The boys stood in the courtyard. It was Midsummer, the day that ended one year and marked the beginning of another. Today everyone in the castle would be counted one year older. For the milling boys this was significant, for today was the last day of their boyhood. Today was the Choosing.
Pug tugged at the collar of his new tunic. It wasnt really new, being one of Tomass old ones, but it was the newest Pug had ever owned. Magya, Tomass mother, had taken it in for the smaller boy, to ensure he was presentable before the Duke and his court. Magya and her husband, Megar the cook, were as close to being parents to the orphan as anyone in the keep. They tended his ills, saw that he was fed, and boxed his ears when he deserved it. They also loved him as if he were Tomass brother.
Pug looked around. The other boys all wore their best, for this was one of the most important days of their young lives. Each would stand before the assembled Craftmasters and members of the Dukes staff, and each would be considered for an apprentices post. It was a ritual, its origins lost in time, for the choices had already been made. The crafters and the Dukes staff had spent many hours discussing each boys merits with one another and knew which boys they would call.
The practice of having the boys between eight and thirteen years of age work in the crafts and services had proved a wise course over the years in fitting the best suited to each craft. In addition, it provided a pool of semiskilled individuals for the other crafts should the need arise. The drawback to the system was that certain boys were not chosen for a craft or staff position. Occasionally there would be too many boys for a single position, or no lad judged fit even though there was an opening. Even when the number of boys and openings seemed well matched, as it did this year, there were no guarantees. For those who stood in doubt, it was an anxious time.
Pug scuffed his bare feet absently in the dust. Unlike Tomas, who seemed to do well at anything he tried, Pug was often guilty of trying too hard and bungling his tasks. He looked around and noticed that a few of the other boys also showed signs of tension. Some were joking roughly, pretending no concern over whether they were chosen or not. Others stood like Pug, lost in their thoughts, trying not to dwell on what they would do should they not be chosen.
If he was not chosen, Pug like the others would be free to leave Crydee to try to find a craft in another town or city. If he stayed, he would have to either farm the Dukes land as a franklin, or work one of the towns fishing boats. Both prospects were equally unattractive, but he couldnt imagine leaving Crydee.
Pug remembered what Megar had told him, the night before. The old cook had cautioned him about fretting too much over the Choosing. After all, he had pointed out, there were many apprentices who never advanced to the rank of journeyman, and when all things were taken into account, there were more men without craft in Crydee than with. Megar had glossed over the fact that many fishers and farmers sons forsook the choosing, electing to follow their fathers. Pug wondered if Megar was so removed from his own Choosing he couldnt remember that the boys who were not chosen would stand before the assembled company of Craftmasters, householders, and newly chosen apprentices, under their gaze until the last name was called and they were dismissed in shame.
Biting his lower lip, Pug tried to hide his nervousness. He was not the sort to jump from the heights of Sailors Grief should he not be chosen, as some had done in the past, but he couldnt bear the idea of facing those who had been chosen.
Tomas, who stood next to his shorter friend, threw Pug a smile. He knew Pug was fretting, but could not feel entirely sympathetic as his own excitement mounted. His father had admitted that he would be the first called by Swordmaster Fannon. Moreover, the Swordmaster had confided that should Tomas do well in training, he might be found a place in the Dukes personal guard. It would be a signal honor and would improve Tomass chance for advancement, even earning him an officers rank after fifteen or twenty years in the guard.
He poked Pug in the ribs with an elbow, for the Dukes herald had come out upon the balcony overlooking the courtyard. The herald signaled to a guard, who opened the small door in the great gate, and the Craftmasters entered. They crossed to stand at the foot of the broad stairs of the keep. As was traditional, they stood with their backs to the boys, waiting upon the Duke.
The large oaken doors of the keep began to swing out ponderously, and several guards in the Dukes brown and gold darted through to take up their positions on the steps. Upon each tabard was emblazoned the golden gull of Crydee, and above that a small golden crown, marking the Duke a member of the royal family.
The herald shouted, Hearken to me! His Grace, Borric conDoin, third Duke of Crydee, Prince of the Kingdom; Lord of Crydee, Carse, and Tulan; Warden of the West; Knight-General of the Kings Armies; heir presumptive to the throne of Rillanon. The Duke stood patiently while the list of offices was completed, then stepped forward into the sunlight.
Past fifty, the Duke of Crydee still moved with the fluid grace and powerful step of a born warrior. Except for the grey at the temples of his dark brown hair, he looked younger than his age by twenty years. He was dressed from neck to boot in black, as he had been for the last seven years, for he still mourned the loss of his beloved wife, Catherine. At his side hung a black-scabbarded sword with a silver hilt, and upon his hand his ducal signet ring, the only ornamentation he permitted himself.
The herald raised his voice. Their Royal Highnesses, the Princes Lyam conDoin and Arutha conDoin, heirs to the House of Crydee; Knight-Captains of the Kings Army of the West; Princes of the royal house of Rillanon.
Both sons stepped forward to stand behind their father. The two young men were six and four years older than the apprentices, the Duke having wed late, but the difference between the awkward candidates for apprenticeship and the sons of the Duke was much more than a few years in age. Both Princes appeared calm and self-possessed.
Lyam, the older, stood on his fathers right, a blond, powerfully built man. His open smile was the image of his mothers, and he looked always on the verge of laughter. He was dressed in a bright blue tunic and yellow leggings and wore a closely trimmed beard, as blond as his shoulder-length hair.
Arutha was to shadows and night as Lyam was to light and day. He stood nearly as tall as his brother and father, but while they were powerfully built, he was rangy to the point of gauntness. He wore a brown tunic and russet leggings. His hair was dark and his face clean-shaven. Everything about Arutha gave one the feeling of quickness. His strength was in his speed: speed with the rapier, speed with wit. His humor was dry and often sharp. While Lyam was openly loved by the Dukes subjects, Arutha was respected and admired for his ability, but not regarded with warmth by the people.
Together the two sons seemed to capture most of the complex nature of their sire, for the Duke was capable of both Lyams robust humor and Aruthas dark moods. They were nearly opposites in temperament, but both capable men who would benefit the Duchy and Kingdom in years to come. The Duke loved both his sons.
The herald again spoke. The Princess Carline, daughter of the royal house.
The slim and graceful girl who made her entrance was the same age as the boys who stood below, but already beginning to show the poise and grace of one born to rule and the beauty of her late mother. Her soft yellow gown contrasted strikingly with her nearly black hair. Her eyes were Lyams blue, as their mothers had been, and Lyam beamed when his sister took their fathers arm. Even Arutha ventured one of his rare half smiles, for his sister was dear to him also.