by I K Spencer
"Excellent tactics Cadet Anthen," a deep voice called from the darkness beyond the alley intersection.
Anthen reached for his steel and then paused, realizing that the pursuer knew his identity.
"I appreciate the compliment, sir. To whom may I offer my thanks?" Anthen replied with a hand on either weapon at his disposal.
The speaker moved into the dim light of the alley junction and Anthen could see a short, broad figure. He tensed but did not move as the man reached into his cloak. The cadet saw the familiar spark of an igniter and in a moment a smoky torch illuminated the alley junction. He could hear the rats scurry but did not take his eyes from the squat figure. He noted a wide face and a square jaw covered with a short beard. He also noticed the large hand that held the torch and the massive arm it belonged to.
"I am Garrick. To you, though, I am Master Garrick," the man finally replied.
Anthen was momentarily shocked at the statement, hearing the bearded man claim to be a guardsman. Anthen struggled for a reply.
"You would prefer proof that I am of the Guard?" Garrick offered.
Anthen nodded and without a word, the elder man tossed the torch to Anthen, who gracefully caught it while his gaze never strayed from the other man. Smiling, Garrick reached into his cloak and produced a vial of green powder. He gestured for Anthen to take the small container.
"You are familiar with this?" Garrick asked while baring his right arm up to the elbow.
"Yes, sir." Anthen replied and handed the vial back to the man.
Garrick poured a small amount of the powder into his left hand, then rubbed the powder into the proper place on the outside of his right forearm. As he rubbed, Anthen heard him mutter something about not having to use the powder for twenty years and then using it twice in the span of one month. Garrick brushed off the arm and held it up to the younger man for inspection. Anthen held the torch closer and viewed the unmistakable crown-and-sword crest.
"At your service, Master Garrick." Anthen saluted and snapped to attention, all doubt erased.
"Relax Cadet and follow me," Garrick replied and started down the alley that led to the main thoroughfare.
Anthen fell in behind the guardsman, who motioned for him to walk along side. The pair reached the main road and turned right, the original direction Anthen had been walking. He was very excited inside but remained placid. There were a thousand questions he would like to ask the guardsman but it was not an appropriate time. It was Garrick who asked questions, mainly about the academy, as they walked.
After a couple of blocks, Garrick directed Anthen into another tavern. He followed the older man through the door of the noisy place. This ale house served a more common clientele and the crowd was quite rowdy. Garrick made his way unobtrusively to the back, past several large tables filled mostly with drunken men. Anthen followed suit, trying to draw as little attention as possible. Surprisingly to Anthen, they made it through the boisterous crowd without incident and slipped through a door.
Anthen followed Garrick down a hallway and through another door. Garrick closed the door behind them and turned to face another man, seated at a small table in the center of the room.
"Sire, I present Cadet Anthen." Garrick stated and snapped to attention.
Anthen was again shocked but composed enough to kneel before this man he assumed was King Jamen.
"Rise, Anthen. We are not here for formalities." voiced the soft-spoken man.
Anthen rose and looked fully at the man. He was tall and slender, about the same height as Anthen. His hair was nearly shoulder-length and brown but with a reddish hue and streaks of gray. A matching short beard and thin mustache framed his narrow face. His clothes were plain but well tailored and Anthen knew he was a nobleman even if he was not the king.
"I am Jamen," the man offered as he approached Anthen with his arm extended.
"It is a great honor, Your Majesty," Anthen replied and shook hands with the monarch. He was shocked but tried desperately to maintain his composure.
"It is a great honor to meet you Anthen," Jamen returned warmly. "Please, everyone be seated."
The trio gathered around the table and Anthen and Garrick waited for the king to be seated before taking their seats. Jamen pushed an ale towards each man and took a drink of his own half-empty mug before continuing. "Anthen, we are here to enlist your aid in order to deal with a very grave situation. I am sorry we are meeting under such circumstances but Isaencarl is facing the most dangerous time in its existence. We are going to tell you what we know and then discuss your role. Please interrupt us with any questions you have."
