Morning came. A deep blue poured into the sky, seeping into the heavens. There it soaked the stars, until they mixed and disappeared within the rising light, like salt grains in water. The Sun itself was blocked by the walls of the city, and as Heror awoke, he was greeted by the eastern wall outside his window, encased by an amber glow.
Heror walked out into the foyer and found Ucankacei sitting at the table, slowly chipping away at a piece of stale bread. Heror stopped, and for a moment, the two stared at one another.
“Heror,” Ucankacei started, regret in his voice. “I’m sorry for my words yesterday. I just…”
“Do you think we have time for a quick lesson?” Heror asked. “Before the inspection?”
Ucankacei thought for a moment, then gave Heror a small smile.
They met in the light of dawn outside the lodging house. Ucankacei had his dented sword sheathed, and in his right hand, he held out Heror’s sword for him to take. Heror took it, and Ucankacei spoke.
“Today, we’ll do a quicker lesson,” the old man said. “More of an introduction, if you will. You’ve picked up most of the mechanical aspects of sword fighting. You have a strong base, quick reflexes, and an excellent awareness of positioning. Now, it’s time to begin expanding on that foundation.”
Ucankacei unsheathed his sword, but as he did so, the dented region snagged on the sheath. Ucankacei grumbled and tugged at it for a moment, and soon enough, it came free. He then entered his ready position. Heror matched, setting his base.
“I am going to come at you with a high strike,” Ucankacei explained. “Defend yourself as I have taught you.”
At that moment, Ucankacei pulled up his sword with both hands, raising it above his head. Heror adjusted his footwork, falling back with his dominant foot and leaning into the parry as he too raised his sword. Ucankacei started to swing forward, but before their swords made contact, the old man diverted course and let loose a quick kick to Heror’s gut. Heror winced and stumbled slightly, and now Ucankacei quickly swung his sword around and held it to Heror’s neck.
“What, a kick?” Heror scoffed. “That’s what we’re learning?”
“Not entirely,” Ucankacei said, lowering his sword with a smirk. “The kick is a physical representation of another necessary element of swordcraft: Deception.”
“But did you actually have to kick me?” Heror complained, holding his rib.
“Yes!” Ucankacei replied a bit too excitedly. “Now that you have experienced the kick, you know how debilitating it, or something like it, can be to an opponent. How did you know I was going to attack with a high strike?”
“You told me,” Heror muttered.
“No, I mean, in an actual combat situation, how would you know? What is the indicator?”
“The arms are rising,” Heror replied through a sigh.
“Yes!” Ucankacei exclaimed. “And to match, you too raised your sword in a bar position, to absorb the blow. But you see, I never intended to strike high. My main intent was to deceive you with a false indicator. I got you to open up your torso, and I capitalized on the situation. By doing so, I was able to get you off-balance and gain an advantage. Swordcraft, in its most fundamental form, is manipulation of a constantly changing environment. Be aware of what responses your actions elicit as a swordsman, and be prepared to divert course with quickness. Being unpredictable is what separates the beginner from the adept.”
Ucankacei returned to his ready position.
“You try the same combination,” he told Heror. “I will react as an unsuspecting opponent.”
Heror nodded and gripped his sword handle with both hands. He stepped forward into his attack and raised his hands, and Ucankacei responded accordingly, preparing for a block. As soon as the old man raised his sword, Heror rotated and let forth a powerful kick to Ucankacei’s ribcage. Ucankacei let out a grunt and chuckled, holding his side.
“Much more nimble than mine,” he joked. “And more forceful. But most importantly, you hit the mark. A natural!”
Heror lowered his sword, and Ucankacei stretched out his side.
“Positioning is very important when you attempt this maneuver,” he cautioned. “If you’re not close enough to your opponent, you’ll get caught lurching, and your intentions may backfire.”
“What other moves are there?” Heror asked, starting to grow curious.
