Nightfall: Book Two of the Chronicles of Arden

by Shiriluna Nott

  King Rishi threw his hands in the air, but Koal snarled a response before the ruler could. “No one has mentioned how these conflicts have only sprouted up since we reinforced our borders. Intimidation is ugly and breaks men down, reducing them to their most base selves.”

  Gib watched in silence as the argument went back and forth. Neetra and Anders continued to argue that the protection of Arden’s borders was essential. King Rishi and Koal countered, questioning the reason for reinforcing a border that had previously lain silent. General Morathi remained enigmatically quiet throughout the exchange, though Gib was sure it wasn’t from lack of nerve. Morathi was typically a collected man, not given to shouting. His silence was more troubling than Neetra’s shrill whine.

  Anders’ voice rose above the others. “It’s not too late to overturn this new law, councilors! What say you? It’s within our power to correct this oversight now. Young men have always been called to defend their country. It’s a way of life.” Anders fixed a cold glare on the King. “Grievous as it may be.”

  Hasain flinched, and Diddy took in a sharp breath. Gib froze as well. The subject of child soldiers was a sensitive one. It had nearly divided the council in half. Only recently had numbers shifted enough to favor the King’s new law, which commanded no man may be drafted against his will until his sixteenth Naming Day. Before this change, boys were considered men by their thirteenth year and could be drafted from then on.

  With the ink still wet on this new law, King Rishi was more defensive than ever. The soft, silken whisper of his voice betrayed his wrath. “Grievous? Tell me, Councilor Anders, how many grievances has your family suffered? How many uncles, brothers, nephews, or sons have you lost to the draft? How many thirteen-year-old boys—men according to law—have you looked upon for the last time as they picked up a sword they didn’t know how to use and a shield too heavy for them to carry? How many aunts or sisters have you comforted while they wept for their lost sons who were too young to own the family farm but old enough to die on the battlefield and did just that?”

  Tense quiet blanketed the room, but Gib was certain he heard Liro huff.

  Anders stiffened. “The lineage of lords is rarely called upon for war. It is a privilege passed on to us from those who came before—those who fought bravely.” The councilor locked his jaw as he finished speaking.

  King Rishi leaned farther back in his chair. Despite the low tone, his voice seemed to fill every corner of the room. “Ah, yes, unearned privilege. It must come as a comfort to know your ancestors were brave and risked life and limb in order for you to declare others—not so privileged as yourself—must be willing to die for the country.”

  Neetra scoffed. “This is hardly Anders’ war, Highness. No one gets to choose their destined path, but we all must comply with the hand we are dealt—”

  “Easy enough to say from your safe and comfortable chair, High Councilor. Would your dedication be so steadfast had your son been called to war this year?”

  “Enough of this!” Neetra looked around the table at the gathered men. “Councilors, should we take a vote on overturning this law?”

  Gib clenched his fists. His eyes darted from one face to another, and desperation flooded his veins. This law was so important to people like him. Countless children along the countryside would be sucked into this potential war if Neetra and Anders got their way.

  Even the King, who was typically so well spoken, had fallen silent, his face a crimson mask of rage.

  The sound of a throat being cleared broke the tense quiet. Joaquin Aldino, Tarquin’s father, called attention to himself and made a point to avoid prolonged eye contact with any one person. “Councilors, was it not agreed that by allowing women to join the military, we reduced the need for such young soldiers?”

  Several men threw their hands in the air at once. Women joining the army was yet another issue firmly dividing the council. Groans and sharp cries of protest clashed against fervent praise.

  Seneschal Koal cut through the clamor to voice his opinion. “For all of the complaining endured here, Weapons Master Roland Korbin has informed me the number of our female recruits has only increased each year. Young women are pouring in from all across the country to join our forces—”

  “Women are smaller and weaker than men!”

  “They can’t be relied upon to make rational decisions in the heat of battle!”

  “They require special accommodations! Women need supplies male soldiers don’t!”

