Over the Eastern Horizon - Ch. 2

Chapter 2

A Bird for a Marble


In my lonely home,
Where fathers are far, and friends are few,
Where news of death and loss is a daily companion,
The snow and ice, with their numbing embrace,
Is comfort enough from my sullen soul.

~ Carved in the wood of a window shutter at Castle Lethgartten

Year 1371 T.A. - 13th of Eyanwain - Lethgartten

The old dirt road, known locally as the Homeward Way, was noticeably free of traffic, as Bhenithius and Andros rode at a gentle trot towards the city of Lethgartten, the largest city north of Pargravin.  Andros Graie had kept uncharacteristically silent during their ride back, forcing Bhenithius to periodically glance over at his friend.  Andros’s eyes seemed to be searching the expansive hills that dominated this region, no doubt looking to quench his thirst for hunting, although there was something else there as well.  Bhenithius knew his friend well, and could tell there was something troubling him.  Bhenithius thought about coaxing Andros for the answer, but decided now was not the time.
         The Graies had served Bhenithius’s family since before his parents marriage, when a young Lady Suffia Lynn ruled these lands alone.  Sir Harrol Graie, Andros’s father, was the Steward of Castle Lethgartten, his family’s principal holding.  Andros’s two elder brothers, Korvan and Dekkius, were both serving in the ranks of Brynwyckian armies.  After six long years of war, Korvan was now a well seasoned Lieutenant,  and currently stationed in Eladon, while Dekkius, the younger of the two, would be entering his first season, after completing his long years of schooling in the capital.
         Andros, the youngest of the Graie boys, was 17, a year older than Bhenithius.  Both were of age to join the army themselves, but the likelihood of that was doubtful, at least for Bhenithius.  The Duke and Duchess had no intention of sending their only son into a war that was proving to be more trouble than anyone could have ever anticipated.
         Even after all these years, nothing was truly known about “The Enemy”, except that they were thought to have originated somewhere within the Hilleshi mountains north of the Eladon and Kellona.  When the armies of the Enemy swarmed down from their mountains, the Kellsh King’s requests for assistance had barely enough time to reach their destinations, before the capital itself had been razed.
         With the loss of their King and capital, it hadn’t taken long before the Kellsh capitulated, the entire war having taken only four months.  A remarkable and an utterly frightening feat.  The Eladonians, being the long time trading partners and allies to the Kellsh, as well seeing an opportunity  to strike down a burgeoning threat, didn’t waste any time sounding the horns of war.  Little did the Great Eladonian Empire know, the Enemy shared similar plans.
         As the might of the Eladonians marched into the charred depths of Kellona’s battle scarred interior, the Enemy was pouring down into the Empire’s northern frontiers.  Many great military strategists would reflect later that it was foolish to not prepare against such a move; the Kellsh having fallen victim to the same tactic only months earlier, but a pre-emptive invasion hadn’t been foreseen.  An unfortunate trend that would resurface again and again.
         With the bulk of the Empire’s military pushing east, the Eladonians had been unprepared for the Enemy, burning and massacring their way through the northern provinces of Hathonia and Peladan.  The great cities, with their walls of protective stone, soon turned to mass tomes as their inhabitants slowly died of starvation and disease.
         Two years of bloodshed ensued, every season the Enemy gaining more ground, pushing farther south and west, herding the weary Eladonians into the heartlands of their Empire.  The Brynwyckian King, Olden Endlewhyn I, being sympathetic to the plight of his wife’s people, had been sending a steady stream of aid across the Edesian sea, when he finally chose to declare war.
         Bhenithius had been ten when his father first sailed off to Eladon.  He could remember standing with his mother on the quays of Lethgartten’s harbour, watching the fleet of Brynwyckian carracks sailing off into the horizon.  He hadn’t cried, but then again, he hadn’t really understood the immensity of the situation, nor did he know how long the war would drag on.
