Episode Two - Ammuntir, Sweet Ammuntir BACK
The fall had passed into winter, and winter into early spring, and while this was all too rapid for the adults of Ammuntir, for a young boy, summer could not come fast enough. However, this summer would be vastly different from the others, and the reason for this hit Brian again as he met Megan in their usual spot at the fountain in the courtyard. As the imposing figure of Brian Daly, the First Duke of Ammuntir (and Brian’s namesake) gazed out over the courtyard wall to the city beyond, Megan and Brian greeted one another despondently.
It wasn’t the same since Rory had become a squire.
“What shall we do?” Megan wondered. “I mean, till Rory gets here.”
Brian shrugged. “We have a couple of hours. I don’t know.” He paused, and added, “The only thing I can think to do is go watch court for a bit.”
Megan shrugged. “Sure.”
The Great Hall looked quite different from the festivities of Bertram the Bard in the fall. While the standards of the noble houses still lined the walls, and that of Ammuntir and the Daly family still adorned the High Seat, the center of the room was cleared of all seats, and full of standing spectators from all walks of life. Some of them were dressed in the overalls and flannel common to the farmers who dwelled outside the city walls in the state of Ammuntir; others were merchants whose clothes were decorated but occasionally stained with such ingredients as portrait paint or ink. A few of the lower-ranking nobles stood among the crowd even, waiting for their turn to be called by the heralds.
Once the heralds called a set of names, the people stepped up to the bottom of the stairs before the throne. There, Duchess Tera and several advisors, Sir Cenni among them, sat and discussed with the group what their grievance was. In the time it took Brian and Megan to make their way to the front, where they could hear the proceedings, the herald called four groups, and all four left the audience area shaking hands and smiling.
Once by the steps, the two children sat and listened as the next case was called. Two farmers stepped up to the audience area.
“Please,” said Duchess Tera, very formally, “how may I serve you?”
The two farmers looked at one another, and although there was enmity in their eyes, they silently assented between them which should go first.
“Your Grace,” explained the one closest to the children, “I had this cow. I had a pen for it, but the cow outgrew the pen. Before I was able to build a new one, she escaped… and helped herself to Cullen’s crops.” He gestured to the farmer beside him.
The farmer glared for a moment at Cullen, who took up the story.
“Your Grace,” he said, bowing. “I make my living by my crops. Anything that destroys them is a danger to them. I had to kill the cow. I couldn’t get her out of my wheat!”
The Duchess looked with dismay from one farmer to the other. “You’ve both lost your livelihoods!” she exclaimed. “I wish I knew how to make it up to either one of you. But I don’t.”
The two farmers looked at one another, dismayed. Megan raised an eyebrow, but Brian took a deep breath and held it.
“Your Grace, it’s true we did lose our livelihoods, but we came here in hope you would help us decide who should pay for this,” Cullen replied, his hands wresting with his hat.
“Well, clearly, if Jefferson could afford a fence, none of this would have happened,” Tera replied. “So I suppose asking money for your crops from him is futile, especially since he can’t sell milk from his cow anymore.”
“Well…. Yea, but – “ Cullen wrung his hat even harder. “But I – “
“Here is what I think you two should do,” Tera leaned forward in her chair, her bright smile on her face. “Cullen, help Jefferson build his fence. I’ll bet some of the crops that were spoiled will provide more than enough of a basis for a good one. I will then put Jefferson in charge of three of the city-state’s cows. Meanwhile, Cullen, you will be in charge of some of the city-state’s crops. For this season, both of you will be on the payroll. You may keep anything above what the city–state requires as a yield.”
“Your – your Grace, three cows?” Jefferson stammered.
“Ammuntir’s cows,” the Duchess smiled sweetly. “Oh, and I’m sure the bull we give you will be of great assistance in helping Cullen re-plow the seed we supply him.”
The two men looked at one another.
“You helped me plant those seeds to begin with,” Cullen observed.
“Three cows?” Jefferson repeated as Cullen led his stunned neighbor from the audience area. Duchess Tera leaned over to one of her advisors and whispered something, which was then passed along to a servant, who hurried off.
