by P. S. Power
Holding the idea of the older man, clearly and cleanly. Feeling, instead of thinking about where he might be. Using the talents that the man had taught him, to find information. Then, suddenly, he pointed with his left hand, feeling almost pulled in a direction that would have taken him directly into a thick gray stone wall. He grinned, since he could put together the basic idea without learning to pass through solid stone. The direct line would take him to Prince Robart’s office.
He moved that way, merely to confirm that the older man, his master, was there. It wasn’t enough to do the magic, after all. He had to make certain he was doing it correctly, whenever possible. He moved into and out of a trance to do it, but that skill wasn’t new to him. It was how his memory tricks, the ones from his life as a keeper of time’s story, worked as well. Really, there was enough similarity between the two things, that learning to find information at a distance wasn’t really all that hard for him. Not that Master Tolan wasn’t still many times better at it than he was. That was down to practice, or in Anders case, the lack of it.
When he got to the correct door, there was no guard on it. That wasn’t impossible, but meant that he could simply go up and knock on it, as if he had a message. It wasn’t until he’d done it that he realized the Heir might not want to be bothered by him checking to see if he was correct or not. Still, when the blond man answered the door, he didn't frown or seem upset at all.
Rather, he simply nodded, rather firmly. As if the boy was expected.
“Anders, good. We’re working in here today. Come in.”
The man, who was large, being tall and muscular enough for a man who mainly sat for a living, moved out of the way, gesturing for the boy to enter, as if that made any real sense at all. True, it let him see that Master Tolan was, indeed, inside, which was all he needed from the moment.
Inside, he found other people as well. General Nesmith, who was dressed in gray, his face shaved smooth, leaving him seeming tidy and rather precise. Next to the man sat Prince Alpert, who blinked, then nodded, waving gently to the seat next to himself.
It was the General who spoke first, however.
“Well met, Master Brolly. I was just suggesting that we send you off to the front. That isn’t going over too well, as you might imagine.” The man smiled. It was genuine, as if he was simply describing the current situation, instead of mocking the young boy.
Anders could see that, given the suggestion had probably related to imagined thoughts of martial greatness on his part. His daily work with the guard showed him how much he needed to learn that way, before letting himself think he was a match for trained military men. Women as well, though there weren’t a lot of those in the Istlan forces. They mainly filled magical positions, though he had heard that some were also cooks and provided healing care. Yanse had some few female fighters, though.
Anders the boy still felt a bit mocked by the man. Farad however, merely smiled and moved to settle next to Prince Alpert. His father. That part wasn’t to be openly spoken of, of course. Not even there, in a secret chamber.
“I was actually just thinking the same thing, General Nesmith. I need to gain some contacts there, with the men in charge, so that I can better send and receive messages. Before the snows come, if at all possible. I have time, I think, if I ride out now. Are we to leave in the morning?” He wasn’t serious about the last portion of the words, but the General slapped his knee, laughing a bit.
Then his words seemed nearly proud, for some reason.
“Ha! I’d been jesting, but that’s truly not a bad thought. It’s come up that we’ve needed to pass such messages in the last days. Sending Captain Horner from place to place as we’ve been doing is beneath his position, and not nearly as efficient as we could be that way, from what I can tell of your current skills. How long will you need in each location to gain the knowledge you need?”
Everyone in the room was looking at him, suddenly. Most of them with strained expressions on their faces. Only Prince Robarts and the General seemed to be merely waiting to see what he had to say on the matter.
Anders tilted his head, thinking for a moment, and then nodded.
“I think, if they don’t mind being stared at over the evening meal, I can do it in three days, for each location. More if I need to come up with connections to more than one person in each place. That makes sense, really. Some corporals, perhaps, who can be both trusted and moved around at need, to pass messages from here?” It made sense to him, but that didn't mean the men in charge would want it that way.
It gave them a backup plan, in case a few people died, though.
The General nodded, as if he was taking the topic seriously.
“So, you’ll need a few weeks in each camp, if we have you go over, say four men in each location? That would have you back before the hard weather comes. The snow, at least. There will be hard rains, this time of the year in that part of Istlan. Winds as well.” Then, after a glance at Anders, the man made direct eye contact with Prince Robarts.
Who nodded, and then stood up, without any words passing between them.
“I’ll pass that by my father, right now. You’re ready to travel on short notice, Anders?”
He nodded. It was simply the truth.
“I have a pack in my room, with all the needed gear in it. Brownie and Chestnut are both in good health, as well, if I can have the lend of them again. I’ll need a map, so I know where to go. I can memorize it, with the needed locations.” He actually already had that, in his head.
The Heir to the throne simply nodded.
“Stand ready then. Know that most here don’t want to risk you, even in a thing like this. That doesn’t mean you may not be needed to undertake this journey. Possibly others, even if this one is rejected.” As he moved out, the General nodded at him.
Then, as if the others weren’t there, Nesmith went on.
