Fortress Walls

Chapter IX, Part 3

That evening it fully hit Tariq just how miserable his task was. He’d been miserable the entire day, but now, faced with three blank-faced boys asking him what he meant by “taking a watch,” he wanted to lie down and die.

He did his best to explain that they were on the edge of the Wilderness, which was notoriously unfriendly to humans, and so they would have to divide up the hours of the night into four watches that they would share.

“You mean not sleep?” Phineas was horrified.

Cass wasn’t horrified, but he was disgusted. “I thought it was your job to take care of us.”

To everyone’s surprise, Sutton took the unfortunate news the best and even volunteered for the first watch. Tariq assigned the second to Phineas and the last to Cassander, taking the third himself. This seemed to irk Cass, but he wouldn’t say why. Tariq, annoyed, made an off-hand comment as they settled in about how the third watch was the most difficult. This only seemed to anger the young prince more.

It turned out that Sutton, who had grown up in the western foothills, had known to bring a waterskin, so Tariq brought him to the stream to fill it.

Stream water was freezing cold even in the height of summer. Filling waterskins had often been one of Tariq’s tasks on field assignments, and he’d always hated it. He knelt by the stream and held the skin underwater, watching the blub-blub of it filling while his hand grew numb. Sutton bent over him awkwardly.

“Fin’s brother,” he said after a minute or so.

“It’s Tariq.”

“T-Tariq. I have a question.”

“Do you?”

Sutton blushed. “Can, can I ask you a question?”

“I hope so.” The cold water was making Tariq more unpleasant than usual.

“D-do you know about the Rules?”

Tariq arched an eyebrow at him. “Of course.”

“D’you think…d’you think you ought to tell them? Cass and Fin, I mean? They’ve never been off a cobbled road in their lives.”

“Why don’t you? You’re their friend.”

Sutton blushed even more. “You don’t get it. They won’t listen to m—to me. They’ll call me a superstitious fool.”

“And they won’t call me that?”

“They…you…I don’t know. You seem to know what you’re, what you’re doing.”

The skin was full. Tariq pulled it up, dripping and heavy, and tied it shut.

“Fine. I’ll tell them.”

He sat back on his heels and stared straight into Sutton’s eyes. “You’re serious about the Rules?”

Taken aback, Sutton nodded vigorously.

“Good.”

They got up and went back to camp.

The fire had burnt down to embers and neither Phineas nor Cass knew how to revive it; exasperated, Tariq put some more of the wood he’d collected on and showed the boys how to poke it up with a stick.

They had no cookpot, so supper was a sad affair of dried meat and bread without butter. As they ate, the three friends chattered about trivial things mostly involving their life at school and how strange it was to think of their classmates fated to study instead of adventuring like them. Tariq grew irritated with the conversation and retreated a little way into the dark woods, where he took his meal up a tree like a squirrel and perched there, munching angrily. It bothered him, first of all, that they still naively considered this some sort of game. Besides that, hearing about University gave him an unpleasant feeling—a sort of intense, visceral jealousy. His whole life he’d dreamed of just such an opportunity as the one they were joking about. He’d longed for years to attend University, but it had always been an impossible dream. Their flippant talk almost made him hate them. But he would have to spend who knew how long with them, so he turned his bitter thoughts against his father instead.

It was a long time before he mustered the strength to return to camp.

They didn’t seem to notice when he returned. They lounged around the campfire, still talking, more quietly though. The peace of the clearing almost demanded it. The fire crackled comfortingly, its flickers pushing back the night. Someone had pulled out chocolates to share. Tariq sat outside the circle of light, his back against the nearest tree, and listened. Thankfully, their talk had turned from University, so the conversation pained him less.

He didn’t pay so much attention to the topic as to the manner of each boy. Sutton ran his mouth rather thoughtlessly when he spoke, and his nervous stammer slowed him down less, but he was a good listener. Phineas was wiser than he’d seemed, and a peacemaker as well, when the careless youngest boy and the uptight prince clashed, which was about every few words.

As for Cass, Tariq had had a poor first impression of him—he’d thought him arrogant, spiteful, controlling, and rather stupid to boot. From the conversation, though, he gathered that that was merely the side Cass had chosen to show him; with his friends, he was still too outspoken and uptight, but he showed them an ounce of kindness, at least. Tariq hadn’t known the prince knew what kindness was.

