Draven

The next day, the first thing she did was descend the staircase to the first floor in hopes of finding any hints as to where Asher could be, and if he was in the army encampment that sprawled on the fields beside the castle.

The day was colder than the previous one, so Jorlin changed into one of the dresses in the wardrobe. It was made out of thick, green fabric, and kept the worst of the chill out of her bones. The sun had risen by the time she exited her room and briskly descended the stairs.

The first floor was busy, as usual. The main hearth was crowded with nobles and knights trying to keep warm, but Jorlin was used to the cold. Back in Auld Town she would have to make due with much less than what the people at the castle had. She decided to start by talking to the people gathered around the fire.

“Excuse me,” she tried to say to a well-dressed man, “but-…”

The man acted like he never heard her, and walked off, leaving Jorlin agitated. Being polite was hard enough, and being ignored only added to her indignation.

“You’re wasting your time, lass,” said a knight to her right, who was sitting on a low stool picking at a bowl of gruel. He wore chainmail with a tattered purple cloth belted over it, muddy boots, gloves, and bracers. “They’ll never listen to ya. Too full of themselves.”

Jorlin took a step closer to him and saw that instead of a right eye there was an empty socket. His face was worn and wrinkled, and he had gray streaks in his long black hair.

“Then I hope you’ll listen to me,” she replied, crossing her arms.

He looked up at her and raised his eyebrows.

“Have you heard of anyone named Asher?” she asked. It was probably a hopeless question.

“Can’t say I have,” the knight replied, stirring his gruel around with his spoon. He studied her for a moment, his solitary eye grazing over her face. “You’re Clovis’s niece, ain’t ya?”

She sighed. That’s all people knew her as. “Aye, but I wish I wasn’t.”

A slight smile cracked his weathered face. “You don’t want to be here, eh?”

“How could you tell?” she asked sarcastically.

“None of the serfs do,” he replied.

“You know I’m a serf?”

“Lass, things get around here much faster than they ever could in your little town,” the knight answered, finally taking a bite of the gruel.

“My ‘little town’ is barely still alive, thanks to the way things are going up here in this backwards castle,” she snapped.

“I got nothin’ against your town,” he said, a sharp tone in his voice, “but if you’re ever going to live here, in this ‘backwards castle,’ then I suggest you start showing more respect. Else

someone with a worse temper than me is going to do something about it.”

Jorlin’s mouth pressed into a hard line, anger flaring up in her chest. He was right.

He leaned back, visibly relaxing, then asked, “So, Asher? He’s your friend?”

“Yes.”

“Is he here?” he asked.

“…I don’t know,” she answered. “He was drafted. I thought he might be here.”

“If you’re going to have any hope of finding him, then you’d best talk to Slater. He tends to know about new recruits. I’d watch out, though. He’s got a hot temper.”

“You have no idea,” she muttered. “Thanks for the help, by the way.”

The knight nodded. “Name’s Willan. Call me Will.”

“Jorlin,” she replied before she strayed away from the small crowd gathered around the hearth.

Both Ancis and Willan had suggested that she speak to Slater. Since it was her only lead to go on, she spent the next half hour trying to find him. The more she walked, the more she realized that she was looking forward to encountering him once again; this was an opportunity to finally get revenge, or at least show him that she wasn’t a coward.

At last, she spotted him in the hall adjacent to the main one, speaking harshly to a soldier. Jorlin took a deep breath to ready herself, then strode confidently in his direction. Now she could finally do and say the things she had planned on sleepless nights. When Slater saw her, he muttered something to the soldier, who quickly scurried away.

He grinned at her when she stopped about a pace away from him. “Did you enjoy the show yesterday?” he asked, his voice surprisingly natural.

Suddenly, the words that she had said to Tholan the day before rang in her head, “If I ever see Slater again, I promise I’ll punch him in the face.”

I am a woman of my word, she thought, her hand already balling up into a fist.

Jorlin stepped forward as she hurtled her arm in his direction, and her fist crashed into the side of his face. The rage and hatred that had been festering in her heart made the punch even more powerful, and his head jerked to the side. When he turned his face back to her, his expression was blank, and he was still smirking haughtily. As she glanced around, Jorlin saw that the room was empty. Punching him had felt so good. She did it again, this time in his nose, and again in an uppercut aimed at his jaw. Then, panting, she lowered her arms.

“Shall I stand here all day?” he asked calmly, appearing almost amused. Blood trickled down from his nose, and he flicked out his tongue to lick it off his upper lip.