  “What if they become pregnant out there? What help are they then?”

  Gib could barely keep up with the questions being fired. Hasain grunted and leaned closer to the rail, the young lord’s brows knitted. Below, King Rishi had had enough.

  “Again, with the complaining! You argue women are weaker than men, yet I’ve never seen a man suffer through childbirth. Rational decisions in the heat of battle are difficult for anyone, yet the late Queen Jorja Viran was one of this country’s finest tactical minds. And as far as women soldiers becoming pregnant on the battlefield—” The King paused long enough to shake his head, features drawn into a sour frown. “Councilors, I assume you all understand how pregnancies happen, correct? I’m not sure when you think these soldiers are going to have the time, energy, or desire to create these pregnancies. However, I suppose if and when they do, at the very least, you can stop fretting about the need to send menstruation supplies into war camps!”

  Diddy pressed his knuckles to his lips, and Gib’s face burned with uncomfortable heat. Hasain stiffened and sat back quickly, a horrified frown pulling down on his mouth. Behind them, Liro made a sound of disgust, and when Gib looked back, the understudy curled his nose.

  Below, Dean Marc snorted a laugh, earning a savage look from Koal as he stood once again. The seneschal’s voice was level, despite his own crimson face. “Gentlemen of the council, I think we can all agree to disagree on this issue. The draft law doesn’t appear to be up for recall, and the issue of women soldiers is still too new to dismiss yet. Shall we move on to the next topic?” He dropped back into his chair.

  Gib smiled to himself and stole a glance toward Diddy. Had they been anywhere else, the two of them would have shared a good laugh, but now was not the time. Papers were shuffling at the table below, and Neetra’s voice rose again.

  “The next matter of discussion is exiled slaves.” Neetra looked at the King and seneschal for a moment and, seeing no resistance, pushed on. “We’re all familiar with the problem of Gyptia’s slaves crossing our southern border in a claim for freedom. However, these people come here with next to no knowledge of how our government works, little valuable work experience, and often do not speak our language. They’re extra mouths to feed and have become a source of hardship for some of our southern provinces.”

  The King twiddled his thumbs and offered nothing.

  Koal frowned but replied in a measured tone, “There has been some discussion among the King, Dean Marc, and myself about how best to go about educating the Gyptian exiles so they may become a useful asset to our workforce.”

  Neetra huffed. “Education? Why is it Arden’s responsibility to educate these slaves? They’re the ones who left their own country. It’s been suggested to me that perhaps we should put these people directly to work. There are menial tasks which they would be able to perform, even with their shortcomings.”

  Marc, who had been mostly quiet until now, leaned forward in his seat. “Some of these foreigners have exceptional skills. They’ve served construction masters their entire lives, or healers, or scholars. Some of them have a wealth of knowledge. We only need to bridge the communication gap, and they could be great assets to Arden—”

  General Morathi lifted his frigid voice once more. “Well, I suppose they should have stayed where their talents could be used then, shouldn’t they? It isn’t Arden’s responsibility to teach them our language, and in the meantime, there are jobs to be done. They don’t have to speak Ardenian to swing a pickaxe or dig
with a shovel.”

  “I agree,” Neetra said with a curt nod. “If these slaves are going to stroll into our country and demand our protection then the least they could do is provide Arden with service.”

  The King shrugged. “I’ve never said Gyptia’s refugees aren’t eligible for work here, but if they’re going to become citizens of our country then they should be entitled to the same opportunities as anyone else. I feel Marc makes a valid point. Why should a scholar work in the mines? Their potential would be wasted.”

  The high councilor waved a dismissive hand. “What care have I of their talents? They chose to leave their country and become a drain on ours. Therefore, it’s suggested the exiles be put to work under Ardenian law for no less than five years without pay. Their meals and lodgings will be provided, and they will be given the opportunity to work off their debt to our country.”

