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There was a strange feeling to events the next day. For one thing, at time for first meal, when Anders was just about to see to making some bread out of some rather carefully selected mixed grains, which didn’t seem to have any mold or mildew growing on them, Page Walden padded up to the outdoor kitchen. He started walking, some fifteen paces away and did his best to hide that he was heaving, trying to get enough air.
“Prince Anders? Your father is summoning you. For the meal? They’re holding it for your arrival. I think he was saying that you were expected to be there, but that it was possible no one happened to inform you of that? I could have that wrong. My Istlan is kind of bad.”
In Istlan, Anders answered, shaking his head.
“It isn’t poor at all, really. Not for having only started to learn it three weeks ago. True, you should be able to learn a language in a week. At least one that’s so similar to Yansian, but you did kind of have to learn other things at the same time. It will be faster, next time.” At least if the boy kept practicing his memory skills regularly.
There was a mock glare then and crossed arms in partial answer.
The boy answered in the new language though.
“Oh? I suppose you learn languages that quickly? Everyone in the castle thinks I’m doing very well...” There was a bit of little child grumpiness in the words, also a sense of playfulness, not true anger at the light teasing.
Anders nodded.
“I’ve learned languages that fast, yes. Still, you are doing pretty well. I just don’t want you to stop or get lazy with it. I mean, you’re working directly for Prince Alpert now. He’s basically the King here, and that’s significant. I mean, running his messages isn’t the same as being his high advisor, but it’s not exactly just being a page, either, is it?”
The boy scoffed, and switched to his own tongue.
“No doubt. Still, you need to come away to the breaking of fasts, or I’ll be thought slow and unreliable. You don’t want that for me, do you? On my first day of work with the new King?”
Anders started to walk, leaving the grains out, in a bowl. The birds would eat it, so he ran back, and covered them, with a second bowl, turned upside down. Then he ran toward the castle, muttering as he did it. He was faster than Walden was, but it was hard enough to do magic while moving that he didn’t mind being slowed a bit so the other boy could keep up.
He cleaned himself again, then changed his outfit, from a rather plain black tunic and trousers, to a fine morning outfit that would, Anders hoped, fit a fine morning meal at the castle of Yanse. The guards at the door, army men still, at least on the outside of the building, waved as he got to them.
“Master Brolly. Page Walden.”
Then they were let in, without any more question than that. It wasn’t exactly proper, given they were in a hostile land. One that used magic far more freely than Istlan did. It wouldn’t be hard for him to make an illusion of himself and Walden walking in like that. It probably wasn’t a common skill, but the truth was that people willing to try and kill a ruler wouldn’t be common individuals.
He started walking at the door, the inside of the place being guarded by a mix of knights and regular army soldiers. By the time he got to the door outside the small dining space, there were four full knights, dressed in mail and with light shirts on underneath, instead of gambeson, meaning they didn’t really think they were going to have to fight that day.
The man on the far left spoke first.
“I recognize the small red-haired fellow as Page Walden.”
Then the rather ugly, but young fellow smirked a bit.
“The other is Prince Anders, of Barquea. Some call him Andy.”
That had all the knights there laughing, as if it were a joke that they recognized him. Indeed, two of them had traveled with him on various journeys.
“Sir Daniel, Sir Rollo...” He smiled at the man who spoke first. “Sir Howard?” It was a question, since the last time they’d met, the man had been a squire.
Daniel made a pleased sound then.
“Indeed! Won with distinction in battle. I heard that you saw some action as well, out here? We were stationed further to the north, on the Istlan side. We had a few tense moments, but beat them back on the third set of things.”
He nodded, not having heard of any of that. He’d been so focused on what he was doing that everything else had dropped away from his awareness.
“Congratulations on the promotion, Sir Howard. You deserve it. We did see some fighting this way. It... Well, you know how it goes in battle.”
No one asked him to clarify, at least. They did let them into the room, Page Walden taking Anders by the arm, as soon as they got through the door. As if to prevent him from getting away.
Alpert smiled at him.
“Anders! I hope I didn’t have you dragged away from something important?” He seemed concerned with that, and looked at Page Walden’s hand, as if it were about him having been physically pulled into the room.
“Not really. I was about to make some bread, from spotty grains that I found at the bottom of a barrel. I don’t know why I’m being held in place, to be honest. Walden? What’s with that?”
The boy nodded, grinning playfully.
“The Regent asked me to see if I could grab you. I could.”
Anders simply nodded at the idea, since it made sense to him.
