Chapter One, Part Two: Aaron

 

Sunlight began streaming through Aaron’s window at the usual hour for early autumn. It was a bit warm for that time of year; Esselya seemed to be on the edge of a welcome Indian Summer. As the golden rays warmed the side of his face, glinting off his closed eyelashes and beckoning him to greet the new day, he reached over and promptly closed the curtain. He then resumed his position of sitting on his four-post bed, leaning with his back against the wall and his eyes closed. He had been awake long before the stars began to dim. To be perfectly accurate, he had never gone to sleep the night before. He had been sitting like this all night, thinking. It kept him from dreaming anyway, and if he had dreamed that night he would have dreamed of the war. But that was a long time ago, and it was better to think of other things.

After a few more moments of quiet reverie, he resigned himself to the task of getting up. He stood and stretched, wincing slightly at the stiffness and dull aches in his bones, especially his right shoulder. But even old wounds become routine after a time. He did his best to ignore it.

            Old as he felt, it was not an old man’s face that looked back at him in the mirror above the washbowl. He was a big man; broad-shouldered and tall. His skin was a mild tan with a hint of red, unlike that of most Esselyans, who were more pale or freckled, and he still had a full head of chestnut hair (though there were a few silver strands here and there). He looked how one would expect a man to look who was not yet thirty. He sighed, wiping his face clean of the wash water, and began to dress for the first-level swordsmanship class he was teaching.

            Most men his age were still in training or were newly-appointed captains or lieutenants, depending on their abilities. Aaron had been a captain, a lieutenant, and a general, retired, and was now training the young recruits for battles in which he would never again participate. All he had left of those days was an ornate steel belt studded with sapphire stones which, like his bright blue eyes, were rarely found in that part of the country. It had been given to him in honor of his loyal service to Lord Shaanon and the state of Esselya. This he clasped around his waist just before heading out, grabbing his training staff along the way.

            Dawn had lit up the castle by the time Aaron made his way down from the south wing, where his quarters were located, into the central commons of the castle. Because of the recently warm weather, the huge open air windows had not yet been shut for the season, and golden morning light flooded all the rooms. Aaron paused to look out at the view. 

            “Lovely day, is it not?” a voice asked, coming from behind him.

            “It was…” Aaron grumbled as Victor, Lord Shaanon’s chief of Agriculture and Building Maintenance, stepped up beside him.

            “I’m sorry, what was that?”

            “It is,” Aaron repeated. “Let’s hope it stays that way.”

            “Going out to teach the young pups old tricks?” Victor asked, with a sidelong glance at Aaron’s staff.

            “Just as I do every day.”

            “Tell me, Aaron, at what age do these children begin learning to use real weapons?”

            “A quarterstaff, properly wielded, can be as deadly as any blade, Victor.”

            “Not that I have any use for such things myself…as a learned man, I certainly prefer books to the crudity of warfare…however, my scholarly concern for the children’s welfare compels me to inquire as to the real value of teaching them how to hit each other with sticks, when, as you know, they are at a critical age when their minds absorb information like a sponge, and precious instruction time must not be wasted…”

            “You would do well to remember, Victor, that war is always a possibility, and when and if it comes upon us, it will not wait until we are prepared for it!” Aaron’s voice echoed sharply through the halls. Before Victor could retort , another man approached them.

            “Good morning, gentlemen! Excellent weather for market day, don’t you think?” Skye, the young captain of the Royal Guard in the first rank, greeted them, smirking.

            Victor turned to Aaron. “Esselya will never be prepared for battle. We are a state of learning and medicine; not war. And as soon as you stick-waving, battle-crying, incompetent fools come to terms with that, the better! Precious instruction time is wasted in your futile efforts!” And with a curt “good day to you,” to Skye, he stalked out of the room.

            “Pleasant chap, that one,” Skye commented.

            Aaron sighed and shook his head. “Pleasant as sitting on a chamber-pot left out overnight in the middle of winter.” 