“Well, we don’t have time to go through them all,” Ucankacei answered. “But I love your enthusiasm! There are dozens of combinations you can use. The key is being in control of your motions, and being aware of your indicators. You have to be adaptable at a second’s notice. Only the best swordsmen have the attention to detail and reaction quickness necessary to capitalize on moments of opportunity. You have the capability and the quickness. Now, I must instill in you the level of attentiveness. One more move before we depart.”
Ucankacei raised his sword again, and Heror matched, his fingers gripping the hilt. Ucankacei set his feet and nodded to the young man.
“This move is a bit more complicated. It is a feigned stab, leading into a spin and slash. The spin isn’t for show. The spin is the fastest transition from the stab to the slash. In fact, it is an extension of the slash itself, building momentum into the final blow. Like the slash, your rotation must be swift, sudden, and unanticipated. As you stab forward, your opponent will seek to guard his midsection. As he looks to defend himself, or prepare a counter, you spin to the left or right with suddenness, carrying your sword with you. Upon completing your rotation, you may levy a demobilizing blow to your opponent’s legs. I will demonstrate.”
“But you won’t actually slice my calves open, will you?” Heror jabbed with a slight grin.
“No,” Ucankacei said with a laugh. “No, not this time.”
Ucankacei readied his sword, and Heror set his feet to defend. Ucankacei pulled his weapon back, preparing his demonstration. However, at the height of his pull, he winced, dropped his sword, and held his side. Heror lowered his weapon and eyed the old man.
“You alright?”
Ucankacei let out a laugh and gave Heror a weak smile, which soon devolved into a sad, lifeless gaze.
“I’m just…” he said, trying to force a smile again. “Well, bones are like flowers. They grow and they wilt.”
“Maybe we should get you some sunlight,” Heror quipped, glancing to the east. “And a vase.”
“Ha! Perhaps,” Ucankacei chuckled tiredly. “Here, you perform the maneuver based on what I’ve told you. It’s alright if you don’t get it on the first attempt. The key is first becoming familiar with the motion. The rest will follow.”
Heror nodded and raised his sword again. He performed a slight hop-step before leading into his stab. Ucankacei lifted his sword to defend, and Heror approached the midsection. As Ucankacei held firm, Heror suddenly pulled his sword back and spun to the right, carrying his sword with him. He swung around and stopped his weapon inches from Ucankacei’s ankles. But by that point, Ucankacei had already lowered his sword to block the blow.
Heror eyed the old man and asked: “How was that?”
“Well, predictably a little slow – which is to be expected for someone just now picking it up,” Ucankacei critiqued. “You’ll want to be more brisk in the future. Some of that can be cleaned up with your footwork. Your stance was a little too wide entering the turn. You want your base to be strong, but when you’re attempting this move, you have to streamline your motions a bit. A base too wide creates more of a winding progression, which can key in your opponent on your actual intentions. As you saw, I was ready for it.”
“So what exactly should I change?” Heror asked.
“Quicken your feet,” Ucankacei said. “Condense your base – around shoulder width and no more. You are looking for maximum speed and efficiency on this maneuver. Again.”
Heror nodded and took a few steps back, returning to ready position. He waited for Ucankacei to return to his mark. Once Ucankacei was in position, Heror took a deep breath and tried again. He led with the stab and made his turn, his feet tracking close together as he whirled around, sword in tow. He reached the end quickly, but found that he was farther back than before. His sword fell harmlessly to the pebbles on the ground, a couple feet short of where Ucankacei stood.
“Positioning,” Ucankacei said immediately. “You timed your spin too early. Your feet were better this time. Next time, don’t spin until you’ve reached proper positioning and sold me on your intentions. Wait until the last possible moment. One more time.”
Heror nodded and turned back to his starting point. He waited a moment, running through Ucankacei’s advice in his head. Once he was comfortable, the young man nodded again and raised his sword. He let out one quick exhale before starting his advance. He brought his sword in for a stab, and quickened his approach. Ucankacei set his feet and raised his sword laterally, prepared to counter.
