A Champion's Reward

“Those velching bastards!” Furl growled, unable to restrain himself. Arellia, for her part, looked completely composed.

“They know how important it is to protect our western flank from the Delani,” Furl continued, slamming a fist against the map spread before them. “This is an intentional maneuver against us.”

“But a foolish one,” Jacara said, frowning. The short, wiry woman was one of Manicot’s elite Will warriors, known as the Mind Scythe. She continued, “They must know that by not defending the river pass on the west, they open themselves up to attack as well. The Delani do not make treaties. The Kritons are inviting their own destruction.”

“Anger can make fools of us all,” Highness Arellia said calmly. Furl thought the statement was ironic, coming from someone who never appeared to feel any form of emotion.

“Arkadia’s flames take them,” Furl cursed. “We paid them in full for that trade deal. Even if we hadn’t, leaving the western pass unguarded would be petty revenge.”

“You think too highly of the Kriton monarch if you believe him above pettiness,” Arellia said. She stood with arms folded, posture immaculate.

“We have sent reinforcements from the east to the western line,” Nacrum, another Scythe, said grimly. “The north couldn’t spare anyone. It’s a long journey, so they won’t arrive before the Delani have reached Manicoti soil. Without the Kritons to block off the river passage, they have a clear shot at the border cities Mina and Borin.”

Arellia’s expression didn’t change. “We have reinforcements much closer at hand than battalions that must march across the country.”

All eyes were trained on her. Furl thought he knew what she was going to say, and he didn’t like it.

“Highness-”

She cut him off by raising one hand, not even looking at him. “It is time we started another recruitment batch.”

The room’s occupants-military tacticians, Scythes, and several trusted messengers-gave each other uncomfortable looks.

“The last recruitment was only thirty days past,” Advisor Haden said quietly. “We have very few left in the eligible age range with the proper amount of power.”

Arellia nodded. “Then it’s time we loosen our restrictions. Effective immediately, the age is lowering from twenty years to sixteen. For now, keep the same standards for Will power.”

Furl felt his eyes close slowly. Oh, Halls of Arkadia, help us all.

***

Jistan looked-not gaped or gawked-at the enormous chamber he had just been led into. Crystal chandeliers cast lights across every shiny surface, from the polished marble floors to the mirrors hanging from the walls. A winding staircase in the center of the room twirled upwards and out of sight.

“Try not to drool, dear brother,” Royan whispered in his ear. Royan was two years his senior, and the only eligible person available to be Jistan’s escort for the day. The summons he had received had been specific: he was required to bring an escort with him when he came to the royal house.

“As long as you can manage not to trip over your own feet,” Jistan replied. Royan chuckled softly.

“Greetings, honored guests.” Both boys stood straighter at the authoritative, airy voice that drifted to them from the staircase. A tall, elderly man was descending slowly, wearing a billowing purple robe that was left open, revealing a simple black shirt and wrapping underneath. The wrapping was loose and reached down to just below his knees. Jistan thought it looked an awful lot like a skirt.

Royan raised a fist in salute, so Jistan followed. This man was likely a Will Master, one of the royal house’s professors that specialized in the art of cultivating Will power. The man, in return to the salutes, gave a slight bow.

“Which of you is Jistan?” he asked.

“That would be me,” Jistan said, stepping forward. The man nodded once.

“In behalf of all of Manicot, I, Will Master Eredick congratulate you. You have shown yourself to be a man of exceptional Will power.”

Jistan tried not to shuffle uncomfortably at the praise. This man did know he had only won by forfeit, right?

“Follow me, if you please. Your escort can remain here.” Eredick gestured to a large, luxurious looking cream colored couch.

Jistan frowned. “Why did he come if he’s just going to stay here?”

Royan elbowed him in the side. “It’s tradition,” he muttered. “Just go with it.”

Eredick gave Royan an almost appreciative nod. “Let us go.”

***

Furl rapped four times on the door to the small but well-made house. In only a few moments, the door was opened, revealing a middle-aged woman with brown hair and blue eyes. She looked startled, likely noticing the royal insignia emblazoned on his right shoulder. Unlike that of royal messengers, his insignia was a deep scarlet, marking him as a warrior.

