"Kalen!" The familiar thump of a walking staff followed his father's voice. He stepped forward into the house and into his father's waiting arms. "What's this? This weak hug? I'm minus one leg, not made of glass." Kalen laughed and squeezed more tightly, though still careful not to knock his father down.
"Come, son, sit and tell me of the battle." He stumped over to the table and carefully sat down. Kalen followed him quickly and pulled up his chair. He gave his father a quick, unelaborate account of the battle, then plunged into his question.
"Father, do you need me tonight? Because Syriel invited me over."
His father looked away for a long moment. "Are you sure that is wise, son?" He asked at length. "I fear for you. You are spending too much time with Syriel."
"What? Why shouldn't I? She's my best friend! What do you have against her?" Kalen demanded angrily.
"It's not that, son. She is a good and kind girl--she visits me often when you are away--but you know the king's threats. I fear his men have been watching you with her. The king is a jealous man and will stop at nothing to have what he wants."
"That's ridiculous! She's five years older than me! Even the king can't imagine that there's something between us."
"He can't, but he does. His men paid me a visit yesterday. He wants you to keep your distance."
"And what if I don't?"
"They didn't say exactly, but I got the basic idea. For now, please tell her that you are not available this afternoon. And do not sit with her at the feast tonight."
"No. I won't avoid her just because the king wants me to. Who is he to tell me who I can and can't be friends with?"
"Son, think carefully. You could put us both in danger by your rashness."
"Rash? Is it rash to be friendly? Syriel is lonely--and I am too. We grew up together--we've been friends as long as I can remember--since she used to watch me when you were at war. I can't just abandon her."
"It's not like you can never see her again. You just need to put a little distance between you--don't leave any room for rumors. Remember that she is a young woman and you are a young man. You are not children any more."
"I know that, but I swear there is nothing between us--we are friends, nothing more, but friends don't turn their backs on each other--especially in tough times, like when an evil king is having his cronies haunt her every footstep." Kalen stopped, catching his father's pained look. "I'm sorry. I know it isn't your fault, father. It just makes me so mad--and I really can't. She's my friend and I'm going to stick by her. I'm not afraid of the king." Liar, his conscience whispered. "Now, if you'll excuse me," He stood up, "I expect Syriel is waiting." He turned to leave, but his father's walking staff barred his way.
"Please, son. Don't go--not yet. You haven't even been home for an hour, after being away for two weeks. Syriel is not the only one who gets lonely when you're away. When the men came back and I didn't see you and you didn't come, I feared the worst. Now please, just stay with your old, crippled father for an afternoon."
Kalen deliberately stepped over the staff. "The army's staying in town for at least a week, father. We'll have lots of time together later. I'll sit with you at the feast tonight!" He called over his shoulder as he left the house.
Kalen kept his promise. The feast found him squeezed in between his father and Syriel, with the king watching his every move from his high seat. He felt his father's hand protectively resting on his shoulder and resisted the urge to brush it off. If it made his father feel like he was safer, he could put up with it--even if it made him feel like a ten year old. He hoped Syriel wouldn't notice, but her raised eyebrow told him that it was too late to hope that. She leaned towards him, but before she spoke, the king stood, raising a goblet.
"I drink this day to the our victory, to our returned victors and heroic fallen." He paused as they all murmured their assent and raised their glasses, then continued. "I express the gratitude and debt that all free people owe you all, and trust your future loyalty to protect us for many years to come. But I regret to say that I have grave news in this time of celebration. Word came this very night that our neighboring city and constant help and support in this long war, Syxel, is now besieged by the armies of Fellyre. Our allies call for aid. We cannot abandon them." Silence fell around the hall as the words sank in. Kalen felt his father's hand clench. There would be no week together. The army was needed. All around, wives and children burst into sobs. Kalen looked at the king and the king met his gaze. An evil smile twisted one corner of the king's mouth, then his eyes moved to Syriel with the same familiar greedy look. She noticed it and glared back until he looked away.
Taldyr stood up abruptly. "We shall make ready, my lord." He said stiffly and turned on his heel and left the hall. Syriel glanced at Kalen then rose and followed her father. Kalen moved to follow, but his father's firm hand on his shoulder stopped him. The feast continued in silence. Kalen's stomach was in knots, but his fifteen-year-old appetite won out and he ate. His father and almost half of the others in attendance did not. There was no dancing or singing, and the king's jovial mood first annoyed then angered the crowd. He laughed and told loud jokes and refilled his goblet again and again until he was barely coherent. When he finally stood--if you could call it standing--everyone took it as leave to go home and left King Dyestan with whispered directions to the servants to escort him home before he did anything foolish--or at least, anything else foolish.