            “Ha! You’re too soft on him, really.  You look like you could use a drink, after all that. Care to join me?”

            “It’s kind of you to offer, but I have to be at the training grounds before my students arrive.”

            “Ah, I forgot. You don’t drink. Too bad…I’ve found that a good pint of whiskey is the best remedy for conversing with Victor.”

            Aaron laughed. “The headache afterward would be about the same, I’m afraid.”

Skye’s dark eyes glittered jovially. “I suppose I can’t talk you into it. Well, good day to you then, Aaron. Best of luck training today.”

            “Don’t drink too much, Skye; remember, we have to attend a trial today at court.”

            “And all the nobles will be there. I would prefer not to be sober, if I can help it!”

They laughed, and Skye left Aaron at the balcony, presumably to find a tavern somewhere. 

**~**~** 

            “Defensive form!”

            “Hya!” Twenty-seven young voices cried as they assumed the position Aaron had taught them. 

            “Make sure your feet are planted firmly under you; you do not, under any circumstances, want to give your opponent the opportunity to knock you off-balance. Losing even a moment of time in swordplay could cost you your life,” Aaron lectured, pacing in front of his students and surveying their forms. “Edward, your feet need to be farther apart.”

            “Yes, sir,” replied the freckled boy, correcting his posture.

            “That’s better. Now, right parry!”

            “Hya!” The students raised their wooden swords in a blocking motion. 

            “Left parry!”

            “Hya!”

            “Good. Christopher, hold your sword a little higher. That’s it. Now put your forms together, in time with me: One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six…”

            “One, two, three, four, five, six…” the students chanted with Aaron, going through their forms with some uncertainty.

            “Loosen your shoulders; not too much, because you need enough force behind your block to deflect your opponent’s blows. Imagine that the sword is an extension of your body. Good…very good.” He surveyed his students with satisfaction. They had a long way to go, but they were learning quickly, and doing well for their age. Some said that five years was too young for the boys to begin learning swordplay, but if their progress continued as it had, they would be ready to be in Lord Shaanon’s service, in the fourth rank, by the time they were fourteen.

            One student, who seemed to be having trouble with his form, caught Aaron’s eye. “Edward, you’re off-balance. Put one foot a little in front of the other, like this.” Aaron demonstrated, and the boy altered his footing. “Not too far,” Aaron cautioned. The boy sighed in frustration and moved again. “Hmm…keep working on it. We’ll talk after class.”

            Aaron continued his instruction for another hour before he dismissed the students, but he asked Edward to stay. “I want you to work on your footing. Every time you change forms, you’re off-balance. That transition is when you are most vulnerable to your opponent. All it takes is a little shove to knock you over.”

            “But I’m fast!” Edward protested. 

            Aaron shook his head. “It only takes a moment of weakness to be defeated. A good swordsman will learn to recognize where his opponent’s vulnerabilities are: his blind spots, whether he is weak on his right or his left side, and most importantly, when he is off-balance.”

            For a moment, Edward looked abashed. Then his little fists tightened, and he looked up at Aaron with grim determination beyond his years. “I want you to help me, Master Aaron. I want to be a great swordsman when I grow up, and protect Lord Shaanon and capture robbers and bad men. I want to be just like you!”

            Aaron was taken aback by this statement, and for a moment was left speechless. “I…would hope that, in time, you would surpass me, Edward.” Then he smiled. “I think you will grow to be a good man, and a good swordsman.”

            “Aaron!” a young man, dressed for the court, appeared at the entrance to the main hall. “It’s almost time for the trial to begin. Hurry up, or we’ll be late!”

            “All right, Rhys, I’ll be there in a moment,” Aaron said, laughing. Rhys was always enthusiastic about participating in official affairs, as he had just been admitted to the Royal Guard. His unruly dark brown hair stood up in several directions, despite his discrete attempts to smooth it, ruining the effect of what was an otherwise impressively polished new uniform. 

            “Keep practicing, Edward. Tomorrow we will discuss this farther; perhaps we should arrange for you to have extra instruction time. Meanwhile, I’ve got to be going. Give my regards to your parents.”