         That first year without his father had been the worst.  As the months passed, and the dispatches came in, with their news of death and loss, the future seemed bleak.  This was also when the strange dreams had begun, though at the time they were nothing less than terrifying.  They had turned his nights into something to fear, while his days were spent constantly fearing the news of his fathers death.  The only good to come from that first frightening year had been Andros Graie.
         At odds with how to comfort an anxious and nervous son, the Lady Suffia had thought  a companion would help with Bhenithius’s anxieties, and arranged with Sir Harrol Graie to have his youngest son to come live at the castle.  The eldest Graie, Korvan was away in the war, while Dekkius was being schooled in the capital, so it had seemed like an amiable arrangement for both families.  It hadn’t stopped the dreams, or the worrying, but over the years their friendship had brought Bhenithius strength.  Now at sixteen, new worries were beginning to surface.
         Ever since Andros had turned the age of manhood, Bhenithius had begun to fear that his friend would choose to join the war, but Andros had always stood firm that they would never be separated like that.  Every year since Bhenithius was ten he had to watch his father sail away each spring, to fight a war in a land far away, maybe never to return, and the thought of his best friend leaving like that made his stomach lurch.
         “Cheer up, wont you?” Andros pleaded, patting Bhenithius’s shoulder, pulling him back from his thoughts.  “I know your sad that the Duke’s leaving soon, but he’s the Lord General of the Kingdom’s armies, and the damn best the Kingdom has had in ages!  Brynwyck needs him.  This damn war has been dragging on for too long.  Ha!  To think of all the people in the world to need our help in defending their lands, the Great Eladonians!  Rich!!”
         The historical relationship of the Eladonian Empire and Brynwyck was one filled with conflict.  The Empire had always itched to regain its powerful grip across the Edesian Sea and into Brynwyck’s hide.  The Kingdom’s small size and remote northern location made it no powerful force in the world, but her sizeable navy and skilled sailors had protected the Kingdom’s sovereignty for centuries.  It had only been during the reign of the current King, Olden Endlewhyn I, that relations between Brynwyck and Eladon had cooled.  With the King’s first marriage, to an Eladonian Princess of the blood, the two nations had settled into a form of truce.  But by all accounts the marriage had been a volatile and unhappy one.  It ended with the Queen’s sudden death last summers, some would say under suspicious circumstances.  The Queen’s inability to produce an heir and King Olden’s quick remarriage, to the young Lady Litia Udell, had stirred many whispers around the Kingdom to question the cause of the late queens death.
         “Besides,” Andros continued, “Quain will be sure to keep us too busy with training now that the weather is finally warming up!  We wont have the time or energy to dwell on sad thoughts.”  Running a hand through his mane of golden hair he added, “Quain’s practice regiment may be exhausting and painful, but at least it gets me away from Doria’s lectures!  I swear if she hadn’t the breasts of a goddess I would surely fall dead listening to her talk!”  The two broke out in laughter.  Doria took her duties in educating the two serious and the boys studies were quite extensive.
         When the laughter trailed into a lingering quiet Bhenithius was the one to break it, “I worry about them,” he stated solemnly.  “My father, Korvan and Dekkius.  All of them.  I envy you sometimes.”
         “How so?” Andros asked, arching a brow inquisitively.
         “Your always so cool minded, while I’m fighting back the urge to sink into a pit of despair,” Bhenithius explained truthfully.
         Andros scoffed, and frowning replied, “I try not to think about the bad too much.  If I did, then the both of us would be moping around the castle, instead of just you, and your enough as it is!  You’ve had half the household in such a state ever since the Duke announced he would be sailing for Eladon early.”  Reaching over between their horses Andros grabbed Bhenithius by the back of the neck, shook him playfully.  “Anyways, I have high hopes for a quick end to this bloody war.  My father says that the Lupanothians have promised horses, siege weapons, and supplies to boot.”  Andros smiled broadly, then added, “Quain once told me that although they might make soldiers, the Lupanothians are rich in resources, and smart too!  With their help I suspect the Duke will be home by the fall!”
