A Call to Arms: Book One of the Chronicles of Arden (27 page)

Gib wanted to thank her. He truly wished he could. Instead, he nodded toward her plate. “You’d better eat, Kez. Practice is sure to be brutal after having so much time away.”
 

The space which served as the training arena during the winter months was so packed with students that Gib squeezed himself against the wall to enter the room. Kezra, Tarquin, and Nage stayed close by.

Gib groaned. “Well, this is lovely. Why isn’t everyone in formation? Master Roland is going to make us all run laps outside in the snow.”

“I don’t see him,” Kezra replied, her green eyes darting around the room.

Tarquin stood on his toes, craning his neck as he looked for their instructor. “Roland’s the Weapons Master so maybe he’s at the palace because of—well, you know.”

Nage coughed. “Speaking of missing persons, has anyone seen Diddy? He wasn’t at breakfast and he ain’t here either.”

Diddy
. Gib’s guts were as tight as ever. What was going on? What if they were trying to figure out who the assassin was and Gib’s information could help them? What if they didn’t call on him, and because of that Diddy or one of the other members of the royal family were hurt—or killed?

His anxiety must have shown. Kezra was glaring at him with no remorse. “Rethinking this vow of silence yet?”

Gib opened his mouth but only a shuddering gasp would come out. He was supposed to wait until Hasain returned to him with further instruction. “I–I can’t. Kezra, you have to believe me.”

Hunter green eyes narrowed into threatening slits. Kezra jabbed a finger into Gib’s chest and spat, “If your silence causes more harm, Gibben Nemesio, you’d best pray I don’t get my hands on you.”

The sentinel trainee shuddered, knowing it was no idle threat. Kezra always meant what she said. “I know. If–if anything changes, I’ll find you. I just can’t say—”He took a breath, wishing he could make her understand. “My silence is taking all the faith I have. Please try to have as much faith in me.”

Kezra frowned. “I put no faith in men.”

A hush fell over the trainees as their instructor approached. Otho Dakheel, the assistant to the Weapons Master, stepped forward. Raising both hands, the young soldier demanded silence and the trainees conformed. Only a couple years older than Gib, the assistant commanded respect with his intimidating poise and eerie pale eyes.

“You’ve all heard of the attack on the King.” Otho spoke quietly, though he didn’t need to raise his voice. The arena had fallen into complete silence. “Our Weapons Master is otherwise engaged until further notice. You’ll be taking your lessons from me.”

No one questioned this pronouncement. They fell into formation and followed each command as though it had come from Roland himself. Otho ordered them to find their normal sparring partners, even stopping long enough to put Gib with Tarquin and Kezra. “Your partner isn’t here. Join up with these two.”

Gib nodded. “Y–yes, sir. Uh, Otho, sir? Is Diddy all right? Do you know why he isn’t here?”

Otho’s odd yellow-green eyes speared the student. “Fall in, Nemesio. You’re behind in your training.”

Gib bit his tongue and followed along with the other two, despairing when he realized the words were true. He did have a lot of catching up to do. Even though he’d been close enough to see most of the new drills, he hadn’t had the practice of his fellow students due to his injury. Spirit dim, he nonetheless raised his wooden sword. He had only one way to improve—by practicing—even if he wasn’t in the mood to do anything besides fret about his current predicament.

Tarquin did his best to show Gib how to properly do the new moves. Kezra, on the other hand, was relentless. Gib was so caught up with avoiding her angry sword strikes that he failed to notice a pair of newcomers entering the arena. Tarquin broke formation to look at the guests, and Gib finally realized they were being watched—or rather,
he
was being watched.

Two royal guards, dressed in fine plated armor, were speaking to Otho and pointing in Gib’s direction. He winced as horrible thoughts flashed through his mind.
I didn’t say a word! Are they here to arrest me anyway? Oh Goddesses, where is Hasain
—

Otho trotted over, flanked by the guards. Gib drew back but had nowhere to run, no place he could escape or hide from them. He was vaguely aware of the other students in the room shuffling out of the way—all except Tarquin and Kezra. If anything, his two friends moved closer. Were they trying to protect him? He didn’t have time to ponder it as Otho opened his mouth to speak.

“Gibben, you’ve been summoned.”

He blinked.
Summoned? Summoned where?

Otho motioned for Gib to follow the royal guardsmen. The sentinel trainee looked back to Tarquin and Kezra for assistance, but the look on his friends’ faces told him they could do nothing.

Gib straightened his back and put on the bravest smile he could muster. “O–okay. I’m ready.”
No, I’m not ready. I don’t even know where I’m being taken
.

He wasn’t sure if his words were decipherable, meek as they were, but the royal guardsmen must have heard him, for they turned on their heels and marched toward the door in perfect unison. Gib had to run to keep up with them. As he left the arena, the sentinel trainee was painfully aware that
all
eyes were on him.
 

Gib was surprised to find Hasain and Joel standing in the corridor outside. Hasain was frigid as always, but Joel offered a faint smile in greeting. It was clear the two young lords had been waiting for Gib.

“Hasain? Joel? W–what are you doing here?” Gib dared to ask.

Hasain turned a shrewd eye. “We’re going to Seneschal Koal so you can tell him everything you know.”

