Inside, Martin waited while Nicholas quickly lit a lantern against the gloom of the always dark room. When the light flared, it was reflected from a thousand angles, dancing across polished metal. Racks of swords and spears, shields and helms, covered every wall. Nicholas hurried to another door and opened it for Martin, anticipating his need.
Martin stepped into the small room where his personal arms were stored, and selected a longbow that hung on one wall. He handed it to Nicholas while he himself filled a quiver with the long arrows called cloth yard shafts, because they were thirty-seven inches long, the measure a miller used to cut a yard of cloth. Nicholas had never seen a longbow’s effects, as the soldiers at Krondor were all armed with crossbows or the small horse bow used by the cavalry, but he had heard tales of the weapon’s fearful power: that a skilled bowman could punch a steel-headed shaft through nearly any armor.
Nicholas knew that his uncle had served as their grandfather’s Huntmaster, back at a time when Martin’s birthright had been hidden from all but a few of the old Duke’s most trusted advisers. Just before his death, Lord Borric had legitimized his eldest son, raising him from the ranks of the common to become in time Duke of Crydee, inheritor of his father’s title. But before then Martin was still acknowledged as one of the finest bowmen in the Western Realm.
The Duke handed Nicholas the quiver of arrows. He inspected a row of blades upon a table, before choosing two large hunting knives and handing them to Nicholas. He then selected another bow, for Duchess Briana, which he also gave to Nicholas. A quiver of arrows for the shorter bow was his last choice, and they departed.
They reached the courtyard to find Lady Briana standing next to a pair of horses. Nicholas didn’t need to be told that this was not merely a morning ride but a hunting trip, and the Duke and his wife would probably be gone for the day or longer, if they decided to sleep in the forest.
Harry raced into view and between gasps for breath said, ‘Your Grace. No word yet on the packet boat from Carse.’
Martin’s expression darkened. ‘Have Marcus pen a note for Lord Bellamy in Carse, asking if the boat turned back to Carse for some reason, then send it by pigeon.’
Harry bowed and started to run off, but Martin stopped him by saying, ‘And, Squire …’
Harry stopped and turned. ‘Your Grace?’
‘Next time you’re sent to the harbor on an errand, take a horse.’
Harry grinned sheepishly and bowed. ‘Your Grace,’ he said, and hurried off to do Martin’s bidding.
Briana mounted without waiting for any unnecessary assistance and Nicholas handed her a bow, quiver, and knife. After Martin was mounted, Nicholas gave the remaining weapons to the Duke.
Martin said, ‘We may be gone until tomorrow sunset, Squire.’
Nicholas said, ‘Your Grace?’
‘Today is Sixthday, if it’s escaped your notice.’ It had. ‘You may have the afternoon to yourself. See to Master Samuel for any further instructions until we return.’
‘Yes, Your Grace.’
As they rode out of the courtyard, Nicholas sighed. Sixthday: traditionally a half day of rest for the children of any castle or palace. Seventhday was a day of contemplation and worship, though Nicholas had noticed there were always plenty of servants to do his bidding back in Krondor on Seventhday. He and Harry had arrived on Seventhday the week before, so he had no idea what to expect with his first free time since coming off the ship.
The sound of boys shouting echoed across the side courtyard, near a small garden, which was called the Princess’s Garden. It had been the province of Nicholas’s aunt, the Princess Carline, when she had lived in Crydee, and the name had stuck.
A rough game of football was under way, with one of the soldiers acting as referee. The teams were composed of the sons of the castle’s servants, a few pages, and two of the younger squires. An area of the approved size had been chalked out in the dirt, with a battered goal net erected at each end. It might not match the emerald-green grass field of the professional stadium at Krondor, but it was a ball field.
Looking on were Margaret, Abigail, and Marcus, from a vantage point of seats on a low wall alongside the garden. Nakor and Ghuda were watching the game from the other side of the field, among a group of soldiers, and both waved at Nicholas. He waved back.