         “I hope so,” Bhenithius said hopefully.  He sent up a silent prayer to the gods, begging for his friend to be right, but Bhenithius had lived a third of his life listening to his father’s men telling tales of fighting against the mysterious and brutal Enemy, and he knew there would be no easy victory.
         During the last weeks of autumn, before the first sprinklings of snow dusted the Eladonian landscape, the enemy had pushed the front lines south, below the Olessa mountain range, losing the legendary cities of Tetie and Mar Mara.  When the Duke had returned unexpectedly early, it had been to oversee the raising of new soldiers and supplies, as well as to personally report to the King on a new spring strategy.  Duke Arvus had spent much of his time in the capital since his return, and to Bhenithius dismay, he had had little time with his father.
         Another long silence began to pass between the boys, but Bhenithius didn’t feel like talking.  His mind was a muddy mess of thoughts and emotions.  It was hard not to think about losing his father.  The Wulffes were far from a large family, unlike the Graies, and thinking about it made him feel tight in the chest.
         Bhenithius couldn’t help but feel a bit ashamed for his self pity, for Andros too had family in the war.  But for Andros, it was something to be proud about, and had never complained or been seen mopping.  It was not in Andros’s nature.
         Then before the silence stretched out too long, a flash of movement to the north caught both of their attentions.  Leaving the safety of a bristly bush, strutted a large brown and white grouse, its head bobbing up and down as it pecked at the ground in search for little seeds or bugs.  Bhenithius looked to Andros, who was grinning as he whispered, “May not be a stag, but it’ll taste mighty fine, all the same!”



With the arrowed grouse safely stowed, they had continued their trek along the Homeward Way.  As they rounded a grove of tall pines the land transformed from expansive hills, and into a flat valley, enclosed on either side by sheer cliffs.  Lethgartten.  This small, secluded, coastal city had been Bhenithius’s home since birth, with the occasional trips to their other holdings.
         Lethgartten was one of the Brynwyck’s oldest settlements, dating back centuries to when the barbaric Northmen still roamed the peninsula.  Lethgartten had been Brynwyck’s northern most frontier, and defensive outpost.  Evidence of this still stood to this day.  The city was a fortress, protected on either side by the natural rock cliffs.  Across the front of the city a stone wall stretched from rock face to rock face, the height of four men and the colour of burnt sand.  Six bastions studded this protective wall at even increments.  Beyond it, in the distance, one could see the tall watch tower of the Castle.  At night that tower would be bright with firelight.  It was once used as a look out for Northmen raiding parties, but now served as a light house for the harbour far below the city.
         The wide valley that lay before the city’s great wall was full of activity.  Farmers were busy tending the fields, ploughing with the help of oxen, readying the land for the planting of vegetables hearty enough to thrive in this northern climate.  Shepherds walked their flocks of sheep, with coats of wool still heavy from winter and ready for shearing.  Children ran barefoot, chasing chickens, dogs and each other.  One could almost forget that a war raged on across the ocean.
         Bhenithius and Andros road up to the large arched gatehouse, Wulffe banners fluttering in the breeze.  His parents had combined their family crests and colours when they married, and fresh, clean banners were always being made to line the walls of Lethgartten.  Half red, the colour of the Lynns, the other green for the Wulffes, with the family crest of a shield and two upright swords backed by a grand lilac tree.
         At their approach, the two guards standing at the gatehouse knelt down on one knee, bowing their helmed heads.  Bhenithius could feel his cheeks flush with blood.  It always embarrassed him to be treated in such a way.  When the guards stood, the shorter of the two, an older man with a weathered face, smiled and greeted them in a husky country voice, “Gud’day, me young lord.  Nice ride through the country, was it?”
         Andros fished the dead grouse from his saddlebag, dangling it by its neck, and replied with a proud smirk, “Not much, but at least it’s something!”