The next names were called. They were names Brian recognized, or, rather, a single name – the Ammuntir Allegiance, a group of nobles that had been staging public meetings since Bertram the Bard had arrived with the news of the attacks on the Fords. They were led by the fiery Lord Hartswood, who had been so outspoken in the meeting with the nobles. Now they stood before the Duchess as a group of perhaps twenty greater and lesser nobles, with Lord Hartswood as their spokesman.
“Once again, we have asked that the Druids appear in court to discuss the impending threat to Ammuntir,” he said in a voice loud and clear enough to be heard throughout the hall. “And once again, they have failed to come take counsel with us.”
Behind them, a young girl coughed and pushed her way to the front. She was wearing the aqua-colored uniform of an acolyte of the Druid Order and her hair was severely secured behind her back. To the two children at the stairs, she looked maybe three years older.
“It’s not that the Druids have refused your invitations, milords,” she said with a demure bow. “It is that they are themselves working on important projects to help protect Ammuntir from the war.”
“And now they insult us by sending a child!” Lord Hartswood cried.
The acolyte glared at the noble and continued unabashed.
“I have come to report the progress of the Order on several projects pertinent to the possible invasion,” she said. “We have found a strengthening agent for Kevlar, which will allow your armor, when treated with it, to withstand more pressure before being pierced. We are working on producing more of the tazer-bows. And we have prepared the stores of …” she trailed off for a moment, looking down and taking a deep breath. “We have prepared the explosives for distribution. I assure you, Lord Hartswood,” she finished, turning her attention to the entire assembly of nobles, “the Druids are taking this threat most seriously.”
“Then why have they refused to meet with the nobility of this city-state? Why have they hidden in their temple?” one of the other nobles demanded.
“We are sages, not warriors,” the acolyte responded curtly. “We study and give things to warriors to fight with. But honestly, even we don’t know what we’re up against.”
The Duchess intervened. “None of the scouts we have sent to ascertain the enemy’s strength have returned. It’s been months. I must advise, for the safety of Ammuntir, that we prepare for the worst.”
“The High Druid of Fermia agrees with you, Your Grace,” the acolyte said, bowing, but not to the Duchess. A hush fell about the whole room.
“The High Druid of Fermia is involved?” Brian finally stammered, and, although he had spoken out of place and regretted it immediately, he was astounded to discover that everyone now turned their attention to the acolyte, waiting for her answer to his question.
“We have been in contact with her, yes,” the acolyte responded sagely.
The Duchess nodded thoughtfully.
“Does this allay your fears, Lord Hartswood? At least, for the moment?”
“I believe actions will speak louder than words in this matter, Your Grace,” Lord Hartswood replied coldly, bowing, but his air showing that it was merely for the custom and not the respect.
The acolyte retreated to join the two children upon being dismissed, and the next case was called. She sat, pushing back a loose strand of her auburn hair, and sighed.
“I am far too young for such things,” she said to no one in particular. However, she’d sat right next to Brian and Megan, so they decided it was only proper to respond… somehow. Megan came up empty, but Brian could add to the conversation.
“I’m Brian Daly,” he said, simply.
The acolyte’s eyes widened. “I had to deal with it once, but wow – you must have the spotlight on you all the time.”
“Spotlight?” Brian wondered, but the acolyte shrugged.
“Like what I just had to do – everyone staring at you. It’s a Druid term.”
Brian laughed. “Exactly.”
The next few cases were boring – an argument over glass-trading rights since the Fords invasion created a shortage; a border dispute; and an application for marriage. The room was beginning to thin out, and Brian and Megan decided it was time to leave. However, they couldn’t leave behind their new friend, so they invited her to come along.
“I mean, you don’t have to get back or anything, do you, Anwin?” Megan asked the young Druid-to-be.
Anwin glanced from side to side, as though looking for a superior who might object.
“As long as I report to my superiors, I have the afternoon free until supper, which is at eight,” she said.
“Well, we have to meet my cousin Rory at the Squires’ Hall,” Megan said, and there was just a hint of pride in her voice at announcing this. “We were going to the Great-market to get picture-books.”
Anwin’s eyes brightened. “I love picture-books!” she cried. “but…” she looked down at the ground and added, “I prefer to call them ‘graphic novels.’”
Brian and Megan exchanged a grinning glance.
“I can’t wait till you meet my cousin,” Megan announced, grabbing the Druid acolyte by the hand and the three made their way outside.
