A Call to Arms: Book One of the Chronicles of Arden Read online

  “We only have enough bowls for three of us,” Tayver muttered as he handed the utensils to his younger brother. “The other one is full of water from the leak in the roof, up in the loft.”

  Gib was certain Liza would have something to say about that, but fortunately she was merciful and kept quiet. Fixing the thatching on the roof was yet another project Gib just hadn’t had time to get to yet. He and Tayver had been so busy with the crop and he couldn’t ask Calisto, only nine, to climb up there and risk falling.

  “You can have my bowl, Liza,” Cal offered, always a hero.

  Gib shook his head, getting a word in before his sister had the chance. “No, you go ahead, Cal. I’ll wait to eat. I’m not even that hungry.” As if to mock him, Gib’s stomach gurgled in protest a moment later and he held back a grimace. He was starving. But he was the head of the household now and it was his job to see the family had full bellies at the end of each day—and so he would wait.

  Gib scraped the last bit of food from his bowl, savoring the taste. Pottage was best when it was fresh but by tomorrow the leftover vegetables would already begin to mush together in such a way that it was like eating slop meant for a pig.

  The fire pit crackled with renewed life as Liza added another log, this time not for cooking but for warmth. Tayver and Calisto had long since retreated to the loft. The boys always slept up there, except during the colder months when it was impossible to ward off the bitter winter air except by lying directly in front of the hearth. Gib had vague memories from his childhood of the entire family bundling up and spending the long winters sitting around the fire, telling stories and sharing merriment despite the fact they were always cold. Things had been different in those times. The walls of the cottage had resonated with the sound of laughter. Now only silence remained. They had no time for play or merriment, only survival.

  Liza sighed in a weary sort of way, pulling Gib away from his dark musings. He raised his head in time to see his sister sit down beside him at the table and watched as she extended her hand to take hold of Gib’s forearm.

  “You’ve done an admirable job with the upkeep of the farm,” she said in a quiet voice. “Pa would be proud of you, Gib.” Liza squeezed his arm and her grip was firm, strong like their father’s had been. A pang of sorrow stabbed Gib in the chest.

  Gib forced a smile, but he didn’t feel proud. He felt tired and stretched past his limit. Truth be told, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could run the household by himself. It was such a monumental task for a boy of thirteen.

  He knew he was being silly, even selfish. Thirteen was practically manhood in a poor family where a child was fortunate to survive birth and damned lucky to see his tenth winter. In another few wheelturns, he would be expected to marry and start a family of his own—more mouths to feed and worry about when he could barely ensure that Tay and Cal kept from going hungry. It all seemed like a cruel joke. How could anyone keep their right mind with so many responsibilities to fulfill?

  “I don’t know how Pa did it,” Gib admitted. “I don’t know how he managed to keep four children clothed and fed after Ma died. He’s more of a hero than he’ll ever know.”

  Liza’s smile was stern as she squeezed her brother’s arm again. “He did what he had to do. As will you.” Her brown eyes shifted toward the loft, perhaps to reassure herself that the two younger boys were sleeping. The firelight illuminated her face and for the first time that evening, Gib noted the worry lines surrounding Liza’s eyes. She had seen only five winters more than Gib, but Liza appeared as worn down as Gib felt. Was the stress of her sentinel job already taking its toll on her or was something else eating away at her conscience?

  Liza lifted her face and the smile that had been present the moment before was gone. “I have news for you.”

  The sentence was simple, but Gib could feel the weight of the words pressing down on his chest, threatening to suffocate him. He’d known. Little chance existed Liza was here for pleasure. She was here to deliver bad news, he was sure of it. Gib held his breath and waited for her to continue. The silence was insufferable.

  She seemed to sense his dread and glanced back toward the loft as if to be sure the younger boys were out of ear shot. Her mouth pressed into a thin line as she reached into a deep pocket on her uniform. Gib winced at the sight of a small scroll sealed with the royal emblem of Arden—the rising phoenix. This wasn’t just something bad, it was something important.