         Bhenithius smiled and nodded, his attention drawn towards the two young boys running towards their direction.  The closer of the two held a leather pouch and was taunting the second boy with it, who’s face was red with anger and probably the owner of the item.  As the children drew closer, the pursuing boy slowed, taking notice of Bhenithius and Andros upon their mounts, but the first boy was paying more attention to his friend and not to where he was running.
         The taller of the gatehouse guards took notice of the boy and moved to grab him, but instead the boy tripped over the guard’s leg and tumbled with a shriek to the ground by Andros’s horse, who spooked and reared onto its hind legs.  Bhenithius watched as Andros pulled the reins to the side, trying to sway the horse from trampling the boy, but in doing so the mount’s head collided with Bhenithius’s shoulder, knocking him off of Undo’s back.
         Bhenithius hit the ground with a thud and lost track of the world around him for what felt like minutes as he gasped for breath trying to catch his wind.  The dull ache in his head from earlier had returned, and now it felt like the thorns behind his eyes were twisting and tearing at the meat.  Before he could tell whether anyone had been injured he was being aided back up to his feet by a familiar hand.
         “You alright, Bhen?” Andros asked with a smile, although his voice betrayed concern, “That was quite the fall.”
         Bhenithius couldn’t speak but nodded.  The motion made his head throb but the pain quickly subsided.  Taking in a couple deep breaths he surveyed the area around him.  Both horses looked fine and were grazing contently on a cluster of stubby shrubs growing along the city wall.  But the ground was littered with tiny glass orbs that sparkled in the early afternoon sun.  The taller of the two guards was busy collecting them from the ground, placing them one by one into a leather pouch.  Bhenithius plucked one from the ground and took a closer look at it.  It was a marble.  Tiny bubbles floated motionlessly inside the imperfect glass, reflecting the sun’s brilliance.  Imperfection is not always a bad thing, Bhenithius thought to himself with a smirk as he handed it over to Andros.
         The older and shorter of the guards was standing at his post by the gatehouse, holding the boy tightly by his upper arm.  When Bhenithius looked to the boy, the child lowered his tear stained face towards the ground.  The boy that had been the pursuer was no where to be found, probably having fled the scene as soon as trouble broke out.
         “Sakken!” shouted a voice from close by.  A man dressed in a dirty tunic and worn leather breeches limped up the dirt road.  His was missing half his left leg and supported himself on his injured side with a crude crutch made of a gnarled tree branch.  The nub of his leg was bandaged in soiled linens, stained a sickly yellow brown.  “Sakken, you fool of a son!  What’s you got’s yerself into!  You’ll be sures to gets a beaten tonight!”
         The boy seemed to wither away to nothing as his father approached.  The guard holding the child nudged him forward.  The boy complied without complaint, likely not wanting to add to his punishment.  Bhenithius raised a hand in greeting and said, “No trouble.  Just boys being boys.”
         The man stopped a few paces away and glared at Bhenithius suspiciously, oblivious to who he was.  The Duchess Suffia preferred the boys to dress in simple attire when leaving the castle, as to lessen any risks of trouble.  Bhenithius rather enjoyed the informality.
         “He aint in any troubles, then?” the father asked sceptical.
         The guard standing with the boy scoffed, and cried out, “He’s lucky he don’t get thrown into the stocks!  Him and his friend got the young Lord Wulffe knocked clear off his steed.  By the grace of the gods he wasn’t hurt!”
         The father’s face reddened with anger as he stared daggers towards the child.  The boy sobbed openly now.  The look on the man’s face disturbed Bhenithius.  The father’s mouth moved silently as though lost for words.  He made a great effort to bow.  “M’lord, you have my apologies.  I promise you he’s gonna get a beaten.”
         Bhenithius turned to Andros and said, “Fetch today’s catch.”
         Andros reluctantly brought the dead grouse to him.  “No such thing will be necessary, sir.  No injury was sustained,” Bhenithius explained, holding the grouse out towards the father.  “Take this.  Times are hard for the people of Brynwyck.  I‘m sure it will fill the bellies of your family.”