  King Rishi squinted toward Neetra and took a breath. He held it for a brief moment before posing much the same question Gib was thinking. “Let me be sure I understand you, High Councilor. These people have risked life and limb to escape enslavement, braved the harsh desert—a fatal trek for most—and plunged themselves into an entirely foreign culture, all on the slim hope they will be able to obtain some scrap of dignity in their newfound freedom. Now you want to greet them with a sentence of indentured servitude?” The King turned up his empty palms, confusion still etched across his features. “Why would a slave leave their home country only to be a slave somewhere else?”

  General Morathi smiled triumphantly. “Precisely, Highness. They won’t be our problem anymore.”

  “It’s never been Ardenian law to punish the innocent.”

  Not to be outdone, the general gestured about the room. “Are any of you gentleman aware of an Ardenian law which mandates our country feed and house refugees?” Murmurs made their way around the table, and although the King, Koal, and Marc all had scowls on their faces, none of them seemed to be able to think of a counterargument.

  Gib shifted in his seat. He didn’t know much about escaped slaves. Indeed, such issues had never once crossed his mind while he’d been growing up on the farm. He’d always been too focused on staying alive to worry about the wellbeing of strangers. However, his heart told him of the inherent injustice it would be to abuse anyone, especially someone who had nothing.

  Joaquin spoke again. “Actually, General, there’s no law I know of, but it’s a common practice amongst the various temples throughout Arden to house the persecuted and feed the poor. Would not these people qualify for such help?”

  Neetra waved a dismissive hand. “Well, that’s another topic for debate entirely. We all know not everyone here is in favor of providing for those who refuse to provide for themselves—”

  The councilors erupted into fierce debate yet again, and Gib groaned. He didn’t know how any of these politicians put up with this every day. They never made any progress. The same things were argued over for ages, and rarely was anything accomplished.

  Hasain nodded as if he understood Gib’s thoughts. The Radek lord’s voice was a low whisper, barely audible over the din below. “I don’t envy Deegan for his throne.”

  Gib thought to respond, to offer some well wishes for the young Crowned Prince, but Liro’s boot tapping the back of the chair reminded Gib to grit his teeth and keep silent. He might very well lose his mind if ever he were to become a politician and have to sit across from Liro Adelwijn each day.

  The general’s voice had risen once more to claim dominance over the gathered men. “Highness, you must understand in times such as these, Arden cannot be compromised in any way. Feeding all these extra mouths takes away from our troops—”

  King Rishi’s strained voice suggested he’d about had his fill of politics for one day. “General Morathi, there will be no need for troops if our peasants starve to death!”

  “There will be no peasants if our lands are overtaken by the enemy!” Neetra’s shrill voice carried all too well in such confined quarters.

  “The imagined enemy? From which border?” Koal didn’t typically rely on sarcasm, but his use of it now effectively shut his younger brother’s mouth.

  The King and seneschal shared a smug smirk but couldn’t hope to go uncontested.

  Morathi stood, his tall form looming above the table. “Highness, I must implore you to consider these suggestions carefully. With the threat of war on both our eastern and northern borders, and a call for help from our allies in Gyptia, we are stretched thin.”

  Marc nodded. “Gyptia is a powerful ally. We need to be sensitive to their needs during their own time of war.”

  Neetra stuck his nose in the air. “Gyptia is a large country. I say their war is their own. It’s their own questionable practices which have brought about civil unrest. Their peasants have been allowed too many luxuries. They forget their place.”

  Koal shook his head, a grim look on his face. “Mass revolt is a complicated situation, but I agree we need to be available to Sovereign Khalfani. He has treated with us and vowed to come to our aid, should we need it.”

  The general and High Councilor shared a dark look.

  “It’s not Arden’s responsibility to hold Gyptia together.” Morathi’s voice commanded absolute attention.

  Neetra nodded. “Agreed! What business is it of ours if their ungrateful peasants revolt?”