“Good work then. Let me go now, so I can see if something is going on? Do we need the room?” That didn’t seem likely, but he didn’t want to presume anything. There were others there, at the table. Lord Brolly, and the new wizard, Master Burrows already sat at the table, as well as Ambassador Hethdrinia. This time, instead of showing her breasts, the fairly youthful seeming woman was in a rather nice, rich and shining purple gown. It had a green sash worn across the waist.
Anders bowed toward the table, with no one standing to do it back to him. Prince Alpert waved.
“Please join us.” He seemed a bit shocked when Page Walden, not seeming certain of himself, took the seat next to Anders, when they sat. Everyone else looked baffled as well.
Prince Alpert simply smiled, as if that was exactly what he’d intended.
“Are you two in lessons, after the meal?”
The food started to come out, and if they hadn’t expected an extra body at the table, it didn’t show in the first plates set in front of them. It was decently ripe fruit, sliced and of various types.
Anders smiled.
“We are. I’ve put things in motion for Prince Daren to continue his lessons, when I leave. We need to get Princess Salina back to Istlan, before our adventure here seems to be forced labor, instead of an interesting aside for her.”
Everyone simply started eating, using forks to stab the food. Master Burrows and Walden both started out by using their fingers, but they both scrambled to catch up, without being told to do otherwise.
The Regent did his own eating for a few moments. His voice was casual when he spoke.
“Oh? You’re planning to come back here, after you see to her safe return?”
That hadn’t been his plan at all, but instead of going over why he wasn’t going to be wanted there, he tilted his head.
“Nothing so swift as that. I need to go and help see to setting Duke Lister up, and there are some issues with Dora. Possibly. Some of my... Advisors, seem to think that they might pull back, now that things have changed for them. I was planning to ride that way, with an army at my back if possible, but that might not be the best idea, apparently?”
The Prince chewed a bite, seeming to consider the words rather carefully.
“I see. There is some merit to that. Master Burrows was just telling me about the situation in that area and he found it calm. You’ve been up there for some time, haven’t you, Master Burrows?”
The heavy man, his face turning a bit red, looked at Anders with a bit of panic in his gaze. His voice was fine though.
“I have, Prince Alpert. I lived there for the last ten years, in fact. I was able to check the entire border region and some good portion of Dora and have to say... I can’t find any troop movements or signs of readying for war. A wizard can be fooled, of course, but I checked the minds of various people who would be affected and none of them indicated anything of the sort going on. Farmers and their wives, not people who would normally be covered using magic.”
“Clever! May I use that in the future?” Anders didn’t want to steal the man’s tricks, but that kind of thing could work in a lot of different cases and hadn’t been one that he’d come upon, on his own.
“Oh, certainly, Master Brolly. You mentioned leaving? I wasn’t certain as to my place here and haven’t been able to ask yet. Is...”
Instead of assuring the man of his place as the castle Wizard, Prince Alpert looked at him, is if Anders’ word had any bearing on the situation. He understood what the man was asking him, but not why it wouldn’t be apparent.
“I could be gone for some time, and am far from a professional Wizard. I think the plan is for Daren and Jeld to stay on. You’ll watch out for them?” That was a polite enough way of arranging things, he thought. After all, if Prince Alpert wanted someone else for the job he could appoint them. He wasn’t in charge of such things, as far as anyone had mentioned to him.
For one thing, that didn’t make any sense. The other man was an adult and Anders was thirteen. One of them had a better claim to a real position there.
The Prince grinned a bit and bowed.
“That would be good, if we’re allowed to have them here? Was word put in with my father?”
“Daren was supposed to see to that last night. I haven’t asked him what the word back is, not having seen him today.”
Everyone simply ate for a few moments, then Lord Brolly looked over at him, from across the table and down, since he was next to Prince Alpert that day.
“Master Anders, are you planning to stop by Barony Brolly, on your way to Duchy Lister?”
Given that he hadn’t known it was on the way, he was caught out for a moment. Instead of mentioning that, he cleared his throat, gently.
“Ah... I can’t see the Baron being welcoming of that? We didn’t end on the best foot, I fear, last we met.”
The very thin man looked at Anders, his face rather bland, as far as giving a clue to his feelings.
“I can see that. Still, he did rather claim you in the line of heirs, so you’re obligated to stop in, if you’re within range of a visit. Not that I don’t understand the idea of avoiding that, as well. I know I always try to do that, whenever possible.”
