The War Gift part 6

Cailan knew the offering to attend training was a consolation prize, but it did help to know he wouldn’t spend the afternoon alone, and he’d be glad to be outside and part of the familiarity of soldiers and their physical work out.  Maybe it would distract him from the significance of the day.

They prepared for the training together after their meal.  Cailan was once again borrowing Jarek’s clothes since he had nothing suitable for the afternoon activities.

“I should have thought to have training attire prepared for you as well,” Jarek stated.  “I’ll have to send a message to Lady Bara.”  His gaze travelled over Cailan’s body as he saw the younger man fully dressed in his clothes.  “Although I do enjoy seeing you in my clothing.”

Cailan felt the heat of his owner’s gaze and his thoughts drifted to the intensity of their bed activities the day before.  It was impossible to keep his body from reacting, particularly when he took notice of Jarek’s still shirtless state.  His owner seemed of a similar mindset and took one step closer to grip him around the waist.  Their bodies were pulled flush together, and hot lips descended onto his, the sizzling temperature traveled from Cailan’s mouth all the way down his body.

They were both breathing heavily when the kiss ended and Jarek spoke huskily.  “Did you enjoy what we did together yesterday?”

“Yes,” Cailan answered just as gruffly.

“Good,” his owner approved, and then kissed him again just as fiercely.  “If there were not duties to attend to, I would do it all again right now.”

He reluctantly let Cailan go, and the younger man had a passing wish that there weren’t duties to attend to.  He may not be ready to offer his body to be fully claimed, but there was no denying the pleasure he’d felt the previous night.

Jarek finished dressing quickly while Cailan pulled his hair back in a thick braid to keep it out of the way.  He was then ushered back into the parlor.  “I must see to something quickly before we go,” Jarek told him.  “Stay by me please.”

He directed Cailan to a cushion placed by the chair of the desk.  The smaller man took a seat on it as Jarek settled into the chair and retrieved two pieces of paper from a drawer.  Cailan’s positioning kept him from seeing what was written, but he watched as his owner speedily scripted something on the separate sheets.  The large man folded them into separate envelopes, addressed them, and then sealed them with wax and a signet mark.

“Come, petling,” he ordered when he was done.  “We must hurry or I will not beat my men to the clearing.”

The missives were given to a page on their way out, and the two of them did make it to the field ahead of his soldiers with the help of a driver and carriage.  Within three minutes of their arrival, troops began to join them and they automatically moved into a waiting formation.  Cailan stood with Jarek and his military eye estimated approximately 150 men once the formation was complete. 

“Is this all you’re expecting?” he asked so only Jarek could hear him.

“Just about,” his possessor replied and continued to explain some of what Cailan was seeing.  “My captains have charge of individual companies like you see in front of us.  They hold between 150 and 200 men in each and it’s my captains and generals who train the troops according to my standards.  At times I will call for an assembly of a battalion, which consists of eight to ten companies, to train as a unit for usually two weeks at a time.  I also personally make my rounds of each company to oversee training, answer questions, handle any issues that have come to my attention, and make sure my men know me and know my expectations.  That is what I do most days when I am not needed elsewhere.”

“And this is the company you’re working with today?” Cailan wondered.

Jarek nodded.  “This is Reddick Company.  The companies are named according to their captain.  He is who we’re waiting for.”  He pointed toward the back of the assembled men.  “Captain Reddick will arrive from the back, circle his men, and then join us.”

It was certainly well-organized, Cailan thought.  His father’s army was equally skilled and controlled, but he found it interesting to be seeing the insides of another kingdom’s military regime.

“What training will you be doing today?” he questioned.

“Sword drills with the scimitar and the long blade initially.  While those are going on I’ve assigned some of my strategists to set up an obstacle course over there.”  Jarek pointed toward the far right of the clearing.  “They’ll run it in twos.  The top ten with the best time will be rewarded.”

“Rewarded?  With what?  And why?” Cailan had never known of a reward given for training.

Jarek gave him a fond smile.  “Should I not reward a man for a job well done?  I find that the extra incentive improves their mentality and keeps them focused during seasons of peace.  The rewards vary.  Sometimes it is an extra day’s holiday or a meal prepared by the palace cooks.  A rare but sought after reward I occasionally give is a sword or bow and arrow set made to their specifications.  There are others, but those are a few examples.”

Cailan thought on that, seeing the sense in the decision.  He wondered how something like that might be beneficial to his father’s army, but then realized that if he would even get the chance to suggest it, it wouldn’t come for a year.

“Ah, there he is.”

Jarek’s words broke into Cailan’s thoughts and he saw a rider approaching on a chestnut gelding.  As his master had said, the company captain circled his troops before cantering the horse to them and dismounting gracefully.  He bowed low to the military head before standing stiffly at attention.

