The Skandian Ranger

Choosing PT1

"ALL RIGHT, CANDIDATES! THIS WAY! AND LOOK LIVELY!"

The  speaker,  or  more  correctly  the  shouter,  was  Martin,  secretary  to Baron Arald. As his voice echoed around the anteroom, the six wards rose
uncertainly  from  the  long  wooden  benches  where  they  had  been  seated. Suddenly  nervous  now  that  the  day  had  finally  arrived,  they  began  to
shuffle  forward,  each  one  reluctant  to  be  the  first  through  the  great ironbound door that Martin now held open for them.

"Come on, come on!" Martin bellowed impatiently. Alyss finally elected to lead the way, as Will had guessed she would. The others followed the
willowy  blonde  girl.  Now  that  someone  had  decided  to  lead,  the  rest  of them were content to follow.
Stug looked around curiously as he entered the Baron's study. He'd never been  in  this  part  of  the  castle  before.  This  tower,  containing  the
administrative  section  and  the  Baron's  private  apartments,  was  seldom visited by those of low rank—such as castle wards. The room was huge.
The ceiling seemed to tower above him and the walls were constructed of massive stone blocks, fitted together with only the barest lines of  mortar
between them. On the eastern wall was a huge window space—open to the elements but with massive wooden shutters that could be closed in the event of bad weather. It was the same window he had seen through last night, he realized.  Today,  sunlight  streamed  in  and  fell  on  the  huge  oak  table  that Baron Arald used as a desk.

"Come  on  now!  Stand  in  line,  stand  in  line!"  Martin  seemed  to  be enjoying his moment of authority. The group shuffled slowly into line and
he studied them, his mouth twisted in disapproval.

"In size place! Tallest this end!" He indicated the end where he wanted the  tallest  of  the  five  to  stand.  Gradually,  the  group  rearranged  itself. Horace, of course, was the tallest. After him, Alyss took her position. Then George,  half  a  head  shorter  than  she  and  painfully  thin.  He  stood  in  his usual stoop-shouldered posture. Will, Stug and Jenny hesitated. Jenny smiled at Will and gestured for him to go before her after Stug, even though she was possibly an inch  taller  than  he  was.  That  was  typical  of  Jenny.  She  knew  how  Will agonized over the fact that he was the smallest of all the castle wards. As Will moved into the line, Martin's voice stopped him.

"No...It's blonde boy, the girl, THEN you!"

"Come  on!  Smarten  up,  smarten  up!  Let's  see  you  at  attention  there," Martin continued, then broke off as a deep voice interrupted him.

"I don't believe that's totally necessary, Martin."

It was Baron Arald, who had entered, unobserved, by way of a smaller door behind his massive desk. Now it was Martin who brought himself to what  he  considered  to  be  a  position  of  attention,  with  his  skinny  elbows held out from his sides, his heels forced together so that his unmistakably bowed legs were widely separated at the knees, and his head thrown back.

Baron Arald raised his eyes to heaven. Sometimes his secretary's zeal on these occasions could be a little overwhelming. The Baron was a big man,
broad in shoulder and waist and heavily muscled, as was necessary for a knight of the realm. It was well known, however, that Baron Arald was fond of his food and drink, so his considerable bulk was not totally attributable to muscle.

He  had  a  short,  neatly  trimmed  black  beard  that,  like  his  hair,  was beginning to show the traces of gray that went with his forty-two years. He
had a strong jaw, a large nose and dark, piercing eyes under heavy brows. It was  a  powerful  face,  but  not  an  unkind  one,  Will  thought.  There  was  a surprising hint of humor in those dark eyes. Will had noted it before, on the occasions when Arald had made his infrequent visits to the wards' quarters
to see how their lessons and personal development were progressing.

"The candidates are assembled!"

"I can  see  that,"  Baron  Arald  replied  patiently."Perhaps  you  might  be good enough to ask the Craftmasters to step in as well?"

"Sir!" Martin responded, making an attempt to click his heels together. As he was wearing shoes of a soft, pliable leather, the attempt was doomed to failure. He marched toward the main door of the study, all elbows and knees. Stug was reminded of a rooster. As Martin laid his hand on the door handle, the Baron stopped him once more.

"Calmly Martin..."

"Yes, sir," said Martin, looking somewhat deflated. He opened the door and, making an obvious effort to speak in a lower tone, said, "Craftmasters.
The Baron is ready now."

The  Craftschool  heads  entered  the  room  in  no  particular  order  of precedence.  As  a  group,  they  admired  and  respected  one  another  and  so
rarely  stood  on  strict  ceremonial  procedure.  Sir  Rodney,  head  of  the Battleschool, came first. Tall and broad-shouldered like the Baron, he wore
the  standard  battledress  of  chain  mail  shirt  under  a  white  surcoat emblazoned  with  his  own  crest,  a  scarlet  wolfshead.  He  had  earned  that
crest as  a young  man, fighting the wolfships  of  the Skandian sea raiders who constantly harried the kingdom's east coast. He wore a sword belt and
sword, of course. No knight would be seen in public without one. He was around the Baron's age, with blue eyes and a face that would have been
remarkably  handsome  if  it  weren't  for  the  massively  broken  nose.  He sported an enormous mustache but, unlike the Baron, he had no beard.

And for now...this is all you get. Till morrow chums. Have a good day!