FOUR

Joseph comes of age, a youth no more.

FOUR

     
 
     
 
Birdsong woke Joseph in the tower room. A few moments went by before the boy realized where he was.

Getting out of bed, he walked over to the window. Lifting the small iron latch Joseph pushed the cased glass out. Stretched out before him lay the great, blue bay. To his left loomed mountains, their tops colored gold by the rising sun. Far in the distance, he saw the royal citadel, its castle looking like a miniature version of the vast place he had walked through. The day before seemed unreal to the young man, and yet here he stood.

Joseph closed the window against the early morning chill. His barren room seemed changed for the better with the spectacular view waiting just outside. The boy looked explored the tower room a little more. In the small trunk, he found new linen clothes: a tunic and breeches dyed a deep blue. A feeling of energy coursed through Joseph as he changed out of the gray suit the Shamar captain had given him, yesterday.

Soon after he’d dressed himself, a knock came at the door. Upon opening it, Joseph saw the monk--who’d shown him the room--standing on the stair.

“Good morning to you, young Joseph,” he said, smiling. “I see you are almost ready for the day. There is much to learn, but first washing and the morning meal.” Turning, he led the way back down the staircase. Joseph followed him with uncertain steps. The monk did not seem to need a reply.

The other tower rooms apparently weren’t occupied; Joseph heard no sound as they passed the doors. At the bottom of the staircase he saw a narrow wooden door in a shadowy part of the passage.

“Washroom,” the monk said, pointing. A large room lay beyond the door; a small stone pool sat against one wall, with water running into it from a tiled spout. Out one side of the pool ran a kind of trough along the wall--under two arched windows--to a shallow place for washing clothes. A washboard leaned against the wall nearby. Looking at this, Joseph wondered if he was going to wash his own clothes from now on.

Breakfast consisted of simple hot porridge, eaten with haste. The monk seemed eager to begin the lessons.

“I am Brother Bernard,” he said, after showing his pupil to a sunlit room. Inside, Joseph saw a row of neat wooden desks and benches along one wall. “I’ll be your schoolmaster,” the monk continued. “We will get to know one another well, I imagine, but let me now explain your purpose in coming here. These studies are to broaden your mind... to teach you to think more sharply. There will be chores for you to do here, to help strengthen your body in the best of health. I see you are accustomed to rising early; this is good. Later, after you learn the basic things, other brothers will help teach you things I cannot.”

Nodding his understanding Joseph looked around at the empty desks in the room.

“Are there other children going to school here?” The monk tilted his head a little to one side as he looked at Joseph.

“No. You are alone in that regard, but we are instructed to teach you all that we know. And since there are many brothers here, you will come to a wisdom that is beyond your years, one that--I may well say--is not available to many other children. Your mother will arrive this evening; she will be nearby through all your studies. There is a women’s annex in the shire--not far from here--where she will be able to live and work in her trade. If you wish, you can meet her at the midday meal each day.” Joseph felt comforted by the man’s words. He and sat down on the nearest bench.
The initial explanations seemed completed. Bernard walked over to a shelf--filled with stacks of leather-bound books--and selected one.

“Our studies first include basic subjects,” he began. “Mathematics, scientific principles and a firm understanding of writing. There are Latin, Greek and Hebrew--the languages of the Holy Book. We will teach you everything we know about society and working of our great land. We will teach you a trade and--when you come of age--you will enter Palmadore Military Academy, to learn the art of weaponry and battle. You will learn the lands outside our island nation, as well as the proclivities of those cultures... but first, we will begin with our society.”

Bernard opened the book and cleared his throat. “There are five classes of people who work in the ten provinces of our kingdom: the farmer, the tradesman, the government official, the soldier and the priest.” Seeing the boy raise his hand, the monk paused in his speech.“You have a question?”

“You said farmers, soldiers, tradesmen, officials and priests,” Joseph recited. “Are monks priests?”

Bernard smiled.

“A good question, Joseph,” he said, sitting on the bench next to Joseph’s. “Priests and monks attend the same school, but pursue different learning. Monks learn and study theology. Priests study historical writings and act in official, or government business. Priests--in general--reside in and govern with the province governors and senators, under the power of the king. Monks live and work under the rule of God and are loyal to the king.”