“At ease, Captain Reddick,” Jarek commanded.  The man relaxed slightly and Jarek nodded approvingly before placing a heavy hand on Cailan’s shoulder.  “I’ve brought a special guest with me today.  This is Cailan, prince of Arten, war gift and honored concubine.”

“I have heard rumors that you were gifted, Leader Jarek,” Captain Reddick said to his superior, and then offered a slight bow to Cailan.  “Welcome to Cylandrea, Prince Cailan.”

“Thank you,” Cailan replied cordially.

“I’m going to use Prince Cailan as my partner in some of the sword demonstrations,” Jarek told his captain.  Inform the men of his presence and purpose, then split them into a four square,” he ordered.

Reddick saluted and then moved to the formation.

“You’re going to use me?” Cailan questioned.

A glint hit Jarek’s eyes.  “Oh yes.  Someday I will use you quite thoroughly.”  A heated flush immediately suffused Cailan’s face and Jarek turned so his men wouldn’t see or hear his chuckle.  “You blush beautifully, my prince, but I will not tease you further right now.  I do want you to partner with me for the sword demonstrations.”

“What do you need me to do?”

“I’m going to teach my men some maneuvers I first saw among your own Artenian soldiers and have expanded on myself.  With your knowledge of these moves, I want you to block them as you can.  I’ll warn you though that I will take you down.”

“You will try,” Cailan stated, prideful stubbornness coming to the fore at the challenge.

“I will succeed,” Jarek asserted, although he grinned at Cailan’s confidence, “but mostly because of the new maneuvers I will be teaching.  Do not hold back when we spar though.  The spell I set yesterday is still in effect, so neither of us will hurt the other, and I want the men to see the full on affect of the spar.”

Cailan nodded, the thrum of energy and adrenalin beginning to move through him.  He was near to bouncing on his toes as he watched Jarek’s men separate into four even groups, each shaped as a square and leaving the center area between them clear.  Jarek marched into that clearing with Cailan close behind and they both accepted a long sword from Captain Reddick.

Jarek held the sword aloft in an unspoken command for his troops to give him their full attention.  “Watch closely,” he commanded, his voice carrying across the field.  “This is an attack, similar to Clodski’s Jab, but modified for unforeseen speed moves.”

He faced Cailan and the smaller man immediately gripped his sword and took up a fighting stance.  At Jarek’s first step, Cailan knew the move coming at him.  It was a frontal attack and he instinctively blocked the first lunge and the second, but when the third expected jab came at him it was aimed at his torso instead of his neck as anticipated.  He quickly adjusted his block, but while he successfully avoided the sword, his head was left vulnerable at the change and Jarek took advantage quickly.  A hand lunged at him, grabbing his throat and bringing him the ground in seconds, quickly followed by his master’s sword lying carefully near to his neck.

He looked up at Jarek, wide-eyed with surprise.  The older man winked almost imperceptibly at him, and then offered him a hand up.

“We will demonstrate a second time,” Jarek announced to the soldiers, “but slowly and I will explain each step.”

The two of them faced off a second time and collaborated their steps perfectly in slow motion.  Jarek explained each move they took, and then did the third jab at Cailan’s torso.

“This is the surprise to your opponent,” he called out, although his gaze never left Cailan’s form.  “Typically you’d be aiming for the head or neck at this time, and your arm position reflects that, but if you lean forward with your sword leg and rotate your shoulder just slightly…” He was deliberate in showing his men the subtle changes that Cailan had not noticed when they sparred.  “…then you have the leverage to plunge into your opponent’s midsection.  If he successfully blocks that attack, as my partner did so effectively, then you are still left with a secret secondary attack if you move fast enough.”  Jarek’s non-sword hand came up and gently wrapped around Cailan’s throat and pushed.  Cailan obediently went down as he had previously until Jarek’s sword was once again at his throat.  “By doing this you have two choices in front of you,” Jarek continued.  “A clean slice will take the enemy’s head, or you can show mercy and give a single chance for surrender.  If your enemy chooses the latter, you will instruct him to turn to his stomach, hands behind his back to be bound.  If his submission is a lie and he fights at that point, you still have the upper hand and can bring your sword down.”

By the end of the explanation, Cailan fully understood why his owner was Cylandrea’s military leader.  He had a skill for seeing small openings and vulnerabilities in his opponent and to take advantage of that brief upper hand.

After their demonstration, Jarek ordered the men to split into teams of four, with two sparring at a time while the other two observed and helped guide the learning of the new technique.  He then walked amongst the four-man teams, watching and occasionally directing the men.  Cailan walked with him, his interest in the training going on keen. 