  Liza reached out to hand the document to Gib, but his arms were suddenly as heavy as lead and he couldn’t lift them. Instead, he felt his mouth open and the hushed words spilled out without consent. “Is it war then? Are you going to leave us as well?”

  She flinched as if she’d been bitten and withdrew the scroll, holding it in her lap. “You know I would never willingly leave any of you, don’t you?”

  Gib lowered his head, feeling foolish. “I’m sorry. Of course I know you don’t have a choice. I just—what am I going to tell Tay and Cal?”

  Her dark eyes met his in an unknown emotion, and Gib’s guts turned to ice. Liza’s voice trembled. “This conscription isn’t for me.”

  Oh Gods. He couldn’t breathe. His lungs had collapsed and his throat closed up. No air. He slammed his eyes shut, shaking his head. This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t be for him, could it? He was the eldest son of his family but did that matter when his elder sister had already joined the sentinels? He didn’t know. The laws concerning the entry of women into the military were still so new and unrefined.

  “Uh.” His lungs shuddered back to life and he gasped for air. “It’s a draft notice? For me?”

  Liza couldn’t meet his eyes. Her cheeks were an ugly red. “I tried, Gib. You have to believe me. I tried to convince my sergeant it was unnecessary for you to be drafted seeing as I was willing to go to war. He wouldn’t listen. You know how they are! He feels that it’s still ‘a man’s responsibility’ to go to war for his family.” She turned her face away from him and spat. “Fools, all of them. Who are they to decide who is worthy of going to war and who isn’t?”

  Gib nodded, knowing it was true. A lot of hard feelings were going around about the recent changes that had given women permission to join the army. Indeed, Liza was the only girl from their entire village who’d ever gone to Academy to become a soldier. It had earned the scorn of many of their neighbors at the time, and some of them, especially the women, would still give Gib a sideways look in the market. It was widely whispered that his sister didn’t know her place and that she tempted fate by remaining away from home and not marrying.

  She set down the scroll, still rolled tightly and sealed, and took his hands in hers. He wondered distantly when his had grown to be the same size as hers. “It’s not war yet.” It was meant to be a comfort, but it did little for his trembling nerves. “And if the King and Queen have their way, it will never come to that. It’s the damned High Council—”

  Gib understood. “They’re still pushing for war.”

  “Over a ridiculous land dispute.” She sighed. “Be that as it may, you’ve been called and you have no choice but to answer.”

  “Yeah.” His voice sounded distant even to himself. He didn’t remember taking his hands from his sister’s but the next thing he knew, he was picking up the parchment and clumsily peeling at the wax seal. It fell open easily, as if it didn’t carry the command for him to drop his life where it was and march to Arden’s aid. How could something so harmless looking be such a threat? But it could be the very thing to seal his doom. It was calling him to a war he may not come home from. A shiver raced up his spine.

  The text was laid out in fine, unsmudged ink, and it was obvious that whoever had written it was well schooled. The letters flowed together and the line of script was straight and appealing to the eye. Gib squinted, wishing that any of those things would make it easier for him to read it. Raising two brothers and working the farm had left little time for proper schooling.

  Liza reached fo
rward to help him. “Here, let me. We had to do some basic schooling at Academy.” She took up the scroll and scooted closer to the fire, her dark eyes reflecting the guttering flames.

  “Let it be here-by known,” Liza began, her voice choppy as she picked away at the message. Gib was proud of her. The women from the market who thought little of her surely couldn’t read at all. “By dec–declar–ation–declaration of King Rishi Radek, on behalf of the country of Arden, one Gibben Nemesio has forth–with–forthwith been called upon to aid the army of Arden.”

  She swallowed and Gib felt like he couldn’t breathe once again. They both took a short break there, letting the severity of the situation settle over them before she pressed on. “Soldiers are to report to Silver City for training. Failure to com–comply will be judged treason.”