Heror held strong, appearing to proceed with the stab, but at the last second, just inches from Ucankacei, he abruptly swung his sword around and whirled to the right, bringing his blade around with his feet in one torrid motion. At the end of his spin, he brought his sword to the ground violently, right beside Ucankacei’s ankle, sending up a flurry of sparks with his strike. A half-second later – a half-second too late – Ucankacei’s sword came to meet it.
Heror looked up, and for a moment, his eyes met Ucankacei’s. Then, Ucankacei cracked a smile and started to laugh heartily, retracting his sword.
“Very good,” he concluded. “Immaculate, if I must say.”
Heror couldn’t help but smile. He stood up straight and sheathed his sword, and Ucankacei did the same, forcing the dented region past the sheath.
“Remember that rhythm,” Ucankacei advised. “But do not be afraid to stray from it. The worst thing a swordsman can become is predictable. Every opponent you face will be different. It’s up to you to discern what their weak points might be. Attack those points with speed and deception, and you’ll live to see another day.”
The young man nodded and gazed at the eastern wall again. The light was now pouring out from below the gate, and golden sunbeams streaked into the sky where the parent star would soon emerge. The heavens were now a brilliant orange. Houses began to stir.
Ucankacei eyed the lodging house, then turned to Heror.
“You should get Thaeolai,” he said. “She must’ve slept in.”
Heror entered the shack and stood in the foyer for a moment, listening for sounds beyond the walls. When he heard none, he made his way to Thaeolai’s room, creaking the door open only a sliver. He found Thaeolai still asleep, even as the young morning light reached the back wall of her quarters.
“Thae,” Heror said, his voice hoarse at first.
The girl did not stir. He knelt down beside her and ran a hand over her forehead, brushing aside a few stray blonde hairs.
“Thae.”
Thaeolai took a deep breath and rolled onto her back, still half asleep.
“Thae,” Heror murmured. “You ready to go?”
“My head hurts,” Thaeolai muttered.
Heror sighed, then noticed that Thaeolai’s finger was twitching, ever so slightly. He put an arm around her as she sat up, her hair falling over her face again.
“Come on,” Heror told her. “We have to get to the Jeweled City.”
“I need my fix,” Thaeolai grumbled, her voice slurred.
“No, come on,” Heror said again, trying to help her up. “We need to move.”
“Just let them take me to prison.”
Thaeolai squirmed out of Heror’s grip and crumbled back to the floor. Heror leaned against the wall, taking a deep breath.
“You said we should stick together,” he went on. “That’s what we’re going to do. Come on.”
“You didn’t want to,” Thaeolai murmured, turning onto her side, facing away from Heror. “You turned me away. You’re just going to leave the second you get the chance.”
“Thae, no… Thae.”
Heror shook Thaeolai’s shoulder, and Thaeolai rolled over, squinting at the sunlight as it shined in through the hallway.
“Thae, I’m not leaving, alright?” Heror promised. “You were right… it’s not… it’s not practical.”
Now Thaeolai sat up and looked at him, her tired eyes trying to read his expression through slats of blonde.
“I’m not leaving,” he said, clasping her hand.
Thaeolai stared at him. Her face did not change. Heror gave her one last nod.
“I’m not leaving. Now come on.”
Heror could tell she didn’t believe him. But nevertheless, she sighed and stood up slowly, her arms wobbling as she pushed herself off the wooden floor. Heror helped her, and soon, she was back on her feet. She brushed a few strands of hair out of her face and shielded her eyes from the sunlight.
“Where’s Ucankacei?” she muttered.
“He’s waiting outside,” Heror replied. “Let’s go.”