That was the first that he’d heard that his being owned by the man was anything more than a piece of paper saying he existed. Honestly, it was probably just that, but the kind seeming fellow across the table was pointing out that if fifteen people died or some such, then he was a Baron.
“Ah, well... I’ll consider that, then, if I’m ever in that area.”
Thankfully, the second course came about then. It was a single poached egg, from a chicken, for each of them. The spices used for it were interesting, being heavy on what seemed to be a mint of some sort. He took small bites of the damp egg, savoring the flavor.
After a while, perhaps seeking only to break the silence in the room, Page Walden spoke.
“Are we holding Selmnought this year?”
Anders glanced at him, then around the table, since everyone else was being attentive to the red headed child.
“Selmnought? Is that a local celebration?” Anders tried to work out what it might be.
There was a bit of bobbing in the youngster’s chair for a moment.
“It’s pretty much everywhere, isn’t it? People don’t know if we’re doing it or not. It’s... Don’t you Istlan folk have that one?”
There were head shakes in answer, so the child went on.
“We decorate with bits of greenery, flowers and all that. There’s a feast, with honey candies and sour new wine. It’s so the crops will grow.”
Prince Alpert tapped his lips, as if asking for silence, but after a moment, he nodded.
“I might be able to spare some funds for that. Let me check the accounts and see what it will take? When would this be?”
Anders nearly blurted out that it would be too soon to be easily handled, when the boy spoke.
“Day after the morrow. Is it proper, with the last King dying? I... Everyone here is in mourning, in secret. I’m not supposed to mention that, so that it doesn’t offend you, Prince Alpert. Gelard told us about how the King attacked Prince Erold and died in the fight that took place. He was the King, but beaten in battle, so... We don’t know what to do.”
Anders understood that part of things, at least. The horror of what had happened to the man’s family hit him then. This time, Anders felt it as well. Not keenly, but it wasn’t only Farad casting sadness around for a moment.
Lord Brolly seemed sad as well, for some reason.
“That has to be almost impossibly hard for everyone here to deal with... We should hold to the normal course of events, if it is as the Regent wishes, but perhaps allow the men to wear a single black armband for their loss? Nothing too grand, but enough to show their feelings, without being ostentatious. Women could, I think, be allowed a black ribbon, stripe or... I don’t know? Something small, in remembrance of the past. Perhaps for a given time?” The man went quiet then, as if his council wasn’t welcome there.
Alpert simply seemed to be considering of matters, for a while.
“I agree, largely. Can we put word out, that people should attempt to do such, for the rest of the season? There are so many things that could be taken wrongly, with such, but ignoring the loss of these people and insisting they do as well seems merely cruel.”
They had several more dishes brought to them, and then, on the last course, which was also rather small, being about a swallow of very reduced fruit juice, the head servant was called for.
When the older man came in, he seemed shocked to find Page Walden at the table.
“Why are you sitting there? These barbarians will think you’re raising yourself above your station!” He seemed almost scared for a moment, until Prince Alpert spoke.
In rather broken Yansian.
“It is, I have heard, perhaps, time for a celebration of norm?”
Anders was about to speak, when Lord Brolly did. Which made sense, given it was his specific task there.
He didn’t add anything, simply smoothing the words in their place.
“He has learned that there is normally a celebration this time of year?”
They spoke for some time, the man hedging a lot, about various factors. Finally, noticing that Master Burrows had dropped into a trance, Anders did as well. When he touched the mind of the servant, he discovered the truth. A thing that brought the man much personal shame.
No one had really been making preparations for the day, not thinking they would be allowed their own customs, any longer. He was gladdened to hear that the new ruler of their land was accepting of such, but also frantic, inside, over the idea of a grand feast being presented to the man, on that short of notice. They could do the cooking for it, but the shopping they needed to do was going to be almost impossible without at least a week’s time for it.
Anders bowed his head. Then spoke in Yansian.
“We should, perhaps, keep the feasting here down to a minimum? Since the household is in mourning for King Yarler and his innocent family? All hearts are heavy over their loss. Is that acceptable, Gelard?”
The older man, understanding him easily enough, glared at him for a moment.
“That would be a kindness, of course. I don’t know if mentioning that his family was innocent would be prudent, at the moment. People understand, but it lays hard with many here. I raised half of King Louis’ children, nearly as my own, when they were little. To see them die at the end of an ax isn’t what I’d have wanted for them. The King... Well, he was going for the Prince, so you had to stop him. None could fault you there, if they saw it happening.”