Joseph thought in silence for a moment.

“Who are the rune readers?” he asked. The monk did not seemed surprised by the question, as the boy expected. Instead, Bernard furrowed his brow and put his hand to his chin.

“Now that is an interesting question,” he returned. “It has been many years since I have heard their name mentioned.” He looked at Joseph intently. The boy sat in silent expectation, his serenity gone. “I wonder where you heard of them,” the monk mused out loud, studying his pupil. Joseph was silent. Bernard did not press him.

“There are those of the priest’s governing sector,” he continued, “that have--in times past--moved beyond good theology to ancient, barbaric writings, supposedly for insight. These writings are The Runes, as they are called; these teaching are in direct opposition to the king and his rule. So, by seeking after understanding of these writings, they often align themselves with the enemies of the king.” The monk paused for a moment and shut the book in his hand. “Remember this, Joseph... seek God and the sweetness of His theology and you will find favor with the king, and you will bring justice to the land.” Soberly, Joseph nodded.

The young boy’s life fell into a routine form that day forward. Mornings and afternoons he spent in study and outside chores in the large monastery garden; in the evenings he did work in the kitchens and ate supper with his mother. As promised--when he turned thirteen years of age--Bernard introduced Joseph to Brother Adrian, an middle-aged monk who ran a blacksmithing shop in the nearby township. Apprenticed to the blacksmith, Joseph found the work far harder than the simple chores of the monk’s garden. Each day he toiled by the heated furnaces, painstakingly learning the art of hammering horseshoes and wagon axles. Joseph felt determined to learn the trade his father had envisioned for him. Eventually he began to see the wisdom of learning metalwork as the demand for tools, wagon wheels and horseshoes never seemed to lessen. Despite his large stature, Brother Adrian was nonetheless patient with his apprentice and methodical in teaching.

Despite the amount of work, Joseph found moments of respite and interest all around him. Into the young man’s sphere came monks and travelers that--to the young man’s surprise--had extensive battle experience. Bernard was quick to seize these opportunities and allowed Joseph to sit among them, with the warning not to speak... just listen. Around the eating hall fireplace rose debates and discussions; there were colorful lectures of history and war tactics and the behaviors of the known enemies of the king. Though Joseph respected Bernard’s request for silence in the hall, he peppered his teacher with questions each morning, nearly to the point of irritation. Each night, Joseph lay down his head often replaying in his thoughts the battles that he’s heard of, sometimes even repeating in his sleep the military lessons:

“Minor officers are Sergeant, Lieutenant and Captain. Major Officers are Major, Colonel, Knight, General and Marshal.” Bernard’s voice gave a steady rhythm to almost any string of words, making them easy to memorize.

After a year of working under Brother Adrian, Joseph approached his mentor one morning.

“I wish to learn blade-work,” he told the smith, plaintively. The large monk pumped the bellows once before answering.

“Are you so discontent with your work?” he returned. “There are shoes enough to be straightened.”

“When they are finished, then,” Joseph told him. The monk chuckled.

“From the first day you set foot in my smithy you asked me to teach you blade work,” he said. “And every week since. God has certainly given you the gift of persistence.” He stood from the bellows and looked up at the weapon wall; Joseph followed his gaze. Swords hung on their pegs, some waiting to be repaired, some merely for polish.

“Very well... I will teach you that wisdom must be guide of persistence, and that fear is the beginning of all wisdom. Tomorrow, you will spar in the morning. One who makes blades must know how they are used, and when. Only then can I teach you to be a craftsman of weaponry.”

Elated, Joseph sat through his afternoon lessons in a dream-like state--in his mind he saw charging horses and sword fighting , clouds of smoke and arrows--until Brother Bernard snapped a book closed in front of his face.

“Your head is in the clouds today, Joseph,” the monk told him, disapprovingly. “I asked you a question... in three different languages, and have received an answer in none of them.” Joseph cleared his throat and told his teacher of Brother Adrian’s promise. The monk nodded sagely in response.