“You know... It had been thought that you might be more reluctant to travel than this. We should have asked you a week ago. Longer, to be truthful. You’re the only one that can use your long talking magics, so far.” There was a glance at Master Tolan then, who tightened his face.
Anders shrugged, looking at the man.
“That isn’t fully true. Inside a week, maybe less, Master Tolan will have the skill down. It’s just a matter of committing the different portions of things to his mind. Depak Sona nearly has it as well. I think it might take him a bit longer to learn.” That forced him to shrug, even if that wasn’t a brilliant, or polite, thing to do with generals, castle wizards and princes in the room. He explained the reasoning there. “Depak Sona is grasping the magics well, but he’s having to learn it in a language that is not his own, so that’s slowing him down a bit. Still, no more than a week or two there.” Where the man was actually struggling a bit was in learning the other half of the equation.
The portion where the minds of the people at the other end had to be read, in order to gather their responses.
Master Tolan smiled then, seeming a bit reluctant to do so.
“I feel like a student again, being set to my paces. I’m not as confident that I will have this skill in that time as you seem to be, Master Brolly.”
That was a thing that Farad understood. Learning a new life skill was hard, past a certain age. Due largely to the fear of failure, instead of lack of ability to do so. It was a thing they couldn’t afford to allow, at the moment. Not from anyone on their side. Especially a capable man like Master Tolan.
“You can do it already and be understood. All that’s needed now are a few refinements. We should work on some other things before I leave. If I do. Really... If I can get some time, I should see about writing a text for that, in Istlan. It will take me a few days, but right now, with my schedule...”
The Prince shook his head then.
“That is a bit intense, isn’t it? Mother was talking about that at first meal, just the other day. She’s had no particular visions regarding you for a while, at least. To her
mind that means you should be given a chance to relax for a while. I can’t disagree. Things have been dark for a time. First the battle of the lake, then that bit of dark work with Franken.” He went silent then, as if either Anders or Farad were going to have an issue with the topic of Master Franken.
It wasn’t pleasant to think about, since the man had murdered Estella. Sacrificing her, a good woman, to power a single spell. She had, even if he hadn’t realized it at the time, been important to the life of young Anders. The older serving woman had acted as his main caretaker, far too often for there not to be a sting when they considered it. Even Farad had liked the woman. In the two or three times they’d met, the woman had cared for him once, preventing his death with the water she brought to his lips, then later, tending to the rooms of the Modroc with him, when no one else was brave enough to face the supposedly fearsome people from the south.
Then Master Franken, the castle healer, had murdered her, using her life energy to power his escape into the night.
Anders, along with many others, had ridden out to find the man. Master Tolan had done so in his own person. So had Depak Sona and Eltha Tennent, one of the Modroc. Baron Kilroy had done so as well, being a friend of one of the woman’s sons. Rather than getting lost in thought, Anders simply nodded.
“I have so much to learn, however. Plus, I’ll probably be beaten if I have to go to the front, for taking the time away from my bow making and fletching work.” That wasn’t going to be happening, of course. The men training him there understood that orders were orders. They were guards, but the castle guard pulled from the military, most of the time. Each man had been in the army, proving themselves in battle before moving to protect the King directly.
The words came out as Prince Robarts cracked the door, his face set. It wasn’t a smile or a frown, but seemed nearly stern. There was a look then, at Prince Alpert.
“Father is sending Anders to the front, as we discussed. In a week, since there is a supply train with guards, already planning to move out at that time. You have that time, between now and then, to yourself. Father’s orders.”
Anders nodded, feeling a secret thrill, since it would be an adventure. He, the boy within, was wise enough to know that it would also be a hardship. He just didn't think of that as a negative like Farad did. Sleeping hard, on the ground, was a thing to be avoided, if possible. At least to the old historian. Anders didn’t care about that at all, even if it really wasn’t comfortable to him, either.
“I can work on that book then, Master Tolan. Really, I need to write a couple of them. Short ones, thankfully. I have time now.” He doubted he truly did, but Prince Robarts smiled at him.
“You’re writing tracts now? I didn't know that was a skill you possessed. I have many things that need to be committed to paper. Perhaps when you come back? Or, I know, I’ll send some along with you, for entertainment.” He grinned, as if it was a funny idea.
Which was true. Writing anything in the field was a chore. You pretty much had to bring your own table along, if you were going to do that at all. That got him to play along.
“Well, I do have a wagon. No horses trained to pull it, but I can take some supplies with me, if I need to have writing gear and a set up that way. It shouldn’t slow us down, if I’m traveling with the supply train anyway, correct?” He was playing, of course. Mainly because, while he did have that wagon, he didn’t know how to drive it.
Neither part of him did. Anders was young and Farad had lived almost his entire life in a cave complex, as what was essentially a monk.
Everyone there nodded along with his words, with the General seeming serious about it.
“Very good then. I’ll put the word out that you have some space open? Do you have coin to purchase those horses?”
He blinked, since he actually did, if they weren’t too expensive.