Kalen saw his father home in silence. There was nothing to say, or at least if there was anything to say, neither felt like saying it. Kalen had vague feeling that he owed his father an apology, but he said nothing. His father went straight to his room without a word, and he went outside, hoping to untangle some of what he was feeling.
"Kalen." Kalen jumped at Taldyr's voice so close to his ear. "Come, walk with me." They walked along quietly until they came to the city stables. As they entered the stables, the army commander turned to him. "The king is trying to get me out of the way--and possibly you too."
"But Syxel needs us--the king couldn't possibly have arranged that."
"That's old news--News of the siege came almost two weeks ago. The king had no intention of sending aid. What do you think changed his mind? I can assure you it wasn't loyalty to Syxel. Syxel did not call for aid. They know as well as we do that the Elnite army can do nothing against the full army of Fellyre. The captain of the king's guard gave me these orders," Taldyr held up a rolled paper with a broken seal, "and they are very specific. Read here."
Kalen scanned the page. A third part of the full army of Elni...two ranks, one led by the Commander and the other by Kalen... "But that's madness! I'm fifteen! I've only once even fought in a battle. I'm just a foot soldier! I can't lead a charge! I don't know the first thing about--"
"I know. He also commands that I promote you. He wants to be rid of you, and what better way than to put an inexperienced soldier at the head of a charge? But unless you've severely offended the king in some way I never heard about, this is about Syriel. If you and I are out of the way, she will have no protection." Kalen opened his mouth, but Taldyr continued, "I can't bring her with us. We are likely going to our deaths. I can't bring my daughter to such an end. But I can appoint a guardian. I have the papers here, already written and signed by myself and Dalleth, the Preceptor, naming your father Syriel's guardian if I do not return. Your father needs only to sign it. Ask him for me--tell him this is not a command, but a plea from an old friend."
"Why don't you ask him yourself?" Kalen immediately regretted his accusatory tone, but, if Taldyr noticed, he didn't show it.
"I don't think I will get a chance before we must leave. I need to make ready. And I have to choose which of my men I want dead," he added grimly.
"You can't sacrifice a third of the army! Our military is small enough as is. Surely the king will listen to reason. Or maybe it would be best to just give Syriel to him. I hate to think of her being handed over, but even she would see the sense in it."
"You are the second person to advise me to give her up. The first was Syriel herself. But it's too late--even if I could force myself to sacrifice my daughter to save my own skin, the announcement is made and the orders are given. To rescind those orders, he would have to confess the entire scheme. He could never do that. He would lose face and very possibly the throne too. Please ask your father. I cannot leave Syriel alone in Elni, and I dare not bring her with us. And I fear for her. She blames herself for this; I do not know what she might do if we do not return." Taldyr looked away towards the gate. "I must go now. Please talk to your father for me."
Kalen bowed and turned to leave, but Taldyr stopped him. "Kalen. Listen to me. The king wants us dead, but our lives are not in his hands. The chances are definitely against in this battle, but it is Ithien who takes life as it is he who gives it. We may yet look on our homes again. Do not despair. We are all in Taril's hands here." He gave Kalen's hand a squeeze in his leathery scarred hand. "Ithien be with you."
"And with you too!" Kalen replied as Taldyr continued down the street.
Back at his home, he found his father awake and waiting.
"Father? The commander sent me with a message for you." Kalen said quietly, trying to make out his father's expression in the dim light of the lamp on the table.
"He wants me to take guardianship for his daughter." It wasn't a question.
"Yes. He's optimistic about the mission--he just wants to be sure. It's a precaution, nothing more."
"A precaution. You forget, son, I was a warrior too. I know a hopeless mission when I see one. But you can tell Taldyr I will accept guardianship under one condition. I will protect his child if he will protect mine."
"No! I can't bear a message like that--this is war, father. Taldyr cannot favor me above his other soldiers. It would be a crime--a sin--to play favorites with his men!"
"And yet in every charge, some must be put at the head and some at the tail. It is the commander who chooses the positions, is it not? I do not ask that you be pampered but that he do what he can to spare your life. Syriel is all Taldyr has left and, likewise, you are all I have. I cannot lose you--not so soon, not so young. If you cannot bear such a message, I will talk to Taldyr myself." Kalen gritted his teeth in exasperation but did not protest. He could see plainly why his father would ask this, but still, it was so humiliating! He was a soldier, not a child! He did not need his father to barter for his safety. What if word got out of this deal? The other soldiers would think he had arranged it out of fear.
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