That it wasn’t what Anders recalled taking place was fine, really. He hadn’t noticed that Gelard had been there to see things at all, so he could have the wrong idea of it, he supposed. So could the other man. In the end, it didn’t really matter. One of them had to die that day, and it wasn’t him. That was all.
Lord Brolly changed the translation, into Istlan and repeated the whole exchange. Anders sat, stone faced and as if he had no heart, and Prince Alpert closed his eyes, if only for a brief while.
“That seems sound. A time of fasting, instead of a feast? Only for us, here? Those outside of the castle should hold to their normal customs that way. Now... How do we tell people of that?”
That, it seemed, was harder than almost anything else there. When the old King had died, most of his soldiers had gone with him, or had run off, as soon as possible. It was the right thing to do, but had left whatever communications system that had been in use had gone with them. Neither Gelard or Walden had any idea of how to get that done at least.
Thinking for a while, not really understanding that kind of thing himself, Anders recalled having read several stories that addressed that type of thing. Indeed, he had them memorized, so could use them for citation if needed.
“We could hire men to take messages, from city to town. With bills, to place on holy temples or meeting halls? Truly, we won’t have time to do the whole of Yanse. Perhaps just the surrounding area, first?”
That, it seemed was a fine solution. At least until they realized that no one there was a fine enough hand to write such messages in Yansian. Gelard could read and write, but demurred as to being able to do such a thing. Walden was in the same place, having some basic skills, but not at a high level and while Anders could read the language better than he spoke it, his calligraphy wasn’t a known thing there. He could have done it, but Master Gelard simply left the room, coming back a quarter of an hour later, with a short man in gray robes.
“This is the scrivener.”
Before he could explain that to everyone, the man ducked his head a few times, then took the large case in his hands, settled on the floor, cross legged and turned it into a small worktable, which included paper, ink and pens. It was an amazing contraption, which had Anders staring for some moments.
Then the Prince spoke.
“Let it be known that the occasion of... What was the name of the feast here again?” He looked at Walden, who hunched a bit, when spoken to.
“Selmnought, Prince Alpert.”
“Indeed! Selmnought. Let it be known that the occasion and observance of Selmnought this year will be observed with a day of fasting for the folk of the castle and surrounds, due to the state of mourning for the former King and his family. All others should hold to their normal traditions and practices. All children under the age of ten are to be fed, instead of fasting. Further, mourning for King Yarler may be shown with a single black arm band, of modest size and shape for men, and a bit of black ribbon, cloth or a single flower of any color, worn by women.”
The words had to be gone over several times and translated to the proper language, but ten minutes later the man had the document finished. The hand was only a bit better than Anders’ own, but the style was a bit different, which might make it easier to read for those accustomed to such things.
Then, a bit heavy handedly, he gathered fifty sheets of paper, and some of the ink the scrivener had and cast a rather lengthy spell at both the sheet and the blank pages, spread out over most of the table. No one gasped or acted amazed when the ink, as a fine mist, spread over the room, landing on the papers, reproducing the message on the first one perfectly.
It was a bit sad, really. Anders rather enjoyed that part of things, normally. Instead of acting as if it were a large thing, the scrivener simply stood, looked at Anders and bobbed in place a bit.
“How long would it take you to do this for, say, a hundred books?”
He didn’t really know, but could have run up a hundred pages at one time. Doing an entire book wouldn’t work, unless he read each page as he went. That, of course, would still depend on a lot of factors.
“A hundred different books or a hundred copies of one book?”
“The second idea?” The man, who had a powdered wig on his head, with a blue bow on the braid that hung down his back, seemed interested in the answer.
“Well, given all the materials being on hand... and a book of some size, I’d guess four to six hours? Less if I had helpers to organize things for me, so I only had to focus on the magic.”
The man clapped then.
“Very good. I have several people who wish to commission such runs of texts. The going rate is ten gold coins for each written work. We could split that up, say, with five of those coins going to you for each one?” The man held his breath, as if it were a bad suggestion.
To Anders it seemed a good enough thing to learn how to do and Farad was nearly beside himself with the idea. A hundred books at one time like that would change the world. Especially if many could learn to do it. Dreams of tens of thousands having important texts filled him for a moment. He glanced at the rest of the room, with Master Burrows seeming slightly annoyed for some reason and Lord Brolly looking fairly pleased with the suggestion.
The Regent coughed a bit and covered it with a hand. At least after the discussion was translated for him.