The three reconvened in the early morning light and set a course for the Crystal Tower. It was a long walk, first through the easternmost section of Cephragon. The mahallas stretched on for a few more miles, blocks upon blocks of decrepit shanties and down-ridden lodging houses with broken windows and caved-in doors.
From these houses, more and more people began to emerge, some men bidding good-bye to wives and children. Some dwellers sat outside their houses, their minds absent. Others huddled in small circles, talking amongst themselves in hushed voices. At one point, Heror spotted Destus, who smiled teethily and nodded to him from across the cobble street. Heror only offered him a glance as he walked past.
As they neared the next district, guards began to appear, making their way down to the other end of the mahallas to help move the conscripts along toward the Jeweled City. They were clad in the traditional Ardysan armor -- a golden-bronze breastplate and plackart bearing the Kingdom’s seal, with darker, lightweight pauldrons covering the shoulders. A similar lightweight bronze cuisse was worn on each thigh, along with golden greaves that linked to gold and silver boots, lamed at the shins. All this armor was linked by rich crimson linens, and each soldier donned a lightweight armet – a smooth, gilded helmet that featured a protective visor hinged at the height of each cheek.
“That’s what you’ll be wearing,” Ucankacei said, leaning toward Heror as two guards walked past. “More mobile than pure plate armor. Visor doesn’t hurt your peripheral vision. Still good protection. Much more efficient than what those Cuyochs wear over in Ghiovan. Honestly, I don’t know how they move around. Might as well be wearing suits of stone.”
They kept walking in the morning sunlight. The mansions of the affluent district grew closer on the horizon. Ucankacei went on.
“The cloths are significant,” the old man explained. “Color-coded based on rank. Garnet red for the infantrymen, who must shed blood to prove the value of their own. Green for the unit commanders who lead the infantrymen on the field and develop their skills. White for the captains who are proven in battle, and wear the blood of others on their robes. Royal blue for the generals, who dabble more in strategy. Aquamarine for the Royal Guard. And gold for the Kcirun himself. The Kcirun hasn’t set foot on the battlefield himself in ages, though. Not since… Tylei, the 17th, I think. Gods’ Blood, it’s been 2,500 years now. I wonder if it’ll happen again…”
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
They rounded a corner once they reached an area blocked by the outer wall. When they turned, they saw a pillared structure running across the length of the cobble road not far in the distance. At the structure, several more infantrymen stood waiting, checking citizens as they filtered into the affluent district.
“I was a greencloak, like my father,” Ucankacei reminisced. “Started as a redcloak, as they all do. Worked my way up to the Emerald ranks. Of course, battles were in short supply in my day. Most of our days were spent squashing bandit raids and militia rebellions. A few times, we were enlisted to help deal with pirate activity, off the bay. Always from Cuyasa, those pirates. That dung heap of a city. And the bay is so big, sometimes they could swipe ships without so much as a trace. But we’d take a boat across the border and sneak onto the Midan beaches. We’d make our way there and seize back our ships when they docked. They got clever sometimes. Waited out in the sea for days. Through storms and all. But we’d be waiting when they got there. Same as always. We had the numbers and the strength of arms. All that was left… was to wait. Sometimes we’d sit in the taverns for days, just sweetin’ on women and drinking mrus. Heh… half the fight was staying occupied. Lots of waiting…”
Above, a stray sheet of stratus drifted in from the west. As it tracked over the Sun, their shadows dimmed, cast ahead of them as they walked. In minutes, they reached the pillared structure, which served as a checkpoint for the guards. Beyond the pillars, Heror could see larger, more elaborate houses. They were almost to the affluent district.
Upon approach, two redcloak guards met the trio. The first one motioned to a large wooden box that sat on the ground in front of a pathway between the columns. The second carried a notepad of parchment bound by string, with dozens of tabs on each page. Inside the open box sat various weapons, mostly rusty daggers and swords.
