Garinor looked at the demanding soldier, and then looked down at himself. He decided he looked like a mess if he was to leave the house. “Sir, may I have a quick wash up before we get going?”
With a laugh, the soldier shook his head. “You are young, son. How old, may I ask?”
“Fourteen,” Garinor responded proudly.
“I see. And you have never set foot in the castle grounds, I suspect?”
“No, sir, I have had no reason to,” he answered.
The guard laughed again. “It is no wonder you make this request.” He then turned to Garinor’s mother, whose eyes glittered with a mixture of tears and pride, for she admired that her son did not wish to leave looking like he had been roused from bed like a criminal.
“Let him wash up!” she pleaded.
The guard shook with head with a sigh. “I cannot, I’m afraid. Orders are orders, you know. The boy must come now. As is. No delays.”
Defiantly, Garinor crammed the last bit of toast into his mouth, determined to at least have that much say in his fate. He walked over to his mother and kissed her cheek.
“Is it bad news, mother?”
But the guard intervened, “Time for that later, boy. We go. Now,” he added, a bit sternly.
“Go, son, and do as you are told,” Luinna begged him. “You must.”
With a heavy heart, Garinor nodded his head and he turned to face the guardsman. “It looks like I have no choice.”
“No choice at all,” the guard agreed. “Let us go.” With that, they turned and left Garinor’s home, his mother struggling to hold in her sobs.