It was a long walk across the gardens of the palace to the carriage station, but eventually they made it in time for a huge red carriage pulled by six silver steeds glide up to the stop. The six horses stood silently, not even swatting their tails, since no flies would pester them anyway. They just looked ahead, as if to the next place to stop.
The three youths boarded the carriage and gave a shy glance to the other passengers before seating themselves in the back. They continued their conversation from the Great Hall, which had mostly been about bards and actors they liked, causing Brian to wish more and more for Rory. But the Temple of the Druids was on the way to the Squires’ Hall, which meant relief was long in coming.
Tuning the girls out, Brian allowed himself to daydream about the Squires’ Tourneys Rory would be eligible for in just two years. Great champions had been born in these tournaments, which were held to test a squire’s training and potential to fight in the military. All the city-states had such tournaments, and the best of these local fighters would participate in tourneys on wider and wider scales, one or two of them even across the rivers Yerish, Channel, and Nordsk.
The tournaments consisted of swordplay (with weighted practice swords rather than real mono-carbon blades), jousting, archery, crossbow marksmanship, boxing, wrestling, and pitch – this last being marksmanship throwing a ball. While Brian enjoyed rugby, kicker, and battle-ball, he loved the tourneys each festival, and the big ones that came to town every few years. He loved daydreaming about it.
But as the Duchess’s ward, daydreaming is all he would ever do. He would never be a squire, or a knight; he’d be groomed to take his place amongst the nobles, and when the Duchess’s term ended, he’d sit with her in one of the great seats that lined the Great Hall, beneath the Daly banner. His life, while fighting would be a part of it, would be more political.
He didn’t know how he felt about that. He’d once seen Cenni with no shirt on when he was younger, having burst in on the Duchess during a bad storm. There was a huge indentation down the knight’s back, from his right shoulder to his left hip, where an enemy had tried to get the best of him, and Brian was scared of having a scar like that. On the other hand…. The politicians were dull, most of them old men and fat ladies who probably had carriages to take them from their front steps to their stables. Brian didn’t want to be like that.
Right now, all he wanted, was picture-books – ahem! Graphic novels – and his friends.
He’d had to stand around and wait for Anwin to return from the depths of the huge stone Druid’s Temple, with its sterile white granite looking over the city as vendors shouted their wares from all over. They’d had to board another carriage to reach the stop near the Squires’ Hall, but at least that was within walking distance of the Great-market, and Brian was pleased to see Rory outside, waiting for them.
He raced up to his companion, who’d grown over a foot and looked very smart in his squire’s tabard, which had the sun on one sleeve, the moon on the other, and a seagull – the arms of his sponsor – on the front and back.
“Am I glad to see you!” he stage-whispered, glancing at the girls. “The two of them – “
But Rory was in a strange trance as he approached his cousin and the new girl.
“I’m Rory Stanton,” he introduced, proffering a hand to the Druid acolyte. She looked up at him with wide green eyes, and stammered back her own name.
Megan skipped over to Brian.
“I knew they’d like each other,” she said, ignoring Brian’s stunned expression. “Let’s go to the Great-market now.”
Brian was in an angry daze down both blocks to the Great-market, a huge stone and glass structure which housed many stores, among them Stanlee Books. Although no one could really point to any one work of his, Stanlee was apparently a great Bard from just before the Golden Age of Magic, and the owner, who was a huge fan of this particular form of novel, paid his homage the only way he knew how. Since the three of them knew how to read, Stanlee Books was a favorite haunt of theirs, and Brian’s anger toward Anwin subsided when she went straight for a foreign title that was obscure, but a staple amongst true readers.
“Wow. Sword of the Samurai. You know your books,” Rory told her, and she blushed in appreciation. Rolling his eyes, Brian decided to look elsewhere for some of his own favorite titles, which were certainly more exciting than the epics Rory and, apparently, Anwin, enjoyed. Not that Sword of the Samurai was bad… he just couldn’t bear to be anywhere near the two of them right now, blushing and gazing at one another the way they were. This trip was not as much fun as Brian had begun to hope.
The foreign books were on the other side of a wall that bisected the shop, but the owner could clearly see both sides, and was now paying close attention to some other patrons who had entered the shop. …Rory tensed up, noticing this, and Brian, still annoyed with Rory’s fawning, noticed his friend’s alarm. Cautiously, the two of them made their way to a part of the shop where they could both get a good view of what the merchant was seeing.