“I didn’t come here to simply hit you,” she replied.

“Oh?” he asked, his face static. “I must have been mistaken.”

“I came to negotiate.”

“If you want something from someone, punching them in the face won’t make them partial to your request,” he replied smoothly.

Jorlin managed to keep her temper under control as she said, “I need information.” Slater didn’t respond, so she added, “I need to know where Asher is. And where Tholan is.”

A crooked smile cracked his face, and he chuckled, “Of course I know where they are, serf.”

Hope made her heart soar. Now she could save Asher, and Tholan as well. She had a chance to fix everything, and perhaps return things to the way they were before.

“But what makes you think I would ever tell you?”

Her hope shattered like shards of glass.

“Do you really think you’re the first to ask me this?” He made his voice mockingly whiny as he said, “To beg me to let you see your precious beloved one last time, like a starving dog begging for table scraps?” He laughed and shook his head. “You serfs are all the same. No wonder that you never leave the same dirt you’re born into.”

Grief and rage mingled together as her hands shook. The worst part was that he was right.

He glanced down at her fists. “Oh, are you going to punch me again? Maybe if you hit me enough times, then I’ll be inclined to humor your plea.” He licked the blood trickling from his nose off his lip again.

She became even more frustrated when she realized there was no way for her to not seem foolish. If she hit him again, then he won. If she walked away, then he won too.

Fuming, she turned on her heel and marched away, muttering a string of curses under her breath. If she was ever going to find Asher or Tholan, it wouldn’t be through him. She thought she heard him chuckle behind her, or maybe it was her imagination.

Jorlin grabbed something to sate her hunger from the kitchen, then spent the next few hours inquiring the whereabouts of Asher and Tholan. Nobody had heard of either of them. The most information she received was that they may be in the Decaster camp nearby, or already fighting in skirmishes. When at last she decided to give up the search for the day, she acquired her supper and brought it with her to the main hearth on the first floor. The food was bland, but it wasn’t any worse than what she was used to eating. No nobles seemed to be around since the fire had a few lowerclassmen as well as a few soldiers sitting around it, all eating their dinner thoughtfully. The nobles were probably eating in the dining hall.

“Jorlin!” came a familiar voice form behind her. She turned and saw Ancis walk over to sit cross-legged beside her. “Where have you been all day?”
“Around the castle looking for my two friends,” she answered. “Why?”

“I was looking for you, obviously,” the page replied, sipping the bowl of stew he held in his small hands. “You’re not bad company. That is, you’re better company than the other pages.”

Jorlin was too tired and disappointed to muster up the strength to carry on a conversation with him, so she didn’t reply.

“By the way, I came to tell you something important.” Ancis lowered his voice and leaned closer to her when he added, “I’ve overheard Slater saying some things about you.”

“Big deal,” she responded, annoyed. “He probably always complains about me.”

“No,” Ancis argued. “It’s different than that. Slater’s actively trying to come up with ways to get rid of you. Permanently.”

“I’m listening.”

“You’re a nuisance to him, and, if you want my opinion, a threat.”

“A threat?” she asked.

He nodded. “He’s obsessed with control, if you haven’t already noticed. He feels threatened by you, I think. But anyways, who knows what he’s gonna do next?”

“Send me back to Auld Town?” she guessed. “In that case, I might as well keep going the way I am.”
“No, he knows that’s what you want. Something else. Something subtle, to keep you under control,” the page said.

“I’m not even that big of a deal. It’s probably nothing. No one hardly ever notices me, anyhow. Besides, Slater has enough problems to worry about. I’ll be fine,” Jorlin replied.

“You don’t understand!” Ancis exclaimed.

Jorlin finally looked at him.

“You don’t know him like I do. If you’re in his way, then he’s going to do anything in his power to get rid of you.”

Jorlin suddenly remembered the flames that ate her and Tholan’s homes. The images flashed through her head, blinding her for a few seconds.

“Jorlin?” came Ancis’s voice. Reality came back into focus, as well as his round face. “Jorlin, are you alright?”

She blinked several times; she could’ve sworn her eyes were stinging from smoke. Finally, the words, “Aye,” came out.

“Anyways,” the page continued, “If you want to solve this problem, then you’ve got to do one of two things: either intimidate him to make him back away, or lay low until he leaves you alone. My money’s on the second; it’s unlikely for him to back down from anyone, especially you.”

“I won’t do either,” she replied, still shaken.

“Then you’re doomed.”

“Then what would you have me do?” Jorlin snapped.