When he’d heard enough to satisfy himself, he got up and walked into the firelight, startling them.

“Finish up. I want to tell you all something.”

The little bit of good humor Cass had regained ran away from him again, and he scowled at Tariq.

“What is it? Gonna teach us how to sleep?”

“Yes,” Tariq said, as if daring him to comment further.

Cass curled his lip.

Tariq ignored him, looking at Phineas instead. ”You know about the Wilderness? The capital-W Wilderness?”

“Capital-Wuh?” Cass snickered, mocking the way he’d said it.

“Only a little. Only rumors,” Phineas said. “It’s supposed to be filled with monsters, isn't it? But that’s all just legends.”

“Believe that if you want. But since I guess I’m in charge here, I’m going to insist we assume it is and follow the traditional Rules.”

“Oh, Sutton’s told me about these before,” Phineas interrupted, surprised.

“Yes, shut up. Rule Number One: Don’t take any more than you need. Goes for wood, water, animals, any sort of food. And no wasting or ruining, ‘cause that counts as taking what you don’t need. Two: always thank the forest spirits before you take anything. Three: don’t whistle after dark—you might summon something you’ll wish you hadn’t.”

“This is stupid,” Cass said.

“Think that if you want. It’s not up to me if you’re scared of monsters, but I will beat you if you break the rules.”

“Don’t forget the other Rules,” Sutton piped up. “Silent places and stuff like that.”

“I said the official rules. Those are precautions. I can address them when they come up.”

Sutton looked worried. “Shouldn’t we warn them now, though?”

Tariq’s face was growing hot. Faced with his brother’s blank stare and Cass’ mocking one, it felt foolish to believe in everything he’d been taught and even seen himself. He felt like the superstitious fool they must think he was. In a temper, he turned away, growling, “They’ll be fine.”

He went and flopped down on the ground outside the circle of firelight, pillowing his head on his arms, and closed his eyes.

The boys murmured for a while amongst themselves, but at last they went as silent as the forest around them, except for the occasional shifting of Sutton on his watch.

Tariq lay awake for a long time.

~

Two days later.

Hektor brought Lord Clade his morning coffee and sat with him while he drank it.

His father sipped quietly, savoring the coffee. For the first time in years he didn’t seem in the least interested in what was going on societally or politically. His brow wasn’t furrowed with thought about his latest scheme; he wasn’t reviewing papers or reading as he drank.

Any other time, Hektor would have welcomed the change—he'd thought for a long time that his lord didn’t rest enough. But today he shifted awkwardly in his seat, not wanting to say a word about the person waiting outside the bedchamber.

Clade glanced at him at last. “Hektor, you’re clearly waiting to tell me something.”

“Sorry,” Hektor muttered.

“No need to be sorry, boy. I may be injured, but I’m still the prime minister. Say what you need to say.”

Hektor blushed. “My lord...His Majesty is here.”

Clade didn’t seem much surprised. “Ah. Is he in the parlor?”

“No, ah...he’s...outside your room.”

“Ah!” He was a bit taken aback this time. “You can show him in. If he’s come up, I assume he knows I’m bedridden.”

“Yes.” Hektor got up and went to show the king in with a bow.

“Your Majesty,” Clade greeted him.

Cillian nodded and sat down. Hektor closed the door and stood attentively beside it.

“I hope you don’t mind I waited until I heard you were doing a bit better to come see you," the king said.

“Thank you, my king.”

“Unfortunately, we’ve made very little headway on the investigation of your would-be assassin’s escape, and we haven’t caught him yet.”

Clade, in the middle of a sip of coffee, stiffened and raised his gaze slowly to the king.

“He...escaped?”

“You haven’t heard? It’s been two days.”

“Not a peep.”

“Pardon me,” Hektor murmured from the doorway, “but my lord has been bedridden since the incident. He’s only just been able to sit up. Only I and the doctor have seen him.”

Clade turned his head to glare at him. “And you didn’t tell me?”