He nodded at Garrick to begin, and for the next hour, Anthen listened to the tale. Garrick recounted his story, then the king described his experience with the guardsman leader. As instructed, the cadet interrupted whenever he needed clarification, which was often. He was shocked by the attack on Garrick by a fellow guardsman but grew increasingly angrier as Garrick's theory unfolded. The possibility that nearly half the country's guardsmen were under some spell seemed farfetched to him and there was minimal evidence to support their suspicions against Cidrl.
In reality, the tale shocked the young cadet to such an extent that he could not accept their hypothesis and his anger came from their threat to his perfect image of the Guard, the image he had spent his life preparing for. None of this inner turmoil, however, was visible to Garrick or the king. Anthen's calm visage and voice did not give a hint of his emotions, however.
When they finished, Anthen stared hard at Garrick. "What proof do you have that any other guardsmen, besides the one that attacked you, have conspired to kill fellow guardsmen?"
"There is no proof," Garrick replied.
"What proof do you possess to suggest Cidrl is somehow corrupting all his apprentices or controlling them with a powerful spell?" Anthen asked coolly.
"There is no proof," Garrick repeated. "If, however, you consider the possibility of the first point, the second becomes reasonable. An attempt was made on my life by a fellow guardsman and a high number of deaths have occurred in recent years. Anthen, we agree that these assumptions could be wrong but, considering the consequences, it is worth pursuing some course of action. It is better that you be aware of our suspicions of Cidrl. Regardless, it is our duty to serve His Majesty."
Anthen looked directly at Jamen. "What proof do I have to your identity?"
"Cadet! That is enough!" Garrick bellowed, storming to his feet, but Jamen raised his hand to silence the furious guardsman.
"That is a fair question, considering the circumstances," offered the king, smiling at Anthen. "More than that it is a shrewd question. Anthen, will you be at the bow range sometime tomorrow?"
Anthen nodded. "After breakfast."
"I will arrange an impromptu visit and you will see me with the royal procession tomorrow. Will that convince you of my identity?"
"Yes, Sire," Anthen replied, trying to keep his voice steady after detecting no insincerity in the other man.
"Good, then let us come to the point of this discussion," Jamen continued. "We want you to continue as if this meeting never took place. You will finish your days at the academy, celebrate your graduation, and journey to join Cidrl in Gates. Garrick will follow you to Gates and the two of you will meet secretly during the course of your apprenticeship. If there is any trouble, Master Garrick will be there for you. If Cidrl is innocent, then your apprenticeship will continue as planned. Is this reasonable?"
"Yes, Sire."
Garrick continued the instructions. "Arrange to arrive in Gates at dusk so that you have a night alone before completing the journey. Walk to the southern perimeter of the city and I will find you. At that time we will work out an arrangement on how to meet in the future and a way to signal each other should the need arise. The next morning you will go to Cidrl and start your apprenticeship."
Anthen nodded, unwilling to voice his acquiescence. The plan was a reasonable one, if their assessment of the situation
was correct. He fought the urge to think of other explanations. There would be time for that later. It was important that he remain focused while in the presence of these two strangers. For an instant though, he relished the thought of what would happen to the two men if they proved to be impostors.
"Anthen," Jamen interrupted the cadet’s thoughts. "I know you are not convinced but I want to speak plainly for I may not see you alone again. Remember what I am about to say when you see me as King tomorrow."
Anthen watched the monarch closely; Jamen's expression was grave.
"I am more afraid than I have ever been in my life. Even during the wars I did not feel the fear that now holds my heart. I always knew that we would overcome those threats from outside our borders with the help of the guardsmen, whose strength we all rely on. I did not realize it, but it was that knowledge that gives me the strength to lead. These past few days I have been lost." Jamen's voice nearly broke and the monarch's tremendous burden was obvious. "In fact, Garrick’s news was such a shock to me that I very nearly dismissed his story in my terror. I can conceive of no greater peril for this land than treachery within the Guard. Thus, there is no greater mission than the defeat of this unknown enemy and that challenge falls to the three of us. Moreover, the fate of this realm falls directly on Garrick's and your shoulders."
