I Can't Belong

The next evening, Jorlin, after finding men’s clothing in the bottom of her wardrobe and changing into them, rushed down to the second floor before anyone could see her. Ancis was already waiting for her, holding a balled-up surcoat. She held out her hand, but he didn’t make a move to give it to her.

“You have to make sure they don’t see who you are,” he said.

“Yes, of course,” she replied, somewhat annoyed, still holding out her open hand.

He placed it on a nearby table and fetched a chainmail tunic from the wall. She quietly let him slip it on over her clothes. Without a dress, her legs felt so exposed yet liberated at the same time. It would take some getting used to. The mail was heavier than she expected, but she said nothing about it. The links of metal rings fell to above her knees and ended before her elbows. While Ancis found the other armor components, Jorlin put on the faded purple surcoat then fastened a belt over it, which helped to take away some of the weight of the mail. The page buckled on a pair of vambraces, and then she put on a pair of leather gloves. Finally, he fit a simple helmet over her head, which concealed most of her face.

When she tucked her braid inside the helm, Ancis said, “You look as convincing as any castle guard.”

Even though she didn’t admit it out loud, Jorlin did not anticipate the weight of the metal fastened to her body, or how much her breathing and sight was restricted. Wordlessly, she strode over to the weapons rack and tied her favorite sword to her belt, her armor clinking loudly.

“Come,” he urged, “the guard shift will be soon.” He led her out of the room.

The climb up the stairs was difficult, and by the time she reached the top the air inside her helm had grown hot. The chink of the chainmail dully echoed off of the dimly lit walls and stopped when she came to a halt. Ancis ran ahead to get rid of one of the guards while she waited at the top of the stairwell. Several minutes later, he returned and nodded at her.

“Good luck,” he whispered.

“Thanks,” she muttered. Her voice sounded strange behind the metal plates.

Jorlin advanced down the hall, and at the end there stood a solitary guard on one side of the doors leading to Clovis’s chambers. She took her place on the opposite side of the doors and mimicked the soldier by crossing her arms. It was nearly ten minutes before she heard the sound of footsteps and voices, announcing Slater and Clovis’s arrival. Her heart thudded in her chest. This was it. She stood a bit taller once they came in view.

“…without too much trouble,” Clovis said, slowly coming around the bend in the hallway. Slater, much taller by his side, took short steps to keep pace with him. “And I don’t think the serfs have yet acquired their quota of goods for this month. See to it that they do.”

“Yes, sir,” came Slater’s reply.

She clenched her teeth. They were both so irksome. Being merely an observer was harder than she had expected.

As they approached, the other guard reached to open the large door on his side. Jorlin opened the one on her side simultaneously, the two men striding inside without a glance at them. She copied the other guard and stepped inside the room, closing the door behind her.

In the center of the room stood a table burdened with enough food for at least three people. Two servants stood nearby, jugs of wine in their hands and ready to refill the goblets. An iron chandelier hung from the ceiling, many bright candles atop it, and there was a large fireplace built into the stone wall that blazed, heating the room and filling it with golden light. Lavish furniture adorned the room. Jorlin knew enough of her uncle not to be surprised by the luxuries of his chambers. All of it came from the profit made by the serfs. Suddenly, she wondered if the only reason he was involved in the war was for his own profit and power, and if he was using the sake of the Decaster family name as a cloak. She shook off the questions piling up in her head and focused on Slater and Clovis’s conversation over the meal.

“How fares our army, General?” Clovis asked.

“Well. We will be prepared for departure this month. Some of my men have found carpenters and smiths to build siege engines for us if the need arises,” Slater answered.

“Excellent.”

It was quiet for a while as the two consumed more food. Jorlin’s helmet was getting stuffy, and she began to long for fresh air.

“Sir,” Slater began uneasily, “the serfs haven’t been meeting the demands this month. I’m not sure how much more they’ll be able to handle.”

Clovis leaned back in his chair. In a cool voice he asked, “Slater, do you have any idea how much a war costs?”

“A lot.”

“More than just ‘a lot.’ The longer this war drags on, the closer we come to leaving the Decasters penniless. The serfs find an excuse to complain about anything, and they say I push them so hard merely for my own sake. No. I do it to pay for this blasted war.”

“But the war’s not over yet,” said Slater. “We still have hope for victory.”

“Yes, if we strike while we have the funds.”

Slater asked, “What do you propose?”

“We need to strike hard at Mauntell Castle, and we need to strike fast.”

Slater seemed to choke on his wine for a brief moment. “Mauntell Castle? My liege, are we ready for such a bold move?”

“It’s the only one we have left,” Clovis replied. “If we can’t capture the castle, then our cause is lost.”

