A Call to Arms: Book One of the Chronicles of Arden (15 page)

Joel shook his head and behind him Hasain frowned. The mage student’s voice was calming in the middle of all the chaos. “Just tell us what you know.”

Gib tried to refocus. “Uh—they were talking about paying the killer. They even said it would be murder. I could hear the coins jingling. The one guy said he’d pay half now and half when the job was done. They were talking about how the King was bad for the country because he’d allowed women and commoners to work their way up in society.”

Hasain waved one of his large hands in the air. “You said you didn’t see them?”

“N–no.” He couldn’t look the King’s son in the eye. “I’m sorry.”

Joel glanced back at Hasain. The young Radek lord shrugged and stuck his nose in the air. “You said you heard this down by Marc Arrio’s office? It was probably a disgruntled servant or teacher. I’m sure nothing will come of it.”

“Don’t you think you should at least warn King Rishi? What if it’s something serious?” Joel asked.

Hasain narrowed his slim eyes further. “Joel, you’ve spent too much time with this farmer. It’s as if you’re new to the city yourself. You know how important my father is. The King receives death threats every moonturn. It almost always turns out to be someone of menial service or even a vagrant—typically the lazy people who feel they haven’t been given enough privileges.”

Gib clenched his good hand into a fist. “No, you’re not listening. They were exchanging money, Hasain! Someone wants the King
dead
.”

Hasain was as apathetic as ever. “As I already said, many people want the King dead. And perhaps money was exchanged. That is a fool’s loss. Even if they carry out their attempt, they’ll never get to my father. He’s well protected and clever. They’ll never take him.”

Gib bit his bottom lip but knew when it was time to stand down. Joel glowered at his cousin. “I hope for your father’s sake your arrogance is justified.”

Hasain lifted one brow, smiling wolfishly. “I give you my word, for Arden’s sake, my arrogance is justified.” The young Radek lord turned and swept toward the door. “I have to go. There will be council sessions later and Father has asked that I attend. I’ll let you know if I see any assassins.” He waved coyly and left without waiting for even one more word.

Gib’s jaw dropped. “Did that just happen? How can he not even care?”

Joel let out a deep sigh. “I know how it seems, but you have to believe me when I say that this is just Hasain’s way. He’s every bit as arrogant as his father and about half as smart.” He winced as if he suddenly realized what he just said. “Half as
wise
. Hasain is young. We’re all prone to mistakes when we’re young.”

“I’m young but I don’t pretend anyone is invincible. I hope Hasain is right, of course.” Gib clenched his jaw. “I also hope that some form of reality rides along and topples him from his high horse.”

Joel laughed into his hands. “Gib! Manners.”

“It’s true,” Gib replied as he rolled his eyes. “We could tell your father. Would Seneschal Koal have a chance to hear us?”

“He might.” Joel hesitated. “It’s just—”

“Hasain really was right, wasn’t he? People threaten the King all the time.” Gib couldn’t force himself to believe it even as the words fell out of his mouth.

Joel pursed his lips. “I know how that sounds, believe me, I do. But—it’s true. Without knowing who the men were or when or where they planned to strike I’m afraid there won’t be much anyone can do. It would take more time and energy to look for these men, who may yet regain their senses and call the whole thing off, than it would to simply pay closer attention to where the King is at all times.”

Gib threw his hands into the air. “But they could at least do that much!”

“I agree, but King Rishi is already as well protected as he’ll allow himself to be.” Joel elaborated with a patient sigh. “Our king is very stubborn. My father has gone around in circles with him for years. Queen Dahlia and the children are always guarded to the best of Arden’s means but King Rishi himself—he prefers his freedom.”

“But he could be
killed!
”

Joel took Gib’s good hand and the sentinel trainee felt his stomach roll. “I promise to tell my father what you have told me. If you’d like, you could go speak with Dean Marc. He may be willing to speak to Father as well. I just don’t want you to be terribly disappointed if nothing comes of it.”

Gib groaned as he glared at the floor. “All right. If no one is concerned but me, I guess I’ll let it go. Apparently in Silver, things like death threats are just another way of saying hello.”

Joel’s face creased and Gib wished immediately that he could take the words back. Joel didn’t seem to take offense, however.

“I promise to do what I can. Now, you should go. Eat something and get to class.”

“Yeah. All right.” Gib headed for the door. He stopped at the threshold and looked back. His heart was hammering in his chest. “You should come with me. It isn’t good for you to skip your midday meal just because of—what others may say.”

Joel’s fair face flushed in such a way Gib could scarcely look at him. He swallowed and seemed to look for words. “I—uh, th–thank you. I’ll eat. I promise. You may still be able to find your friends.”

“They could be your friends too. I know we’re all younger than you and kind of bottom of the barrel scrapings, but we’re all trustworthy, I assure you.” When the young mage wrung his hands, Gib backed off. “All right. Not today. But consider it in the future.”

Gib turned to leave and could only just make out the sound of his roommate’s small voice. “Thank you.”
 

The discussion at midday meal was so cryptic Gib wondered what he was getting himself into. On their eve away from training and responsibility, the group of friends decided to go out into the city to celebrate. Gib didn’t feel like festivities after eavesdropping on the would-be assassin earlier that day, but Tarquin and the others were persistent.

