over my heart.
Chapter 16
The oval lane in front of the tower was accustomed to the coming and going of patrols; only a few people were at the gates to bid us farewell on the morning of our departure. We were forty strong, lined up two abreast, with Uncle Fergal in command at the front. Arvel and I took a place near the middle of the column, followed by the packhorses and the rest of the men.
I couldn’t help thinking we made an impressive sight, all kitted out in our Red and Blues, with round bronze shields hanging from our left shoulders. The company standard, a soaring eagle on a sky-blue field, whipped about in the stiff morning breeze.
I looked across the lane at Mama, standing between Papa and Uncle Leo. Her warm face was streaked with tears. She wiped her eyes, and Papa’s strong arm tightened around her shoulders. Uncle Leo stood to the side, looking as solemn and solitary as I’d ever seen him. My chest felt tight. I tried to shrug it off, but the uncomfortable feeling didn’t go away.
Sergeant Azar sang out the orders, and we set off, leaving family and home behind us, trotting around the oval lane past the smithy, past the Household cottages, and down the hill toward Highfield Town. I looked back several times, but my view of Mama and Papa was blocked by the men behind me.
Ironclad shoes rang hollow on the paving stones as we rode through Highfield Town and then across the town bridge, startling the swans that were swimming under the gray stone arches. On the other side of the river, we passed the last of the comfortable town cottages with their thatched roofs and brightly painted doors. We rode on through farming country, the neat hedgerows and patches of green fields all as familiar as could be, but the farther we went, the bigger the pain in my chest grew.
Was I supposed to feel this way? I stared at the line of red tunics in front of me and wondered how the Guardians felt about leaving home. I glanced at Arvel, riding beside me. He grinned back at me. “There’s nothing like the first day of patrol!”
I nodded, feeling none of his excitement. That last glimpse of Mama’s face was still with me. She had never wanted me to be a warrior. Why did I have to do this to her? If she had another daughter, it might be different…but I was all she had. And somehow I was hers, and yet not.
I was so lost in my thoughts that I hardly noticed the land changing around me. We were out of the familiar, cultivated farmlands already and into a wilder, less traveled country, surrounded by woods on either side. A hawk keened above us, and Morningstar’s ears pricked, reminding me that I had even left dear old Penmar behind. Nothing of my old life was here.
I stared at the red line in front of me, my mind spinning thoughts faster than Mama’s spinning wheel. Had I made a mistake? What had possessed me to come on this patrol when I clearly did not belong?
Out of habit, I reached for the chain I always wore around my neck. The one thing that was still the same. I closed my fingers over the pendant, comforted by the solid weight and the familiar smoothness of its polished edges. When I tucked the stone away, I felt the crinkle of paper in my pocket. The king’s letter. I’d forgotten it was there. As if awakened from sleep, my dream came slowly back. I was a warrior like my father. Even though my people did not know it, they needed me to be strong, because one day I would lead them. My father said I had a destiny, and even though it seemed far too grand for me, I knew that I must find him and help him set the realm back in order. I would never find the king by staying at home. I had to go out and search for him, and now that I’d taken the first step, I couldn’t let anything discourage me. I thrust the smothering web of fear from my mind and spoke out loud.
“I am a warrior!”
Arvel leaned toward me. “What’s that?”
“Oh!” I felt my face heat up. “I was talking to myself.”
He smiled and pointed to the wooded hills ahead. “Look how much the land has changed already. We’re in the forest no
w.”
Ahead of us, the trees nearly concealed the roadway. A northerly wind was whispering among the green leaves. I breathed the fragrant, woodsy air deep into my chest and blew away the last of the clinging cobwebs.
Presently, we stopped by a small brook for a rest. My hips and shoulders were stiff as I slid off Morningstar’s back. I did the stretching drills Uncle Leo had taught me and listened to the banter of the men. We took a few minutes to fill our canteens and splash water in our faces, breaking our hunger with hunks of cheese and small, round barley loaves from our saddlebags.