“Malvae, good citizens,” the guard said. “It’s at this time that I ask you to place any weapons you might have in the collection box, as weapon transport is prohibited beyond this point. Do not worry; all weapons placed in the collection box will be marked with your name by my friend here. Upon your return to Cephragon, they will be given back to you. If you are given khilung assignments, weapons and armor forged and approved by the khilung will be provided to you. We’ll start with you, maes.”
The guard motioned to Thaeolai, and the girl stepped forward. After a moment of silence, and a glance back at Ucankacei, she turned around and gave the soldiers a small shrug.
“I don’t have any weapons.”
“We’ll see,” the guard muttered, nodding to a third guard. “Ryancilei.”
At that moment, the third guard approached Thaeolai and began to pat her down. Thaeolai shoved him away.
“Maes, please, it’s just part of our security procedure,” the first guard reasoned.
“I’m not comfortable with this,” Thaeolai growled.
“Then perhaps you’d prefer the brig,” the guard suggested. “Treason and resisting an officer. I shudder to think what might come of that.”
Thaeolai glared but said nothing. Heror stepped forward, but Ucankacei grabbed his arm and shook his head discreetly. After a moment, the guard nodded again to his comrade.
“Continue.”
The second guard returned to his work, patting down Thaeolai to her displeasure. After a few moments, he was finished, and came away with no weapons. Hugging her arms in defeat, Thaeolai stepped into the shadows of the pillared structure, and the guard turned his attention to the next in line.
“Next.”
Heror glanced at Ucankacei, who motioned for him to go first. Heror stepped forward, his blood still pulsing. He lifted his sword and tossed it into the collection box, then remarked: “Need anything else, ghyyllos?”
“May I first remind you that you’re speaking to an officer of the Ardysan army,” the first guard cautioned. “Please watch your tone and your language. And yes, your name, please, so we can mark your weapon.”
“Heror.”
“Heror,” the guard echoed, motioning to the second guard, who now wrote the name down on a tag and tied it to his weapon. “Doesn’t sound like an elvish name. Then again, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”
Heror glared, his nostrils fuming.
“Almost done, maesas,” the guard continued. “Search him.”
The second guard approached again and started to pat down Heror, beginning with the shoulders and working his way down the torso. Around Heror’s midsection, the guard stopped, his fingers clasping around the outline of Heror’s family cloth. The guard started to pull the cloth from Heror’s garb, but Heror gripped the other end, and for a moment, the two struggled for the item. The first guard started to unsheathe his sword, but Ucankacei stepped forward, placing his hand on the boy’s shoulder.
“Heror, it’s alright, let it go…”
Reluctantly, Heror released his grip on the cloth. The second guard pulled the cloth from Heror’s garb and started to unroll it.
“Any weapon?” the first guard asked, stepping forward.
“No,” the second guard replied, letting the cloth flutter in the wind. “It’s empty.”
The first guard swiped the cloth from his comrade’s grasp and observed it, his eyes running over the intricate stitching.
“‘Heran’,” he read off the cloth. “Sounds Pylanthean. Wait a minute…”
The guard looked up at Heror, then back down at the cloth.
“We heard about some half-breed who ate shit over at the docks the other day,” he said, starting to chuckle to himself. “That was you, wasn’t it?”
Heror glared and said nothing. The guard laughed quietly to himself and rolled the cloth back up. He tossed it to the second guard, who then handed it to Heror.
“Taking iron to the gut out at the border should suit you better,” the guard jabbed, his eyes darkening. “You’re cleared to proceed.”
Heror said nothing, grinding his teeth as he stepped into the shadows and joined Thaeolai. Now Ucankacei took his turn at the checkpoint. He handed his dented sword to the guard, who then asked for a name. Upon providing it, Ucankacei was patted down and subsequently cleared to proceed. He joined Heror and Thaeolai, and they walked through the shaded area.
“You didn’t say anything,” Heror lamented to Ucankacei as they walked. “You should’ve said something.”