“You haven’t been to the Rose Bouquet yet?” Nage asked, mouth hanging agape as if it were some kind of huge scandal.

Gib shook his head. Clearly he was out of the loop yet again. “What is a Rose Bouquet?”

Tarquin and Kezra exchanged glances and snickered.

“It’s only the most famous tavern in all of Silver!” Tarquin snorted. “Come with us. You’ll have fun.”

“They’re accepting of everyone at the Rose,” Kezra added. A wry smile came to her lips. “Even cripples such as yourself are welcome, Nemesio.”

Gib rolled his eyes good-naturedly. He didn’t know what could be so great about a dirty tavern full of drunkards, but he also didn’t want to sit around his room all night, fretting about the assassin or Hasain’s total disregard of his warning. He was also feeling strange around Joel. As pleasant as Joel could be, Gib always felt—
awkward
around the mage trainee.

So Gib agreed to meet his companions at the gates later that evening. He would give this Rose Bouquet a try. Perhaps after a round of ale, he would be able to forget about the worries plaguing his mind.
 

As the group of friends crossed over the crack-riddled bridge that spanned the width of the Tempist River, Gib blinked in sudden realization. Since arriving at Academy, he hadn’t left the school grounds to venture into the city. Besides the time he’d ridden through with Liza, he’d never set foot in any other part of Silver.

Tarquin, Kezra, and Nage walked with the utmost confidence, suggesting that all three of them knew their way around—which of course, they did. Each of them had grown up in this city. Judging by the mansions lining both sides of the street, it was possible both Tarquin and Kezra had grown up along this very road.

Traders Row was nearly abandoned this late in the day. Indeed, nearly all the market stands that had lined the cobblestone path when Gib first arrived in Silver were missing. He ventured to guess little business was to be made once the sun went down. And who in their right mind would want to be out in this weather? Gib wrapped his fur cloak more tightly around his shoulders and sped up. It was downright bitter outside. He could see his breath in the chilled air. Surely it would begin to snow any day now.

“Almost there,” Tarquin piped up ahead of him.

Gib squinted through the dimly lit streets and his mood improved at the sight of a large building on the corner ahead, with cheerful music and warm light radiating from behind the closed shutters. It was the only building in the entire city that seemed to have any life to it on this cold winter evening.

People were conversing on the front steps; some of them laughing boisterously and others talking in merry, spirited voices. Some of them were clad in armor, most likely sentinels of Arden who were off duty. Others appeared to be regular city folk, dressed in garments ranging from silken vests to drab linen tunics. It was a strange mix of wealthy and common folk.

Curiosity piqued, Gib followed at the heels of his friends, dodging between the strangers and doing his best not to accidentally bump into any of them. They seemed to be in fair moods, but Gib didn’t want to take any chances of being the source of a drunken brawl.

As he approached the open door, Gib took in the scent of roasted meat, simmering stew, and ale. The winter breeze giving way to warmth lifted his spirits, and the sound of jovial music rang in his ears, beckoning him to come inside. Tarquin led the way through the door.

The interior of the tavern was more spacious than Gib would have imagined. Tables occupied most of the area and were packed tightly together, so close to one another it was possible to touch the person sitting at the next table. The tabletops were nothing like the finely crafted desks so frequently used at Academy. Made of rugged oak wood, these tables were cracked and chipped from rough handling and bathed in the scent of spilled ale and tobacco. Gib relaxed a bit—the etiquette encouraged at Academy wouldn’t be enforced here.

At the rear of the tavern was a modest stage, elevated several feet. Standing on this platform was a trio of bards. One played a pan flute while the other two kept rhythm with a mellow sounding gittern and a set of hand drums. Many of the people gathered inside were clapping along to the light and joyous music. Some were even dancing. Gib blushed when he saw the scantily clad women twirling on tabletops. Clearly they were part of the entertainment, for even as Gib averted his eyes, one of the women leaned down to accept a coin from a patron.

To the side of the stage, a crowd of people gathered at what Gib assumed was the bar. Tavern maids carrying mugs brimming with ale made their way along the counter, stopping to deliver drinks or accept currency before scampering back into the kitchen. They were laughing with the customers, exchanging jokes and friendly touches as they worked. The crowd was boisterous in return, rowdy without being discourteous. Gib noted the discrepancies in clothing and social standing among the gathered patrons, yet no one seemed to care or even notice. He’d never seen such amity between perfect strangers. This place seemed to defy the laws that had for so long been engrained in his mind.

The group of friends chose a booth toward the back of the room, away from the bustle of the bar and music. A tavern maid brought each of them a tall mug of ale, smiling brightly as she worked, and accepted their coins.

Tarquin took a hearty pull from his tankard before turning his eyes to Gib. “So what do you think of the Rose Bouquet?”

“Uh, good.” Gib also took a drink in an attempt to clear his thoughts. He didn’t want to think about what had happened earlier. He didn’t want to dwell on what may or may not befall the King. Clearly no one else was worried about it anyway. “So anyone can come here? Commoners and nobility alike?”