The page sat pensive for a moment, then he said, “I think Slater knows where both of your friends are. I think he and Clovis are keeping it from you to keep you here at the castle.”
“Why would they care? Why would they want me to stay?”

He shrugged. “Beats me. My advice is that you’d better stick around until you find out.”
“How can I simply ‘find out’? Nothing is that easy.”

The page shrugged again.

Several silent minutes slowly slid by.

“Who’s Draven?” Jorlin asked suddenly.

Ancis looked up at her, seeming confused. “He’s a knight, knighted earlier this year. He’s been through several battles, though sometimes he spies on the Mauntells from time to time.”

“You know him?” she asked.

“He used to be a squire under Slater,” he replied. “Why do you ask?”

Jorlin paused for a moment before answering. “I saw him snooping around someone else’s room when I was looking for mine. His actions were suspicious.”

“What was he doing?”

“Rummaging through the cabinet, looking at papers,” she replied. “And he seemed angry when I walked in. He claimed he was running an errand for General Caine, whoever that is.”

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Ancis said. “But I’m sure he had a good reason. He’s a bit broody, but he’s good at heart.”

Jorlin wasn’t convinced.

“By the way,” he added, “have you noticed more nobles around than usual?”

She surveyed the room, and replied, “Aye. Why do you ask?”

“There’s supposed to be a dance tonight,” answered Ancis casually.

“In that case, I’ll be sure to stay in my quarters,” said Jorlin.

“You do realize that Clovis will make you attend?”

“What?” she retorted. “That’s unfair! I can do as I wish!”

“Look, Jorlin,” Ancis said, somewhat forcefully, “if you don’t come, then I guarantee that Clovis will see to it that you do. He’s obsessed with possessing objects, and that’s what you are to him. He wants to display you in front of the whole castle.”

She looked down, the truth in Ancis’s words sinking in. It was hard for her not to let it get underneath her skin.

He let out an frustrated sigh. “Sorry.”

She shrugged.

“Anyway, if you come, then I could sneak us outside so we don’t have to be around all of the vexing people,” he suggested.

Jorlin thought his proposal over. She didn’t have much of a choice either way. “What time should I be downstairs?”

“Dinnertime,” Ancis answered.

“I’ll be there.”

From the third floor, Jorlin could already hear the chatter coming from two floors below. She was already dreading having to be around all those people. It sounded like a henhouse.

She hesitated at the top of the stairwell, her right hand resting on the wall. She had put

up her hair as best she knew how, and from the wardrobe she had chosen a dark green, fur-trimmed dress to wear. It was long enough so that she could still wear her boots underneath.

Eventually she made herself pick up her dress and descend the stairs .

The music made by a group of musicians was mostly drowned out by the chatter, and when Jorlin entered the main hall, her senses were overwhelmed. The sea of faces bobbed, and her eyes darted around, searching for a familiar face. The one that stood out undeniably belonged to Draven, and he glanced around warily before weaving his way through the ocean of people to the other side of the room. He was up to something, and Jorlin wanted to find out what.

“Jorlin!” It was Ancis, his voice reaching her a little before he could. He looked nervous and concerned at the same time when he asked, “What are you wearing? A green dress?”

She looked down, confused. “Aye?”

“Why would you do that? We’re at war. With the Mauntells. Their heraldry is green.”

She rolled her eyes. That was her last concern at the moment.

“Want to go outside now?” he asked, glancing around.

She shook her head. “Not now. I’m on to something. I’ll meet you back here later.”
“Sure,” he replied, then disappeared into the crowd again.

Without sparing a minute, she tried to follow the back of Draven’s head as he made his way towards the open door that led to an adjacent hall. He was holding something in his hand, and he certainly wasn’t dressed for the dance, as he was wearing rugged armor. She received odd glances as she hurriedly nudged people out of her way, trying to keep Draven in sight.

When she finally entered the smaller, mostly empty hall, her eyes immediately were drawn to Draven, who was standing before a skinny, shorter man. Draven handed him the roll of paper and an envelope he had been holding, but the exchange was too quick for Jorlin to see the seal on it.

“Get this to him as soon as possible,” Draven murmured to the man, still unaware of Jorlin’s presence. “It’d better get there soon.”

The skinny man placed the papers in a bag around his shoulder and nodded timidly. She couldn’t blame him for being intimidated by Draven; he had a harsh face, the side of his strong jaw marred by a gnarled scar, and his broad-chested figure gave him a naturally aggressive air. Jorlin realized the other man was a courier. He was wearing a heavy fur cloak that concealed the top of his bag.