“You did well with me,” Jarek told him after a while and where no one else could hear or be distracted by their conversation.  “Not everyone would have been able to block the stomach jab, but after our training yesterday morning, I’m not surprised you succeeded.”

The praise warmed Cailan, but he worked not to smile.  Such an expression was not usually shown amongst training soldiers.  “Thank you.  I was never as good as my brothers.  Their strength far exceeds mine, but the physicality and learned skills of battle were always part pleasure for me to study and practice.”

“You have nothing to be ashamed of or looked down upon in your sword skills,” Jarek claimed.  “And I think I’ll enjoy seeing what else you’re capable of.”

“If I may,” Cailan started to say, and then second-guessed himself.

“If you may what, my prince?”

Cailan glanced over to where the obstacle course was being set up.  “I’d like to run the course with the others today as well,” he requested.

Jarek frowned slightly.  “I do not want you injured, Cailan.  The courses set up are very difficult and the spell set between us will not protect you from an injury within the course.”

Irritation bubbled a little in Cailan.  It touched on the resentment he’d often felt in Arten when others did not think him capable of his battle duties due to the limits his silver hair put on him.  He took a deep breath, having to remind himself that Jarek did not see his hair as Cailan’s countrymen had, and that his master was not yet fully aware of his abilities.

“I do not mean to upset you or imply a lack, my petling,” Jarek said softly when Cailan didn’t immediately respond.  “But you are not familiar with the courses we use or their level of difficulty.  I do not want you hurt.”

“Would an injury received on the course kill or permanently harm me?” Cailan asked, trying to keep the terseness out of his tone.

Jarek shook his head.  “No.  I would not subject my men to something like that within their training, but it is not unheard of for some to receive minor head injuries, sprains, or even a rare broken bone.  And almost all end up with a few days’ worth of bruising.  I don’t use the courses exceptionally often because of that, but they are necessary and I give an extra day’s rest to any company that I have participate in them.”

“Do you run the courses as well?” Cailan asked.

“Absolutely,” Jarek replied immediately.  “I would not ask my men to do something I am unwilling to do.  Although I have the advantage of knowing what the course will entail ahead of time.  It’s necessary so I can approve each obstacle.  The company captain knows the courses as well.  When we move to that part of the training, Reddick and I will run the course first to show the men what is expected.  Then we’ll send them through in twos.”

“Then,” Cailan began with a touch of boldness.  “I see no reason to deny me a chance.  I have been trained in battle skills my whole life, and you readily say no permanent harm will be done.  Besides which I’d have the same benefit as your men in seeing the course’s obstacles when you and Captain Reddick do your run.  I’d very much like to participate.”

Jarek looked down and studied him for a full minute.  “I will consider it.”

Cailan opened his mouth to argue his side more, but Jarek held up a hand.  “That is all I’m willing to offer at this moment.  I need more time to think on your request, but if you push for an answer now, not only will it be no, I will discipline you when we return to our quarters.”

Cailan’s mouth dropped open momentarily before he remembered that others might be watching them.  He masked his face, but still growled out a, “Why?”

“Because I have told you my answer at this time, and debating further with me is a form of disobedience and insolence, neither of which I will tolerate.  I have warned you and I will follow through.”

Cailan huffed once, but closed his mouth.  Jarek still frowned disapprovingly.  “If we had privacy, I would swat you for that reaction.  As it is, you can expect one good smack when we are done here.  Do not push for more.”

That startled Cailan.  To be told in certain terms that he would be disciplined, even one smack, was hard to hear and even harder to accept.  He knew he would win no arguments at this point though.  The two of them resumed walking in silence for several minutes until Jarek reached down and twined his fingers into Cailan’s.  It was another unexpected action to the younger man and he initially tried to pull free, but his owner hung on.  He looked up at Jarek questioningly.

“Why do you do this?  Your men will look down on you.”

“They will not,” Jarek said with certainty.  “They will see only that I claim you, and that is respected.  And I do this because I like to touch you and you looked like you might have needed it.”

“Why would I need you to hold my hand?”

“Because it is a gesture of affection, and I think you may have doubted my care for you since we argued.”

Cailan sighed.  “It is hard to feel cared for when you are denied requests and promised chastisement.”

“Yes, I can understand that being your initial feelings, but even so, I do care for you, petling.”  He squeezed Cailan’s hand once.  “And I have not denied your request.  I only said I needed to think on it more.  You were present during my squabble with my brother.  As he admitted, he is a doer and I am a thinker.  I do not jump into decisions except in times when immediacy is necessary.  Allow me the time to consider your desire to run the course.”

Cailan nodded, feeling he understood his master’s mindset a little more.  “I will.  I apologize for my impudence.”

