by Anna Thayer
Edesfield, capital of Edesfield province, stood south of the Great Bend. It was the last bridgeable point on the River, which from there ran west to the city of Dunthruik and the sea. Edesfield’s bustling riverside was filled with docks where holks – river-faring vessels more shallowly drafted than the great merchant cogs that crossed the seas, used to carry men and wares all over the River Realm – frequently halted to do business or resupply. This high turnover of traders ensured that Edesfield was well provisioned with inns and taverns.
The Morning Star was one those inns. It was only a few streets away from the Gauntlet college and, with a swearing just around the corner, was hosting the families of men from all over the province who had come to Edesfield to take their oaths.
The imminent swearing made the town busier than usual. As Eamon and Ladomer threaded their way through the crowded streets Ladomer talked and joked, as he always did, but Eamon scarcely heard him; the return of his lost hopes had made his heart light and his steps vague.
“Watch where you’re going, Ratbag!” Ladomer laughed, tugging him to keep him from strolling straight into some passers-by.
Together they turned on to Bury’s Hill, one of the oldest parts of Edesfield. The houses there stood hunched against one another as though the whole line relied on the buildings at the bottom and a single, well-judged gust of wind might send them tumbling down in a pile of wood and brick and thatch. Eamon tried to cross the cobbles without marking his boots but soon found that even after more than a decade of walking the street, he had not mastered it. At least, he thought to himself as they reached the inn, he had not made any of his usual encounters with animal excrement.
Two ornamental spears stood to either side of the Morning Star’s door, homage to an old wives’ tale which claimed that Edesfield had been built over the ruins of an ancient fort. The inn had offered ale, food, and lodgings more or less as long as Edesfield had stood.
The establishment was owned by Aeryn’s father, Telo, and was a place where the three friends had been meeting for years. Eamon remembered the long afternoons that he had spent there in his youth. It had always been like a second home to him, and Aeryn’s father had been kind to him in the days after his own had died.
A worn wooden sign hung over the doorway. Telo had been saying for years that he would carve a new one, though he never had. The man’s wife had made the sign shortly before her death, and it had not been touched since she had set it there. Even so, it did not take a sign to tell Edesfield’s Morning Star; it was always the first to light its windows and the last to douse them.
Eamon and Ladomer went in together. The inn buzzed with men, women, and children who were preparing to attend the swearing.
Telo was behind the bar, wiping tankards, while his serving-hands whizzed between the tables. Eamon thought that Telo looked tired, though cheerful even so. He supposed that was only natural when the inn was so busy. Aeryn was with him.
Ladomer took the room in at a gaze and then moved to one of the few unoccupied tables. He drew out a chair and sat.
“I thought I would make myself useful for a change, and save us a table – and quickly, too!” Ladomer grandly put his feet up on the chair opposite him, presumably as part of his table-reserving scheme.
“What would we do without you, Ladomer?” Aeryn asked, passing by with a laugh.
Ladomer paused, as though deeply considering the question. “I really don’t know,” he said at last. “But I’ll tell you what you can do – swipe a couple of drinks and bring yourselves over here, the pair of you!”
“Is that an order?” Eamon asked wryly.
“It most certainly is!” Ladomer tilted his head back and laughed. Eamon laughed with him, but thought that he saw an odd look pass across Aeryn’s face. Looking again, he saw only a smile.
Eamon turned to carry out Ladomer’s playful command, but before he could, a tray of mugs was set in his hands.
“Big day today?” Telo asked.
“Yes.”
Telo smiled warmly. “Then you may need the drink! It’s on the house, my lad.”
“It always is.” Eamon was struck, as so many times before, by the innkeeper’s kindness. “Thank you,” he said earnestly.
Telo smiled.
Eamon courteously waited for Aeryn to go across to the table then followed her, bearing his precious cargo. He saw that Ladomer’s feet were still firmly planted on the remaining chair.