When Jorlin made a move to step closer, Draven turned to face her. This time, the lock of hair that had concealed his left eye was to the side, revealing a scar that ran over his cloudy white eye. His mouth was a hard line as he glared at her, clenching his jaw.

“What are you doing here?” Draven demanded.

She almost smirked; he was terrible at being discrete. “Am I confined to only the main hall?” she asked.

“Mind your own business,” he snapped. Turning to the courier, he said, “Go.”

The man jumped somewhat, startled at Draven’s sharp tone, and part of his cloak fell away to reveal the top of his bag, which had a bear embroidered on it, bordered by some sort of

plant. She didn’t have enough time to discern which it was. He quickly covered it again, then scurried away out the door towards the entrance of the castle. Draven turned to look at her once more, his expression still mostly unreadable. Then he turned and strode away.

So many questions piled up into impossibly tall stacks in her brain. She needed to find Ancis.

Several minutes later, after she had returned to her original place in the main hall, Ancis was already there, waiting.

“What were you up to?” the page asked, raising an eyebrow.

“What’s the Mauntell coat of arms?” she asked, not bothering to answer his question.

He appeared quizzical, but he replied, “Green, with a bear and thistles. Why?”

Her eyebrows pressed together, and her gaze moved to the floor.

“Jorlin?”

“I can’t tell you now, not here,” she said.

“Now you’re making me nervous,” said Ancis. “Let’s go outside.”

She followed him out of the hall, through a couple corridors, and finally through the large doors of the keep itself. The guards didn’t pay them much notice. The evening was warmer than usual, as Jorlin’s ears and nose didn’t become numb. Purple banners placed on the battlements rippled in the breeze, and circles of light made by the torches the guards carried floated around the courtyard. Brown leaves laying on the yellowing grass rode the wind as it swept up, tossing both Jorlin and Ancis’s hair. They sat on two barrels by the vacant forge.

“Now, what is it?” Ancis asked.

She took a breath, then answered, “I think Draven’s a Mauntell.”

He laughed. “Of course he is.”

Even more questions, now. “What?”

“I mean to say, he’s a Mauntell by blood,” added Ancis. “He and his family moved to Decaster Manor from Mauntell Manor some years ago, before I was a page. He’s a Decaster soldier now, though, through and through.”

“But…” Her voice trailed off.

He cocked an eyebrow.

“I saw him handing papers to a Mauntell courier.”

“How do you know the courier was a Mauntell?”

“He had the Mauntell coat of arms sewn into the top of his bag,” she replied.

“Ah, he was probably sending letters to his extended family.”

“No, no it wasn’t that, I’m sure of it,” Jorlin said. “He always acts so… suspiciously. What if he’s secretly working for the Mauntell military? And he’s spying on us?”

Ancis shrugged, shaking his head. “I highly doubt that.”

For a long time, Jorlin stared at the half moon in the sky, its light glinting off the armor of the soldiers. Ancis picked at the splinters in the wood of the barrel he was sitting on.

“Earlier,” Jorlin began, “you said that there’s a reason Clovis and Slater are keeping me here, and that they won’t tell me where Asher or Tholan are because they don’t want

me to leave.”

“Yeah?”

“If I found out what that reason is, do you think I’d also be able to find out where they are?” she asked.

“I don’t have any idea,” replied Ancis.

“Don’t you have a proposal for how I can find out?”

He shook his head. “I’ll keep watching for an opportunity. In the meantime, you ought to just try to keep your head out of trouble. That especially means keeping out of Slater’s way.”

A smile cracked on her face. “I’ll try.” She turned to look out at the hill beside the castle, the campfires of the army blinking as soldiers walked past. “When is the army going to leave?” she asked.

“There’s been talk of a final siege on Mauntell Castle, but I’m not sure if that’s true or not.”

“Why can’t they stay in the castle, or in the barracks? It’s cold.”

“There isn’t enough room,” answered Ancis.

Asher might be out there, she thought. And Tholan too.

“I’m going out there tomorrow morning,” she said. “I’m going to look for my friends. They might be in the camp.”

“Good luck,” he snorted.

“What’s so funny?”

“It’s nigh impossible to find someone in a camp. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

She decided it would be best if she didn’t ask him what he was referencing. He’d probably lost someone before, perhaps more than once.

Jorlin inhaled deeply and expelled a premature breath, the warm air billowing out in the cold. It tumbled in the air for a few moments before dissipating into nothing.