The Breton Boys

Chapter One: The Origins of Tsorsha | 2

Dashel and Imeric rejoined the other pages after break inside the armory, both looking disgruntled.

"Stable duty after Archery," Dashel whispered, answering Reid's inquiring look. "With Aragonite."

Reid grimaced apologetically.

"Resolute!" Sir Crick shouted, causing the pages to snap to attention. "And repose. Reid, to the front."

Reid marched to the head of the group and stood beside Sir Crick.

"Beginning today, we'll be running drills in full armor far more frequently. This is typical form for the squires, but it's important that you all become comfortable and proficient in maneuvering fully protected.

"As such, I thought we'd take half of today's lesson to reacquaint ourselves with proper dressing procedure. So, Breton, what's first?"

"Aketon," he answered, retrieving one of many cream-colored, quilted jackets from the cupboard behind him and pulling it on.

"You might consider sizing up, lad," Crick suggested when Reid failed to get the aketon over his head. "It's not supposed to fit that snugly."

Reid chose a bigger garment. He wasn't sure if being well-fed for the first time in his life had made the difference or if it was just a consequence of his age, but Reid had grown three inches since Yule and built enough muscle that he and Oliver could no longer be distinguished based on their size. And thanks to Miss Corey, the brothers' Yuletide injuries had healed well. Reid's arm was only stiff in the mornings, and all Oliver had to show for the ordeal were four large scars across his ribs, of which he was quite proud.

Once Reid was sufficiently protected with various layers of mail and metal plates, the rest of the pages were instructed to follow suit as quickly as possible. Then they all chose shields and wasters (ones heavier than they normally used, at Crick's command) and headed out to the field to run formation drills fully armed.

"Well done, pages," Sir Crick commended as the crew, dragging under the weight of their armor, trudged off the field at the end of the lesson. "Everybody inside to unarm, now. Move it along."

"Don't bother," Alresse Hemlocke said, appearing from the stable-side of the armory. "We'll be working on barding today, and if the horses have to be armored, then so do you."

Hemlocke led the clanking pages back into the armory where they collected all the necessary barding equipment and then transported it, piece by piece, to the stables.

Once the horses had been properly dressed and saddled under Hemlocke's supervision, she announced that they would be riding for the rest of the hour.

"Now, who wants to lead us out to pasture? Reid? Good on you. Head us off."

Reid took his favorite horse - who was looking significantly larger and more regal in his barding - outside to the paddock where Alresse Hemlocke met him and helped him mount.

"Focus on your posture," she said once Reid was seated. "Armor doesn't allow for mistakes."

Reid nodded as Hemlocke struck his horse's haunch, and he took off galloping down the field.

Reid paid close attention to his position as he'd been told, taking care not to bounce in the saddle or lean too far forward - which were not small feats without armor, let alone with. But he was determined not to let the challenge of being covered in metal plates derail the progress he'd made in recent weeks, so he continued to lead his horse around the pasture, the other pages and their steeds following behind.

"Excellent form today, Breton," Hemlocke complimented as Reid and the other trainees returned to the stables to undress their horses at the end of the lesson. "Keep it up."

Reid smiled to himself as he continued to remove his horse's bards, all thoughts of the situation in Fairevale pushed far to the back of his mind.

When Reid and Oliver returned home that evening, however, the news became impossible to ignore.

The Evening Letter was spread across the kitchen table, a woodblock depiction of the stone Fortress at Diamond Vale taking up the front page under the caption KING MERICAIDE II DEAD AT DARTHAGS' HAND.

Adaline hastily replaced the print on the table with a steaming dish of meat pie as the boys kicked off their boots and sat down for supper.

"How was training?" Adaline asked a bit too eagerly, joining her children at the table and scooping generous portions of pie onto their plates. "What did the Captain have to say about the King?"

"He said that Tsorsha killed him, but Princess and Prince Nettlemaid got away," Reid answered.

"Sir Erlewine fainted when he heard," Oliver added.

"And Captain Pitchblende said that more troops were being sent to reinforce the borders," Reid concluded.

Their mother nodded and bit her lip.

"A letter came from Amma Juni today," she said. "Papa Perren has been dispatched to the front."

"What?"

"Even with his arm?" Reid asked.

"Without, you mean," Oliver corrected.

His mother reprimanded him with a look.

"With Fairevale compromised, they need all the troops they can muster at the border to keep Tsorsha from breaking into Hollenmere again - even the soldiers that aren't in peak form. He is a captain, after all."

"Do you think she'll be able to?" Reid asked. "Break through?"

"Not with the whole Hollenmerish Army guarding the border," Oliver said.

Reid imagined the Hollenmerish soldiers lined up in a long row down the length of the border, elbows linked to create a human barrier, as if Tsorsha's threat was no more than an overblown game of Red Rover. He pictured his greatfather standing beside Averis Aragonite, two links in the shield of soldiers. But then he remembered that his greatfather only had one elbow and would not be a very strong link in the chain after all. Reid knew it was a silly thought, but it made him uneasy nonetheless. He took a bite of pie.