A band of about five youths walked in, their dress and air showing they were up to no good. They were too old to be squires, and had probably never been in the Pages’ Guild anyway; they didn’t seem to be the kind of boys who would have liked that. They seemed like the kind of boys who liked to throw boom-crackers at stray dogs for a laugh.
“May I help you boys?” the merchant asked, and barely dodged the first blow as one of the ruffians shot a dart at him. The portly book collector was more lithe than he looked and flew over the counter in a fluid motion, re-emerging with a cross-bow, locked and loaded, but a second dart from one of the other ruffians stuck his neck and he fell to the ground, unconscious, before he could fire a shot with it.
Rory narrowed his eyes and drew his short-sword from beneath his tabard. Brian was stunned; he had no idea Rory possessed such a thing. He followed in a daze as the older boy stepped out of the foreign section, between the five ruffians and the merchant’s coffers.
“As a Squire of Ammuntir, it is my duty to intervene and prevent this crime,” he said evenly, his sword at the ready. The ruffians exchanged a glance before laughing.
“Whatever,” said the apparent leader, throwing a large, heavy tome at the squire before continuing forward. Rory dodged it easily, but the ruffian also had time to draw a blade of his own, a small but deadly knife. Brian took an involuntary step back, knocking into Megan.
“Get your wits together, Brian!” his companion whispered, eyeing her cousin. “This isn’t like beating up Jim Finn.”
Brian nodded and looked around, his mind barely registering the flitting shadow of Anwin, fleeing the shop. The first thing he found was a rod, which, attached to the bookshelves, would support another shelf. It was metal, and felt good in his hand, and he stepped forward a little more boldly.
Pointing his makeshift weapon at the gang, he said, “You’ll have to go through us if you want to rob this place.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the corner of Rory’s mouth raise, and the squire raised his sword to match.
The leader of the ruffians shrugged. “Fine,” he said and leaped forward, his companions following suit.
Brian’s arm seemed to lead his brain as he swung twice and knocked aside two of the ruffians, catching them both full aside the head. He even had time to turn for a moment to slam the dented metal support rod over the head of a third, who was ganging up with a partner on Megan. Megan easily dispatched hers, but only with the other one out of the way – he’d have hit her over the head at the same time her rock-hard fist connected with the chin of the one she’d been focused on.
Both of them turned to look at Rory. The older boy’s eyes were closed, and his lips were pursed tightly, the leader of the band of would-be robbers kneeling before him, his body supple and falling.
“Rory?” Megan wondered.
“Stay back!” the older boy ordered, but Brian couldn’t stay back. He had to see, and took a step forward.
The ruffian’s visage was a mask of shock and terror as it faced downward. His body was held up by only two things. One was the knife he’d embedded in Rory’s left hip, which he clung to now with muscles straining. The other was the squire’s sword, which was buried just below the ruffian’s ribcage. Brian was surprised that the blood which oozed from the mortal wound was mostly black and sluggish, only pooling in red when it hit the ground.
He was staring at this scene, stunned, when the prefects came in, led by Anwin.
“Those boys – “ she began, and then surveyed the scene. Rory, not moving, grimacing from even just this effort, turned his head to face the prefects.
“They were trying to rob the shop,” he explained simply.
Without question, two of the prefects darted forward to disentangle the squire from his painful situation, while two others cuffed the other robbers. The last went behind the counter to the owner, not sparing the youths a glare that told both of them they should go nowhere.
Anwin stepped forward.
“I am a Druid acolyte, if you need my help,” she said, as one of the prefects assisting Rory observed that he needed medical attention. He waved her over, and as she took a look at Rory’s knife-wound, he procured from his belt a small box – a talker. Brian was unimpressed – the ones the Duchess’s Guard used were embedded in their helms – but this was just a market prefect, after all.
The Druids assigned to this section of the city arrived quickly, by which time Anwin had the knife removed from Rory’s hip but was concerned about the loss of blood. As Anwin’s elders attended to the wound, Rory winced with pain, and his hand involuntarily let go of his sword. The corpse of the lead ruffian fell like a stone. Neither Brian nor Megan could look away.
The prefect who attended to the merchant now had him conscious, and as she waited for him to regain coherence, she returned her attention to the two companions.