Gib’s heart was pounding in his chest so viciously it hurt, but he had no time to ask further questions as Hasain had already turned on his heels and begun to stride away. The two guardsmen followed behind the young Radek lord, ominous and silent.

Joel set a hand against Gib’s trembling arm. “It will be all right. You aren’t in trouble,” the mage trainee assured. “We’re going to Marc’s office. Follow.”

Gib nodded, keeping one eye on the guardsmen. If he wasn’t in trouble then why did he need soldiers to escort him? The sentinel trainee glanced at Joel, who gave a gentle nod. It was a small comfort.

All too soon, they were standing in front of Dean Marc’s office. Gib swallowed. He wasn’t sure if he was relieved to be there or terrified of what questions he might be asked once they went inside. Hasain struck the heavy door, echoes jumping off the stone walls around them as they all waited for a response.

The door opened, and Dean Marc poked his head through the crack. The scowl contorting his fair features quickly retreated. “Thank the Two. I thought you were Diedrick Lyle, returning early from his midday meal.” His dark eyes darted back and forth across the corridor before opening the door fully and standing aside. “Come in, come in!”

Hasain nodded curtly, sweeping inside, and Gib hurried along behind the young lord, vaguely aware of Joel’s hand offering silent support on Gib’s shoulder. Marc ushered the three boys into the office, closing the door behind them. Gib blinked in the dim light, unsure of what—if anything—he should do or say.

“Gibben Nemesio, have a seat.”

Gib reeled when he realized Seneschal Koal Adelwijn had spoken. How had Hasain convinced the right hand of King Rishi to come away from his duties long enough for this? A hard knot formed in the pit of Gib’s stomach as he followed orders and sat down.

Koal swept over from the depths of the shadows near Diedrick Lyle’s desk, his features grim. The Instruction Master’s desk was occupied by Roland Korbin whose sharp eyes focused on Gib.

Marc sat on the corner of his desk and folded his arms over his chest. His voice pressed, but he wasn’t condescending. “Gibben, it has been brought to our attention that you may have valuable information about the recent attempt on our king’s life. Is this true?”

Gib’s heart was pounding. “Y–yes. Well—I mean, I don’t know if it’s valuable or not.”

The seneschal was pacing across the marbled floor but stopped long enough to give Gib a withering glare. “Damn it. Don’t you realize the importance of the royal family’s safety? Keeping silent in such a situation is punishable as treason.”

Oh
. He hadn’t considered—was he a traitor? Would he be hung or beheaded for such a terrible lapse in judgment? Gib’s mouth fell open but no words came out.

To his right, Joel stiffened and started to raise his voice—only to be cut off by Hasain.

The young Radek lord took a deep bow before leaping in. “Apologies, Seneschal. The fault is mine, not Gibben’s. He came to me on the day in question, but I discredited the threat as that of a disgruntled servant or teacher. It was my lack of judgment that may have—” His smooth voice shuddered there as he sucked in a breath of air. “—caused my father harm.”

“Or cost him his life,” the seneschal spat. Gone was the reserved gentility of the worried father Gib had spoken to three nights past. This Koal Adelwijn was more terrible and frightening than anyone the student had ever seen. No one in the room dared to move under the seneschal’s heavy glare.

Even Hasain, who had seemed so powerful and in control only moments before, kept his head low. His voice was weak. “I know. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I let my pride cloud my judgment.”

A stretch of uncomfortable silence fell upon them until Dean Marc cleared his throat. “Gibben, please, time is of the essence. What do you know?”

Insides churning, the sentinel trainee managed to open his mouth a second time. The words spilled forth like a flooded river. Gib told them where he’d been and why. He tried to recollect every detail and answered each question to the best of his ability. Koal pressed for details about who the two men may have been while Roland spoke up to ask about what sort of plans may have been discussed. It was frustrating to have so few answers for them, and the men seemed to grow upset as well.

When the questions began to repeat themselves, and Gib’s breaths were shuddering, Marc waved his hands. “All right, enough. The boy is too shaken to continue. Besides, I think he’s told us all he knows.”

Koal nodded stiffly as he continued to pace the overcrowded office. “Yes. For all we know, these may not even be the same people. No actual plan was mentioned.” He rubbed his chin, deep in thought.

“Yeah, not much to go on for what sort of weaponry or tactic they’ll use,” Roland grunted. “From what I’ve gathered so far, I’m expecting long range attacks or planned encounters. They’re not opportunists. They’ll organize something else.”

Marc let out a deep sigh, stress lines gathering around his dark eyes. “I suppose you’re dismissed, Gibben. And you as well, Joel. Go back to your classes.”

Both boys bowed low and turned to leave. However, Gib found his feet refusing to move. His tongue lay heavy in his mouth; a question had been killing him since that morning.
Diddy. I need to know if he’s okay
. Gib wasn’t sure which of the men to address, so he shared his gaze among all three. “Uh, sir? Is–is Prince Didier all right? He wasn’t in class. I just—he’s my friend.”

The three men shared guarded looks and after what felt like an eternity, Koal graced Gib with a response. “It’s only because you’ve been nothing but an exceptional man, Gibben, that I share this information with you. Likewise, I would expect your discretion in sharing it with others. Prince Didier is fine. He’s within the palace walls for his own protection.”