Nicholas had been running errands all morning for the Housecarl, and had finally stolen into the kitchen to eat a quick lunch that Magya had prepared for the Squires, and then had left to see what he could do with his time off. He was thinking about returning to his room for a nap when the sounds of the game distracted him.
Marcus nodded at him and the girls both smiled. He jumped up to sit on the wall, next to Margaret, and leaned forward to return Marcus’s greeting. He then looked at Abigail, who smiled warmly and said, ‘I’ve not seen you around much, Highness, save when you were running from one place to another.’
Looking at Abigail caused Nicholas’s ears to burn. He said, ‘The Duke keeps me busy, my lady,’ and turned his attention to the game. What it lacked in skill it more than made up for in enthusiasm.
‘You play football in Krondor, Squire?’ asked Marcus, stressing the last words. As he spoke, he reached over and placed his hand upon Abigail’s. The possessive gesture was not lost on Nicholas.
Feeling suddenly self-conscious, Nicholas said, ‘We have professional teams in Krondor, sponsored by the guilds, merchants, and some nobles.’
‘I mean do you play?’
Nicholas said, ‘Not much.’
Marcus glanced at Nicholas’s feet and nodded slightly. Marcus’s gesture did not earn him Nicholas’s thanks; Nicholas found himself irritated by his cousin’s manner.
Margaret glanced from her brother to Nicholas, and her expression shifted slightly from neutral to dryly amused as Nicholas said, ‘But when I had time, I was considered good.’
Marcus’s eyes narrowed. ‘Even with your foot.’
Nicholas felt his face flush and he was suddenly angry. ‘Yes, even with my foot!’
Harry appeared, a bit of bread and cheese in his hand, and Marcus only glanced at him for a moment. The Duke’s son knew that Harry’s time was now his own until the next morning. Harry gave the assembled group a general wave and said, ‘How’s the game?’
Nicholas jumped off the low wall and said, ‘We’re playing.’
Harry shook his head. ‘I’m eating.’
With a smile, Marcus said, ‘I’ll keep the sides even.’
Harry grinned openly as he jumped backward to sit in the space Nicholas had just vacated, next to Lady Margaret. ‘Give ’em hell, Nicky,’ he said cheerfully.
Nicholas stripped off his tunic, feeling the warm sun and cool ocean breeze upon his skin. He hardly knew any of the boys on the field – just two of the pages – but he knew the game. Feeling irritated by Marcus’s attitude, he needed to vent his anger.
A moment later, the ball went out of bounds. Marcus reached over and picked it up, saying, ‘I’ll throw it in.’
Nicholas ran out onto the field and glanced around. He waved over a kitchen boy and said, ‘What’s your name?’
The boy said, ‘Robert, Highness.’
Nicholas frowned and shook his head. ‘I’m the Duke’s Squire. Who’s our side?’
Robert quickly pointed out the seven boys that made up the rest of the informal team and Nicholas said, ‘I’ll guard Marcus.
Robert grinned and nodded. ‘No one will dispute you that privilege, Squire.’
Suddenly Nicholas was moving, cutting off a boy who was hurrying forward to take the toss in from Marcus. By throwing his body almost out of bounds, he managed to kick the ball to a startled boy on his own team. After a brief hesitation, the fray was on.
Harry guffawed and said to the girls, ‘Nicholas is as good at stealing inbounds as anyone I’ve seen.’
Margaret watched her cousin pick himself up off the hard ground and race to rejoin the game and said, ‘That must hurt.’
‘He’s tough enough,’ answered Harry. Glancing at the two girls beside him, he said, ‘Any bets?’
The two girls looked at each other. ‘Bets?’
‘On who will win,’ said Harry as Marcus deftly made a sliding tackle on the ball, knocking it loose for one of his teammates to intercept.
Abigail shook her head. ‘I don’t know who’s better.’
