Martin assumed a pose of modest inconsequence. Well, I sat at the table farthest from the throne, but yes; I was there. Seeing the unasked questions in their eyes, he continued. You know as a boy I was raised by the monks of Silbans Abbey, near the elven forest. I played with elven children, and before I came here, I hunted with Prince Calin and his cousin, Galain.
Tomas nearly jumped with excitement. Elves were a subject holding particular fascination for him. Did you know King Aidan?
Martins expression clouded, and his eyes narrowed, his manner suddenly becoming stiff. Tomas saw Martins reaction and said, Im sorry, Martin. Did I say something wrong?
Martin waved away the apology. No fault of yours, Tomas, he said, his manner softening somewhat. The elves do not use the names of those who have gone to the Blessed Isles, especially those who have died untimely. They believe to do so recalls those spoken of from their journey there, denying them their final rest. I respect their beliefs.
Well, to answer you, no, I never met him. He was killed when I was only a small boy. But I have heard the stories of his deeds, and he was a good and wise King by all accounts. Martin looked about. It approaches noon. We should return to the keep.
He began to walk toward the path, and the boys fell in beside him.
What was the feast like, Martin? asked Tomas.
Pug sighed as the hunter began to speak of the marvels of Elvandar. He was also fascinated by tales of the elves, but to nowhere near the degree Tomas was. Tomas could endure hours of tales of the people of the elven forests, regardless of the speakers credibility. At least, Pug considered, in the Huntmaster they had a dependable eye witness. Martins voice droned on, and Pugs attention wandered, as he again found himself pondering the Choosing. No matter that he told himself worry was useless: he worried. He found he was facing the approaching of this afternoon with something akin to dread.
The boys stood in the courtyard. It was Midsummer, the day that ended one year and marked the beginning of another. Today everyone in the castle would be counted one year older. For the milling boys this was significant, for today was the last day of their boyhood. Today was the Choosing.
Pug tugged at the collar of his new tunic. It wasnt really new, being one of Tomass old ones, but it was the newest Pug had ever owned. Magya, Tomass mother, had taken it in for the smaller boy, to ensure he was presentable before the Duke and his court. Magya and her husband, Megar the cook, were as close to being parents to the orphan as anyone in the keep. They tended his ills, saw that he was fed, and boxed his ears when he deserved it. They also loved him as if he were Tomass brother.
Pug looked around. The other boys all wore their best, for this was one of the most important days of their young lives. Each would stand before the assembled Craftmasters and members of the Dukes staff, and each would be considered for an apprentices post. It was a ritual, its origins lost in time, for the choices had already been made. The crafters and the Dukes staff had spent many hours discussing each boys merits with one another and knew which boys they would call.
The practice of having the boys between eight and thirteen years of age work in the crafts and services had proved a wise course over the years in fitting the best suited to each craft. In addition, it provided a pool of semiskilled individuals for the other crafts should the need arise. The drawback to the system was that certain boys were not chosen for a craft or staff position. Occasionally there would be too many boys for a single position, or no lad judged fit even though there was an opening. Even when the number of boys and openings seemed well matched, as it did this year, there were no guarantees. For those who stood in doubt, it was an anxious time.
Pug scuffed his bare feet absently in the dust. Unlike Tomas, who seemed to do well at anything he tried, Pug was often guilty of trying too hard and bungling his tasks. He looked around and noticed that a few of the other boys also showed signs of tension. Some were joking roughly, pretending no concern over whether they were chosen or not. Others stood like Pug, lost in their thoughts, trying not to dwell on what they would do should they not be chosen.
If he was not chosen, Pug like the others would be free to leave Crydee to try to find a craft in another town or city. If he stayed, he would have to either farm the Dukes land as a franklin, or work one of the towns fishing boats. Both prospects were equally unattractive, but he couldnt imagine leaving Crydee.
Pug remembered what Megar had told him, the night before. The old cook had cautioned him about fretting too much over the Choosing. After all, he had pointed out, there were many apprentices who never advanced to the rank of journeyman, and when all things were taken into account, there were more men without craft in Crydee than with. Megar had glossed over the fact that many fishers and farmers sons forsook the choosing, electing to follow their fathers. Pug wondered if Megar was so removed from his own Choosing he couldnt remember that the boys who were not chosen would stand before the assembled company of Craftmasters, householders, and newly chosen apprentices, under their gaze until the last name was called and they were dismissed in shame.