“So – who are you, and what happened here?” she asked sternly.
“Megan Stanton.”
“Brian Daly.”
The prefect raised her eyebrows, jotting the names down on a pad that she seemed to procure from nowhere.
“A squire and the ward of Ammuntir involved in a robbery,” she said, and Brian was chilled by her tone.
“We weren’t exactly involved,” Megan defended.
“Shush,” the prefect ordered. “The acolyte from the Druid Temple said as much. And we’ve been looking for this gang. There’s probably going to be commendations in it for you, especially your squire friend there. He managed to kill the leader.” The prefect glanced over at him with a chilling smile.
Brian looked at his friend, too, but Rory wasn’t his friend anymore. Rory was a killer now. He took an involuntary step back, watching the prefects in a daze, watching the Druids work on Rory’s wound, watching them revive the remaining ruffians. Sound, even sight had little effect on him as the world passed him by. The present moment had little meaning or even existence to him as his mind retreated into this new world, this world where everything was a dim fog but the image of his closest friend standing, eyes closed, a sword embedded in the chest of an attacker not much older than himself.
Somehow, he found himself in the prefects’ office, not sure why or what he was waiting for, Megan and Anwin by his side. In his dazed state, he blocked out their chatter, but somehow understood that Anwin had run for the prefects, scared that the others were going to get hurt. Not even the questions from the prefects got through coherently; although Brian heard himself answer, he wasn’t doing the talking, as though his mouth moved of its own volition. He didn’t snap out of it until Lord Hartswood entered the prefect’s office, followed by Sir Cenni, both of whom were speaking very animatedly at one another.
“Squire Stanton is just a child!” Cenni was arguing. “He needs to be debriefed, and he certainly needs a lot more training than he has now!”
“There’s a war coming, Lord mac Coilin,” Lord Hartswood snapped back. “Every man we can get who can fight will help!”
All three of the children had risen when the two knights walked in, and now Brian couldn’t contain himself – his anger, fear and dismay all unleashed itself in a torrent. He glared at Lord Hartswood and, fists balled by his sides, shouted, “Piss off!”
Both knights stopped and looked at the boy with wide eyes. Even Megan took a step away from Brian, but he didn’t care. He continued on, undaunted.
“That’s not a knight! That’s Rory! He’s my friend! We grew up together! We were shopping for picture books!”
“Boy, there’s a war going on,” Lord Hartswood replied coldly. “I wouldn’t expect the spoiled son of a pampered queen to understand that.”
Without even thought, Brian’s body reacted as he rushed at the knight in blind rage. Before he could meet his mark, though, he found himself grabbed up and dizzyingly flung around; he realized quickly he was boosted on Sir Cenni’s shoulder like a sack of flour. He didn’t fight.
“Lord Hartswood, as Captain of the Guard of Ammuntir, I deny your request to beknight Rory Stanton,” he hissed. “And should I ever hear you speak of the Duchess or her ward again in such a tone, I will have you arrested for treason.”
He turned to leave, and made it almost to the door, but Lord Hartswood muttered something which made him freeze, for just a moment.
“You wouldn’t be so defensive if you weren’t buggering her.”
Sir Cenni’s body stiffened, and the muscles in his jaw worked. A deep breath later, he continued walking, only finally setting Brian down when they were outside of the Great-market. Brian thought the knight was going to say something to him, but instead Sir Cenni kept striding on, and Brian had to trot to keep pace. A dark expression adorned his visage and Brian could see that little muscle in his jaw working.
He was scared. Finally, he stopped and took a deep breath. It didn’t help. He still began to sob as the words rushed out of his mouth.
“Sir Cenni, I’m sorry, I didn’t know what else to do, we just couldn’t let that man get hurt –“
Sir Cenni stopped abruptly and turned to face the boy. He sighed and put a hand on Brian’s shoulder. This in itself was discomforting – it was the gesture of man to man, not man to boy.
“I’m not angry with you, Brian,” the knight said. “In fact, what you, Megan, Rory, and the acolyte did was very, very noble. Rory especially. I can’t commend you enough, and the Duchess will probably give all four of you awards in court.”
“But – Rory – “
“He’ll be fine. The Druids can fix a knife-wound like that in no time.”