         The man‘s face held a look of surprise as he replied, “Aye, M’lord, times are sore indeed.”  Gesturing to his bandaged leg he added, “I’s was in the war, fighten in grand Eladon.  Got’s an arrow through the calf.  Poisoned tips those are.  Don’t kill ya, but keeps the wound from healing right.  The dead are just dead, but the crippled be a burden on his people.  Bastards!!”  With that he spat upon the ground.
         Bhenithius’s father had talked of the poison the man spoke of.  The enemy coated not only their arrows with it but their swords and daggers as well.  Battlefield healers and physicians worked tirelessly to save those they could, but many were left crippled with useless limbs, or were forced to have their limbs amputated.  Ships carrying these crippled soldiers streamed into the ports of Brynwyck each season.  Bhenithius’s mother, the Duchess Suffia, had taken the cause as her own and devoted much of her time in the effort to rehabilitate and aid the returning wounded. 
         Routing through the coin purse hanging from his waist, Bhenithius removed three silver brynks and handed them to the man, along with the grouse saying, “A good supper and some medicine would do your family good.  A token of my families appreciation for your sacrifice.”
         The man smiled, revealing a mouth lacking most of its teeth, as he accepted the bird coins.  “Many thanks, M’lord.  Sakken!  Come!” 
         The boy grudgingly walked over to his father, but not before Bhenithius pulled out a second coin, made of copper.  “This is for you to spend yourself.  This morning I saw that the sweets vendor had fresh sugared dates,” he said with a wink.  The boys face brightened considerably as he accepted the coin and continued away.
         Andros walked up beside Bhenithius, placing a hand on his shoulder, “You are your parents son, my friend.”
         Bhenithius smiled at the compliment and replied, “A little kindness goes a long way.  And that boy didn’t deserve to get beaten.  Maybe with a full stomach and some silver, the father will choose to forgo one.”
         The taller of the guards stepped forward, the pouch of marbles in his hand and said, “M’lord, what would you like me to do with these?”
         “Find the boy they belong to and return them,” Bhenithius replied, “He likely thinks they’re lost to him now.  He’s probably missing them.”
         Andros stretched out a hand, revealing the single glass marble Bhenithius had passed to him earlier, and added “Don’t  forget this.”
         Bhenithius thought for a moment, then took the marble and pocketed it in his coin purse, and counted out six copper coins.  “When you find the boy, give him two of these and tell him that I admired his treasures so much I decided to keep one.  The others are for the two of you and your troubles,” he explained handing the coins to the guards.
         “Many thanks, M’lord,” the taller guard replied, accepting the copper.
         “Aye, most kind,” replied the smaller.
         Andros had gathered their horses and handed Bhenithius Undo’s reigns.  “Well there goes our meal,” Andros said with a resigned sigh.
         “We have no need for it,” Bhenithius replied.  His broad smile was hard to suppress.  It always felt good to be generous.  His mother was a noted humanitarian, and was renown for her generosity throughout their lands. “I am sure whatever the cooks have made will be enough to fill even your belly.”
         Andros rubbed his stomach and sighed, “I doubt it, I’m famished!”
         The two walked their mounts through the open gatehouse and into a wide bailey stretching the length between the mountainous rock faces, once used to hold live stock during times of attack, but was now filled with simple wooden barracks and stables to house soldiers, war horses and supplies being readied for the spring deployment.  This season’s green skins were already hard at training.  The air was filled with the clacking of wooden practice swords and the grunts of those not quick enough to dodge a strike by a blunted edge.
         They were nearly halfway across the large bailey when from somewhere in the mess of sweating and cursing men came the shouting of a familiar voice, “Keep your arm down, damn it!  If this was an iron blade your innards would be spilling on my feet!”
         Bhenithius looked to Andros, whose face betrayed their shared surprise, and said, “I didn’t know he had returned!”
         “Nor I,” Andros replied excitedly.  Cupping his hands around his mouth he shouted loudly, “Dekkius, you dirty bugger!  Too busy to say hello to your own brother!”
