Knight of Thieves

Chapter 7

The second morning of training, Emberly woke to find Kyra shaking her awake. She was sore and far too tired to wake up just now. She would much prefer to sink back into her blankets and pillows. She grew comfortably accustomed to waking at mid-morning and rising to a meal prepared for her in bed. It was true she had been spoiled back at home, but this was certainly not something she would complain about. Really, she just missed it.

“If you want to stay in bed,” Kyra’s voice greeted her, “you are more than welcome to. But you’ll have to wash pots and pans after dinner.” This statement prompted Emberly out of bed with a long groan. Last year, she was late for breakfast, causing everyone to glare at her as she entered the Great Hall. It was humiliating and the other squires genuinely despised her.

No, it was better to be on time for breakfast.

She dressed as quickly as she could, her actions slower than usual, weighed down by the soreness of the muscles. Emberly quite liked the new training uniforms. The blue was much better than the red of the first years, a uniform which made Emberly feel like she was bleeding. The blue was much better.

Kyra smirked at Emberly as she made her way to the door, ready for breakfast. Above her, the first bell rang, reminding the squires to make their way to the meal. Emberly had until the third bell to be in the Great Hall. After that, she would be officially late.

“Have a good day,” Kyra called to her, her voice slightly taunting.

Emberly entered the Great Hall just as the second bell sounded above her. By this point, the Great Hall was fairly crowded, the other squires milling about, chatting among themselves. The first years, as Emberly noted, looked exhausted beyond belief. They looked as though they were about to fall over in sheer fear, overwhelmed by the information and expectations dumped at their feet. How had their first day gone? Were they at all ready for all of this?

Are you? She suddenly questioned herself. Are you ready for all that Sir Wylan has for you this year?

Not wanting to answer that question, she scanned the Great Hall, looking for her friends. Her eyes settled on Will, who was engaged in a conversation with James and Keenan. Keenan was dressed in a red training uniform, exemplifying to everyone he was not strong enough to pass the Final Task. Not that Emberly blamed him for it. Sure, it must have been hard to watch all of his friends move on, but Emberly understood his need to stay back. The Final Task was over the squires’ biggest fears. Emberly almost did not pass the examination.

She made her way over to the table, where Will and James sat. Will brightened a little as she drew close and her heart wrenched. How was it that, after the months they spent apart, he could still make her heart race like this?

The first time Emberly met William, she did not appreciate his broad shoulders, dark skin, or his dark hair and eyes. Now, she could barely take her eyes off of him. He was perfect.

She sat down across from Will at the table. Above them, the third bell rang out, sending Keenan back to where the first years sat, and forcing every squire to their feet. This was one of Sir Wylan’s rules. Squires were to remain standing until every squire entered the room.

As Sir Wylan’s wooden leg thudded against the concrete, Emberly stomach growled in hunger. She felt anxious for breakfast to begin. She glanced around the Great Hall and let out a great sigh. “Arran’s not here,” she whispered to Will and James.

Anger appeared in James’ eyes. “Anson should be exiled from the place. This is utterly ridiculous,” muttered James. Emberly could have sworn she heard his stomach let out a growl as well. James was intolerable when he went without food.

“He said he would be better this year,” reasoned Will, his voice quiet. “I’m sure he will be by soon.”

They waited ten minutes.

Each squire stood, waiting for Arran to arrive, their stomachs growling in anger before the sandy-blond boy finally rushed into the room. Sir Wylan lowered his eyes, scrutinizing Arran. “Squire Anson,” said the raspy voice as Arran took his place beside Emberly, “what, pray tell, kept you from arriving on time for breakfast this morning?”

Arran shrugged.

A smirk Emberly rarely saw on Arran’s features appeared on his face. It was as though he was trying to wipe a grin from his face but was unable to do so. “I-I just really like pots and pans duty, Sir Wylan.” Emberly froze. Arran never spoke like that to anyone, much less someone in authority over them.

“Quiet,” barked Sir Wylan, disrupting the scattered laughter which began. “It is good you enjoy it so much, Squire Anson, as you will have it every night this week. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Sir Wylan,” said Arran. Wylan gestured for them all to take a seat and begin to eat the food before them. All the while, Emberly studied Arran. Where had this new level of confidence come from? Did he even realize he had just sassed to Sir Wylan? She watched him carefully.

“I can feel you staring,” Arran said as he took a large bite out of the mushy, green food resting on his plate. Emberly sighed.

“I’ve just never heard you speak to Sir Wylan that way before. It surprised me.” She turned her attention to the food on her own plate.

“I was going to get the pots and pans duty anyway,” Arran said. Emberly raised an eyebrow, but she did not say anything in contradiction. Sure, he was going to get the dish duty regardless of what he did, but Sir Wylan would have just given him one night, not an entire week, had Arran not spoken against him.