“The sparring ring holds many lessons,” Bernard told him, at last. “But, I feel I must warn you nonetheless... the lessons of battle are earned with many stripes, and pain.”
 In the following weeks Joseph began to understand what the aging monk meant by “pain.” Adrian sparred only with a quarter-staff and sticks, but the bruises and cuts from the practice ring made themselves felt as Joseph lay down to sleep each night.

Gradually, he grew quicker on his feet, able to dodge and parry. Happy that Joseph’s persistence did not lessen, Brother Adrian allowed the young man to spar with other monks, as his skill increased. Once he was satisfied with the boys advancement, Adrian began the painstaking process of teaching his apprentice the secrets of ancient metallurgy, as well as experimenting with new techniques of blade-work, rumored practices from far away lands.

Into the void death left in Joseph’s life came learning; the boy grew to appreciate the art of crafting fine weaponry. The duality of the process, itself, intrigued him... the cold metal, the fire and finally, the water. Adrian hand-selected iron ore to be refined, and once the dross was removed, the metal was cooled and roughly formed; there it met the red-hot fires of the forge and folded, dozens of times, cooled in cloud of steam and heated again, hammered into sharp edges and polished to perfection. Despite his respect for the process, Joseph’s favorite part remained testing out each new blade in the practice ring, on wooden posts and canvas bags stuffed with straw. The hard work he paid no mind, for the reward--to the young boy--was matchless.

At sixteen years of age Joseph began attending the nearby Palmadore Military Academy. The first day set the tone for the next two years; a letter from Brother Bernard gained him admittance to the school, but the official warned Joseph that his lack of patents made him unequal to his fellow students and only assigned him to the classes on archery, swordsmanship and defensive maneuvers. In further insult, Joseph was ordered to assist the academy’s aging smith with repairing damaged weaponry used in training. His plain clothes and lack of rank made the young man a target of ridicule, to which the professors turned a blind eye. Thus alienated, Joseph felt intensely lonely during those years at Palmadore. Comfort came in the simple form of dining with his mother in the afternoon and engaging in spired debates with the brothers at night--no longer content with merely listening--mainly on the degenerated matters of state an religion.

The day before Joseph graduated from Palmadore, Brother Bernard accompanied his pupil to the weekly town market to sell harvested goods from the monastery gardens. As they laid out the vegetables, Bernard turned to look at Joseph. Silently he studied the intent young man. The boy he’d first met on the stairs of the monastery was grown tall--and strong with the smithing work--but he remained as quiet as ever. Never at rest, his serious brown eyes seemed to take in every face in the market, every movement... as if he were a caged panther just waiting to be loosed.

“I know you’ve heard of officer’s training, after graduation,” Bernard commented, as he unpacked savory herbs from a basket. Ears pricked, Joseph merely nodded in response. It was easier to pretend not to care, he knew. The other boys at the academy had talked of nothing else for half the school year; their father’s had all paid handsome sums to get them into the élite finishing school. A small hope lived in Joseph, that part of his education would include that as well. Perhaps a letter would come from the king, he thought, ensuring him a place with his fellows.

“We were instructed to teach you all we know, so that you might learn from a vast well of experience,” Bernard continued, interrupting the young man’s thoughts. The monk’s voice carried a tone of unusual gravity. “Our orders, however, did not include sending you to officer’s training.”

Bernard saw the young man’s shoulder’s sink, just a fraction of an inch.

“Disappointing as that may be to a young man,” the monk went on, “It may be that Our Lord, blessed be His name, has another plan for you.”

“For all my work, none of the other students respect me at the academy,” Joseph told him, after a moment’s pause. “They make no secret of their disdain for me, a peasant.”

“It gladdens me that you see it,” Bernard  told him plaintively. “Though, I expected no less from you. Low as his rank was, your father instilled in you a priceless gift: the ability to absorb disappointment and continue on, regardless.” The silence from the quiet young man confirmed Bernard’s summation better than words could. “The army will find your smithing abilities very useful, I’ve no doubt,” the monk continued, “and it is good to be of use, and to excel at a trade, especially one so difficult as iron work... and weaponry. Brother Adrian tells me your skill exceeds his in blade work; he says you can tie arrows faster than any of his other apprentices. I cannot complain about you, either, as a student. We will miss your presence here, Joseph.”