         A tall young man pushed his way through the throngs of his fellow soldiers.  He wore a sweat soaked tunic, leather breeches, muddy boots and held a wooden sword in his left hand.  His right eye was swollen nearly shut and a large purple-black bruise stained his cheekbone of the same side.  Bhenithius grimaced.
         “Bhen!  And little Andros!  It’s been too long!” Dekkius exclaimed with a large smile.  Throwing down his practice sword he embraced them both.  “It’s been a busy winter.  My battalion returned from Gangle late last night.”
         Dekkius was Bhenithius’s favourite of Andros’s elder brothers.  Only a couple years older than Andros, he had always been a welcome friend, and was a skilled wrestler, giving Bhenithius himself a number of bruises throughout their childhood.  Roughhousing it seemed was almost a tradition with the Graie boys.
         “Ouch, what a hit!” Bhenithius said pointing to Dekkius’s bruised and swollen eye.
         Dekkius smirked replying, “One of the other men caught me off guard, and glanced my face with a practice cudgel, but I got him back good.”
         Andros leaned in close as to inspect the damage to his older brother’s face then, like the dirty fighter he was, slapped Dekkius with an open hand across the bruised skin, laughing all the while.  Bhenithius flinch, nearly feeling the sting himself.  Dekkius groaned loudly, but didn’t waist any time with nursing his face, but instead moved quick as lightening, grabbing up his discarded wooden sword and striking Andros across the backside with a fluid swing.  The strike seemed to echo throughout the bailey as Andros leapt up in the air.  Bhenithius and Dekkius buckled over in laughter as Andros hopped about, clutching his buttocks and shouting curses that would make most men blush.
          Ignoring the burning looks coming from his younger brother Dekkius said, “Well I better get back to practice before my captain sees me socializing.  Promise that the two of you will see me off when our ships depart?”
         “Of course we will!  You‘ll be coming to the feast at the castle, wont you?” Bhenithius asked.
         “As long as I’m given leave by the captain,” Dekkius replied.  Then swinging his arm around, catching Andros in a tight headlock said in a mocking tone, “Will you sit beside me little brother?”
         “Perhaps!” replied Andros grunted defiantly, “I think I may be busy that day.”
         With a chuckle Dekkius released Andros saying, “You better come you bugger!  Who knows when we’ll see each other again!”
         “I know, I know!” Andros replied.
         Bhenithius stood at attention, giving the Brynwyckian military salute and said, “May the gods look over you and bring you strength.”
         “And may they bring you dreams of willing maidens, endowed with more… beauty… than even you could handle, ha ha!!” Andros added jabbing his brother in the ribs with an elbow.
         Dekkius cuffed Andros playfully off the top of the head, “Don’t tease me brother.  My heart already aches with the thought of leaving my family and friends.  Don’t add to my sorrow with the reminder of all the women I’ll be leaving behind!”  Some of Dekkius’s fellow soldiers let out groans and sighs at their comrade’s lament.
         With a knowing wink Andros said, “Don’t fret.  I hear that Eladonian women are very… hospitable.”
         Grabbing his heart Dekkius fell to his knees, in a great show of theatrics replying, “Oh mighty Eladon here I come!”  The small audience erupted in a great show of whooting and catcalls as Bhenithius and Andros laughed along.
         A portly man with a bald head and grey beard began marching towards the growing crowd, with a look of frustration visible only from his furrowed brow.  “What is all this about!” he shouted with a voice that exuded authority.  He wore a clean tunic the colour of beach sand, and a familiar pendant that dangled from a chain around his neck told that he was a liegeman of the Duke’s.  The round silver pendant was ringed by two curved swords with a lilac tree at its centre fashioned out of copper.  Dekkius stood at attention while the other men quietly melted away through the throngs of practicing soldiers.  Taking only a cursory glance at Bhenithius and Andros the man addressed Dekkius.  “Soldier Graie.  I assume you heard my question.  Do you have flawed hearing?”