“Fiedon,” she said, apparently caught between bowing and saluting. She finally settled on doing both at the same time, a very awkward gesture.

“Peace,” he said, trying to keep the weariness from his voice.

“Would you like to come in?” she asked, clearly flustered. He nodded once, and she quickly stepped aside for him, motioning to an old cushioned chair beside a small table.

“Please, take a seat. I don’t have much, but I baked some biscuits this morning, and there’s fresh milk.”

He held up a hand to forestall her. “Please, do not worry yourself. I am only here to talk.”

By the way she bit her lip, he could tell this didn’t abate her worries in the least. Holding in a sigh, he took the offered seat, and then realized it was the only piece of furniture in the room. She stood awkwardly for a moment, and then said, “I’ll go get a stool from the dining room.”

She disappeared and then reappeared quickly, holding a short wooden stool. She sat with an abrupt motion, winced at the impact, and then placed her hands firmly in her lap.

“You are Narissa?”

She nodded once.

“And you have a son, Joree?”

Again, she nodded. This time, her eyes were worried.

“Is this about him?” she asked softly. “Has he done something wrong?”

Furl paused. He really wasn’t sure how to answer that, because he wasn’t sure he knew the answer. He ignored the question.

“And what about the boy’s father?”

At this, Narissa’s expression grew dark. “Gone,” she said, a hard edge to her voice.

“Gone?” Furl prodded. She had no right to treat him with any form of disrespect, even terseness.

“Yes, five months before Joree’s birth. He left. I haven’t heard from him since.”

Furl had expected as much. “And what was his name?”

Narissa’s eyes narrowed, and she seemed like she wanted to challenge him. Instead, she replied, “Aegon.”

“Strange name,” Furl replied. “I’ve never heard the like. What was his last name?”

She shrugged. “I do not know.”

Furl paused. “You had a child with a man, and you didn’t even know his last name?” The question was out before he could restrain himself.

She gave him a wry smile. “Surely that is not so unusual. Young people make mistakes.”

He supposed that was true enough. “And what was he like? Please, this is important.” But hang me if I know why, he added in his head.

She shrugged again. “Tall, strong. Built like a warrior, although I never saw him hold a weapon. He had golden hair and green eyes. A foreigner, from the north somewhere."

She didn’t seem inclined to continue. So far, Furl had heard nothing that would be of interest to the Highness. Why had Arellia insisted that he come here?

“I see. You have been most…helpful. Thank you for your time.” Furl rose, maintaining his posture and poise. Narissa, for her part, looked plenty relieved to see him going.

At that moment, the door began to swing open. “Mom?” someone called out before the door was fully open. “Sorry I’m late, Hobar-”

The door was fully open now, and the young man in the entryway noticed Hurl. Instead of looking stunned or confused, the youth simply lifted one eyebrow.

“I see we have a guest,” he said. Furl studied the man who must be Joree. He immediately recalled Narissa’s description of Aegon, and could tell that Joree looked much more like his father than his mother. His hair was golden-not blond-truly golden, but somehow not unnatural. His eyes were jade green, and he was a large young man, with heavy set shoulders and clearly defined muscles on his exposed arms.

“This is…” Narissa trailed off. “Oh, forgive my rudeness. I don’t recall your name, sir.”

Furl shook his head dismissively. “I did not give it. Fiedon or sir will do just fine.”

“Oh, well, of course.” She clasped her hands together tightly.

Joree still stood in the doorway, seeming unfazed. Narissa cleared her throat, apparently trying to prompt the boy to show some form of respect. Instead, he merely moved out of the doorway and past them, moving towards another section of the small house.

“Well, we shan’t take up any more of your time, good sir,” he said, not meeting Furl’s gaze. Narissa made a strangled moaning sound.

Furl briefly considered reprimanding the youth, but decided against it. He had more important things to be about. With a final nod to Narissa, he left.

***

Jistan was given the grand tour. By the time it was finished, his head, eyes, and legs all ached from the effort of movement and taking in so much grandeur.

But the day wasn’t over yet. According to the Will Master, they had one stop left to make.

He was going to meet the Highness herself, and be presented with his rewards.