If the men found it strange to have me traveling with them, no one mentioned it, but I could sense that they were not quite sure how to act around me. I didn’t blame them; I felt the same way.
“All right, Aidriana?” Sandy-haired and burly as a tree trunk, Second Sergeant Torin could have been a twin of Azar, who was serving as our first sergeant. “Your first time out can be a little unsettling, but you’ll get used to it.” He slapped me on the shoulder and then got an awkward look on his face, as if unsure if a friendly pat was the right approach.
I smiled. “I’m fine, sir. Thank you.”
Before it was time to go, Uncle Fergal had a quiet word with me. “It will get better, Aidriana, give it time. The first patrol is always a little hard.”
It was? I wondered if new men had doubts too. Maybe sometime I would have the courage to ask Arvel.
After we stopped for middays, it was harder to stay alert. I swayed with the monotonous motion of the saddle, dazzled by the afternoon sun dancing in the rustling trees. But the men in front of me were not tempted to sleep. Their heads moved from side to side, before and after, watching for signs of anything out of the ordinary.
Sergeant Azar started a marching song, and the men sang heartily, though several, including Arvel, were not completely tuneful. I joined in as soon as I picked up the words. Singing, at least, was something I was confident I could do.
“Well done, Aidriana,” Azar called back to me when we’d finished. “It’s good to hear a real singer, what with all the donkey braying goin’ on.”
“Hey there! Who’re you calling a donkey?” said Arvel, and everyone laughed.
From time to time we’d break into a song, and I found it helped me keep alert. The rhythm of the patrol was finding its way inside of me.
Before evening, the road was again edged with dry stone walls and hedges, the green meadows broken up by neat patches of crops and grazing lands. We met up with several farmers along the way, and when it was time to stop for the night, one of them was more than happy to let us sleep in his barn for the night.
We stewed dried venison and beans over a cooking fire and ate our evening meal. After the last cups of tea were downed, I found a place that afforded a bit of privacy from the men and spread my bedroll on a fragrant layer of hay. I meant to think about Mama and Papa, and Uncle Lionel and Nieve, but I was asleep before the last lantern was snuffed out.
Near dusk on our fourth day out, we came upon a small village in the Emerald Dales called Oxfield. The villagers welcomed us with open arms and invited us to sleep by the hearth in the village hall. With the ever-present threat of raiders, they were more than happy to have kingsmen passing through. The women brought us roasted meat, vegetables, and fresh bread, and the men stayed for a jar and exchange of news.
After the meal, I went to see Morningstar, who was corralled behind the hall. We’d taken care of our horses before eating, but Arvel went out with me to check that everything was in order. I brushed Morningstar’s coat a bit more and let him tickle my neck with his warm breath. “What do you suppose they’re doing at home?” I said to Arvel.
“Hm…let me see.” Arvel squeezed his eyes shut. “Oh, yes. Your mother and father are tucked away in their sitting room, having a chat with Mister Lionel. The candles were just lit, and the men have their feet up. Your mother is mending the shirt your father tore yesterday. She just said, ‘I wonder what Aidriana is doing tonight?’ and your father replied, ‘It’s a good thing, my dear, that brave Arvel is with her, keeping her safe!’”
I laughed. “You must have the gift of sight. I’ve no doubt that’s what’s happening.”
I found reason to stay outside as long as I could, tinkering with Morningstar’s harness, comfortable with Arvel and our contented horses, who were munching on their hay. It was dusk when we went back inside and joined the men relaxing by the fireplace. I propped my bedroll against the wall to rest my tired back, and Arvel stretched his long legs out beside me. I let my mind wander, again thinking about home and what Mama and Papa and Nieve might be doing, until a gray-bearded villager strode into the room.
“It is well that you’re here, Captain,” he said to Uncle Fergal. “There’s been more trouble at the Evergreen settlement.”
“What trouble?” asked Uncle Fergal. “We’re headed that direction tomorrow.”
“Another attack by a Dominian war band, the worst yet from what I’ve heard.”