—

The morning began with lessons on war strategy with Sir Roland. War strategy was not Emberly’s strong suit. She had trouble looking at the big picture of the war. She understood planning a simple attack, but beyond this, she was at a dreadful loss. She would have to lean on Will and Arran in the coming months to help her understand what she was hearing.

Emberly admired Sir Roland. His time in the war was far from a secret in Etrusca. Sir Roland had been off to battle, fighting for the good of the nation. He was heroic, he served his time and then some. When he returned home, he found that Cyrans had somehow crossed the border and set fire to his lands, trapping his wife and children inside the house, killing them. Sir Roland turned his back on his home, volunteering to stay at the castle and teach the new squires instead of returning to the war. He had been here ever since. The man looked so much older than his forty years, a set that made Emberly’s heart ache for him.

When the lessons on war strategy ended, the squires rushed to the Great Hall, eager for their lunch.

“Will you tell me about your summer?” Emberly asked Arran. They sat alone at the end of the table designated for those in their second year. Will scampered off to sit with James, who clearly did not like it when Emberly and Arran sat with them. (This, of course, would not deter them from sitting there, if only to annoy James.) Emberly was partially glad for the solitude, as she had not had the opportunity to speak with her friend alone as of yet. He was the first friend she made in the castle, and she refused to forget that.

Arran shrugged. “I was just at home.” He shuffled his vegetables around his plate, his disdain for them becoming transparent on his face. “I missed it here.” Emberly understood that. She missed training, too, and all the adventures they had together. “I trained a lot at home.”

“Arran, one of these days you are going to have to learn to eat your vegetables,” she said. A smirk appeared on his features.

“I don’t think today’s that day.”

There it was again. Arran’s new confidence shined through his words. He said little else, tossing the rest of his vegetables when it came time to clean up after lunch.

Arran’s new confidence lasted until the beginning of their afternoon lessons. Emberly recalled the fear her friend exhibited the previous year when the squires were to choose their own horse. Like last year, Arran turned a pale color. He was not now nearly as pale as the previous year, of course, but he was pale nonetheless.

“I thought you got over your fear last year,” Emberly commented as they made their way through the stables, Emberly making an excited beeline for her horse while Arran dragged his feet to his own chosen horse.

“I didn’t ride all summer,” he said. “Every time I tried, I just kept seeing my uncle killed in front of me.” Emberly winced. Arran had only been six years old when he saw a horse kick his uncle with so much force, causing the man to fly backwards into a barn, killing him instantly. Emberly understood Arran’s aversion to horses, a result of this incident in his life. Still, it was part of knight training to know how to ride a horse, it was a requirement on the battlefield. Any lingering fear Arran had, he was just going to have to work past it.

Emberly stopped in front of her own horse, Feste. She jumped forward, throwing her arms around his neck. Feste was, by no means, a beautiful horse, certainly not when compared to the majestic horses surrounding them in the stables. He had a simple coat of black with random splotches of white. And his white mane constantly fell into the dark eyes of the horse. He had a habit of being perpetually in motion, stumbling even when standing normally.

Emberly completely and utterly adored the creature.

She ran her fingers through his mane. “Hello, Feste,” she said to her horse with affection. “Been a long time.” He neighed contentedly and shifted, as he always did, on his feet. Emberly was certain he was as glad to see her as she was to see him.

“He missed you,” said a friendly and familiar voice. Emberly swiveled around to see Stefan Weyst, the stable boy. Emberly smiled at him. Stefan had been a good friend to her the previous year, especially the first few months when she felt alone, when she wanted desperately to leave the castle. He was a good friend, but he had been an even better friend to Kyra. He spent hours listening to her rant about the injustice of the monarchy system. “Don’t worry, I took good care of him over the summer for you.”

“Thanks, Stefan,” Emberly said. She placed the saddle on Feste’s back herself, pulling the reins tight, but not too tight, around his mouth. She gently led him out of the stables into the training yards. She pulled herself onto his back, following the procession of the second year squires walking in a giant circle around the training yards.

Emberly knew what the second year entailed when it came to walking with their horses. This was the year they would learn to joust, a skill Emberly believed was useless against the war looming over them. It was a requirement set in place by the king. They all needed to know how to joust for the large tournaments held throughout the year, tournaments held only for entertainment’s sake, not for anything of real value. Still, Emberly was excited to learn how to joust, to fight for herself in a tournament. Who knows? Maybe she would even win.

Half-way through the afternoon, the squires were each given a lance. Emberly had seen jousting tournaments before in her life, but she had never held a lance in her own hands before. It was far more heavy than she anticipated. The moment Stefan handed the lance to her, it fell from her grasp to the ground, causing Stefan to burst out into laughter. He retrieved the lance once more before returning it to Emberly’s outstretched hand. This hand, she was prepared for the weight of it.

