Children of the Citadel

chapter 9

Isador stopped, so I was forced to do the same. I realized the voices were right below us. I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was Soren. He put a finger to his lips with one hand, and used the other to point at a point in the wall. There was a thin sliver of light emanating from a long crack between the wooden boards of the wall. It was likely imperceptible to anyone inside the room, but looked wide enough to peek through from where we stood. It was at waist level - Isador kneeled down to meet it, and I copied the movement. Soren followed on my opposite side, putting us in closer proximity than all of our previous interactions. He smelled like citrus.

I put my eyes up to the opening, but was met with only ceiling as I looked around. When I looked downwards, however, my mouth fell slightly ajar when I realized that we were within the part of the wall that met the ceiling, far above the floor of the room.

I couldn't see perfectly, and had to shift the angle of my head to see different parts of the room, but eventually found the origin of the voices I had heard.

The King was speaking to my father. Rhidian and Guinevere were absent, no doubt preparing for their nuptials, but Runhura was present. The gray-haired lady from before was there as well, along with a short, stocky man who was also a stranger to me. He was dressed in what looked like formal military garb.

I nearly went to ask Isador who the man and woman were, but thought better than to make any noise at all.

The King sat behind a rather large mahogany desk, and was leaning back in an equally sized chair upholstered with dark leather. Father and the others were sitting in far less opulent chairs on the other side of the desk.

Isador, Soren and I listened silently from above. There seemed to be unspoken tension between the individuals below.

"You're surely joking," the short, military-affiliated man scoffed, "you can't possibly believe that four weeks is enough time to prepare our forces."

Illamore did host a military, naturally, though it had gone largely unused for many years. There was a minor war of rebellion between the Crown and one of the regions of Illamore half a century ago, but it was rarely discussed. It had only lasted for three months, and was ancient history.

"Do you mean to tell me," the mystery woman began, "that our once formidable armies have been twiddling their thumbs for all these past decades? That they've grown incapable?"

The man became slightly red in the face. "You dare lecture me while you political pansies sit on your asses in this palace," he spat the final word, "enjoying the peace brought about by my predecessor?"

"I believe we've gotten off track," Runhura intervened tersely, "Odessa, you are well aware that the number of those enlisted has dwindled drastically during peacetime."

Father and the woman, evidently called Odessa, looked on silently as Runhura turned to the other man. "Us political pansies," he began calmly, "have prepared as best we can for inevitable public resistance to the draft. Now Iver, your part to play is the reception and subsequent training of those young men. I trust your judgment - will four weeks be enough?"

The man, Iver, relaxed back into his chair. "No."

A draft? As in the enlistment of citizens? I wasn't aware of any past occurrence of such a thing in all the history of Illamore.

"And I don't suppose," Iver began disdainfully, "that your own boys will be included in compulsory enlistment, your highness."

The King sighed, ignoring the disrespect in Iver's tone. Perhaps he was used to it from this particular individual. "Rhidian, of course, will remain here. He is my heir, and I cannot risk harm coming to him. Isador is not yet sixteen," he began, "Soren, of course, will fulfill his duty."