The last part of Bernard’s speech made the young man look up from his work. The monk suddenly seemed much older, his hair grayer around the temples.  As he worked, Joseph found it almost hard to believe that so many years had passed since he’d first come to the monastery. His eyes drifted towards the citadel peninsula as if by habit, but the town buildings--around the market--obscured it from view.

“Your mother will miss you as well,” Bernard continued. He sat down on a small wooden crate, in the shade. “But, she has found someone to comfort her, while you are away. When is the wedding?”

Joseph half-smiled. The monks seemed to find great amusement in questioning him about his mother’s beau, but he did not know the man well. The village baker had proposed to his mother a few months ago. From what the villagers told him, the baker was a kindly man, well respected in the village. Joseph only knew that his mother seemed happy again, and the lines around her eyes had smoothed.

“Sunday next,” was Joseph’s reply. “She will be cared for; that is what matters.” A small concession on his part, and all the monk would get on the subject. Bernard resumed laying out bundles of herbs.

Palmadore’s Day of Graduates proved a unduly pompous affair, but Joseph expected nothing less. Blue ribbons hung from every spire and window of the Academy buildings, streaming in the mild breeze as the respective families of the students arrived. Music drifted over the lower field and servants laid out a small banquet on tables under the spreading elms trees border in the parade grounds. Joseph’s mother dressed in her best clothes to come see the ceremony. He drove her to the academy in a humble cart used by the monks for hauling firewood; it stood out in sharp contrast to the light, glittering carriages--drawn by magnificent horses--of his fellow students. Joseph passed the carriages and their wealthy occupants with his habitual straight face. He bore the condescension with a veneer of disinterest--his favorite defense tactic--but, when he stepped up to receive his third award for swordsmanship, Joseph thanked his instructors  with all the elegance of a prince.

Joseph’s mother kissed him on the cheek.

“Your father wanted to send you here,” said she, her eyes misting over. “Every soldier wants their boy to be an officer one day. He would have had to live three lifetimes to pay for schooling like this. How good the Lord has been to us!” Joseph held back the angry words that sprung to his lips, saying nothing. He would have given all the training he’d received if his father could be given back to them. As they left the ceremonies--walking towards their wagon--Joseph gave her the award statue, as a keepsake of the day.

The next day, Bernard expressed a wish to go with him to the army registration office. It proved a fine stone building, located next to the large academy wing devoted to officer’s training. Just seeing the group of rich men’s sons--waiting to go in--made Joseph more than a little envious, However, past it he and the humble monk walked, bypassing the marble facades to the enlistment post.

“So what am I supposed to do with you?” asked a plump official--seated at a carved desk--when shown all Joseph’s education papers.

Puzzled by the question, Joseph did not answer.

“Are we to assume that your impertinence is rhetorical or do you wish to explain yourself?” Bernard said, tersely. “I ranked well in this army once; respect has always been in fashion for veterans and their apprentices. If you had more than glanced through these parchments, you’d see that this young man attended Palmadore, by order of the king, himself.”

At this the official cleared his throat and took up the parchments once more.

“I beg your pardon,” he returned, somewhat nervously. “The king, you say?” Joseph watched as the portly man scanned through line after line of writing. “Ah, here it is. I took a bit of wine for lunch, perhaps it has made me... a little thoughtless. I meant that I have never seen a young man graduate Palmadore Academy with such high marks, and then not go on to officer’s training. It is the next building over, if you missed it.”

Bernard handed the official a scroll. Much to Joseph’s surprise it bore the King’s seal on the outside. The official opened it, read quickly and then stood to his feet.
“It will be taken care of,” the man assured Bernard. “His rank won’t be private but Sergeant, since he is a skilled blacksmith already... the army won’t have to spend anything to train him. The boy just must know that without further training it is unlikely that he will ever gain the rank of any major officer, unless he manages to save a regiment, or a heroic deed... an act of God.”

Bernard gave him a solemn nod.

“If that is the best you can do,” he returned coolly, glancing up at the ceiling.

