Read Online A Call to Arms: Book One of the Chronicles of Arden by Shiriluna Nott, SaJa H - Free Book Online Page B

young lordling was Nage, who nodded with a lopsided grin. Gib breathed a short sigh of relief. At least he wasn’t alone.
    Gib noted with some confusion that Tarquin and several other trainees kept casting dubious looks toward Diddy, and the ones standing closest behind the young lord were doing all they could to distance themselves from him without breaking formation. If Didier saw their sideways glances, he paid no attention, but Gib noticed. Diddy seemed nice enough for a highborn. Why was everyone acting so strangely around him?
    Before Gib could dedicate any more thought to the matter, two grown men swept forward to stand in front of the class. The hush that fell over the crowd was all the information Gib needed. These men were important. He would have guessed as much on his own based upon their height and dress, with authority emanating from their stature.
    The first man was broad-shouldered and imposing. His facial features were hardened, with rough skin and peppered brown hair. He was wearing light armor: a plated doublet over chainmail and protective leather coverings around his arms and legs. One large gloved hand rested on the hilt of a sheathed longsword as though he might draw the sword at any given moment.
    The man’s hazel eyes were stern as they passed over each of the gathered trainees. “Welcome to your first day of sentinel training.” His voice carried across the entire field as he addressed the group. “I am Weapons Master Roland Korbin. Some of you know of me already. For those who don’t, you soon will.”
    He began to stroll down the line of students. “I have only three rules in my class. First, you show up on time each day in proper attire.” The trainer’s eyes skewered the group. “And by proper attire, I don’t mean golden buttons, ruffled sleeves, and jewel-encrusted embroidery! What you choose to wear outside my arena is none of my business, but here you’ll dress yourselves accordingly. After today’s class, all students will be measured and fitted for simple linen tunics and boots meant for the physical demands of this class.” Several of the highborn boys in the group sighed.
    “Second, you’ll give your fellow students the respect they deserve. Let me be clear. There will be no favorites here and most certainly no belittlement of your peers.” Gib stole a glance in Didier’s direction, wishing Roland had been present only moments before when the young boy was being taunted.
    “My last rule is that you don’t quit. Every soldier has his strengths—and his weaknesses. You’ll experience failure in my class. I guarantee this. You’ll leave the arena with bruises, broken bones, and crushed spirits. You’ll want to quit. But only when you fail will you learn. You can’t learn if you quit.”
    Gib swallowed his dread. He wanted to remain hopeful. Weapons Master Roland’s rules seemed reasonable, but what if the physical training was too much for Gib? Most of the other students in the class were bigger and stronger. What if I can’t keep up?
    Roland cleared his throat pointedly and bowed his head in the direction of the second man, who until now had stayed in the background. “Seneschal Koal Adelwijn will now have a word with you before we begin today’s lesson.” All eyes fell upon the other man as Gib’s breath left him in a whoosh of air. Seneschal? The seneschal? The right-hand man of the King himself and second most powerful man in all of Arden? Gib couldn’t help his gaping mouth.
    Seneschal Koal was trim and had short raven hair flecked with grey that fell just below his ears. His fair skin was free of worry lines or blemishes. His mouth was set in a firm line, but something about the seneschal’s demeanor suggested he was not there to cause malice or intimidation.
    His outfit was as elaborate as Roland’s was practical. He wore a magnificent silver tabard with sapphire-colored lace woven into the seams, and a ceremonial dagger was strung through the belt at