“Thank you.  We will deal with the consequence in our rooms, but you are forgiven now.”

“Yes, my lord,” he replied.  Jarek squeezed his hand again and they moved to finish the rounds to the sparring groups.

Before the obstacle course training time, Jarek still had two more sword methods he wanted to teach.  One a defensive maneuver with the long sword, and the other another attack with the scimitar.  Cailan partnered with him for each demonstration, learning along with the other soldiers and regaining energy and pleasure once again in the familiar feeling of the physical exertion.

Eventually they were finally moving to the now completed obstacle course.  Cailan overheard a few murmurs from the men and noted that they truly didn’t look forward to this aspect of training.  He, on the other hand, enjoyed the thought of the challenge.  He related it to one of his primary roles as a soldier in his homeland, that of a runner.  When he delivered messages, high speed was one thing needed, but so was quick thinking and dodging of dangers: tree branches, thorned bushes, tossed explosions, arrows, ground holes or enemy pits.  Even hidden foes from a rival army had to be successfully avoided or overpowered.  Cailan was highly experienced in all that after three years of war.

When they arrived at the front of the course, Captain Reddick set about dividing the company into two groups to compete with each other.  Jarek held back with Cailan for an extra few minutes as the men were split.

“I’ve decided to let you run the course,” he said somewhat unwillingly.  “But,” he added just as Cailan’s face brightened excitedly.  “There are two rules you will follow.”

“Ok,” Cailan said immediately.  “What are they?”

“First, you pay extreme attention and are very careful,” Jarek said forcefully.  “If you run it foolishly, I will not allow you to do it again…ever,” he said with determination.  “Second, you will run the course after my men.  They are more familiar with what it entails than you are.  I want you to watch every race so you are as prepared as possible.”

Cailan nodded animatedly.  Jarek put an arm around him and walked them to the aligned troops.  He placed Cailan at the front and between the two lines of soldiers where he had a clear view of the course.

“You watch from here.  No one will bother you.  Reddick and I are very familiar with this particular course, so pay close attention to what we do.”

Cailan nodded and got the now familiar raised brow that signified a small warning.  “Yes, my lord,” he replied immediately.

“You work on that,” Jarek ordered him, but he gave that imperceptible wink again and headed off to join Captain Reddick.

Cailan worked not to seem as conspicuous as he felt once Jarek walked away.  He was very aware of the men around him; all soldiers that he still saw as foreigners in his eyes, although he knew he was the alien among them.  His peripheral vision noticed several looking his way and some very low whispers, but he ignored the attention and kept his focus on his master and the obstacle course in front of him.  Jarek spent several minutes talking with his captain, and then motioned to someone amongst the troops.  One of the men in the line to Cailan’s right jogged briskly to his superior and was handed a tablet and a small device Cailan didn’t recognize.  After a minute of instruction, the soldier marched toward an undersized wooden table set up near the wings of the course and settled both items carefully on its surface. 

After that, Jarek and Captain Reddick took up position at two separate entrances to the course.  Cailan could right away see how each man could race the course together, but through mirror images of the obstacles.  That setup itself was impressive.  The man stationed at the table raised his arm in view of both men, and then dropped it with a shout.

Immediately Jarek and Reddick took off, and Cailan was caught up in watching their race.  It was impressive to say the least. 

Just looking at the obstacle course truly did not reveal all the difficulties it harbored.  Two men Cailan had not noticed until the start of the race, stood at the far end of it and turned two round, handled discs.  The discs had ropes connected to them that were attached to several areas of the course.  The result was an impressive chain reaction that provided moving beams, wooden structures shaking almost to the point of breaking, padded arrows flying at the runners, and several other difficult to avoid complications.  Each problem posed within the course also came fast and nearly on top of the previous one.  Speed and agility were a must if the participant truly wanted to avoid bruises.

Skill indicative of their experience was revealed in both men running the course.  Cailan choked back a gasp several times as he saw his owner narrowly miss several potential hits and falls.  Both he and Captain Reddick remained neck in neck and untouched nearly to the end.  Then Reddick seemed to fall just a half step behind Jarek, and one of the blunted arrows hit him in the gut.  There was no way it could pierce him, but it hit hard and Reddick doubled over and then onto his knees.  He didn’t stop moving though.  Barely avoiding a second arrow, he got to his feet and dashed to the end, making a final jump over one last barrier and now several seconds behind his leader.

Cailan held back a cheer when he saw Jarek reach the end unharmed, but then let it loose when all the men around him gave an approving shout.  Jarek held up an appreciative hand, but he was already moving to Captain Reddick, who was bent over and breathing hard.  He helped the man stand straight, spoke to him for a moment, and then clapped his back heartily, lifting Reddick’s hand in victory as well.  The men cheered a second time as their leaders walked back toward them.