“But he killed that boy!” Brian exclaimed.
Sir Cenni, for the second time in mere minutes, was frozen with shock. And now, he knelt down to face Brian at eye level, but his hand remained on Brian’s shoulder.
“That boy was going to kill him,” the knight told him solemnly. “Just for helping out the shopkeeper. Knives are tools we use to cut things, but in anger they’re weapons we use to cut people.”
“But Rory killed him!”
“Do you think that makes Rory a bad person?”
Brian had to stop and think about that for a minute. Sir Cenni was right – the ruffian leader hadn’t pulled the knife to cut meat or whittle wood – he’d meant to do harm to Rory, maybe even kill him. As he turned this over in his mind, Sir Cenni continued.
“I want you to remember something, Brian, for all of your days. Anything you do with any tool you have, even your body and mind, comes from your spirit. If your spirit is evil, your actions will be evil, and your words will be as bad. That’s the difference between Rory and that robber.”
Brian took a deep breath, controlling the tears that freely flowed down his face.
“You mean honor,” he said.
The darkness that had overtaken Sir Cenni’s face parted and he smiled widely.
“Exactly.”
“Then I hope I prove my spirit is good.”
Sir Cenni rose again, his expression as solemn as before, yet that hand never left Brian’s shoulder. They were man to man again, but this time, Brian looked the knight in the eye and stood tall.
“You already are starting to, Brian Daly. If you continue on the path you’re on, you will be as bright a jewel for Ammuntir as Duchess Tera herself.”
“Lord Hartswood insulted her, didn’t he,” Brian stated, his voice thick with hurt, as they resumed their walk to Cenni’s steed. Sir Cenni stopped, the cloud returning. Hastily, Brian added, “Insulted you both. But mostly her.”
“That’s none of your business, Brian,” Sir Cenni snapped. Then he sighed. “Yes, he insulted us both. But it’s not really something you’d understand.”
“I know what buggering is,” Brian supplied. “But you are the most loyal to the Duchess, so if buggering her makes that – “
“Stop speaking of it in such vulgar terms!” Sir Cenni snapped again. “I told you, you’re too young to understand. Yes, he insulted us both. But he is not worth trifling with or worrying over, and I’ve got more important business to attend to.”
“Knight stuff?” Brian wondered as Cenni helped him up on the back of the sleek chrome horse that stood immobile, waiting for its master. Cenni mounted in one fluid notion and gave the horse the command to go, and they set off at a slow trot through the streets of Ammuntir and back to the castle.
“I’m going on a diplomatic journey to the other city-states,” the knight explained once they were underway. “I may be gone for months, even a season.”
“Is this about the Fomor? You’re going to try to get the other city-states to help, aren’t you!” Brian exclaimed excitedly, the audience with Bertram the Bard still fresh in his mind after all these months.
Brian didn’t see it, but Sir Cenni grinned again. “I am. I have to. And I wish I could be here, because your birthday is only next season, and it’s an important one.”
Brian grinned. “Twelve annos,” he replied. “Old enough to be a squire – if I ever could be.”
“Well, you will be, of a sort,” the knight said, then held his breath, waiting for the reaction.
“I – what?!!?” Brian cried.
“I have been personally asked to undertake your further training,” Cenni told him. “When I return, we’ll start. The Duchess thinks that to make a good ruler of Ammuntir, you should understand the arts of war. All the nobles have some training, but the Duchess wants you to learn everything you can.”
“From you?”
“Yea,”
Brian hugged the knight even tighter than was necessary to stay on the back of the horse. Cenni couldn’t help it; his smile broadened. He’d been waiting to tell Brian the news, knowing that his absence would hit the boy hard. It wasn’t just Duchess Tera he loved. And this long trek he was about to make – this trek he wasn’t quite as optimistic about as he’d behaved for either the boy or his adopted mother – weighed heavily on his mind. Delivering such exciting news to Brian lifted his mind from the dire task ahead of him.
But Brian was a child, and children often knew the exact thoughts of adults.
“When are you leaving?” he wondered.
“Tomorrow night, after court,” the knight replied dourly.
However, Brian was glad Cenni had stayed for court when he heard his name called by the herald, along with the names of his comrades. He practically raced up to the audience area, and when they all four stood before the Duchess, they clasped hands, trembling. The eyes of all the nobles of Ammuntir were on them as the Duchess rose and spoke.