  The air around the two siblings was heavy with their shared silence. No words could describe the rolling pain in his guts as his mind ran swiftly with all the possibilities of death and hardship that might befall him. The full realization of what he needed to do crashed over him like a wave.

  “How can I go, Liza? What about Cal and Tay? They’re not old enough to take care of the farm on their own! The field is still two days away from being fully reaped. I have to fix the door and the damned roof is leaking—who will take care of them if we’re both gone? They’ll never make it through the winter. I can’t leave.”

  “Gib.” Liza’s voice was stern, steady, a grounding force within the chaos. “You have no choice. You have to go. Before I came home I stopped across the road to see the Fadells. Baria said she would keep an eye on them like she did when Ma died.”

  “Baria is old! Hell, Abbas is old. Their son Altair is going to be married come spring. They’re not going to have the time to see to it that Tay gets the fields planted.” Gib collapsed onto his back heavily and looked up toward the ceiling, at a total loss. Could Tayver plant the fields on his own? Cal was still too small to put in a whole day in the fields. Gib had no other options though. No money was available to hire help, and no other kin remained to divide the chores between. “I don’t—I don’t even know what to do with them. They can’t come with me, can they?”

  His sister didn’t meet his eyes and he knew before she answered. “No. The academy will only provide housing for the student.” Gib threw his hands into the air, but she pressed on, shifting closer to him. “Wait, just listen to me. Nothing can be done for them this winter. I’ll help you get the wheat in tomorrow and Altair said he’d come by to help once his chores are done. You know Abbas will take our portion to the market for the boys. He and Pa were friends for years. He’ll do right by them and make sure they get the money—”

  Gib gripped either side of his head, clenching a fistful of curls in each hand, and slammed his eyes shut once more. “I know that! Abbas and Baria have been nothing but good to us, it’s just—” He stopped to take a breath, but his chest felt tight and his eyes were burning. “How am I supposed to take care of them if I’m not here? Ma and Pa are both dead. It’s my job to make sure the rest of us survive. I can’t let the young ones down, Liza. They could die if I fail them!” He gasped for breath and the tears won. He felt like a child again. He was supposed to be the adult.

  Liza swept in, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him close to her body. “I know it looks bleak, but it’s going to work. The boys only have to get through this winter and then they can come to Silver in the spring. Tayver will be old enough to apprentice to someone and Cal can go to the workhouses until he comes of age.”

  “Pa always said the workhouses were dangerous.”

  Liza sighed and bowed her head. “They are. But Cal is a good worker and he can keep his nose out of trouble. I’d be more worried to send Tayver in there. He’d talk back once and—I don’t know what else to do for them, Gib. The boys can’t run the farm on their own forever, you’re right. They’ll have to go somewhere.”

  He wiped at his closed eyes. It felt as though the entire world were spinning out of control. “I’m supposed to care for them. I promised I would.”

  “You’ve done well. The best you could. I dare anyone else to do what you have with as little. But this is out of your control. You have to report to Silver. If you don’t, you’ll go to prison and then what good will you be to Tay and Cal?”

  Gib sucked in another shallow breath and willed his nerves to calm. Liza was right. Nothing else could be done about any of it. “How long before I have to leave?”

  She smiled against the top of his head. “We leave. I’m going with you. Three mornings from now we ride out at first light. That should give us enough time to harvest the wheat and get the house in shape for winter.”

  His mind was racing with all the different tasks he would have to do. Two days didn’t seem enough. The field and the home repairs, firewood to be collected, animals to be cared for, two boys to be seen to—it all seemed too much. And tomorrow he would have to break their hearts. “I don’t want to have to tell them.”

  “I will, if you want.”

  One more tear escaped as Gib looked into the fire. “No. I’ll do it. It’s only right.”