Jarek left Captain Reddick to start the men on the next race and went directly to where Cailan waited. 

“Still want to run it?” he asked with a mix of both humor and concern.  His breathing was heavier, showing the exertion he had just put out, but he clearly wasn’t exhausted by the race.  His fitness was impressive.

“Absolutely,” Cailan affirmed.  “I’m ready to go now.”

“You can get that thought out of your head.  You wait till the end or you don’t go at all,” Jarek stated firmly. 

Cailan sighed and nodded.  “Yes, my lord.”

His answer clearly pleased his owner.  Jarek put an arm around him and held him close to his side.  “Watch closely, little prince.”

Cailan did watch, and waited impatiently for his turn.  One hundred and fifty men running through the course, even two at a time, took a long while, and it didn’t fail the younger man’s notice that almost every one received at least one hit or fall.  A half dozen of the troops were being seen to by a military medic Jarek had ordered in attendance.  None were badly hurt, but at least two were going to have a bad headache for awhile, and the others were having some shallow but painful gashes seen to.  When there were only five men left to run the course, Cailan tapped Jarek’s shoulder.

“What is it, petling?” Jarek asked, his eyes staying on his two troops running through the obstacles.

“I’d like to do some preparation before my turn,” Cailan told him.  “The rest of the men have been more active than me and their bodies are more adjusted.”

Jarek waited a minute before answering, until his men had completed the course, and then turned his eyes to Cailan.  “You are right, little prince, and I should have had you preparing before this moment.”  He nodded toward the area where the sword demonstrations had been done.  “Go over there.  Stretch.  Run a bit.  Do what works best for you to prepare your muscles.  I won’t have you run through until you’re ready.”

Cailan nodded and set into a quick jog to the open space.  When he felt he had enough distance for a bit of privacy, he began stretching out his arms and legs.  He fell into a routine familiar to him from his training sessions in Arten.  First lower body stretched, then upper before moving into a slow jog that he quickly sped up.  He didn’t move at his full speed yet, knowing it was better to pace himself, but he enjoyed the feel of the run and the wind blowing in his face.  He made one complete circuit of the empty training area before heading back to join the others. 

“I’m ready,” he said immediately upon arrival.

“I see that.  You’re bouncing like a puppy, petling,” Jarek said with a grin as he watched Cailan bounce on his feet to keep his adrenalin going.

Cailan flushed slightly and tried to stop his movements.  “Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Jarek assured.  “You and Fighter Marid will be up next.”

“Fighter Marid?” Cailan asked, the phrase unfamiliar to him.

“It is just a general term used for non-officer persons,” Jarek explained.

Cailan nodded in understanding before turning his attention to the course.  The two men running it were about halfway through.  Unfortunately, both were taken down before they finished the course; one by a moving beam, and the other by a log rolling at him right after he’d dodged an arrow.  Like the others who had fallen, the men got up quickly and worked to manage the rest of the course without any more problems.

When they were through, Cailan looked hopefully at Jarek.  “All right, my prince, go to the start, but remember,” he said seriously.  “Be Careful.”

“Yes, my lord,” Cailan said even as he turned and jogged to his starting place.  About five feet away, Fighter Marid stood at his line as well.  Cailan looked to his competition and nodded once at the man.  He got a brief smirk as well as a nod in return.  It was a reaction he was used to, but Cailan was familiar with having to prove himself, and knew that even if he did well, it may not give him the respect he wished for from others.  It was the lot he was born to, but it wouldn’t make him not try.  He returned his focus to the course, determined to do his best no matter what the other men thought of him.

He waited for the signal, and the moment he heard it he took off.  The focus was no longer the men behind him or the soldier he competed with.  It wasn’t Jarek or Cylandrea or even proving himself now.  His focus was the challenge before him, and a lifetime of not surrendering drove his skills and knowledge to their peaks.  The first challenge was a wooden platform, shaking like an earthquake moved it.  His mind focused on balance and he quickly found a rhythm in the motion and worked it to his advantage instead of his detriment.  A wall to scale with narrow and wide apart handholds was next, but he’d climbed cliffs and trees with harder and steeper challenges, and he made good time going up and over.  Moving beams coming quickly and seemingly sporadically were next, but he’d watched Jarek and the others face them and had memorized where each one would come from.  The adrenalin of facing them personally had the potential of throwing him off, but his days of ducking branches and jumping bushes, plants, and animals in wooded battle areas had honed his attention to know when and how to avoid such obstacles.  Rolling logs, one right after the other, were nearly under his feet as soon as he was past the beams.  He jumped the first two and then leapt into a hand spring which landed him just out of the way of the rest of them.  The arrows were next, he knew, and were some of the hardest to avoid.  Again, he pulled on battle time experience and listened for the whip in the air announcing their speedy presence as he sprinted toward the end of the course.  He ducked and dodged several, and for two he knew he couldn’t avoid, he spun, lifting both arms in a windmill pattern to knock the projectiles away.  He counted each arrow, knowing there would be no more than eight shot at him.  When the last one passed by him, he broke out into his fastest run and made a straight path to the end where his last obstacle was a height and distance jump over pile of rocks just in front of the end mark.  He wasn’t worried about that.  His speed and lighter weight, which in this case was a blessing, would easily carry him over the barrier.  He judged the moment he’d need to fly and made sure his feet were placed exactly where he wanted before taking the leap.  He landed on the other side, winded but feeling elated with accomplishment. 