“It wouldn’t have solved anything,” Ucankacei replied dismissively.
It wasn’t long before they emerged on the other side of the checkpoint, greeted by guards who nodded them forward. Past the checkpoint, they were surrounded by lavish landscaping and stonework on either side as they walked. The cobblestone path, once mangled with dirt and grime, was pristine and well-kept. Not far in the distance, the central Crystal Tower loomed over the city streets, closer than it had ever been.
“The sahiris,” Ucankacei said to himself as he eyed the marble mansions. “My, this place certainly is a beauty.”
“All that loyalty, and you still didn’t deserve a house like this,” Heror grumbled.
Ucankacei ignored the young man. They carried on through the affluent district, slowly making their way through the wide, circular cobble road that seemed to orbit the Crystal Tower. On either side, stone and marble fencing protected mansion lawns from trespassers. Some houses had grand entryways and polished marble steps leading to ornate doors, while others hid beyond spectacular golden gates, past yards of fountains and flowers – all of it shimmering in the climbing sunlight.
The streets of the affluent district were surprisingly quiet. Where families had begun to gather and say their goodbyes in the mahallas, the streets of the sahiris were eerily empty. Even the guard presence was light beyond the checkpoint. Every so often, pairs of soldiers strolled past. As quickly as they appeared, however, they were gone, and the street was silent again. The only sound was that of the cobbles, which crackled ever so lightly under the travelers’ feet.
“Wonder where everyone is,” Ucankacei commented, breaking the silence.
“These ones probably didn’t get called to battle,” Heror theorized.
“No,” Ucankacei scoffed, shaking his head. “They’re probably already at the Crystal Tower. Not as long of a walk from these parts.”
They kept walking, but before long, Thaeolai slowed and came to a stop. Heror glanced over his shoulder to see Thaeolai staring at one house in particular: A mid-sized mansion with a small white marble staircase leading to a smooth stone porch and an intricate wooden door. On the door, he saw a family seal carved into the woodwork – a dove and a feather – and recognized it as Thaeolai’s family seal, one she’d told him about long ago.
By now, Ucankacei had stopped as well. Thaeolai remained frozen, her eyes fixed on the house’s entryway.
“Thaeolai, we should keep moving,” Ucankacei advised.
Thaeolai didn’t answer. She started to take a step forward toward the door, when Heror grabbed her arm and stopped her. His eyes met hers, and he shook his head and went on his way. Thaeolai gave the door one last glance, then followed, and they carried on to the Tower.
It took them around fifteen more minutes to traverse the affluent district. Once they reached the other side, they were greeted by a great gate on the eastern edge of the road. Beyond that gate, they could see a grand courtyard, and a wide, ornate gemstone staircase that led to the central Crystal Tower.
In front of the gate, commoners from the mahallas had already begun to cluster, held back by a trio of guards that stood blocking the metalwork. Heror, Ucankacei, and Thaeolai stopped at the rear of the group, standing in the morning sunlight as they waited to be let into the concourse.
“In all my years, I never thought I’d enter the Crystal Tower,” Ucankacei started. “They say the central tower stands 500 feet, and the other two towers stand at 300 each. The Kcirun resides at the very top of the central tower, with the Kci Talon and his most trusted military and political advisors. There’s supposed to be a lift inside that takes you up through the levels – a true marvel of engineering. All of it encrusted in the finest aquamarine gemstone – sapherald from the swampland mines of the south. It took over a century to build, over three millennia ago. There’s a monument to Ghisei, the 9th King, in the courtyard. He was the one who put construction in motion, I think… it’s certainly a wonder.”
Heror wasn’t impressed. He stood silently as several more men and women began to file in behind them, forming a line that stretched into the road. After a few minutes of hushed conversation and patient waiting, a guard ran down the steps and approached the gate. He whispered something to the center guard beyond the gate, then turned and hurried back up the steps. The center guard turned to the crowd, stepped forward, and raised his voice.