His heart pounded in anticipation as two guards swung open the heavy double doors that led to the Highness’s personal council room. Inside, she stood at the head of a long table, statuesque. In fact, had he not known it was Arellia herself, he would have thought it was just a statue depicting her. Nothing in her face or posture gave an indication that she was a living, breathing being.

But then she spoke. “Young Jistan Mandol.”

He bowed deeply to her, feeling suddenly parched.

“You come before me with honor,” she continued, voice somehow both as calm as the breeze and as demanding as thunder. “Now, ask of me, what position do you wish to hold in my house?”

He took a deep breath to steady himself. He had rehearsed this moment over and over, out loud and in his mind. He still didn’t feel ready.

“I will take whatever position her Highness deems necessary and prudent,” he said. He took another deep breath, trying to banish the tremor from his voice. “My only wish is that my father and sister return home.”

Arellia, for her part, looked neither surprised nor bothered. Seeing he had not offended her, he quickly continued.

“My family will now be provided for by the Championship funds. I wish them all to be reunited, to enjoy the bounty of this generous gift.” He wondered, briefly, if he had laid it on too thickly at the end there.

“I understand your desire,” Arellia said, her voice never changing. “Unfortunately, your request cannot be granted.”

Jistan felt his heart drop. He wanted to ask why, but felt it would be unwise to question the Highness. She could knife through his mind with barely a thought, leaving him mentally crippled or dead. He dropped his gaze to the floor, shoulders slumping.

“Your father and sister provide a vital role for us all,” Arellia continued. “A role in which, I hope, you will soon take part.”

Jistan’s head snapped up. What was this?

“I do have a place for you in my household that I think you would serve best,” she said, meeting his gaze levelly. “But be forewarned, it is not for the fainthearted. If your only goal in winning the Power Duels was a life of ease, speak now.”

Jistan felt his mouth working, but no sound came out. He could…join his father and sister? That was…incredible! And daunting. He had fantasied about the great adventures they had, the people they saved, the secrets they uncovered. He had come up with thousands of scenarios, and now, he was being offered the truth. But was he ready for it?

Finally, he shook his head once to clear it. There was really no question.

“I will do as your Highness wishes of me.”

She nodded once. “Very well. Take a seat.”

***

News spread quickly through Ranteel of the Highness’s departure. It was not uncommon for her to visit other cities, quelling squabbles, bolstering morale, or reinforcing her hold on the more distant provinces under her rule. Joree, for his part, didn’t care. It didn’t make any difference in his life whether Arellia was in her mansion or in Arkadia’s Halls. However, some, particularly those who pandered directly to the Highness and her advisors, suddenly became as useless as lost puppies with no master. Even Master Hobar withdrew, leaving the students to practice with little or no intervention.

And so it was that when Joree simply left class without a word, Hobar didn’t said a word of protest. Within minutes, the rest of the class trickled out as well. Apparently, Hobar had given up any pretense of protocol in Arellia’s absence.

Joree strode briskly home. If he got there soon enough, he could help his mother finish with the animals before dinner.

A light finger tapped his shoulder. He stopped midstride and turned.

And then sighed. “Yes, Aniah?”

The slender, poised girl stood with nearly perfect posture. That still put her a good four inches shorter than Joree.

She held up her bag towards him. He stared at it blankly.

“Um, nice bag?” he finally said.

She huffed impatiently, lifting the leather strap to show it was broken.

He shrugged. “Sorry, I don’t know how to sew.”

She glared at him. “I need you to carry it for me,” she said, speaking slowly and deliberately as if to a simpleton. “Without the strap, it is too hard for me to do it myself.”

He gave her a flat look. “If you were anyone else, I would think you were joking,” he said.

The two of them stood in the middle of the courtyard in front of the school building. Beyond them, several paved roads led deeper into Ranteel, while dirt paths led off towards the outskirts, where Joree and his mother lived, along with other farmers and gardeners.

“Look, I need to get home to my mom,” he said. “I don’t have time to walk all the way back into the city just to carry your bag.”

She actually looked genuinely dismayed. “Then how am I supposed to get my things home?” she cried.

He shrugged. “Rent a mule. I have one at home I can lend you for ten chips an hour.”

She glared at him. He shrugged again. “Suit yourself.” He turned to walk away.

At that moment, the screaming began.