Lingering Shadows-Chapter 6

Notes:

• So sorry this didnt come out sooner! 😅

• Previous Chapter

Chapter 6-Protect

     The next morning, Artham realized that he was no less nervous or edgy than the day before. In fact, he realized with increasing frustration that he was finding it difficult to think about something other than whatever might have gone wrong the previous day, or at the council meeting, or whatever might go wrong that day. 

      He proceeded to tell the annoying nagging in his mind to shut up, and after breakfast went looking for Esben with a huge mug of bean brew in his hands. The brothers met in the courtyard outside the main entrance to the castle. Esben watched Artham skeptically as he drained his mug of the last dregs of bean brew.   

     “Bad night?” Esben asked. 

     “Bad week,” Artham responded shortly. “Ready to go?”

     “Maybe,” Esben responded, pulling a very crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. 

     “One of the pages ran up and told me that this was a message from Bonifer. You’re supposed to read it before you go anywhere.”Artham sighed and raised his eyebrow at his brother.

      Esben gestured for Artham to open it up, watching his brother’s face for a reaction. At first Artham thought that Esben was playing a prank on him, but the writing was Bonifer’s. The note was very short and concise.

      Artham, we are expecting you today in the council room to meet your new scribe. If you do not show up we shall be forced to assume that you approve of our choice. Enjoy your outing with your brother.

      -Bonifer Squoon, 

     Artham laughed out loud, and Esben tried to snatch the paper from his brother’s hands. 

     “What does it say?” He asked, folding his arms in annoyance when Artham kept it out of his reach. 

     “Ah, Bonifer just wants me to meet whatever unlucky fellow they’ve decided will be my scribe.” Esben rolled his eyes. 

      “I can assume,” he said, “that you are not going within a mile of that meeting.”

      “Definitely not,” Artham stated with a grin which quickly dissolved. “I don’t know why they think I need a scribe anyway. I can write down my own thoughts and I don’t need some kid following me around,” He laughed again. “I feel genuinely sorry for whoever they chose. He’s going to find following me a tough job.” Esben smirked at his brother.

       “It’s mostly just for grand events,” he said sarcastically. “And apparently, though I have no clue why, they want him to follow you around just in case you start spouting great and mighty words of wisdom,” Esben finished dramatically. Artham responded to his brother’s mood with a dramatic stance. 

       “Let’s go enjoy my last day of freedom!” Esben laughed and punched Artham in the ribs, and Artham punched Esben back, taking advantage of his brother’s lowered guard to roughly scruff up Esben’s hair. Laughing, the brothers nodded to the watchman at the gate and headed out.

        * * *

      It was one of those days when the sun made it look like it should be springtime despite the fact that autumn was very nearly at its close. Artham took deep breaths of the crisp air, heavy with the smell of the last harvests, and found himself slowly relaxing. He fingered the sword at his side, and let a sense of contentment and even happiness gradually fill him. 

     “I haven’t been able to think of anything to draw recently…” Esben had been chattering for quite a while. Artham began focusing less and less on his brother’s frustrated voice. He closed his eyes as he walked, enjoying the faint warmth of the sunshine on his skin, when he realized that the sounds of Esben’s footsteps behind him had stopped. Artham opened his eyes and looked back. Esben stood in the middle of the road with his arms crossed, a wry smile on his face. 

      “Are you just going to walk right on past? We’re here,” Esben gestured to the farmhouse on his right and slung his satchel off his shoulder. Artham grinned back at his brother, and the two walked up to the house together.

* * *

     Several hours later, Artham stood up and stretched his muscles, gazing out at the small and now completely harvested field in satisfaction, laughing when Esben proceeded to smear dirt over the front of his shirt while trying to clean off his hands. Esben glared at his brother, but then laughed along.

      “It’s not like you’re any cleaner than me,” he said, gesturing at Artham’s hands while his older brother heaved up a burlap sack of charrots over his shoulder.

       “That may be true,” Artham responded, “but at least I don’t wipe the dirt onto my once white shirt.” Esben rolled his eyes and hoisted two of the sacks. Unwilling to be outdone by his little brother, and also considering the fact that it would be unseemly for the High King to be carrying more than the Throne Warden, Artham held onto the bag slung over his back with one hand and with the other, hoisted two more. 

       “Let’s get these to the barn and tell Falkner that we’re done,” Artham said as the other two farm hands hoisted their own sacks. When they arrived at the barn, Falkner was already there to meet them.