“He will be shipped down--with all others--to Fort Paludosus,” the official told him.

“To the swamps? That is... unusual.”

“It is, indeed,” the official returned, nodding copiously. “A cesspool, that place. Normally, I only send them soldiers fallen out of favor. But, the fort has requested as many tradesmen as we can spare, as well as all new recruits.”

Joseph shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He’d studied maps of all the Kingdom forts and knew of the places of which the men spoke. The boggy terrain around Fort Paludosus was considered the least desirable land in the entire country, at least by the monks of the Great Bay.

“When do I report to Fort Paludosus sir?” he asked.

The official looked amused.

“Within a fortnight, boy,” he said, smiling in a sickly way. “You had better find speedy transportation, and quickly. It is nearly six-hundred miles from here.” At this the monk bowed slightly and headed out of the door, Joseph close behind.

“The swamps...” Bernard said, as if to himself. Joseph heard him but did not ask. Glancing sideways at his young charge, the monk kept his counsel and headed back through town, to the monastery.

Joseph’s departure from his second childhood home took little time; he had little to pack and only his mother to take leave of. After promising her that he would send word of his whereabouts Joseph headed back to the monastery. The tower room looked much the same when he left as when he’d first seen it, bare but comfortable. He wondered--briefly--who would occupy it after him. As he turned to descend the stairs he caught a glimpse of the castle citadel from his window. Shaping the image well in his mind, Joseph closed the door.

Bernard and Brother Adrian, the blacksmith, saw him to the front stairs. His tutor advised him to go by ship.

“I imagine that several recruits will be starting the journey today, and in the coming days. It will not be difficult to spot them. Try cheap transports down the river to the sea; you will go along the coastline until you pass the great swamps Palus and the city of Paludosus. After training there, you will likely be sent to the southernmost peninsula and the great Fort Munitio. Rumors are in the air already: foreign scouting vessels, spies along our shores looking for weaknesses. Be on your guard.”

Joseph clasped Bernard’s hand and gripped it tightly for a moment. The aging monk saw gratitude in the boy’s intelligent eyes. Adrian also shook his hand.

“You have been trained better than most,” he told Joseph. “You may find yourself middle hastily thrown into the middle of the fighting because of it. Do not forget the lessons of the practice ring.”  No words came to Joseph’s mind to reply. With a last look at the monks, he left the steps and climbed into a local merchant’s wagon headed for the capitol city.

 The transport ship at the harbor looked much as Bernard had described, as were its passengers: a small merchant vessel with patched sails, harboring eager groups of young men. Each recruit bore a satchel of some kind and stood on deck with enlistment papers in hand. The salty, fishy smell of the sea surrounded Joseph as he trudged along the dock toward the boarding ramp. Available berths aboard the merchant vessel consisted of several dozen hammocks below deck. The general expectation--Joseph discovered--was that army recruits were to aid the ship’s crew as needed.

Once  he’d found an empty hammock Joseph stowed his satchel, feeling a sense of anticipation well up within him. Never had he experienced a voyage by sea, however short. Up on deck again, he walked around to get his bearings and to view the city harbor once more. The castle citadel loomed into the sky beside them. As the ship’s rail as the ship’s crew made ready to cast off, Joseph stood by the rail gazing up at the castle; blue flags flew from its topmost spires. Joseph caught glimpses of the gold-threaded  emblem of the king upon their wind-blown surfaces. Glancing at the visible windows, Joseph wondered whether at that very moment the king was looking back down, at him.

“Quite a sight isn’t it?” a gruff voice asked, from a little ways behind Joseph.

Turning, the young man saw an older, rough-looking sailor--a few inches shorter than he--standing by the mast, smoking a battered pipe. An expression of sullen defiance dressed his face but the man’s dark eyes sparked with a sort of some inner amusement. The sailor harbored the appearance of criminal commonality--though he did not seem affected by it--rather wearing the invisible stigma with ease and enjoyment, like a favorite cloak.

“Yes,” Joseph answered him. He watched as the newcomer tramped over to the rail and stood a few feet from him. Glancing at the man’s feet Joseph observed fur-topped boots, made of wide-stitched animal hide, much like the ones the barbarians of the Northern Isles wore.