He stood and faced the course and men behind it, surprised to see that his opponent was only about halfway through, but that every troop in the company watching was silent.  That silence unnerved him more than any of the hurdles he’d just faced.  Had he done something wrong?

When his competitor made it through, after having some problems with the rolling logs and arrows, Fighter Marid looked at him in awe as he gasped for breath.  “You are freaking faster than a rabbit with a fox on its tail!” he exclaimed through pants.  “How do you move like that?!”

Cailan didn’t have a chance to answer as the cheers of approaching men broke out.  The whole company was racing toward them, and in moments both of them were surrounded.  They were all talking at once, making it difficult to pick any one thing out, but Cailan heard sporadic words in the mayhem: “Fast!  Dodged them!  Flying leap!  Best time!”. 

His body tingled with adrenalin and a feeling of earned acceptance he hadn’t expected to receive.  He did notice that none of the men touched him until Jarek appeared out of the hoard and pulled him into a hug.  It was tight enough to make Cailan’s ribs creak, but the approval he was receiving felt amazing.

“That was beyond amazing,” Jarek said when he set him down, not bothering to hide his delight or his pride.

*****

The troops around them continued to buzz with excitement until Jarek held his hands up.  “I agree, men.  That was certainly an experience worth witnessing, but everyone here did well today and you’ve earned a good meal and rest period.  Please remember the statutes set about for your training.  There will be no pub visits tonight, but anyone who goes tomorrow from Reddick Company is welcome to a drink on me.  I’ll make sure the proprietors know.”

Another cheer went up before the men started to disperse.  Jarek also set a pace toward the carriage that had brought them to the training field.  “You’ve earned a pleasant evening as well, my petling.  I would not have believed a man could move so fast if I had not seen it with my own eyes.  I truly do not understand why you think your skills are not up to par.”

Jarek had taken his hand again and Cailan squeezed his fingers.  “Compared to my brothers and countrymen, I do fall short, but it was true that in one thing, when I ran, I usually came out first.”

“Your ability is beyond admirable,” Jarek stated sincerely.  “You’re not just fast, petling, you move like an arrow fresh from the bow, but you’re agile and attentive as well.  Nothing slowed you down on that course.”

Cailan ducked and smiled, and then they reached the carriage and he let Jarek help him inside.

Back at the palace, Cailan would have headed directly to the bathing room, but Jarek held him back.  “Not just yet, my prince.  There is something I’d like us to attend to first so the rest of our evening can be pleasant.”

“What?” Cailan questioned.

“A matter of discipline,” Jarek reminded.

It came back to the younger man in a flash.  “But….”

“But you thought your good performance might have negated your chastisement?” Jarek asked.  “I admit that I considered it, but I am a man of my word, petling, and I will not have you questioning whether I keep it, even if at times you do not want me to.  Do you recall what it is for?”

Cailan nodded, his adrenalin high now quickly wearing off.  “For insolence, my lord.”

“Yes,” Jarek confirmed.  “Come and place your hands on the chest.”

The older man pointed to the large storage chest kept at the end of the bed.  Cailan went reluctantly and bent, placing his hands on the curved wooden surface.  A hand rested on the small of his back, and just a moment later he felt the other one land with significant force on his backside.  This swat was harder than the previous one he’d experienced, and he yelped at the unexpected sting. 

“Ow!” he said almost accusingly at his owner as he reared up from his position.

Jarek pulled him close and cupped his chin.  “Do not glare at me, young one.  That was earned, but now we are done and our evening can be much more pleasant.”  He dipped his head and placed a warm and sensual kiss to Cailan’s pouting lips.  Cailan discovered it was hard to maintain a glower when something so much more pleasant was placed on his mouth.  

“Let’s clean up, sweet one,” Jarek suggested when their kiss ended.  “A bath and a good meal are deserved for both of us, and then I have plans for us this evening.”