“Yesterday, a citizen of my city was put into danger by people who meant both him and his business harm,” she told the nobles. “These four selflessly intervened, preventing the robbery and apprehending an organized band of thieves.
“For Brian Daly and Megan Stanton, I bestow the Sash of Shawn, the highest commendation given by the Pages’ Guild.” She paused a moment to allow two of the other pages – one of them Jim Finn, who begrudgingly held Brian’s – to slip the bright red sashes over their shoulders. The standard of the Pages’ Guild was embroidered at the shoulder – a black trefoil, an ancient symbol no one remembered. Shawn Gracey, however, everyone remembered, as the youth who’d founded the Pages’ Guild centuries ago, and the Sash of Shawn was given only for exceptional service in the name of the Pages’ Guild.
“For Anwin of the Temple of Brotherly Knowledge, I have been asked by the Druids to refrain from bestowing an official award of Ammuntir. However, they have authorized me to award you the Order of the Orbit.” Anwin gasped in shock, and the Duchess explained, “This is apparently an honor society within the Druid Temples. I am honored to be allowed to inform you of your inclusion in this society.”
Solemnly, the Duchess turned her attention to Rory and beckoned him forward. Although the signs of injury appeared in his step, he was standing, walking, and wore his sword on his hip. His head was held high – he was a squire. Brian looked at his friend, and saw his friend there, in that young knight, but he also saw something else.
“Rory Stanton, would it do you great injury to kneel?” the Duchess asked. Without a word, Rory obeyed, although he did wince a bit. He took a moment to adjust his sword and then his full attention was on the Duchess’s face. She smiled, and reached over to Sir Cenni, who handed her the Sword of State, which normally he bore on his own hip. It rested now on a pillow that was bisected into the blue and black of the Daly arms, and Duchess Tera gingerly took it and held it aloft. The green gem which glistened at the center of its hilt caught the light and shone about the room, the sword itself almost as tall as the woman holding it, and yet, she gently laid it upon Rory’s left shoulder.
“As a Squire of Ammuntir, you have done your duty and defended its citizens with your body and your life. For this, you are to be commended. Although I can not knight you yet, young squire, I can bestow upon you the Order of the Silver Sword, which does carry a standard of arms. Arise now, Lord Squire Rory Stanton, hero of Ammuntir.”
Carefully, Rory pushed himself to his feet, and Brian risked a glance at both Sir Cenni and Lord Hartswood. The Head of the Guard’s visage was impassive, but Lord Hartswood’s eyes were blazing more than usual, and Brian got the feeling that of course, Sir Cenni had won the argument begun at the prefects’ office.
Rory’s award of arms was the last business of court for the day, and Brian raced to find Sir Cenni before he could leave. This was a simple task, as he and the Duchess retreated to an office behind the throne, which was usually hidden by the Ammuntir flag during court or feasts. Brian ran to the door, intending to wait outside for Sir Cenni to emerge, but the voices from within distracted him, and the door was open just enough for him to make out actual words…
“I wish I could send someone else, Cenni,” the Duchess was saying. “But I don’t think there’s anyone else in Ammuntir I trust more than you.”
“Because you know you have more than just my fealty, Tera,” Cenni replied, and hearing him refer to the ruler of Ammuntir so familiarly brought back Lord Hartswood’s parting shot from the day before.
There was a momentary silence, and then Brian could hear the Duchess gasp. Then, she said, “I have something for you.”
“Wait a moment – first I want to see – “
The door was flung open, and Sir Cenni loomed over Brian, looking around for a confused moment, before noticing the boy. His face softened, and he glanced at the Duchess, who was rummaging through a wardrobe with her back to them.
“It seems we have an eavesdropper,” he told her, amused. She looked, and her face brightened.
“Let him in,” she said. “And make sure the door is shut firmly this time.”
As Brian was ushered in, and Sir Cenni locked the door, he grinned broadly.
“Yea, I’d like to say good-bye to you properly,” he said with a wink. The Duchess blushed and gestured with her eyes at Brian, who looked down at his feet.
“Sorry,” he said. “I – uh – “
Sir Cenni knelt down and hugged the boy.
“I’ll miss you too,” he said. Nervously, Brian returned the embrace. “You be good, and remember what I told you, Brian. When I get back, I’ll be training you.”