“That’s a fine bit of work, but you might be leaving soon. Perhaps on your return?”
It was the second time that the man had seemed to suggest that Anders lived there, in Yanse, now. It was, no doubt, a fine enough place, but he didn’t know if it was where he wished to settle. Besides, one way or the other, he had other things to keep an eye on. None of them were in that land, in particular.
“True! Still, I can show Daren, Jeld and Walden here how to do it, so that they can keep on with it, as schedules permit? We should do the same for Istlan. I’ll see if that can be set up there as well?”
That got waved at, is if it were a fine enough thing, but not important at all. As if books weren’t one of the biggest and best things a society could have. His people had loved such learning enough to support men who did nothing except recall texts, for a living.
These people seemed more casual that way. It was a bit annoying to Farad, now that he noticed it happening.
“That would be fine, of course, if you have time, Anders. If not, then perhaps in some few months? We don’t need to press you, or these others, I have to think?”
Anders simply bowed his head a bit.
“Of course.”
For some reason the Prince didn’t want him to work with books. That, or possibly, start a new project just then. Which could be due to his plans to leave, of course. Part of him wanted to claim it was more sinister than that, but he didn’t think that would be true. Alpert was a good man, after all. Not perfect, perhaps, but other than getting a girl pregnant at a young age, out of wedlock and then not being allowed to marry her, Anders had never heard of him doing anything particularly bad or even in poor form.
So, if the man didn’t want him to do something, there might be a good reason for it. Instead of feeling poorly over the idea, he simply sat for a moment, while the scrivener packed up and left. Then, before he could pull himself and Walden off, Prince Erold walked in, with Daren in tow.
“Alpert? We have a message, from Father.”
That had been written out, since that was the custom when passing such things around. The words weren’t in a fine hand, being that Daren had done the work on it. Still, it could be read, and after Prince Alpert did that, he passed the paper down to him, directly. Erold slipped into the chair next to Walden, not displacing the boy, or anything.
The words were interesting, since they included things that Anders wouldn’t have suspected as being part of such a message.
“I’m to be called back, along with Princess Salina, if she wishes to come. I’m supposed to go regardless. Daren and Jeld are to stay, to give magical backup and instruction as requested here. It’s requested that we bring the Lerna Saffron to come and stay at the castle of King Mathias, if she wishes to travel in that direction. Also, it seems that Princess Javina and Prince Daren are to be married in a year? We’ll have to have him back to Barquea for that, of course. Both of them.” Anders shrugged then. “You know, if we have to do that, we’ll want to send Walden with them. Princess Lissa can see to his instruction. That’s in the future and possibly won’t happen, but you’ll need to learn Barqean as well, just in case.”
Prince Alpert snorted at him.
“A real consideration, but one for the future. You left a bit out there?” He pointed at the paper, his face serious.
Anders had, because he didn’t think it was all that important.
“The bit about being knighted? I’m nearly certain I don’t ride a horse well enough for that.”
Ambassador Nona made a face at him then, her accented voice a bit wry.
“What is that? I do not know of it?”
Anders could see that, since the woman was working in a different language than her own.
“A knight? It’s a horse soldier, who wears armor. Very effective on the battlefield.”
Prince Alpert seemed to agree with that.
“It’s a position also given as an award for those who distinguish themselves in battle. Or, of course, if you have enough political clout. In this case it’s a bit of both.”
The words were waved away, by the lady, her sleeve shimmering in the light through the window.
“Ah? That sounds like what a boy might enjoy, then. Is this a common thing for a man of... Young age?”
Prince Erold bowed at the woman, his face charming. She was attractive and smiled back fairly well, even if she was married.
“Not common at all. Not for valor in battle. It happens, but I only know of two others in the last years. Both older than Anders is, so it’s fairly special. I’d be jealous if I hadn’t been given one as well. That was more about being a Prince of Istlan than merit, of course.”
Everyone played that off, and it wasn’t true. Erold had done incredibly well in the battle. As had Salina, Jeld and Daren. If Anders hadn’t been there, they would have still won, after all. He’d taken most of the lives, but that was just because, as he’d thought before, that piling more on the mountain didn’t really affect him all that much, any longer. There were just so many of them.
Plus, he’d had some tricks ready that had worked rather well.
The truth was though that Anders wasn’t that thrilled to be named a knight. It simply wasn’t important to him. That held, when Farad checked for the boy inside. He’d fancied himself a warrior once, a fighter, but never a man who made a living on a horse, in particular.