Cailan gave him a curious look.  “What plans,” he asked suspiciously.

“You’ll see,” was all Jarek offered.

They bathed and Cailan gave one fierce frown at his backside when the mirrored glass showed a bright pink handprint blemishing it. 

During their evening meal, his owner chose to keep him on his lap, eyes closed once again as the dinner was fed to him.

It wasn’t until after those necessities were completed that Cailan was let in on Jarek’s intentions for that evening.

“Sit here,” Jarek directed, leading him to a long chaise set before a stone fireplace in the bedroom.  The heated days and warm evenings had made use of a fire unnecessary, but Cailan watched curiously as Jarek competently arranged kindling and logs and started a small blaze.  When it was crackling cheerfully, Jarek set a gate in front of the flames and then joined Cailan on the couch.

“We spoke earlier today of your birthday,” his master began, and Cailan stiffened slightly.  He’d been able to ignore the significance of the day in the events during training, and that had been a relief.  He didn’t want to think again on what being nineteen should have meant and the still excruciatingly painful feelings that accompanied the loss.

“I’d rather not speak of it again,” he stated morosely.

Jarek reached for his hand and winded his fingers through Cailan’s.  “I know, but I think it might be important that you listen right now.  You told me of a rite of passage in your country and I do understand its importance.  We have our own recognition of manhood in Cylandrea, though it’s not quite as public as yours.”

Cailan lifted his eyes and looked to the man at his side.  “What do you do?”

“It is something our fathers do for their sons,” Jarek explained.  “It is up to a boy’s father to recognize when his son has reached an age of maturity where he can handle or learn to handle a man’s responsibilities.  There is no set age for this to happen in our country, but it generally falls between the ages of seventeen and twenty-one when the recognition is acknowledged.  When a father believes his son is ready, he prepares a gift for him.  It is not the same for everyone.  Instead it is a uniquely chosen or personally made emblem that will be given.”

Jarek reached into a pocket of his tunic and pulled out a small item.  “This is what my father gave me.”  He turned Cailan’s hand palm up and placed the surprisingly heavy piece in the younger man’s grip.

Cailan studied the item, finding it beautiful but not quite sure what it was.  His confusion must have been apparent because Jarek started explaining the piece. 

“This is called a keeper,” he began.  “They are made in all different ways, but my father chose this one to be of ivory wood, steel, and gold.”

“Why?” Cailan asked.

Jarek grinned in fond remembrance.  “Because of their significance to me.  The ivory wood is a bit of a tease.  Ivory trees grow very tall here and are amazing climbing trees.  At least, I thought so as a child.  My mother and father would often scold me for climbing too high.  One time, when I was about eleven, I climbed so high that my parents couldn’t see me and I scared myself frozen once I realized how far away from the ground was.  I was stuck for half an afternoon before I was spotted and my father climbed up to retrieve me.”  He gave Cailan a rueful look.  “Perhaps in Arten a royal child is not subjected to physical discipline, but that is not the case here, and my father walloped me red afterward.”

Cailan couldn’t help chuckling at Jarek’s grimace, and his owner joined in with a quiet laugh as well.

“Anyway, that is the reason behind the wood, a reminder of many things—my childhood, to consider my actions, to keep my feet on the ground.”

They both chuckled again before Jarek returned to explaining his memento. “The steel in this keeper represents two things.  One is the steel of a sword.  I was already on my way to being a leader in our regime and my father knew it would be significant in my life, so he included that metal in the keeper. 

“The second thing steel represents to our people as a whole is a promise.  Promises, we are taught, are to be kept with the strength of steel, and I was the receiver of a specific promise as a youngster that I still work to keep true.”

“What promise?” Cailan asked.

“I cannot tell you that at this time, my prince, but I hope to someday.”

Cailan found he could accept that, seeing just how important it clearly was to his master.  “What about the gold in the keeper then?”

“The gold is symbolic of my royal heritage.  Like you, young Cailan, I am the son of a king, a prince in my country.  Should anything happen to Alaric and he doesn’t have a son of his own, I am next in line to the throne.”

Cailan realized he had known that subconsciously.  It only made sense, but it abruptly felt significant to him that he was owned by the next in line to the kingdom.

“Truly, I do not wish to be king,” Jarek said, his gaze now on the flickering flames in the fireplace.  “It is Alaric’s destiny, not mine.  He is a good king, and I am good at supporting him.  Together I think we have a balance and the strength of two heads with one ruler.”

Cailan thought on his owner’s approach to his political position.  “Have you never wished to be king?”