         “My apologies Master Rytum, I did not mean to make a raucous.  I was merely exchanging a few words with my brother sir,” Dekkius explained respectfully, his eyes starring straight ahead.  Master Rytum’s expression seemed to soften at this.  Turning to look at the two boys, his gaze fixed itself upon Andros, as a crooked grin peeked through his stone face.
         Bhenithius was familiar with the name.  He had heard it brought up in passing conversations of both his mother and father.  Sir Rytum was an ex-solider of the Duke’s and had earned himself a knighthood from the King a number of years ago, before the war, and had a tiny holding south of the city.  The Duke held a lot of respect for this man, having charged him with the duty of training the new green-skins each year.
         “I should have known, the resemblance is so obvious!” Sir Rytum exclaimed, folding his arms across his chest.  He looked Andros over, like a wealthy merchant might have, inspecting new goods.  “Another Graie boy, eh?  It will be families like yours, keeping our armies stocked and strong, that will win us this war.”  Andros’s faced reddened and looking to the ground he kicked at the hard dirt.  “You look young but have certainly reached eligible age.  Why have you not joined your brothers?” Sir Rytum’s simple inquiry carried the hints of accusation.
         Andros stiffened, standing tall with his back straight,  and replied, “Nothing would make me happier sir.”
         Sir Rytum stared quietly for a few moments but said nothing more on the topic, his gaze instead wandering over to Bhenithius.  “And what about you?” he asked.
         “I hope to someday,” Bhenithius answered meekly.
         “How old are you lad, what is your name?” Sir Rytum questioned.
         Bhenithius cleared his throat and, summoning up some courage in front of this domineering man, responded, “My name is Bhenithius, and I am sixteen years old sir.”
         Sir Rytum stared quietly, face expressionless, before an air of realization broke the mans cold façade.  Eyes narrowing he took a step back, a hand cupping his chin thoughtfully.  “Bhenithius Wulffe?” he said at last.  Bhenithius nodded his head.  Sir Rytum smiled and gave a respectable bow, saying, “It has been a long time since I last saw you.  Look how you’ve grown!  Lets see now, you must have been only eight or nine the last time I set my eyes on you.  You’ve grown into a fine looking young man.”
         Embarrassed, Bhenithius felt his cheeks warm.  “It is nice to see you again,” he replied politely, though he hadn’t any recollection of ever meeting him.
         Sir Rytum’s hearty laugh boomed through the bailey, drawing a few wayward glances from those around.  Clasping his hand behind his back, he leaned forward slightly, and with a raised brow said, “You don’t remember me at all, do you?”
         As Bhenithius’s cheeks grew warmer still, he knew his face probably looked as red as a swallow’s breast.  This only brought out more laughter from the large man who replied, “No need for embarrassment my young lord.  I never said we met, only that I once saw you.  On a visit to the Duke.  We watched you playing in your mother’s gardens from one of the castle’s balconies.  You had your wooden sword in hand and were fighting imaginary foes.  Ruined two of your mothers new lilac saplings too!”
         Bhenithius could not stifle his own laughter at hearing Sir Rytum’s story.  He remembered that day well.  His mother was not at all pleased to see the new additions to her garden in such poor shape.  He was limited to playing swords in the courtyard after that day.  It was around that time the Duchess decided do something about his lack of companionship.  That was when Andros had come to live at the castle with them.  As it turned out, Bhenithius and Andros had more often than not gotten themselves into more mischief as a pair, than either would likely have on their own.  It all seemed like so long ago.
         Looking up to the sun Sir Rytum sighed, “Well, with your pardon, I have duties to attend to, and little time left today in which to do them.  It brings me joy to see that you have grown up so well.  And if you promise not to keep too much of his time, you may speak with recruit Graie a little longer.  Mind you he has much training left to learn.  They sail for Eladon in less than a week.”
         With a smile and nod of thanks Bhenithius replied, “Thank you Sir Rytum, we will be on our way soon, and I am sure I will see you again.”