            “Thank you, Master Aaron! I promise I’ll work hard!”  

**~**~**

            Aaron entered the courtroom where most of the nobles and members of the Royal Guard had assembled for the trial. Lord Shaanon presided over all trials except for those dealing with petty crimes, and members of the Royal Guard were present at these trials, especially those with the most dangerous criminals. Aaron could tell by the number of guards present that the accused was likely involved in some violent affair.

            “Looks like it’ll be an interesting trial!” said Rhys, the young man who had heralded Aaron earlier. Next to him stood Skye, looking composed, though not entirely sober.   

            “Yes, I think it will. I haven’t seen this many guards assembled in one place since the war ended,” Aaron remarked.

            “I’ve seen the criminal they’re trying. He looks like a sinister one, all right. Let’s hurry and find a spot where we can see everything!”

            “Remember, Rhys, we’re here to make sure nothing gets out of hand; not to be spectators.” Aaron said, smiling a little.

            “I know; but we can’t do that if we can’t see what’s happening, right?”

Aaron laughed. “No, I suppose not.”

            “Let’s go, then…” said Skye, grinning wryly, and walking (a little unsteadily) toward the upper balcony, where they would have a good view of all the proceedings. 

When the prisoner was brought in, clasped in shackles and escorted by two guards, Aaron sat up stiffly. The man was definitely of Asrian decent; his ruddy complexion, black hair, and blue eyes were indisputable evidence. What was he charged with? Why was he here, in Esselya? 

            “Aaron? Is something wrong?” Rhys asked. “You don’t look well…”

            “Ah…it’s nothing. Don’t mind me.”

            “He’s not from Esselya, is he? He’s Asrian. I haven’t seen an Asrian since I was a kid!” Rhys whispered excitedly. “Say, Aaron, I’ve always meant to ask you; I mean, I know you’re not full-blooded Esselyan and all…and I was wondering if-“ before he could finish, he was elbowed sharply by Skye. Lord Shaanon had entered the room. The nobles, guards, spectators, and attendants rose from their chairs. Lord Shaanon was a surprisingly tall man with white hair and a stern face which commanded respect. Old age had not yet bent his back or weakened his keen gaze. For this occasion, he was dressed in traditional silver scholar’s robes embroidered with the Esselyan crest, and a wore a small silver circlet about his forehead, making him look kingly. His dark blue eyes surveyed the room sternly. When they settled on the prisoner, he frowned slightly, then said, “be seated,” to the assembly, and sat down himself in his place presiding over the court. 

            A page scurried to the center platform, shuffling papers nervously. “Ah…yes…Lord Shaanon, and ladies and gentlemen of the Court, we are here today in order to consider the case of this man.” He gestured to the prisoner, who was staring directly at him, causing him to stammer and continue hurriedly: “…ah…y-yes…this man, who is, ah, in fact, charged with the murder of a Royal Guard in the service of Lord Shaanon, and who shall be tried today, in accordance with the Laws of the High Kingdom and of the State of Esselya.” He quickly scurried off the platform, and retreated into a far corner of the room.

            “Bring him forth,” Lord Shaanon commanded the guards. When the prisoner stood before him, he met his gaze. Aaron held his breath and leaned forward. 

            “What is your name?” Lord Shaanon asked.

            “Barad.”

            “Where are you from?”

            “Asria.”

            There was a collective murmur in response to this statement, but Lord Shaanon raised his hand to silence the Court.

            “What brought you to Esselya?”

            The prisoner smiled, but did not answer.

            “I asked you a question. It would be in your best interest to respond.”

            The prisoner’s smile broadened. “I’m sure.”

             “You do not care what happens to you, then?”

            “You could say that I am unconcerned.”

            Lord Shaanon leaned back in his seat, considering. Aaron noticed the uneasiness in his eyes. Skye, too, seemed to be sobering.

            “I have witnesses here who claim that you killed one of my men. Do you deny this?”

