The Reluctant Champion

Councils

Colden rose early and crossed to the window where the sun was just lightening the sky to a pearly gray. He stood staring out over the city, fretting.

He was useless here, out of his element. He was a solider, not a diplomat. Genneret would have done better to send one of his ministers. What was happening back home? Would they have the sense to reinforce the northeast frontier before news of Lidah's escape had time to travel to the Alliance? Had the ambassadors gone home in a fury? He paced impatiently to a carved mahogany table and back again to the window.

It was long before any of the household could be expected to be awake, and he had a tricky day ahead. It would be wise to go back to bed and get what sleep he could.

But his senses rebelled against that soft bed and against this sumptuous room. Appropriate for Genneret's chief ambassador, no doubt, but the chief ambassador wanted none of the role. Quickly, Colden put his traveling clothes back on and slipped out the door in search of the stables.

There was more activity here—the day guard was suiting up, getting ready to relieve the night watch. Men were stumbling around in the half-light, pulling together their gear and tending to their horses. Colden took a seat on an upturned trough, watching the confusion. He was reasonably impressed—it was chaotic, but no one was getting in anyone's way, no one needed to be told what to do, and no one was standing around purposelessly.

A figure moved through the throng, stopping here and there for a word with this rider or that. He saw Colden sitting to one side and came over with a smile and a nod. It was the guard captain who had brought them in—what was his name? Colden had never heard him called anything but Sammy.

"Greetings, your excellency," Sammy said, sitting at his side. "You're up early for one so hard traveled."

"I found the bed too soft for my liking and the titles too exalted," Colden replied. "And just call me Colden—it suits me better."

"I am Sayeem, but you may call me Sammy. Everyone does."

"What is your full name?"

Sammy slid a glance across Colden and away again.

"'Sammy' is all. I was a foundling, and though many showed me kindness I never took another name."

"A hard life."

"Not so bad." Sammy smiled easily, the smile of a man who knows his place in the world and knows he fits it well. "The head groom and his wife, who had no children, took me in. I ran around underfoot here since before I can remember. I learned all my weapons using other boys' cast-offs. There were some who laughed at the stable boy who wanted to join the cavalry but I dealt with that. I think practicing with the crudest sword and the crookedest arrows gave me an advantage."

Colden looked away from the other's untroubled face, feeling a pang of envy.

"Better to have no father and no name than a father who disgraces the name, perhaps," he said.

Sammy shook his head. "In the end, we are judged for ourselves. There are those who have to be reminded of that, of course. Sometimes several times."

Colden smiled in spite of himself. "Just so." He waved an arm at the day guard, forming up in two neat lines in the yard before them. As he had expected, the confusion and mess had miraculously been cleared away and they looked alert and military in the morning light. "And who are these? The spoiled sons of the aristocracy?"

Sammy made a face. "Not so many of those. The king won't have anyone in the military who isn't willing to fight, and we have enough skirmishes with bandits and pirates to keep the riff-raff out. Dangerous work, but no glory."