  King Rishi groaned. “Ungrateful! What an idea, councilors. Imagine—the slaves don’t like being slaves! Perhaps a lesson can be learned here before we ourselves condemn innocents to slavery and starvation. We may even prevent a civil war of our own!”

  The council room burst into another bout of angry debate. Gib clenched his jaw. Their arguments were enough to wear on even him, and he didn’t even have a voice on the matter. He looked out the window, realizing with dismay that nearly no time had passed since the meeting commenced. Marks of this petty debating still lay ahead! How could he ever hope to make a difference when his time came to speak on the council? Was all of this just a waste of his time and Koal’s resources to sit in this seat and learn skills for a job Gib grew to despise more with each passing day?

  He thought back to his first day in Silver, when he’d been a terrified boy of thirteen, drafted into the military and taken away from his home and family. No choice had been given to him. Neetra and other men like the High Councilor did not care that Gib had two younger brothers to feed and care for. They had no care if his story hadn’t been a rarity. Other families just like his—broken and trying to keep their heads above water—had also been torn apart to suit the needs of the army.

  Gib sighed. He had to stay here. He didn’t pursue this career in hope of title and wealth in his old age. He stayed the course in hope that real change was possible. Too many innocent people in Arden could only pray for change while he’d been lucky to fall into a place of potential power, and despite his dislike for the political world, he had a responsibility to uphold.

  Gib stayed for the remainder of the meeting—another two marks of stifling arguments. He even forced himself to remain present and consider what was being said, to form his own opinion and think of questions to ask Koal later.

  He was grateful when the session was called to an end. The moment King Rishi approved the dismissal, Gib was on his feet. Hasain and Diddy were quick to follow, both stretching their stiff muscles. Gib didn’t wait for them. He made for the stairs, hoping he could reach the ground floor before he was forced to wait for the councilors to clear the hall. He also didn’t want to share the tight stairway with Liro if it could be avoided.

  “Well, I suppose that was enlightening,” Diddy said, scurrying to catch up. “I see now why Father warned me about entering politics.”

  Hasain stayed a step behind as they made their way down the stone stairs. “That wasn’t even the worst of it. There have been times when I thought there would be physical blows.”

  Gib nodded in agreement. “It’s true. You’ll see as much, if you decide to c
ome back.”

  The council room doors burst open at that moment, and the politicians began to pour out. They rushed with such speed that the three friends were forced to wait on the stairs to avoid being trampled. Morathi and Diedrick swept away together, speaking among themselves while Koal, Marc, and the King stood inside the door and waited for the stampede to recede.

  “Well, isn’t this cozy?”

  Gib tensed. Liro had caught up with them after all. The surge of bodies in the hall below showed little sign of dissipating. Gib had to force himself not to jump and hope for the best. Being trampled might be preferable to being stuck here with someone as foul as Liro Adelwijn.

  Ever civil, Diddy took it upon himself to make small talk. “Hopefully the crowd will clear soon.”

  Liro’s sigh was audible over the crowd. “I have an appointment with the healers to get to. Let me through!”

  Gib locked his jaw, but before he could even part his lips, Hasain answered.

  “Do you think we’re standing here for sport? You’ll have to wait your turn like everyone else.”

  Tension rippled around them, and Gib chose to look across the hall in a desperate attempt to ignore Liro. Koal, Marc, and King Rishi hadn’t dared move yet either, though they’d been joined by the King’s personal bodyguard, Aodan Galloway of Derry. The four were talking among themselves just to the side of the doorway, and Gib wished like hell he could make his way to his mentor. He’d willingly stand in silence while the older men vented if it meant he wouldn’t have to feel the scrutiny of Joel’s elder brother. Liro had never approved of Gib or his relationship with Joel.

  “Does the King’s bastard son know how to wait his turn?” Liro’s voice dripped venom. “You have been given so many privileges already I fear you may never know your place.”

  Hasain’s voice was as cold as ice. “The manner of my birth holds no bearing on the man I choose to be. You would do well to heed this same lesson.”