            “No.”

            “You were seen attempting to break into the armory without authorization; when Arick Duarte, a Royal Guard for the State of Esselya, questioned you, you attacked and killed him. Is this true?”

            “Yes.” 

            “Then you admit to murder?”

            By this time, unease had spread throughout the entire court. Even Rhys looked uncomfortable. No prisoner had given up so easily before, with so little remorse. There must be some mistake; perhaps he had not understood the question…

            “I admit it with pride, my Lord,” the prisoner declared, bowing sarcastically.

            Lord Shaanon’s eyes darkened. “Then we have no further business here,” he said, rising. “Unless, of course, you have something else to add? Something that might compel me to believe you have an interest in living beyond dawn tomorrow?”

      The prisoner smirked. “Oh, it’s too late for that, Your Worship! My deed is done, and I shall receive my just reward! Come, where are your guards to take me to my cell? When is my last meal? Will I be granted a final wish, or am I too filthy a criminal for such pleasantries?” Lord Shaanon did not have to order the guards to seize the prisoner and take him to his cell; they were already upon him. He did not struggle, and continued his speech as he was drug hastily out the door: “Well, the gallows it is, then. Let it be known to all these stupid, ignorant, Esselyan fools: Barad the murderer hangs at dawn!”

            Normally, Lord Shaanon would not have permitted his guards to act without orders in such an instance, but there was little he could do, because he was busy attempting to quiet a roomful of indignant, shouting nobles. 

            “Hang him!”

            “Stone him!”

            “Burn him!”

            “Asrian filth!”

            “SILENCE!!!” Lord Shaanon bellowed. Reluctantly, the shouting died down. “This court is dismissed. Go home to your families, all of you.”

            “But, my Lord! What about the sentence?” a courtier asked.

            “I believe the prisoner announced his own sentence. You heard him; he hangs at dawn!”

**~**~**

     Skye and Aaron pushed through the crowd toward Lord Shaanon, who was waving nobles away as he attempted to leave. Rhys scrambled behind them, trying to keep up.         “My Lord!” Skye called out. 

            “I said go home!” Lord Shaanon snapped, turning. “Ah! Skye, Aaron, I apologize. I didn’t realize it was you. Come with me; I’d like to speak with both of you.”      

            “Skye! Aaron!” Rhys called, trotting up to them. “Lord Shaanon,” he addressed Lord Shaanon, bowing slightly. “Where are you all off to?”
            “Rhys, my boy, so glad to have you here today. How does it feel to be an official member of the fourth rank?”

            “Oh, it’s incredible! And an honor to be in your service, m’lord!”

            “Excellent. I am truly glad to have you. Now, I was wondering if you could do something for me?”

            Rhys’s eyes lit up. “At your service, sir!”

            “Go up to the lookout tower and inform Gerard that I must speak with him as soon as possible.” Rhys took off at a run and disappeared into the crowd of nobles without waiting to hear Lord Shaanon’s “…thank you…”

            Skye clapped Lord Shaanon on the back as they made their way out of the Court room and toward the more private conference chambers. “Nicely done,” Skye commented. “Getting rid of the boy like that. You’ll have to teach me.”

            Lord Shaanon looked surprised. “I wasn’t simply “getting rid of” him. I do need to speak with Gerard.”

            “Why? More likely than not he’s just napping up there, as usual. Not that I blame him…there isn’t much to see from the tower these days. It’s too wet for forest fires, and we aren’t at war…though the view up there is lovely.”

            “I hope it’s as you say, but the trial today has me a bit on edge, I’ll admit.”

            “Me as well, lord,” Aaron interjected.

            “What is your opinion, Aaron? Why do you suppose the prisoner was acting in that manner? Is he mad? Or do you think it may be something else?”

            “I think,” Aaron replied slowly, “That he had better be questioned more closely.  As soon as possible. It may be nothing, but I wouldn’t want to risk it.”

            Lord Shaanon nodded. “He spoke as if he knows something we don’t.”