“Saduk can’t keep his hands off Evergreen,” another man said.
“It’s true. He’s made every effort to plague them,” said the graybeard. “The Blackcoats don’t seem to mind that it’s their own countrymen they’re fighting.” He shook his head. “It’s been a hard road for Evergreen. They’re plucky enough to escape Saduk and make a new life for themselves, but he won’t let them live in peace.”
The men murmured in disapproval, and Fergal scrubbed his thick yellow mustache with his knuckles. “Might’ve been a mistake to allow the refugees to settle at Plevsferry, but that’s what they wanted—to be within eyesight of their homeland across the river. With no nearby ford or ferry, we hoped they’d have a chance. But it seems the raiders are willing to go out of their way.”
“That’s Saduk,” said the graybeard. “The Evergreens once belonged to him, and he can’t let them go free.”
The men were silent. After a bit, Uncle Fergal said, “We may have to establish an outpost to protect Evergreen.”
“They won’t want it. They’re standoffish and proud,” said the graybeard.
“Proud or not, we can’t allow the raids to continue. The Evergreens came here for refuge. We will not let Saduk torment them on our land.”
Chapter 17
Two days later we reached the edge of Evergreen Forest and crested the hill overlooking the mighty River Plevin. The river valley was a lush green color, the soil dark and rich, perfect for farming, but we did not see farmers working in the fields, nor were cattle feeding on the hillsides. We were greeted, instead, by devastation. The once cultivated fields of Evergreen were blackened stubble, the houses and barns heaps of burnt stone and ash. Small mounds, dark with foraging vultures, were all that remained of the cattle that once grazed the verdant hills. Rows of blackened chimneys stood like lonely sentinels, guarding the memory of a once thriving settlement.
Uncle Fergal made an abrupt hand signal for us to pull up. Sergeants Azar and Torin hurried to his side. Without being ordered, the patrol fanned outward, watching for signs of enemy presence.
Uncle Fergal’s voice was taut when he addressed us. “This was a vicious act of war. But we must deal with that later. For now, we need to know if the enemy is still in the region and if there are survivors. If any settlers survived the attack, they’re likely hiding in the forest.” He glanced over his shoulder toward the dark green woods that shadowed the road to the south of us. “I’d rather not go in after them. It’ll be tricky to find them, and we don’t know what’s in there waiting for us. If someone starts shooting at us, we won’t know if it’s the Blackcoats still lurking about, or the settlers thinking we’re with the Blackcoats. It will be better for everyone if we can draw them out. But they’ll have to understand that we’re here to help them.” The men nodded their understanding, still keeping a lookout for the raiders while the captain spoke.
“Her
e’s what we will do. We’ll head down to the village and have a look around. We’ll give it some time. But if no one comes to us, we’ll have to go looking for them. Arvel, you two will have to go with us, but stay in the midst of our group at all times. Any questions?”
No one voiced a question, but my mind was storming with them. How could anyone do this to a peaceful village? This thoughtless wastefulness of life. If Saduk had ordered it, what kind of a man must he be?
“All right. Let’s move!” said the captain.
Uncle Fergal led the way downhill to what remained of Evergreen. All around us was destruction—even dogs and horses were not spared. Busy vultures were disturbed by our arrival, hopping and fussing as we neared. Reluctant to surrender their spoils, they flew up and circled in the sky above us. Only the flies stood their ground. I turned away from the sight of them swarming on the dead animals.
The smell of smoke hung over the ruined houses. I sipped from my canteen, trying to wash away the choking feeling in the back of my throat. I imagined the blazing wildfire, leaping from roof to roof, devouring the defenseless timber buildings. I could almost sense the fear—children screaming, hungry flames reaching skyward. I shivered in the warm afternoon sun.
We searched through the ruins for signs of life, but found neither friend nor foe—no human remains either, not until one of the Guardians gave a shout of discovery. At the edge of the settlement was a large mound of freshly dug soil. Forty-seven stones were laid on top in careful rows, nine of them markedly smaller, no doubt representing children.