         Sir Rytum bowed deeply before disappearing through the crowds of practicing young men.  His voice could be heard barking orders even after Bhenithius lost all sight of him.  The air of tension that seemed to loom around the aged knight departed with him too, and Andros let out a loud whistle saying, “What has it been like with that as your instructor?  He‘s just like Quain!”
         Dekkius relaxed his back and dropped his shoulders replying, “It was hard in the beginning.  Most other probably are not used to dealing with a man like Master Rytum.  His training regiments are gruelling, and my body already has its fair share of training scars, but he only does it to toughen us up.  He’s truly a good man.  He only has our safety, and the safety of Brynwyck at the core of his heart.”
         Bhenithius was surprised by Dekkius’s answer.  He would have suspected that most young soldiers would dread the sight of such a man and would have little more than hateful things to say about him, but Dekkius seemed almost to revere Sir Rytum.
         “I bet he makes you guys sweat,” replied Andros.  Striking a pose that resembled Sir Rytum, Andros looked his brother over.  “You do actually look bigger, you know.”
         Dekkius grinned and flexed his arms boastfully saying, “You noticed, eh?  Though it’s not like I ever had any troubles besting you before.”  He gave Andros a hard but playful punch in the shoulder.  With a mischievous look on his face Andros lunged, shoulder first, into Dekkius.  The older Graie brother stood his ground, wrapping a strong arm around Andros’s neck, and tousling Andros’s golden locks with his free hand.
         Andros struggled but could do little more than grab and pull at Dekkius’s arms and tunic shouting, “Let go you dog!”
         Laughing, Dekkius teased, “What?  Thought you could handle your brother, eh?  And you got more than you could stand?”
         “It’s your stench that I cant handle!  Your in dire need of a warm bath!” Andros retorted bitterly.
         Bhenithius’s eyes caught sight of Sir Rytum’s solid figure standing atop one of the closer bastions of the inner wall, eyeing the three of them, his patience seemed to have reached its limit.  Clearing his throat to get the Graie brothers attention, he gestured towards Sir Rytum and said, “Perhaps it’s time we get back, before we’re too missed.”
         Dekkius released Andros, “I should get back to my practice as well.”
         Red faced Andros was starring off through the bailey as though he had little time for the conversation.  With the way that the Graie brothers sometimes treated one another an outsider would likely assume they shared little affection for each other, but nothing could be further from the truth.  The Graie’s were a tight nit family and each couldn’t have loved the others any more.
         Bhenithius patted Dekkius on the shoulder and said, “If we aren’t able to come see you again sooner, we‘ll see you again at the feast.”  The Duchess had been busying herself over the past weeks, preparing for the upcoming farewell feast, and the thought suddenly made him feel tight in the chest.  Bhenithius had seen his father leave every spring for the past six years to fight a foreign war, and although the oldest Graie son, Korvan, had already spent three years there, it would be a sad night for both families indeed.
         Dekkius’s expression brightened at the mention of the feast, his mouth likely watering at the thought of something other than simple meals of dried meats and hard bread, as well as a chance to get away from the drudgery of military training.  “I like the sounds of that,” he said enthusiastically.
         The Graie brothers exchanged a few jabs between them before embracing and saying their farewells.  Dekkius then pulled Bhenithius into a brotherly embrace as well saying.  “Try not to let Andros get into too much trouble before then.”
         “As though I could stop him,” Bhenithius replied with a grin.
         With that, Dekkius grabbed his wooden practice sword off the ground, and rejoined his comrades.  Bhenithius observed Andros starring off after his brother longingly.  Andros was seventeen and could join the army if he so wished, and even though he denied it, Bhenithius felt deep down that the military was something Andros yearned for.  If not for the glory of fighting for his family and kingdom, then for the chance to be along side his brothers.  It often filled Bhenithius with guilt that he was holding Andros back.
         A low gurgle shook Bhenithius from his silent thoughts.  Andros stood holding his stomach and smiling.  “Well I guess that settles it.  No more dawdling.  Lets get back and see what the cooks have been up to all morning.  I can almost smell it already!”