They spent the rest of the afternoon wandering around the training grounds, learning how to hold the land and how to stay aloft on the horse while carrying the lance. It was far more tiring and grueling than Emberly imagined. She tired quickly from the task, sweat beating across her forehead.

Emberly was glad when dinner finally arrived. It was a blessing amidst the hard training of the day. She arrived to dinner early, not caring that she was still sweating from the heat and the activities of the afternoon. When she stopped by her room for a moment after training, she asked Kyra to ensure she had a warm bath ready for her after she finished helping Arran with the dishes. Kyra consented, the speech about the inequality of their positions on the tip of her tongue.

Emberly wanted to hear what her friend was going to say. It was a long time since she heard her friend’s rants. Kyra changed. Emberly missed her friend.

Will sat down beside her, his stomach rumbling, telling everyone around how much he needed this meal. Emberly smirked. “I understand,” she said. James plopped down on the other side of the table, sitting across from Will. “Are you going to help Arran with the dishes tonight?” She asked generally. It had been a tradition they had started at the end of their first year. After they finished the dishes, as Arran always had them, the first years would spend hours training on their own. Emberly wanted them to be the best knights they could be. This was one way they were going to accomplish that feat.

James huffed in response. “Of course not. Anson needs to learn to be on time. You helping him only encourages him to be late more often.”

“He doesn't mean to be late,” said Emberly. “It just happens.” James crossed his arms, a sure sign he was not going to budge from his theory. With an internal sigh, Emberly rounded on Will. He, at least, had the decency to look guilty.

“I have to agree,” Will said, rubbing the back of his head.

“You don’t agree with James,” said Emberly, “you are just too tired to help out a friend.” Will shrugged, not denying her words.

He was saved from answering further by the periodic thud which echoed across the Great Hall, the bells chiming overhead to remind everyone of dinner. Emberly turned to watch Sir Wylan enter the room. She knew Arran had not entered the room yet and if Wylan turned around to find him gone, he would surely receive another week of dishes.

As if reading her thoughts, Arran appeared in the doorway, his hair wet from the bath he had taken. As Sir Wylan clunked his way to the head of the table, Arran raced to the second years’ table, standing beside James, who, in turn, glared at Arran.

Once Sir Wylan reached the table, he turned to the squires, analyzing who was not in attendance. His eyes settled on Arran. “Before the bells, Squire Anson,” said Sir Wylan before he dropped into his seat and began piling food onto his plate.

The squires did likewise.

“At least you don’t have more dishes to do,” said Emberly. “That’s something.” Arran shrugged.

Following dinner, Emberly did her best to help Arran finish the dishes after dinner. They quickly fell into the routine they established the previous year. After this, Emberly decided to go down to the stables to see Feste. She sorely missed the horse during the summer. She needed to sit with him awhile.

When she drew closer to the stables, she whispered conversation. She depicted the voices easily. While she had not heard Kyra speaking deep and low like a man in some time, she remembered the sound of it. And the other voice belonged to none other than Stefan Weyst.

She stood outside of the stables, debating what to do. She did not want to interrupt, knowing how much her friend enjoyed Stefan’s company. She began stepping away, leaving them alone, determining to see Feste later, when the voice drifted out to her. “How was your summer, Kyne?”

“Alright,” Kyra said. “It was cooler up north than it was here.

“It was very hot here,” concurred Stefan. Emberly could hear the familiar sound of saddles moving. Stefan must be working as he talked to Kyra. “We missed you, anyway. My father felt there was no one worth competing against in the weekly games.”

Emberly was surprised to learn how much the servants in the castle gambled in their free time. They would bet on meaningless things, card games, jousting matches, which squire would fall off their horse during training. Kyra excelled last year. She would win nearly every card game, she gained most of the money she made from the measly bets they made.

Kyra laughed. “Well, I am glad to be back. I’m sure I’ll be able to give your father a run for his money. You should join us this year.” Stefan let out a long sigh.

“I’m not one for bets,” Stefan said. “I’d rather keep my hard-earned money.”

“For what? You just keep hoarding it. You never go out, you never gamble. It just lies around doing nothing.”

“You’re wrong,” Stefan said, his voice anxious but still kind somehow. “I’m saving it for the future. I-I want to be able to provide for my future wife.” Kyra’s voice hitched a little. Kyra’s eyes intently, purposefully. His words were earnest. “That is,” he said slowly, “if I ever get married.”

The strange tension between them ended and Stefan returned to his work, cleaning the saddles. Kyra helped him.

Emberly, knowing she should have done this already, backed away, leaving them alone.