“Dunner’s the name. You?” asked the man as he puffed contentedly on his pipe.

“Joseph Asher.”

“A man of few words is often misjudged,” returned Dunner. Joseph wondered if the man was referring to him, or to himself. After a few puffs of the pipe Dunner clumped away, looking very much at home on the ship.

A group of recruits spoke together near the entrance stair to below decks. They saw Dunner approaching and hastily withdrew to one side. The older sailor ignored them, leaving behind a thick cloud of smoke as he leisurely descended the steps. One of the recruits noticed Joseph and walked over to him.

“Who was that?” the youth asked, looking across the deck where smoke still lingered in the stairwell. “A tough-looking old seeder if ever I saw one...”

“A sailor, I suppose,” Joseph told him.

“My name is John,” the youth returned; his tone spoke of easy cheerfulness. “I come from the Capitol, near the south gate. You?”

“Rishown.”

“The village outside the forest? Never been there; is it nice?”

As the youth talked, the first mate approached them. Clearing his throat, the seasoned sailor asked if they had signed on as ‘help men’. They both nodded and the mate signaled for them to follow him. In as few words as possible the young men were instructed to pitch in wherever ordered to.

“Watch and learn,” the mate said. “You’ll pick it up right quick. I’d strip off those linen shirts before they get ruined.”

Obeying the mate’s order, Joseph pulled his shirt over his head and tied it around his waist. He found the other youth, John, staring at his Palmadore tattoo. The insignia of the expensive school stood out from the skin on his upper arm--in black ink--with two swords crossing above it. The mark was his award--for winning first at last year’s swordsmen tournament--in both single combat and infantry field maneuvers. Joseph turned away without an explanation; his fellow asked him no questions. Imitating the sailors, Joseph began busily stowing away the thick, sea-scented ropes.

The two-day-long voyage went by uneventfully. Joseph consumed his day with work aboard the decks and his nights in slumber, avoiding the company of the others. The crew was a rough lot; Joseph’s slumber was often interrupted by shouting matches or short brawls taking place nearby. At most of these outbreaks Joseph spied Dunner standing in the shadows, watching from a comfortable distance. He smoked contentedly, appearing amused by the antics of the sailors.

The day before docking at Fort Paludosus harbor a massive Kingdom frigate drew near their ship, its blue military colors waving in the wind. To the surprise of the captain, the frigate sent over seven small boats half-full of smartly uniformed soldiers. Passengers and crew were brought out, their papers inspected.

A sharp-looking lieutenant came on board during this process; his serious demeanor set Joseph on guard.

“Our great King has declared war on the eastern land of Weymin,” the officer announced, when all had assembled on deck. “By order of the King you are to unload your recruit passengers here and head to a non-military port. No civilian ships will pass beyond this point.”

Unsettled by the news Joseph and the other recruits nonetheless retrieved their satchels quickly and lined up to board one of the small vessels. To his surprise, Joseph beheld Dunner-- complete with satchel--walking up to the lieutenant. Each gave the other a salute of mutual acknowledgment and then the older sailor strode past him, to the rail. Turning, Dunner beckoned to Joseph.

“Come, lad,” he called out gruffly. “There’s room for both of us in this one.”

In the longboat Joseph couldn’t help eying Dunner in curiosity; the man wasn’t dressed as an officer. The lieutenant spoke up.

“Shall I make arrangements for another ship to come by for you, Captain?” he said, addressing Dunner. Watching the sea and smoking, Dunner shook his head.

“Nay,” said he. “I’ll stay a spell with Jacobs; should be a good show.” Glancing sidelong at Joseph, he fixed his squinted gaze on the approaching frigate.

Aboard the titanic ship, Dunner gave Joseph his satchel to carry, and jerked his head for the young man to follow him. The captain of the frigate--a tall individual in a severely neat uniform--descended from the quarterdeck, and strode up right to Dunner.

“Captain Dunner!” he called out genially, the white feathers on his hat shaking as he nodded his head. “I had not heard that you would be joining us. Welcome to my ship.”