“Attention!” the soldier exclaimed. “We will now be taking groups up to the Crystal Tower for inspection! In the Great Hall, there will be a checkpoint where those conscripted for combat and those conscripted for keawalatuu will be separated. At this time, the gate will now open for the first group. Please watch your step as you make your way up the staircase.”
At that moment, the other two guards turned and pushed open the gates, opening the path to the Crystal Tower’s courtyard. In silence, the first commoners proceeded onto the smooth stone walkway. As the group went, so did the three. Ucankacei led the way, eyes showing no expression but awe, while Heror and Thaeolai lingered behind him. Once they were through, Heror heard the gates close. They shut with a metallic chatter, and as they did, Heror made his way to the staircase.
On either side, Heror was surrounded by elegant lawn decor. Grand fountains made of ribbed stone and marble ran, spewing intricate patterns of water into the air, through gilded statuettes of past Kings. Beyond those foundations, dozens of ancient trees lined the outer expanse of the courtyard – thick, brown tributary roots stretching into the fountain pools, flowering at the edges of the water with colors of pink and blue and orange. Along the walkway, and at the base of the stairs, Ardysan guards lined the edges, stoic and silent as the conscripts made their way to the palace.
Before long, Heror reached the staircase. There were only a dozen steps, but it was enough to lift the group up to an elevated walkway. This led to the main palace platform, a polished stone entryway inside a great domed rotunda, with reliefs of ancient Ardysan history carved into the curved ceilings above. Once underneath the rotunda’s cover, the guards stopped, and the group halted behind them. The center guard then turned around again, and motioned to two walkways branching off from either side of the chamber.
“We’ve reached the entryway,” the guard proclaimed. “It is here that two groups will divert and proceed to their specific inspections. Combat conscriptions, please proceed down the pathway to your left. Practitioners of keawalatuu, please proceed down the pathway to your right. From there, you will undergo inspections and be given further instructions regarding your pending assignments.”
Thaeolai started down the pathway to the right, shooting one last glance to Heror before she disappeared among the other subjects. Heror turned and followed Ucankacei to the pathway on the left. In a group of about two dozen, they made their way into a columned hallway, stone arches on the left channeling in calm gusts of wind from outside.
The pathway led to a cylindrical end structure with an ornate wooden door. A guard opened the door and stood aside, allowing the group to enter. Upon entering the structure, the group followed a spiral staircase up to the second level, where another short hall led to an open circular chamber, with long windows that stretched from floor to ceiling every few feet. At the center of the domed ceiling was a large skylight, sending in morning rays that cast across the walls.
At first, the design of the room took Heror’s attention. It wasn’t long before his eyes fell to the floor, however. There, he saw a long, delicately-crafted wooden table with gold inlets, at which four Ardysan officials sat. Remembering what Ucankacei said about the robe colors earlier, Heror saw two greencloaks, and two bluecloaks. They sat in silence, watching the subjects as they entered the room and spread out by the entryway.
“Please form a single-file line,” a redcloak by the door instructed. “Parallel to the table.”
The subjects did as they were told, organizing into a line that stretched from wall to wall. Heror and Ucankacei stood near the far end of the line, with only two others between them and the side window.
As the subjects settled into their places, the room fell silent. A redcloak walked to the table, and as he did so, a bluecloak motioned for him to approach. The bluecloak whispered something into the redcloak’s ear, and the redcloak nodded, turning back to the group.
“Inspections will begin now,” the redcloak declared. “We’ll start with this end.”
The redcloak pointed to the end opposite from Heror and Ucankacei, and the first commoner stepped forward. He was a thin, emaciated figure with a shaggy beard, dirty clothing, and a twitch in his eye. The officials viewed the man from behind the table for several seconds. Then, after a moment, one of the bluecloaks picked up an ink quill and prepared a sheet of parchment. He looked at the man.