            “Personally, I think he’s mad,” Skye interjected, pulling up a chair. “He’s obviously from Asria, and it’s no secret that they aren’t fond of us, nor we of them, but,” he swung his long legs up and propped them on the table next to him, “they wouldn’t dare try to plot something against us. Not again. Not after the High King brought his entire army down on them and wiped out all their best warriors.”

            “I’d like to share the security of your confidence, Skye, but the whole affair makes me uneasy. Aaron, I agree that the prisoner should be questioned again.  Would you be willing to help with the interrogation? I would ask Skye to do it, but he seems to be slightly inebriated.”

            Skye spluttered indignantly and nearly fell out of his chair. “Lord Shaanon!”

            “You think I don’t notice when you’ve gone drinking, conveniently right before any gathering of the nobles? And by the way, this table is for me and my advisors to meet at; I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t scuff it up with those boots of yours.”

            “My lord-“ Skye protested, “I meant no offense, I-
            Lord Shaanon held up his hand. “None taken; so long as you invite me to come along next time!” He smiled.

            Skye looked stunned for a moment, then grinned. “Certainly, lord.” At that moment, they heard Rhys’s voice in the hall, calling for them. 

            “Sounds like errand boy has returned,” Skye remarked.

            “So he has. Aaron, would you care to join me for a little visit down to Barad’s cell in an hour or so?”

            “At your service, my lord. But first you had better deal with Rhys; he sounds nearly frantic to find you.”   

            “Indeed…” said Lord Shaanon, frowning.

            Right on cue, Rhys burst into the room. “Lord Shaanon!” he gasped. “You must come quickly! It’s Gerard…he’s dead!”

Reviews

[D. Christian Baker]

Well, not bad, not in anyway bad. Except that you're indenting is sporadic. I would suggest that you either indent, or don't indent. This is where the famous pint of whiskey is from. Another good cliff hanger chapter, interesting, and annoying, because you don't have another yet! As one who often falls victim to this trap, edit as necissary, but don't get too caught up at editing at this stage of the game. unless, of course, it's necissary, then do edit. hoping to see more of this soon.

[Beth Elaina]

Noted and slightly edited, though I will in all likelihood edit the whole thing after I get this draft completed. (or sooner...) That's really why I progress with my stories so slowly...I can't stop myself from editing what I've already written. Anyway, I got rid of the "pint" that Lord Shaanon mentions (yes, as is plain to all, I know very little of alcohol, so it is difficult to write characters who are well acquainted with it). Though I will keep the earlier reference in connection with Victor, because Skye is joking at that point...well....half joking. And I will give some thought to how I should write in physical descriptions. I always find it difficult, though in Aaron's case it was important because of plot reasons. I'm afraid I'll make descriptions too cheesy or out of place. But I will work on it. :) Thank you for your help!!

[Shawn Drake]

All right then...sounds like war. A staple in any fantasy saga, and one that I can only hope manages to be conducted with the same flair as these more pastoral passages. But I do have a few suggestions as far as spit and polish are concerned. Firstly, we are given a fairly good description of Aaron's appearance...at least far enough to allow one's imagination to fill in the gaps. However, your secondary characters are mere ghosts with nametags and job descriptions. I'm not asking for a paragraph of description every time you introduce someone (there are a lot of someones), but over the course of the story, draw attention to a physical trait from time to time...does wonders for the believability of the characters when you can begin to really nail down their appearance. Secondly, and perhaps less importantly, do you have any idea how much whiskey you would be drinking if you ordered a PINT? Skye must be made of solid steel to be "slightly inebriated." Personally, if this were anywhere but a "kingdom of learning and medicine," I'd wonder why he still maintained his station rather than being discharged, imprisoned, or executed.
But in any case, well done. You have me deeply intrigued. I will be looking forward to the next installment.

[Beth Holian]

Well, that doesn't sound very good... :|

Excellent writing. I hope you'll forgive that I have nothing really to say - you can't say much of anything when the writing speaks for itself. I look forward to reading more! :)