“Might I sit, sir?” Eamon asked playfully. He had once made the mistake of not only sitting on Ladomer, but also of comparing him favourably to upholstery in the process. He had meant both things in jest; the same could be said for the crushing kick with which Ladomer had rewarded him for his impudence. Ladomer had, of course, apologized profusely, and Eamon had done the same, but it had still taken some weeks for the bruise to heal completely.
Eamon knew, from this and other experience, that Ladomer Kentigern was one of the strongest and most agile men that he had ever met. Ladomer had always bested him, often painfully, in training. Long years of that same Gauntlet training had also taught him that Ladomer was an extremely capable soldier. Eamon knew that he would never want to be on the wrong side of his friend or stand against his lieutenant in a real fight.
At Eamon’s grandiloquent request an enormous grin rolled across Ladomer’s face. “You wish me to remove my feet?” he asked innocently. They were both remembering the same incident.
“I would be greatly obliged,” Eamon answered.
The smile grew broader. “Anything for you, Eamon!” Ladomer told him.
The lieutenant moved his feet and Eamon sat. He passed the mugs round, and Ladomer raised one high.
“A toast!” he said. “To Eamon! May he be the finest Glove the River Realm has ever seen!”
The mugs chinked together, chiming their terracotta accord and drawing the attention of bystanders, who cheered. With an embarrassed smile Eamon took a sip of his drink. Like him, Ladomer had come to Edesfield in the years following the culls in the city and, like Eamon, Ladomer had lost both his parents in the upheaval that had followed. Ladomer was a few years older than him and had always seemed to bear his misfortune as equally as his fortune. He was a fine lieutenant, and Eamon wondered whether the man sitting opposite him would one day become one of the Master’s Hands. The thought of his friend winning such an accolade made him smile.
Ladomer set his mug down. “Did Belaal tell you where you’re to be assigned?” he asked, leaning forward with deep interest. Before Eamon could answer he ploughed on: “I hope you’re not staying in Edesfield!”
Aeryn gave him a strange look. “Come on, Aeryn!” Ladomer laughed. “Edesfield is a fine place, but there’re no prospects here for young men like Eamon and me.”
“You’re hardly ever in Edesfield,” Aeryn commented. “I’m not sure you’re qualified to speak about what it’s like here!”
“But I know what it’s like out there, Aeryn,” Ladomer told her, gesturing broadly with his mug. “And that’s where we should be, doing our bit for the Master – especially now that the Easters are arming.”
“Arming?” Eamon asked.
“They’ve severed diplomatic relations with Dunthruik.”
Eamon nodded slowly; it explained the fretted movement of so many of the Hands back and forth between their regions and the capital.
“I’ve heard,” Ladomer began, lowering his voice and head conspiratorially, “that the Easters are feeding information and support to the wayfarers. You know; urging them on.”
Eamon laughed. “Nobody can stand against the Master!” he said confidently. “These ‘wayfarers’ least of all. I mean, the might of the whole Gauntlet and the Master is against them. They don’t stand a chance, Easters or not.”
“I know that,” Ladomer growled grimly, “but that doesn’t stop the roads being marred and the valleys being filled with the bodies of unsworn cadets! It doesn’t stop the snakes taking the border towns, murdering the women and children, and burning t
he fields!”
Eamon drew a deep breath. He had seen such towns in the time he had spent as a cadet on active service in the provinces of Sablemar and Wakebairn – both on the borders to the north-east of Edesfield – during his Gauntlet training.
“I know,” he answered.
“What we know doesn’t stop them evading us.” Ladomer exhaled loudly and with frustration.
Eamon glanced at him in surprise. “The man last night…?”
“He was a wayfarer, Eamon – a snake, just like the men who killed Hughan.”
The name drew across Eamon like a blade.
“We don’t know that wayfarers killed him, Ladomer,” Aeryn said quietly.
“Yes we bloody do!” Ladomer retorted, slamming his fist on the table. “It was wayfarers, and they had no reason to kill him, or anybody else, who died that day. No reason, Aeryn! The snakes did it, and they would do it to any one of us without a second thought. That is what their ‘glorious leader’, the Serpent, instils in them.”
“I don’t understand why they do it,” Eamon said.