The general nodded gravely. “What do you propose we do about your niece, Jorlin?” he asked suddenly. He seemed to have to force her name out of his throat.

Her uncle picked at a jewel set in his goblet, a smile making his large cheeks ball up.

Slater picked his words carefully when he added, “It would do much good to both us and the rest of the castle if we got rid of her. She’s arrogant, she’s reckless, and she’s stubborn. She doesn’t belong here.”

Jorlin felt a grin spread across her face.

Clovis laughed. “If I wanted to make her leave this place I would have already done so.”

“Then she stays?”

He laughed again. “Ah, Slater, did I lead you to believe that I took her in merely out of charity?”

Slater didn’t answer.

Jorlin studied him suspiciously. These could be the answers she was looking for.

“Then why is she here?” Slater asked.

Clovis stuffed himself with more food, then took a gulp of wine. “See, if I could arrange a marriage for her to a rich man, imagine the profit! All of it could go to the war funds, of course.”

A grin appeared on the general’s face.

Jorlin could feel her face grow hot with anger. There was no way she would let anyone control her, especially her uncle. He disgusted her. Money was his motive for everything, and hatred began to fester deep within her heart.

Clovis asked, “And I trust that anything said this night will not be mentioned to anyone else?”

“Of course not, my liege,” Slater replied smoothly, washing down his words with more wine.

Jorlin tuned out the next segment of their conversation when they began talking about meaningless things, and she mulled over what they had said. She had to get out of the castle and escape what Clovis had planned for her, but she couldn’t go back to Auld Town, as her mother would force her to return to the castle.

Her uncle said something that demanded her attention. “Is there any more news concerning the prisoners?”

Slater raised his eyebrows and quickly swallowed a bite. “What prisoners?”

“The ones captured during the recent skirmish and brought to Mauntell Castle,” he answered, wiping his sweaty brow with his handkerchief.

“No, sir,” replied Slater. “Except it’s been confirmed that your niece’s… friend… was in the regiment.”

Jorlin struggled to keep her breathing under control. Finally, some news.

“What’s his name?”

“Asher.”

Jorlin’s breath caught in her throat.
“We cannot get him back?” Clovis asked.

“Not until after we capture the castle,” Slater answered.

“This is not well. Jorlin may leave if she finds out where he is. Keep leading her to believe that he is still on Decaster Manor.”

He nodded.

Jorlin clenched her teeth, and her hands curled up into fists. Their plans of deception were beyond what she had even dreamed of expecting. Their conniving was centered on her staying at the castle, so that was what she decided not to do. Asher was in Mauntell Castle, rotting in prison, and she had to stop it. She had to save him.

When Jorlin’s guard shift was finally over, she met Ancis back in the armor room on the second floor. It was late at night. She poured out everything she had overheard to him as he helped her to remove her armor.

“Finally, I actually have some answers,” she said, letting out a long breath. She was

exhausted.

Ancis didn’t reply at first, his eyes downcast. He wordlessly returned the components of armor to where they belonged and placed the chainmail tunic back on the rack with the others. Her frame felt significantly lighter with the armor gone.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” he finally asked, walking back up to her as she folded up the purple surcoat and placed it on the table.

Jorlin sighed, “Ancis, you know I don’t belong here. I can’t belong here.”

He frowned but nodded.

She felt sorry to have to leave him alone, but she knew that the relentless drive to preserve Asher’s life would eat away at her mind if she stayed at the castle.

Ancis’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts. “If you really are leaving, how will you leave if Clovis is bent on keeping you here? He probably has told the guard to make sure you don’t leave.”

Jorlin’s already partially formulated plan swirled about in her mind, like a thorn in the bottom of her foot, spurring her to leave.

“Jorlin?”

“I’m going to depart with the army.”

“What?” he demanded.

“I’m going to disguise myself as a soldier, and when we’re close enough to Mauntell Castle, I’ll sneak in and save Asher before the siege,” she replied evenly.

“You’re mad. You can’t simply break a man out of prison undetected. Moreover, you’re not trained enough or fit enough to march with the other knights.”

“What else am I to do?” she asked angrily. “I can’t live my life in this backwards castle, driven insane by the fact that I did nothing to save my friend from certain death! If I’m going to die, I’d rather die struggling to save him instead of wasting my life away here.”

“You’re more stubborn than…” His voice trailed off. Then, “I suppose there’s no stopping you.”

She looked away from him then fidgeted in the odd-feeling pants she was wearing, still unaccustomed to them. Ancis sighed and shook his head. He strode out of the room, his shadow slipping out of her sight as he turned around the corner.

Jorlin poked around the room for a while more, groggy and lethargic. The newly revealed secrets had yet to fully sink in, even though she processed them over and over again in her mind as she looked at the armor and weapons in the room.