“I hope you’ll see the sense of my decision, my lord,” Hektor said, unruffled. “The assassin fled the capital immediately. I would have told you if you were in danger. As it was, I didn’t think you needed to be unduly concerned.”

Clade frowned, but he nodded. “Fine. So he escaped. What have you learned, my king?”

The king crossed his legs. “As I said, hardly anything. It’s certain that someone helped him escape, but we don’t know who. We do...have one possible lead, though it might be a coincidence.”

For the first time, Cillian looked unsure of himself. He glanced briefly at Hektor as if to ask if Clade was well enough to hear more bad news, but came out with it anyway.

“Did your son Phineas leave for university two days ago?”

“Yes.”

“He never arrived there. He’s disappeared.”

Clade sat up, his eyes widening a little.

“I thought it was probably just a coincidence. My son Cassander disappeared as well, so I thought at first they might be playing hooky from school together. But with you injured and Hilary in his condition, too, I realized it probably isn’t a time they would be in such light spirits.”

Clade stammered a little as if to say something, but seemed to change his mind.

“I’m sorry to bother you with so much bad news not a week after your injury. I thought you at least knew about that criminal’s escape. If it makes you feel more at ease, I ordered Captain Thierry to send some of his elite soldiers after him. We’ll see if they live up to Zarael’s bragging,” the king added with a grim smile.

Clade smiled weakly and nodded a bit.

“That’s all the news I have for you. I don’t expect you to return to your duties at the palace until you’re fully recovered, so rest all you can. If you want, I’ll set an extra squad of guards at your mansion in case the assassin returns.”

“Thank you, my king.”

“Of course.” The king stood, but he hesitated to leave. “Kieran...how are you feeling?”

“Better,” Clade said with the same weak smile.

“We will certainly catch the fugitive. You don’t need to worry about that at all. And once we have him, it’ll be easy to find out who helped him and punish them too.”

Clade nodded, seeming to lose interest. By the door, Hektor fidgeted and cleared his throat, knowing his lord was growing tired, but unable to directly ask the king to leave.

Cillian wasn’t dense, though, and he made a few quick niceties and left.

~

“Hektor,” Clade said a few minutes after the king had gone.

“My lord?”

“It was Phineas that helped him escape, wasn’t it?” Clade said thickly.

“Seems likely, my lord.”

“I’d—I’d rather that boy was never recaptured than see Phineas executed alongside him.”

Hektor frowned. “I thought Phineas was a bother, and you wanted him out of the way.”

Clade glared, blushing a little. “Perhaps, but by “out of the way” I meant at school or married off. And you may be my son too, but even Phineas wouldn’t be so forward as to say that out loud.”

“I’m—sorry.”

“You ought to be, for suggesting I might ever think of killing my own son.”

Hektor thought that was rather contradictory of him to say, but this time he was wise enough to keep his mouth shut.

“I see, my lord. I really am sorry. I misunderstood the situation.”

Clade grunted, and there was a stiff silence.

“And I don’t understand,” he said at last, frustrated.

“What, my lord?”

“I thought the game was up when that boy went on trial. He looks so like Phineas. But it doesn’t even seem to have occurred to anyone that he’s—mine.”

“That’s easy, my lord. It’s easy for you to see the resemblance, since you’re their father. But a person’s appearance is a lot more than just physical features, you know, and that boy’s mannerisms and air couldn’t be more different from Phineas’.”

Clade gave another noncommittal grunt.

“Is there anything else, my lord?” Hektor asked, uncomfortable.

“No. I’d like to be left alone now. I’m tired.”

“Yes, my lord.” Clenching his jaw, Hektor bowed and left the room, shutting the door after him.

Clade didn’t lie down yet. Sighing, he picked up his coffee cup and lifted it to his lips, only to put it down in disappointment; he’d already finished it.

Since the outcome of the trial only a few days ago, he’d been bothered by the unbidden image of that boy standing at the gallows, sullen and forlorn. He hadn’t known why the thought unsettled him so much. The image was returning now, only this time, Phineas stood beside Tariq, the same hopeless expression on his face. And this new version of the image was too much for Clade to bear.

His shoulder throbbed with pain suddenly, and gritting his teeth, he swept the cup off his table in frustration and curled up, miserable.