“They have no reason,” Ladomer answered bitterly. He looked across at Eamon with a returning smile. “But they will be stopped; they cannot outlast the Master and his Gauntlet.”
There was a pause. Chatter bubbled on about them. Telo came past, his arms filled with steaming bowls which he laid, one by one, on the table before them. Eamon looked gratefully at the food; after a night spent crawling about in the mud and a morning lurching between hope and despair, he was ravenous, despite the first singing of nerves in his flesh.
“What’s a Glove without his meat in him, eh?” Telo said kindly. “Eat up, lad.”
“Thank you, Telo,” Eamon replied, looking up at the innkeeper. He suddenly caught sight of a bloody mark on the man’s rolled-down sleeves. He leapt to his feet in alarm.
“Telo, you’re hurt!” The outcry drew the attention of nearby tables.
“What?” Telo looked down at his sleeves and then laughed. “Oh no, no lad,” he said, brushing aside Eamon’s concern, “no, that’s not mine. I’ve just been preparing some meat in the kitchen, that’s all.” He laid a hand over his arm to hide the stain. “I’m sorry it bothered you.”
Eamon wasn’t convinced. “You’re sure you’re not hurt?”
“I’m sure.”
Eamon reluctantly sat down again.
“Now, eat well!” Telo said.
The innkeeper went quietly back to the bar and out into the back parts of the inn.
Aeryn raised her mug. “To Eamon,” she said, and smiled at him.
The lunch was pleasant, and although his swearing was on all their minds it was not mentioned again. They whiled away an hour or so, reminiscing over the long years that they had known each other and wondering about the future. As they talked, Eamon felt that his own future had never seemed as bright as it did then.
At last the lunch ended and Eamon left, anxious to be punctual. Aeryn and Ladomer both walked with him down to the crossroads at the foot of Bury’s Hill.
“I should go and get ready for the ceremony myself,” Ladomer said.
Eamon laughed. “You’re always impeccably turned out,” he answered, looking his friend’s pristine uniform up and down.
“Comes of being a lieutenant, Mr Goodman!” Ladomer returned. “I’ll see you later. Don’t dally too long!”
“I won’t. I’m so glad you can be here today, Ladomer. It means a lot to me.”
His friend smiled. “And to me, Eamon.”
Ladomer began moving back through the roads towards the college. Eamon turned to Aeryn. “I should go too,” he said, and he meant to, but the look on her face stopped him. “Is something the matter?” he asked. “You’ve been very quiet today.”
“That’s hardly usual, is it?” Aeryn offered him a smile, but fell silent. Carts and people passed by, many heading to the river docks. Eamon watched his friend with concern; she seemed distant, guarded.
“Aeryn?”
“Eamon,” she whispered, looking up at last, “are you sure that you want –?”
“To swear? Aeryn!” he cried. “I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.”
“Things will change, Eamon.” The look on her face had grown serious.
“Don’t be ridiculous. They won’t change at all,” Eamon answered lightly. “Most likely they’ll station me here in Edesfield. It will be just the same, and I’ll be just the same.” Aeryn’s frown did not relent; she did not meet his gaze. He caught her hand and gave it an encouraging squeeze. “We’ll still be here: you, Ladomer, and I. Well, you and I, anyway. Together, as we’ve always been.”
“You had best go and smarten up,” Aeryn answered softly, taking her hand from his.
“Yes.”
“Good luck with the ceremony,” she added, turning away.
“Wait. Will you be there?”
Aeryn surprised him with a smile that seemed sad. She leaned forward and kissed his cheek.
“Yes.”
The college courtyard glittered in the afternoon sunlight. In the faraway valleys the first trees were beginning to turn gold and red with the autumn; it was as though the whole of nature rejoiced to wear the Master’s colours, just as the young men would who were to swear that day.
Eamon waited nervously in the shaded walkways. There were perhaps four dozen other young men with him. Blood, anticipation, anxiety, and elation pounded through him; he could barely keep still.
Some younger cadets were moving through the lines of men to be sworn in, straightening their jackets and taking the accidental scuffs off their boots. Except for the noise of that work things were silent. Eamon understood the dense quiet; the feelings churning inside him impeded speech.