Biting his lower lip, Pug tried to hide his nervousness. He was not the sort to jump from the heights of Sailors Grief should he not be chosen, as some had done in the past, but he couldnt bear the idea of facing those who had been chosen.
Tomas, who stood next to his shorter friend, threw Pug a smile. He knew Pug was fretting, but could not feel entirely sympathetic as his own excitement mounted. His father had admitted that he would be the first called by Swordmaster Fannon. Moreover, the Swordmaster had confided that should Tomas do well in training, he might be found a place in the Dukes personal guard. It would be a signal honor and would improve Tomass chance for advancement, even earning him an officers rank after fifteen or twenty years in the guard.
He poked Pug in the ribs with an elbow, for the Dukes herald had come out upon the balcony overlooking the courtyard. The herald signaled to a guard, who opened the small door in the great gate, and the Craftmasters entered. They crossed to stand at the foot of the broad stairs of the keep. As was traditional, they stood with their backs to the boys, waiting upon the Duke.
The large oaken doors of the keep began to swing out ponderously, and several guards in the Dukes brown and gold darted through to take up their positions on the steps. Upon each tabard was emblazoned the golden gull of Crydee, and above that a small golden crown, marking the Duke a member of the royal family.
The herald shouted, Hearken to me! His Grace, Borric conDoin, third Duke of Crydee, Prince of the Kingdom; Lord of Crydee, Carse, and Tulan; Warden of the West; Knight-General of the Kings Armies; heir presumptive to the throne of Rillanon. The Duke stood patiently while the list of offices was completed, then stepped forward into the sunlight.
Past fifty, the Duke of Crydee still moved with the fluid grace and powerful step of a born warrior. Except for the grey at the temples of his dark brown hair, he looked younger than his age by twenty years. He was dressed from neck to boot in black, as he had been for the last seven years, for he still mourned the loss of his beloved wife, Catherine. At his side hung a black-scabbarded sword with a silver hilt, and upon his hand his ducal signet ring, the only ornamentation he permitted himself.
The herald raised his voice. Their Royal Highnesses, the Princes Lyam conDoin and Arutha conDoin, heirs to the House of Crydee; Knight-Captains of the Kings Army of the West; Princes of the royal house of Rillanon.
Both sons stepped forward to stand behind their father. The two young men were six and four years older than the apprentices, the Duke having wed late, but the difference between the awkward candidates for apprenticeship and the sons of the Duke was much more than a few years in age. Both Princes appeared calm and self-possessed.
Lyam, the older, stood on his fathers right, a blond, powerfully built man. His open smile was the image of his mothers, and he looked always on the verge of laughter. He was dressed in a bright blue tunic and yellow leggings and wore a closely trimmed beard, as blond as his shoulder-length hair.
Arutha was to shadows and night as Lyam was to light and day. He stood nearly as tall as his brother and father, but while they were powerfully built, he was rangy to the point of gauntness. He wore a brown tunic and russet leggings. His hair was dark and his face clean-shaven. Everything about Arutha gave one the feeling of quickness. His strength was in his speed: speed with the rapier, speed with wit. His humor was dry and often sharp. While Lyam was openly loved by the Dukes subjects, Arutha was respected and admired for his ability, but not regarded with warmth by the people.
Together the two sons seemed to capture most of the complex nature of their sire, for the Duke was capable of both Lyams robust humor and Aruthas dark moods. They were nearly opposites in temperament, but both capable men who would benefit the Duchy and Kingdom in years to come. The Duke loved both his sons.
The herald again spoke. The Princess Carline, daughter of the royal house.
The slim and graceful girl who made her entrance was the same age as the boys who stood below, but already beginning to show the poise and grace of one born to rule and the beauty of her late mother. Her soft yellow gown contrasted strikingly with her nearly black hair. Her eyes were Lyams blue, as their mothers had been, and Lyam beamed when his sister took their fathers arm. Even Arutha ventured one of his rare half smiles, for his sister was dear to him also.
Many boys in the keep harbored a secret love for the Princess, a fact she often turned to her advantage when there was mischief afoot. But even her presence could not drive the days business from their minds.