“Name,” the bluecloak requested.
“Kulaimolei,” the man said, his voice hoarse and weak.
The bluecloak began writing on the parchment. Heror leaned over to Ucankacei, his voice no more than a whisper.
“Front line,” Heror guessed.
“Don’t be so sure,” Ucankacei whispered back.
After a few more seconds of silence, the bluecloak stopped writing and glanced up at the first subject.
“Nihlukei’s guard,” the bluecloak concluded.
The disheveled subject snapped, and he started to shout, his voice rising and falling erratically. A redcloak rushed over and grabbed his arm, and as the subject was tugged away, he continued to wail, lamenting his impending doom.
Another redcloak grabbed his free arm, and the two soldiers dragged him back through the entryway, to the spiral staircase. His voice faded as he went, until it was only an echo. Heror glanced at Ucankacei. Once the subject was gone, the bluecloak cleared his throat and motioned for the next subject to step forward.
“Next,” he muttered.
The next commoner was more solidly built. He was a tall Opelite with long blonde hair, a thin, patchy beard, and a square jaw. He stood still as he faced inspection, and soon, the officials at the table were whispering to one another in hushed voices. After a short moment of deliberation, the penned bluecloak turned his attention to the subject.
“Name?”
“Amantulei.”
“Amantulei,” the bluecloak repeated. “You’ll be assigned to Shinuei’s guard. Next.”
Another redcloak approached Amantulei and led him away, more peacefully this time. Now Ucankacei leaned toward Heror.
“Shinuei is a very prestigious commander,” the old man whispered. “Surprising.”
The officials made their way down the line. As the minutes went by, more and more commoners were led away by redcloaks after receiving their assignments. Heror noticed that most of the subjects had been assigned to two units -- Nihlukei’s guard and Tralics’ guard. Heror assumed that these were the front line units. Most of the subjects were frail and famished, and those that weren’t were dirty and unbecoming of Ardysan appearance. It seemed to be nothing more than an eye test, and few had succeeded.
Before long, the judges reached Ucankacei. The old man stepped forward in silence, and the officials began to evaluate. After a moment, Ucankacei cleared his throat.
“I have khilung experience as a commanding officer if…”
“Do not speak unless spoken to,” the bluecloak interrupted.
“My apologies,” Ucankacei said, his voice shrinking.
The officials stared at the old man, with no conversation between them. And then the bluecloak whispered a quick word to his adjacent and turned back to the parchment.
“Name,” he requested.
“Ucankacei.”
“Ucankacei,” the bluecloak echoed. “Tralics’ guard.”
Ucankacei nodded, his face uneasy. At that moment, a redcloak approached Ucankacei from the corner of the room and motioned for him to exit. The old man did as he was told, and soon, Heror was one of just three subjects left. He took a deep breath as silence settled in. Then the bluecloak spoke again.
“Next,” he demanded.
Now Heror stepped forward. His Pylanthean blood, combined with years of hard labor, had hardened him. He was stronger and more physically fit than most of the subjects, and as he stood, the officials seemed to reach the same conclusion. They quickly began deliberations, whispering amongst themselves. The whispering carried on for longer than usual. Heror tried to listen in, but the voices were hushed, and the officials were turned away, leaning in toward one another. A minute passed, and finally, they turned back toward the young man. The bluecloak picked up his quill and dipped it in the ink canister.
“Name?”
“Heror.”
The bluecloak began writing, and as he did so, with half a thought, he brought forth Heror’s assignment.
“Nihlukei’s guard.”
Heror remained silent, a lump forming in his throat. A redcloak approached him and gestured for him to lead the way to the staircase. At first, Heror did not move – staring down the bluecloak who only intended to send him to his death. The redcloak soon grabbed Heror’s arm, and the young man snapped out of his angered trance. He followed the redcloak to the spiral staircase, down the steps, and into the open passage. An overcast crept in from the north. The winds began to change.