One of the young cadets passed him, then paused to rub a buffing cloth over the toe of his boot. He offered Eamon a brilliant smile of good fortune.
“Good luck!”
Eamon nodded and straightened back into his place in line. He could hear voices in the courtyard beyond – officers, and families of the men to be sworn, all expectantly waiting for the ceremony to begin.
At that moment Captain Belaal came in. He was followed by Edesfield’s first lieutenant, and by another lieutenant who bore a covered object in his hands. With a start Eamon realized that the second man was Ladomer. He hadn’t known that Ladomer would be the pommel bearer, but he supposed that he should have suspected it; the honour usually fell to one of the college lieutenants.
Belaal swept down the line of cadets, assessing every man with a swift gaze, then nodded with what approached satisfaction. “You know what to do, gentlemen.”
“Yes, sir,” came a quiet chorus. They did. They had been through a practice ceremony the previous week. For more than most of them the practice had been the enacting of a dream that had been rehearsed far longer.
At the trumpet’s call the line of cadets to be sworn began to move. His heart beating like a drum, Eamon wondered whether he could stand at all. But his feet took the lead, and he walked in line with the others, caught up in the immutable ritual of the ceremony.
The line filed out into the courtyard. The sun ran over his face and into his eyes. Those gathered in the courtyard to watch recognized their entry: the cadets, ensigns, and officers drew their swords up to their faces in formal salute. Eamon was dazzled by the light of the flashing blades. Behind them the men and women of Edesfield province were watching with pride; their sons were to be sworn.
The swearing-line drew up solemnly before the platform where Belaal stood, First Lieutenant Ellis at his right and Ladomer at his left. Lord Penrith loomed behind them, his presence lending further authority. Eamon gazed at them for a second before he found his voice, in unison with the voices of the other cadets.
“His glory!” they cried. The words rang victoriously in the air.
“Today, these men formally make known their allegiance to the Master.” Belaal surveyed the line with a smile. “May their service be to
his pleasure and his glory.”
The captain turned to Ladomer, who graciously uncovered what he carried: a long golden staff with a broad pommel at its head. It was Edesfield’s swearing staff, and had been given from the Master’s own hand years before. Every cadet would lay his right hand on it to make his oath. At the sight of it Eamon’s heart leapt in excitement.
Belaal took the staff and looked back to the line of cadets.
“Offley Barns of Edesfield.”
Eamon watched as the first cadet in the line went steadily up onto the platform and knelt down before Belaal.
“What do you seek?” Belaal asked.
“Service with the Gauntlet, captain.” Barns’s voice was less steady than his walk had been; Eamon could see his jaw quivering.
“What is your pledge?”
“I, Offley Barns, do hereby pledge my allegiance to the Master. My blood, my blade, and my body are all given in his service.”
“And do you swear this most solemnly to the Master, such an oath as may not be broken?”
“I do swear it.”
“Then receive the mark of your allegiance.” Belaal held forth the staff, tilting the glinting pommel towards the cadet. Barns reached his right hand to it. He bowed his head for a moment, then looked up with wide, ecstatic eyes. The first lieutenant stepped forward to pin a single flame on his red jacket.
Belaal spoke in a loud voice. “Rise, Ensign Offley Barns. You belong to the Master.”
Barns stood and left the platform. Belaal called the next cadet: “Geraint Ilwaine of Edesfield.”
Eamon risked a glance along the line; there were at least two dozen men in it before him. It frustrated and terrified him.
With ever-increasing nervousness he watched as man after man went forward and did what Barns had done, what he himself would do… He wondered if, somewhere in the crowd, Aeryn was watching him. He remembered the strange look on her face. What was it that had worried her so much?
“Eamon Goodman of Edesfield.”
For a second he couldn’t move. His name, his name! He had been called by name. Belaal’s eyes were fixed upon him.
He went forward giddily. The steps leading up to the bannered platform seemed steeper than mountains. Pressing his lips together, he drew a deep breath. Then, like so many men before him, he knelt down before Belaal.