The Dukes court then entered. Pug and Tomas could see that all the members of the Dukes staff were present, including Kulgan. Pug had glimpsed him in the castle from time to time since the night of the storm, and they had exchanged words once, Kulgan inquiring as to his well-being, but mostly the magician was absent from sight. Pug was a little surprised to see the magician, for he was not properly considered a full member of the Dukes household, but rather a sometime adviser. Most of the time Kulgan was ensconced in his tower, hidden from view as he did whatever magicians do in such places.
The magician was deep in conversation with Father Tully, a priest of Astalon the Builder and one of the Dukes oldest aides. Tully had been adviser to the Dukes father and had seemed old then. He now appeared ancient at least to Pugs youthful perspective but his eyes betrayed no sign of senility. Many a keep boy had been impaled upon the pointed gaze of those clear grey eyes. His wit and tongue were equally youthful, and more than once a keep boy had wished for a session with Horsemaster Algons leather strap rather than a tongue-lashing from Father Tully. The white-haired priest could nearly strip the skin from a miscreants back with his caustic words.
Nearby stood one who had experienced Tullys wrath upon occasion, Squire Roland, son of Baron Tolburt of Tulan, one of the Dukes vassals. He was companion to both Princes, being the only other boy of noble birth in the keep. His father had sent him to Crydee the year before, to learn something of the management of the Duchy and the ways of the Dukes court. In the rather rough frontier court Roland discovered a home away from home. He was already something of a rogue when he arrived, but his infectious sense of humor and ready wit often eased much of the anger that resulted from his prankish ways. It was Roland, more often than not, who was Princess Carlines accomplice in whatever mischief she was embarked upon. With light brown hair and blue eyes, Roland stood tall for his age. He was a year older than the gathered boys and had played often with them over the last year, as Lyam and Arutha were frequently busy with court duties. Tomas and he had been boyish rivals at first, then fast friends, with Pug becoming his friend by default, because where Tomas was, Pug was certain to be nearby. Roland saw Pug fidgeting near the edge of the assembled boys and gave him a slight nod and wink. Pug grinned briefly, for while he was as often the butt of Rolands jokes as any other, he still found himself liking the wild young Squire.
After all his court was in attendance, the Duke spoke. Yesterday was the last day of the eleventh year of the reign of our Lord King, Rodric the Fourth. Today is the Festival of Banapis. The following day will find these boys gathered here counted among the men of Crydee, boys no longer, but apprentices and freemen. At this time it is proper for me to inquire if any among you wishes to be released from service to the Duchy. Are there any among you who so wish? The question was formal in nature and no response was expected, for few ever wished to leave Crydee. But one boy did step forward.
The herald asked, Who seeks release of his service?
The boy looked down, clearly nervous. Clearing his throat, he said, I am Robert, son of Hugen. Pug knew him, but not well. He was a netmenders son, a town boy, and they rarely mixed with the keep boys. Pug had played with him upon a few occasions and had a sense the lad was well regarded. It was a rare thing to refuse service, and Pug was as curious as any to hear the reasons.
The Duke spoke kindly. What is your purpose, Robert, son of Hugen?
Your grace, my father is unable to take me into his craft, for my four brothers are well able to ascend to the craft as journeymen and masters after him, as are many other netmenders sons. My eldest brother is now married and has a son of his own, so my family no longer has room for me in the house. If I may not stay with my family and practice my fathers craft, I beg your graces leave to take service as a sailor.
The Duke considered the matter. Robert was not the first village boy to be called by the lure of the sea. Have you found a master willing to take you into his company?
Yes, Your Grace. Captain Gregson, master of the ship Green Deep from Margraves Port is willing.
I know this man, said the Duke. Smiling slightly he said, He is a good and fair man. I recommend you into his service and wish you well in your travels. You will be welcomed at Crydee whenever you return with your ship.
Robert bowed, a little stiffly, and left the courtyard, his part in the Choosing done. Pug wondered at Roberts adventuresome choice. In less than a minute the boy had renounced his ties with his family and home and was now a citizen of a city he had never seen. It was custom that a sailor was considered to owe his loyalty to the city that was his ships home port. Margraves Port was one of the Free Cities of Natal, on the Bitter Sea, and was now Roberts home.
The Duke indicated the herald should continue.