“Oh, you told him that?” the Duchess asked, surprised. “Good! It’ll give you something to look forward to.” She seemed to have found what she’d been looking for and was waiting expectantly. Finally, she said to Brian, “Why don’t you get ready for supper, and then we’ll have a game of Battles.”
Brian grinned. “I’m eleven, not stupid,” he said. Nevertheless, he turned and left, but not before he heard Sir Cenni tell the Duchess, “It gets harder and harder to hide every day. I’m not surprised he figured it out – especially – “
The door was closed to Brian, but the conversation continued.
“Especially after Terrance’s lewd comment,” Sir Cenni concluded.
“Well, he’s also eleven, he will be exposed to such things soon enough,” the Duchess laughed. “And I don’t care about blow-hards like Terrance. I was rather impressed with the little Druid girl already when she handled him so well in court yesterday.”
“He was angry that we didn’t knight the Stanton boy.”
“He’ll get over it. I want my squires trained – “ She stopped in mid-sentence and put a hand on his cheek. “Cenni, I want the army you want. Boys like Rory Stanton just don’t have the experience to fight in a battle like the one we’re facing. They’ll die and take Ammuntir with them. That’s why this mission is so important, Cenni. I wish I could send anyone but you – but I know I’m sending you because – “ She stopped again, and looked away, her hand dropping to her side.
He responded by kissing her, deeply, passionately. “Because I am an extension of you, and you must remain to run the city.”
She stepped back from his embrace, but only to present him with the package she’d rummaged around the wardrobe for. It was simply wrapped in cloth – the Daly Sun and Moon – and secured with a single blue ribbon. It was soft to the touch, and when the wrap cloth was released, and the ribbon set aside, what remained was an elegantly-wrought tunic, dark green with a rolling blue river embroidered in the bottom. Cenni grinned.
“The river – where we met,” he said, and her face brightened.
“You a swaggering squire, me watering my horse.”
Clutching the tunic to him, he embraced her again.
“We’ve come a long way since then, Tera. Both of us.”
Tera sighed. “We have, but I can’t wait for it to end. One more year, and Bruce Regher takes over as Duke of Ammuntir.”
“And on that day, I can love you openly, so it will be the best day.”
The Duchess smiled, and kissed him again.
“And I will be plain old Countess Daly,” she teased.
“Heh – plain old Countess,” Cenni echoed. “An honor reserved only for those who serve as Duke or Duchess of Ammuntir.” He gazed at her, as though trying to memorize her features. “You set a standard, you know. While idiots like Terrance Hartswood might talk, people say you adopted Ammuntir the same way you adopted Brian. They call you ‘Mother of Ammuntir.’”
Tera smiled. “I hope I did well raising both…” she said.
“Brian proved yesterday what he’s made of. I thank you for the honor of training him. Even if he is never elected Duke, he will be a great asset to the Noble Council. He’s smart – and more importantly, he’s got character.”
“Thank you for taking on the task. You’ve been like a father to him….” Tera trailed off, smiling for a moment at that thought. “…And I want him to learn more than just how to swing a sword. That’s why you’re Captain of the Guard. Not because you were popular, like me, but by right of arms. By knowing the battle isn’t always with swords.”
“You will always be my best student, Tera,” Cenni said, smiling and cupping her chin in one hand. “Because we learned it together.”
“We make a good team,” Tera agreed.
“We’ll make a better one, when I can marry you.”
They looked into each other’s eyes for a moment, the exchange between them more potent than any words they could say. Finally, Cenni turned away from her.
“Please – hurry back to me, Cenni,” she said to his back. He glanced over one shoulder, his face serious, sincere, and full of all the part of his heart that was hers.
“I will, as soon as I can. Until then, my heart is here with you.”
They spent one more moment gazing at one another before he finally turned and strode out. The Duchess heaved a sigh, biting back the tears that threatened, and collapsed onto the sofa in the middle of the room. She glanced down next to her, her eyes falling upon a small paper box. Her hands shaking, she unfastened it, and the paper fell away to reveal a broach, a large pink gem carved in the shape of a heart. The paper itself was a note, and only repeated his last words:
My heart is here with you.
It was quite some time before she could compose herself enough to attend to the promised Battles game.