             After he thanked the other two hands, clapping them on the backs and telling them to go into the house where dinner was waiting, he made his way into the back of the barn where the brothers were stacking sacks of charrots. Artham turned around and bowed courteously to the elderly man and was about to offer him a seat, but Esben piped up before Artham could get a word out.

      “We finished, Mister Falkner,” Mister Faulkner came over to Esben and shook his and Artham’s hands. 

      “I can’t tell you how grateful we are that you came to help us, Your Majesty, Throne Warden. With my sons both married and gone away this year, we might not have gotten that late harvest in before the real cold weather. Folks say it’ll come any day now.” Artham nodded.

       “We’re grateful, Mister Falkner. You have no idea how good it is to get away from matters of state for a few hours. And we were happy to help. We couldn’t have let you and those two boys do it alone.” 

       “No offense, Mister Falkner,” Esben interrupted, adopting a haughty air, “but those two are amateur charrot harvesters.” Falkner laughed and spoke his thanks again and invited the brothers in for dinner. 

       “We’d be happy to!” Esben practically shouted. Artham winced. 

       “You could be slightly more courteous about it, Es,” he whispered to his brother as they made their way to the porch of the old farmhouse where a table had been set up, and where the other boys were already waiting. 

        “Ah. Right. Sorry, Arth, I’m just really really really hungry,” he said. Artham sighed, but they had reached the table so he waited a moment for Esben to take a seat before he sat down himself. Mrs. Falkner came through the front door, carrying a pot and Artham sprang up. 

      “Let me help with that,” he said, taking the pot and setting it down on the table before she could protest. Esben leaned over the pot, sniffing with enthusiasm. 

      “That smells great!” 

            * * *

      Artham and Esben made their way up a cobbled street on their way back to the castle.

      “That dinner was delicious,” Esben said, patting his stomach. “How long has it been since we’ve had something so good that wasn’t either us just eating alone or a five course state dinner?” Esben asked. 

      “I never knew just stew and bread could be so good. And I never realized harvesting charrots would be so messy,” Esben continued, laughing as he reached over to brush some dirt out of Artham’s hair. Artham grinned and gazed off absentmindedly into the distance, flexing his fingers. His satisfaction in the job they had finished increased greatly in the fact that they had worked hard enough that he could tell that his hands and arms were going to be at least a little bit sore the next day. 

     His thoughts wandered, and for the first time in the last few days they didn’t take a downward turn. He was daydreaming about Arundelle when he realized that he had crossed the bridge that went from the farmlands straight into Pennybridge and had left Esben somewhere behind. He turned around and saw Esben standing in the middle of the bridge, leaning on the stone edge, his head bent over the sketchbook he had taken out of his satchel.

     Artham grinned and strode over to his brother, peering over Esben’s shoulder. His brother was sketching so fast that Artham almost couldn’t follow the pencil. Artham moved to stand beside Esben, leaning his elbows on the edge of the bridge, gazing out at the scene Esben was drawing. The trees were already somewhat bare, but bright clusters of red and orange leaves were tossed and pulled by the wind that ruffled Artham’s hair. Artham took a deep breath, wondering if it was his imagination or if he could detect a faint scent of saltwater from the ocean this little stream would eventually run into. 

     The sun reflected off the water and made it shine and seem to dance with every little ripple and wave. A few buildings framed the scene on the left, and rolling fields swept away from the river on the right. Artham soaked in the beauty, wishing he could always feel like he did now. Peaceful, content, enjoying the simple things around him, and for the moment, not really worrying about anything. He glanced over at Esben, grinning. 

      This is just the scene to take away his artist’s block, Artham thought, smiling and closing his eyes, realizing that they would probably be there a while. He knew from experience that when inspiration struck, Esben was as immovable as Castle Rock. He barely even spoke to people while he was drawing. A few minutes later, Artham looked over Esben’s shoulder to see how his brother’s sketch was going. Suddenly, he straightened up. He couldn’t explain it, but that feeling that Arundelle called his ‘Throne Warden’s instinct’ had returned in full force. His heart started racing.

     Something’s not right. Maybe it was a faint reflection in the water, or the slightest difference in the breeze. Or maybe it was the almost inaudible creak behind them, but Artham’s blood was pounding.

      Suddenly, Esben hissed in pain, his pencil clattering to the ground. Artham whirled around to see a trickle of blood running through the fingers that Esben had clapped over his arm. He drew his sword frantically, his every instinct and nerve screaming at him,  

      Protect! Protect! Protect your brother! It seemed like ages, but it was barely a moment before Artham spotted the figure in black perched high on a building behind them, fitting a second arrow to his bow.