Jamen silently appealed to each man with his eyes, then looked away. When he looked back, his composure had returned. He stood and the other two men quickly jumped to their feet.
"Again, Anthen, I apologize for calling upon you to make this sacrifice. I know it is not fair but we have no choice in the matter." Jamen clasped Anthen's forearm and pulled the cadet closer. "Our salvation is up to you. May the gods help you both!"
Anthen dropped to one knee, bowed his head and replied with the standard oath, "My life for king and kingdom."
The monarch released his grip.
"I hope you speak that oath from the heart tomorrow," Jamen replied sadly.
********
The next morning, Anthen breakfasted earlier and more quickly than usual and was at the practice range just in time to view a beautiful sunrise, which he failed to appreciate. In truth, the events of the past evening kept him awake most of the night and ruined his morning meal. He just wanted this morning to be over. Once the morning had passed without a visit from the king, things would be back to normal, aside from catching the imposters.
Even as this thought formed in his head he knew it was not true. Even if no royal visit took place, the situation would still be far from normal. Master Garrick had proven his identity as a guardsman so one way or another, his immediate future would be very different from what he had imagined.
He mechanically went through the motions of preparing for practice. He set up a number of targets close together. His aim was so consistent that he had to use multiple targets or would quickly destroy his supply of quarrels, every shot so close to the center that the arrows already at the target would be damaged and ruined. This had slowed his progress for a time, until he realized that he was missing on purpose to spare the bolts from being damaged.
Anthen walked back to the shooting area across the wet grass, still nearly colorless so early in the spring. He shaded his eyes against the warming sun, now full up on the horizon. No doubt the grass would be greener before the day's end. He readied his weapon and took aim at the first target in the line, roughly one hundred paces distant. His practice commenced with pure target shooting, then he would work on more realistic scenarios after warming up. He squeezed the trigger and heard the satisfying sound of the arrow hitting the target. A scowl darkened his face as he noted that the bolt had landed outside the red circle at the center.
The marksman silently cursed his lack of focus, reminding himself that he might often have to face battle with a troubled heart. He sited the second target and fired. The weapon swung to the next two targets and fired after a moment’s pause to aim. He looked up and smiled with grim satisfaction and started to reload the weapon. The last three quarrels were dead center.
Anthen sensed he was being approached and looked to the rear just in time to catch a fleeting glimpse of a dark form slipping behind an evergreen.
"Hail, Dunsten!" he called to the youth, signaling that the younger man had been seen.
Anthen finished reloading his weapon and kept his eyes on the tree, showing a full smile for the first time that morning. He patiently waited a few minutes before speaking again.
"Are you caught up in that spruce lad or is it that you forgot to visit the chamber pot in your rush to compensate for your tardiness?"
A squat figure came from around the tree and stomped toward Anthen, shaking his fist in the air.
"I made not a sound, having the stealth of a fox! What magic do you weave?" shouted the youth angrily, his voice growing louder as he neared.
The figure was several inches shorter than Anthen but with a thicker frame. He carried a bow with one hand and continued to gesticulate with the other while loudly extolling his virtues as a stalker. He was pale with a broad, open face, high cheekbones and large mouth, which flashed large teeth as he hurled oaths at Anthen. Freckles dotted the tops of his cheeks and he was crowned with fiery orange curls that blazed in the morning sun.
"Well?" Dunsten queried with his jaw thrust out as he stood before Anthen.
Dunsten was sixteen and would never talk in such a manner to his elder if the two weren't alone but since they had become good friends, Anthen took no offense.
"You may have the stealth of a fox but a guardsman knows not to cross in front of the sun on open ground," Anthen offered in a quiet voice, though still smiling. He had, in truth, sensed the lad before catching the flicker of his shadow.