Dunner nodded, clasping the man’s outstretched hand.

“Cap’n Jacobs,” he said, taking the pipe from his mouth. “Pleasure t’ be here. I have news.”

“We just received our new orders as well,” Captain Jacobs said. “Let us speak in my cabin, if you will.” He led the way towards the back of the ship. Outside his quarters Jacobs looked at Joseph; the young man doggedly followed Dunner with both satchels.

“You can leave that here, boy,” the Captain told him, curtly.

“He’s with me, Jacobs,” Dunner interjected. “He’s cleared. Come along, Joseph.” As though he thought nothing of Dunner’s allowance, Jacobs readily ushered Joseph in to the cabin and shut the door behind them.

Large windows--set in the very back of the ship--lit the spacious cabin. A large, circular table dominated its center. Here and there lay maps weighed down by various types of daggers, including one with a handle shaped like a lion’s head. Dunner took up a seat in a comfortable chair and re-packed his pipe, pointing to a stool nearby for Joseph to take.

Captain Jacobs seemed visibly eager to hear the news Dunner brought but waited until the man was ready to speak.

“There’s a map in my satchel, Joseph,” Dunner said, after lighting his pipe. Taking the cue Joseph opened Dunner’s pack and brought a tightly rolled map, made of some kind of light-colored leather. Taking it Dunner opened it on the floor at his feet.

“The easterly nation is sending out the larger part of its armada,” Dunner reported. “The king’s sources say they will attempt to encamp the Munitio peninsula. They will be there within a fortnight.”

A look of surprised flitted across Jacobs’ face.

“So soon?” he asked, standing. “That puts them within two day’s march of Munitio City! They haven’t the men to repel a full invasion! Its loss would cripple shipping trade of the entire nation.” Dunner nodded, still seated.

Sitting on the small stool Joseph could not help note the strangeness of his presence--here, in this cabin--with such important men; at the same time, it also felt familiar... as if he were back in the monastery dining hall, listening to learned monks and seasoned soldiers discussing one of a thousand such conversations. 
 
“Who leads the defense forces at Fort Munitio?” Dunner asked of Jacobs.

“General Inermis just transferred there,” Jacobs replied. “Or, so I’ve heard. The majority of our navy is on the other side of the Kingdom, supporting the northern defense. Early reports had the Weymin armada landing there... it would take them a month to mobilize to Munitio.”

“Inermis,” Dunner repeated, thoughtfully. “Unfortunate choice. He’s almost no field experience at all... and ignorance like that tends to retreat, when one should stand.” The man heaved a short sigh, frowning at the map. “I’d feel easier in my mind if it was Walters.”

Jacobs shook his head.

“As would I,” he returned. “Without naval support--and with all these new recruits to contend with--a battle of this nature would be more extreme than any other Inermis has faced.” The captain glanced over at Dunner. “I hope--for the sake of his men--that Inermis is not the coward you describe. The king would not brook his freshest troops being slaughtered, nor the loss of Munitio City.”

“In the face of this invasion,” Dunner said, after a moment’s pause. “Seems all the Kingdom’s armies be scattered around the coasts. There is evil at work in this weak southern defense, at such a crucial time.”

“If not for this information we’d have no warning at all,” Jacobs told him. “There will be inquiries, but in the meantime I’ll send word to the nearest frigate, myself, and then make haste to Munitio.” Jacobs glanced at Dunner. “As for who is responsible for this oversight, I am sure the Shamar will find that out soon enough.”

At the name of the king’s guard, Joseph’s ears pricked up. Dunner nodded.

“We always do,” he returned, rising from the chair.

A knock came at the cabin door. The lieutenant stood without; he nodded respectfully to his superiors.

“Captain, we are nearing the Paludosus Inlet. Shall we anchor and send the new men ashore?” Jacobs nodded and the left-tenant disappeared. As Dunner followed the captain out--into the passage--he took his satchel from Joseph’s shoulder.

“Join the others ashore, lad,” he said to the young man, quietly; his face reflected seriousness of purpose. “Keep your head about you.”

With that, he walked out among the milling men on deck and was lost to Joseph’s sight.