  Chapter Two

  Three mornings later, a deluge of rain saw Gib and his sister off. It was cold and miserable and completely fitting with their circumstances. Calisto had clung to Gib, crying unabashedly, while Tayver pretended to be devoid of any emotion at all. Gib knew his brother was every bit as sad as Cal, but Tay was putting on a stoic face for the sake of the family. He was already trying to step up and accept the responsibility of adulthood. He had no choice.

  Liza had given both boys a hug and showered them with kisses, telling them to be strong. Then she and Gib had climbed onto her horse, a silver palfrey named Lilly, and left the farm behind. Gib hadn’t looked back—it would have undone him. He was grateful the rain was coming down steadily enough to mask his tears. If Liza noticed his quiet sobs, she didn’t say a word about it.

  By midday, the rain had passed and the sun came out long enough to dry their soaked clothing. When the pair stopped to set up camp for the night, Gib took the clothes from their dampened pack and let them dry as well. They had one change of clothes each. Liza had insisted it would be best to pack light as the crown of Arden would provide him with everything he may need. It wasn’t like Gib had many personal belongings anyway. His tunics were frayed around the edges and the only pair of boots he owned were far too small for his growing feet, but nothing could be done about any of it now. Perhaps the crown of Arden would be generous enough to replace his worn clothing. Only time would tell.

  They traveled south for three days, following alongside the Tempist River. Liza explained to Gib that the Tempist ran parallel to the trade road all the way to Silver City, so during the times when Academy was on interim, all he needed to do to get home was follow the river north. Gib barely heard her speaking. His mind was preoccupied by the thoughts of leaving his brothers to fend for themselves while he traveled to an unfamiliar place. No neighbors would lend him a helping hand and no family would comfort him. A cold lump formed in the pit of his stomach.

  As they journeyed farther south, the flatlands gave way to high, rolling hills of green that seemed to reach up and collide with the skyline. The number of travelers using the road increased dramatically as well. Some people were on horseback like them—but the road also had pedestrians, carts being pulled by teams of oxen, and even a line of caravan wagons. Gib’s eyes burned from the dirt being kicked up along the path, but he couldn’t seem to look away. He’d never seen such things before.

  The sun was still high in the sky when Liza announced they would arrive in Silver City within a mark. Gib straightened in the saddle, curious enough to lean out and look around Liza’s body. They were in the midst of climbing yet another rolling hill, so he couldn’t see what lay ahead.

  Gib’s stomach was fluttering as though he’d swallowed a bug. “Where is it?”

  Liza pointed forward. “Just wait until we rea
ch the top of this ridge. You’ll be able to see the entire city from there.” She gave Lilly a jab in the flank, coaxing the palfrey to move faster. The horse snorted imploringly but obliged.

  As they climbed the hill, Gib’s anticipation rose with it. His heart was pounding in his chest and he forced himself to take slow, steady breaths of air. You’ll be okay. You can do this. Lilly was moving at a full trot by the time they reached the crest of the ridge, and all at once, Gib was able to see everything for league upon league ahead of him. He let out a strangled gasp at the sight.

  The royal city of Silver sprawled across the valley below. It was the largest thing Gib had ever seen in his life, stretching as far as the eye could see in either direction. A wall made of smooth grey stone wrapped around the entirety of the city, roof peaks of the tallest buildings just visible and lending the impression of tightly packed houses, all shimmering in the bright afternoon sunlight. The Tempist flowed through the middle of the city, an iridescent line of blue that cut the city in half. Gib knew he’d remember this sight until the day he died. He stared, eyes wide and mouth gaping.

  Liza smiled broadly. “Welcome to Silver.”

  Another mark later, the travelers stood at the gates of the city, waiting to be allowed passage. The wall spanning the perimeter was at least three times as tall as Gib and made of the finest limestone he’d ever seen. Liza explained that heightened security meant all travelers going into the city must now be questioned. Gib swallowed nervously and wondered what kind of people the sentinels were attempting to keep out as he caught sight of an archer patrolling the wall, nearly invisible in the shadows.