“Because Lord Kurkan needed a charity project.”
Sermas threw up his hands. “Of course! Now it all makes sense! He couldn’t pick an Academy cadet. They’re too gifted, capable, and fierce. So of course he had to choose a street rat who was fighting off multiple bigger, stronger opponents in an alley.”
“You’re a fool,” Khollo muttered, a smile tugging at the down-turned corners of his mouth.
“But an honest one,” Sermas said with a mock bow, still grinning. “So, can we eat now without a misery session?”
“Depends what there is to eat.”
Sermas shot him a look. “Just remember, it’s better than what our East Bank comrades are having.”
The two cadets trotted up the steps, nodding to the four guards scanning the fortress from the steps of the keep. They held their spears loosely, looking more than a little lax. Their uniforms were crisp and clean though, and their eyes moved constantly, noting every possible threat.
“Seriously though,” Sermas continued as they shoved through the heavy, oaken doors of the keep. “Genal will come after you. And when he does, you’d better be ready.”
“With a pre-dug grave?”
“Yeah,” Sermas agreed as they moved towards the kitchens. “But we could stop him. If we act soon.”
“Huh?” Khollo asked distractedly, scanning the dining hall to see what was being served.
“Bullies like him only get worse when they become full soldiers,” Sermas explained. “That’s what my father always told me.”
“The same father who told you to stay away from street rats like me?”
Sermas smirked knowingly. “Nobody’s perfect. But he’s probably right about people like Genal.”
“Probably,” Khollo agreed. “Thing is, I don’t need to pick any more fights right now. As long as we stick together and keep our wits, we’ll be fine. No reason to go toe to toe with Genal and his friends.”
“Another street lord quality you don’t appear to possess would be bravado,” Sermas observed.
“There’s bravado and there’s stupidity,” Khollo replied as they slipped into the kitchens. “Picking a fight with a cadet three times my size falls into the stupidity category.”
Sermas let it go, but Khollo knew the younger boy was still considering how to take down Genal. Sermas’ solution was almost always to run straight at the problem and knock it flat. Khollo preferred a more circumspect approach, if any approach was necessary. Lord Kurkan described him as a thinker, a planner. Khollo disagreed. If he could think and plan he wouldn’t be in these kinds of messes.
“Watch where you’re walking!” an old cook reprimanded the two cadets. “I’ve a kitchen to run here.”
“Good to see you too, Dari,” Sermas said airily.
The rotund, gray-haired mistress of the kitchens beamed up at Sermas. “Well, good evening, Sermas. And you too, Khollo,” she added. “You two are getting longer every time I look.”
“West Bank rations agree with us,” Khollo said, smiling.
Dari laughed. “I thought that might be what you were after. Come along, there’s plenty to be had. You can have your usual table by the cooling racks.”
Sermas and Khollo retreated to the back corner of the kitchens, to a small table between a bank of ovens and a towering row of racks that held bread, pastries, and other delights concealed by cloths. Not long after, Mistress Dari arrived with a serving girl in tow, each burdened with a heavily-laden plate of ham, fresh bread, green beans, and potatoes.
“That’s the stuff!” Sermas crowed, stuffing a slice of ham into his mouth.
“Thank you, Dari,” Khollo said, bowing slightly. He had been drilled constantly in manners at the Academy, back before Janis was reassigned to the West Bank.
“You’re most welcome, both of you,” the cook replied, smiling. “By the way, Khollo, Lord Kurkan asked me to remind you that he has requested your presence tonight.”
“I’ll remember,” Khollo assured her, carefully slicing his food into smaller pieces. “Any idea what he wants me for?”
Mistress Dari pursed her lips. “He wouldn’t say. That’s between you and him.” She paused. “Enjoy your meal, boys. There’s little enough to enjoy about life as a cadet from what I’ve heard.”
Sermas guffawed. “How right you are! Thanks for the food, Dari.” The old cook smiled fondly and bustled away, calling for an assistant to bring more wood for the ovens.
Khollo chewed thoughtfully on a slice of bread. “What d’you suppose Janis wants me for?”
Sermas looked up, his face speckled with crumbs, grease running from the corner of his mouth. As the son of a major lord, Khollo had expected Sermas to be even better schooled in manners and etiquette than an Academy cadet. But Sermas seemed to go out of his way to shatter those rules whenever possible. He caught Khollo staring and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Who knows?” Sermas finally replied, swallowing. “He doesn’t send for you very often.”
“No,” Khollo said quietly. “He doesn’t.” In fact, this would be only the third time he had been summoned since coming to the West Bank. Before that, summons from Janis had been more frequent, back at the Academy. Still, even then Khollo had been disappointed. A summons every few weeks didn’t line up with his idea of sticking together.
“It must be something important,” Sermas observed.
Khollo snorted. “Nothing important has happened here at the West Bank since the war ten years ago.” That’s why Janis was reassigned here from the Academy, he thought darkly.
Sermas wasn’t convinced. He had a fantastic imagination and was always itching to be off on a grand adventure. “Just you wait and see,” he said, shaking his loaded fork. “Something big is going on.”
Khollo ignored his companion and