A silent "Oh" formed on the younger cadet's mouth, then he slapped his forehead, grinning broadly. "At least my usual heavy tread did not give me away."
The irrepressible youth still smiled, already forgetting the mistake. Anthen appreciated Dunsten's positive attitude and always-pleasant nature. It was a welcome contrast to his own serious manner. He just hoped his friend did not forget the lesson when it really mattered.
"Isn't it a glorious day, Anthen? The warm sun feels so good after such a long, cold winter. It is a great day to be here on the range. Have you been here long?" As usual, the chatty youth offered several phrases to Anthen's one.
"I was here before sunrise. Take some warm-up shots." Anthen turned toward the targets, slowed his breath and heart rate with a long, slow breath, then methodically hit the center of the next four targets in line.
Dunsten could not suppress a sigh at his friend's prowess with the weapon. "Same wager?" queried the younger cadet as he aimed at the target that held Anthen's first arrow.
It was customary for the young men to wager a tankard of ale. If Dunsten were able to hit or dislodge a single of the superior marksman's quarrels, then Anthen would purchase the pair's ale. Otherwise the younger man would buy. Anthen had paid for very few tankards in the months since the duo started practicing together.
"Certainly. I've put away much gold from my savings on the purchase of refreshment," teased Anthen.
A scowl crossed the shooter's freckled countenance and his concentration was momentarily lost. He gritted his teeth and fired. The arrow struck the edge of the target beyond the perimeter of the outer circle of red. The youth muttered a few oaths, sighted the next target, and fired too quickly. The bolt hit the outer red circle.
"Relax," instructed Anthen before the younger cadet could fire another wild shot. "Tension in your body will disrupt your aim. If you find that your muscles are tensed or your jaw is clenched, take a breath and make your body relax."
The younger man nodded and expelled a long deep breath. He took aim again and fired. This time the quarrel struck the outer edge of the band next to the center.
"Much better," Anthen encouraged, nodding at the shot.
It was probably as good as could be expected given the current state of t
he younger man's skills. He had tried to get Dunsten to understand that the secret to mastery was in the journey. If he learned to love to practice, he would keep at it and in the end, he could equal the older cadet's skill. Anthen was not certain the youth understood the distinction between loving a good shot, the goal, versus loving the act of shooting itself, the journey. For Dunsten to match Anthen's skill he would have to learn to automatically factor in the affect of weather conditions on the travel of the bolt as well as on the weapon itself. This would come only after years of dedicated practice and for that to happen, he must love to shoot, as Anthen did.
The pair spent the next couple of hours working together. They progressed from the solitary shots to various rapid-fire scenarios, starting with the shooter stationary and ending with both shooter and targets in motion. The latter being achieved by wheeled targets mounted on sloping rails. Anthen was not as accurate with rapid firing and moving targets but he always hit within a few inches of the center. Dunsten, by comparison, often missed the moving targets completely in these cases.
Anthen's frame of mind improved during the morning because of a thought that occurred to him. It was possible, he hypothesized, that the previous night's events could be just a prank perpetrated on all graduating cadets. It would be a cruel initiation rite but such customs were not uncommon in elite military organizations and no group could be more select than the Guard. It could also be a test. In either case, of course, the king would be an impostor so he need only wait for the morning to pass without a royal visit.
Both men were flushed and perspiring freely from their exertions under the rising sun, though it was still fairly low in the sky. Anthen's cloak was pushed off his shoulders and the lightweight tunic beneath clung to his well-muscled arms and chest, dismissing any misconception that the taller, leaner cadet was at all frail in comparison to the stockier Dunsten.
Anthen had just finished refilling his quiver and was preoccupied with staging the next scenario in his mind when a long, low whistle of surprise from the youth broke his reverie. Anthen raised his eyes and saw a mounted procession moving towards them from the north. His heart started pounding as he scanned the troupe for details and noted the royal banner flying above them. He frantically searched the distant faces.