“I’ll need to take care that way, but I do. I’ll need a driver as well. How to find such a person, I don’t know.” He shrugged then. “Unless you have need of the Yansian coins, Master Tolan?” Gold and silver would spend well enough, regardless of where they were from. He had some, taken from the bodies of the dead. People he’d murdered at Sapphire Lake.
There had been over three hundred of them credited to his name. The fact was that he’d done more than that. He probably could have insisted on that fact at the time, and increased his part of the spoils, but the truth was that he didn’t particularly want to be known as a killer, if at all possible. Still, he had mail, plate armor, weapons, some coins and some jewelry from that event. Master Tolan had been keeping most of it in his room, using it to find links to the leaders, far away.
The man stroked his well lined, but shaved face.
“The coin, armor and weapons. I pulled some aside, that is of use in finding certain information. The jewelry is all significant. The poor don’t carry that kind of thing often and the wealthy tend to know others of that sort.” He seemed almost uneasy about that, as if the need to keep the valuables would seem like theft.
It didn’t. It made perfect sense to him, with his recent learning, that personal items would be of more use to them than common things like coin.
“I should pull some of the armor and see if I can alter it with magic. That works for clothing at least.” Not that mail would have helped him when lines of flame had been cast at him. Still, it could help protect him, from a knife or sword, if what he had was of good enough quality. Everything he owned was too big for him, however. Oddly enough, the people that had been sent against them had all been larger than a small child, for some reason.
Prince Robarts chuckled at the idea.
“Very good. We’ll come visit you in three days, to see what you manage that way. General, you can see to testing anything he comes up with for us? Now, you should go and do something that isn’t on your schedule. I’ll have the words passed to everyone that might need you. Who is that for the evening?”
Anders stood, getting that he was being sent off. Possibly for his own good, or at least to get him out of the way.
“Senna Grace, in the kitchen. Cooking lessons.” He didn't let his voice seem begrudging of the effort, since it had been ordered by the man himself.
Prince Robarts actually stared at him, for a moment.
“You kept on with the cooking? I’d honestly figured that finished when you left last summer. How are you doing at it? You know, never mind. I’ll send for your tutor there and ask her for a report. Go now, before we make up more for you to do. Recall, you travel in a week. Seven days. Be prepared for that.”
Anders nodded.
There was much to do, in that case. The relief from his schedule was nice, given he suddenly had to see to many other things. Anders, the boy, kind of wanted to play for a bit. To sit under a tree and simply rest. That didn't last long though. The boy, formerly lazy, smiled as they moved out into the hallway, moving away. Thinking of what they needed to get done. The work with the armor being the most important to him.
Of interest, the child had real ideas about how to get the work done. He’d need a magical word for steel and to understand the patterns for mail. He’d lived around it his whole life, but had never really taken the time to just look at it for long before. If he could learn the pattern and come up with a magical name for it, he should be able to repair or even make armor. He was also going to need to make a thick undershirt. Cloth armor made of linen. That, gambeson, was another thing he needed to examine and make some names up for. He was basically going to have to make his own, of course.
Both things were far too expensive to purchase. Even not being good with coin, the boy knew that much about the topic.
The interesting point was that Anders wanted to actually go and do the work on that, right away. It wasn’t a horrible idea, though he smiled. Farad nodded as he walked, muttering to himself.
“After the late meal, of course.”
Anders was fine with that, since the boy did enjoy eating, most of the time. They wer
e working hard enough, mainly on magic with a healthy dose of spear and bow, along with knife training, that he was hungry most of the time. He hadn’t lost any weight, but only because people had started to push food on him, as often as not.
He was already tidy enough, so he took a moment to change his clothing for the meal. It was only going to be in the low hall, which was where he ate, most of the time. That didn't mean the practice of altering his outfit wasn’t a good idea. Especially if he needed to work out how to make cloth armor.
“Clotha re barto idi, geth neg ot neg, fen.” As he moved, his tunic changed in color, though not cut or material, still seeming like heavy canvas at the moment. That was into festive looking stripes of red and indigo.
Then, with a bit more work, the top was turned into silk. It seemed like it, anyway. In both feeling and how it laid on his body. The weight stayed the same, making it thick for that particular fabric. That was fine, since it was a bit cool, inside the castle that evening.
When he got into the dining room, he simply collected his own food, from the board on the side. If he’d simply settled at a table, someone would have come by and served him, but that idea still left him feeling uneasy. His entire life had been spent with him eating in the same room though. At least his life as Anders had. It simply made sense to him to get his own food taken care of each day. It always had.
Farad made the selection for him, picking out a nice pile of varied meats, some tubers and a pile of bitters and greens, along with some thick brown bread. The near black kind, that most there didn't love so much. Rye. It was tasty enough. Even Anders agreed with that, now that he was more used to it. Word was that the high hall was fed on soft white wheat for three meals a day. That was silly, of course. The King didn't take his morning meal in the high hall at all, so there was no need to spend the funds on such things.
Still, it was possible that was the case. That the highest had better things than the low, or he supposed, those near the middle, simply made sense. It was the way of the world and always had been, as far as Farad could tell.