“As a lad I did,” Jarek admitted.  “But as I told you, I was the receiver of a promise that I need to keep, and I do not believe I could fulfill it if I had been meant to rule.”  He looked inquiringly at Cailan.  “You would have been in line to your kingdom’s throne as well.  Did you wish to rule someday?”

Just a brief pain in Cailan’s chest followed that question, but it was not the pain of loss; more the pain of something occasionally wanted but just out of his reach.  “I am the sixth son, my lord.  The likelihood of reigning was small for me.  My eldest brother, Abed, has been groomed for the position since birth, and all of us below him knew that.  As a child I wished, just like my elder brothers, to be king someday, and we all occasionally fought over that right or who would do the best job.  It got to be bad for a time, but one day my father gathered us and spoke to us seriously.  He told us our attitudes were wrong.  That if we fought amongst ourselves for power, then we’d be divided and the power to rule would be lost to all of us because we left an open door for someone else to take it.  He also said we would divide our country if we tried to force them to pick a king instead of letting the one born to it take the position.  We were told he was proud to have six sons—Doron wasn’t born yet—not because it meant he had a line of successors, but because it meant that Abed could have the strength of five loyal brothers under him, helping him to keep the kingdom strong.  I don’t remember another fight among us that day over the right to the throne.  And besides,” he added with a hint of dejection, “even if the throne would have come to me, my countrymen would have struggled to abide under my reign.”

Jarek put an arm around his shoulders until Cailan leaned into him and let his head rest on the broad shoulder.  “Because of your silver hair?”

“Yes,” Cailan stated honestly if not a bit resentfully.

Jarek sighed and the warmth of a kiss was placed on the top of his head.  “I admire the dutiful and reverent son you are to your family considering the attitudes you faced.”

“My father and mother were not like a lot of others,” Cailan told him.  “They were disappointed to have a silver-born.  No Artenian can pretend to be happy about that, but they still loved me as their son and did their best to raise me as they did my brothers, even when I failed at things the others succeeded at.”

Cailan was very close to tears at that point, and Jarek seemed to realize it because he redirected the conversation.

“Sit up a bit, petling.  Let me show you the rest of my keeper.”

Cailan did so, taking a slow breath to push back the melancholy.  Jarek pointed to a design on the front of the item. 

“Do you recognize that?”

The younger man looked closer and studied the design Jarek pointed to.  He recognized it in just a few seconds.  “It’s the origin mark on your chest!” he exclaimed, rather proud of himself for identifying it.

Jarek nodded.  “Yes.  Now turn the keeper over.”  Cailan did so and saw a different design on the other side.  “What you see is my father’s origin mark.  Father and son together, even when we’re not, he told me.”

“That’s really special,” Cailan said sincerely.  He glanced up at Jarek somewhat guardedly.  “Is he still alive?”

He expected the answer to be no, but Jarek surprised him by nodding.  “I know it is odd compared to other kingdoms, but we do not always wait for one king to die before the next steps up to reign.  My father chose to bring Alaric to the throne almost forty years ago because he felt certain times and necessities made my brother the better head for the role.  They co-reigned for almost three years though before Alaric stood without our father.  My parents moved to the southern hills of Cylandrea at that time, but they make regular visits to the palace, and my siblings and I travel to see them as we can.  I manage about twice a year.”

“Your world is so different,” Cailan said, not for the first time.  “How old is your father?”

“He will turn 105 this winter.”

“Wow,” was all Cailan could comment. 

Jarek chuckled. 

“How old were you when your father gave you these things?” the younger man wanted to know.

“Interestingly enough, young prince, I was one day past my nineteenth birthday.”

It didn’t truly mean anything, but Cailan felt like he shared a link in a chain with Jarek to hear that his owner was seen as a man at the same age that it was recognized in his home country.

“Here, there is one last thing to the keeper to show you.”  Jarek took the item from Cailan’s hand and did something the younger man couldn’t quite see, but the action caused a soft clicking sound and the keeper opened into two halves.  “This is why it is called a ‘keeper’,” Jarek informed him.  “It is meant to keep within it something special.”

There were actually two small items within the little box.  Jarek took out the first which Cailan easily identified as a coin.

“I should be teaching you of how our monetary system works already.  I’ll make sure to retrieve a book on it that you can add to your studies tomorrow.  But I’ll tell you now that our coins are made from three separate materials: molded metal for the lesser coins, bronze for the next level, and silver for the greater amounts.  Gold coins are used only by the royal house, and we offer them as payment or gifts only to other royal houses.  When my father had the keeper made, he also had this coin minted.  It is the only one of its kind and I will never part with it.  It is made of the purest gold in our possession.  One side holds my father’s profile, while the other holds mine.”

Just holding the coin in his hand was rather awe-inspiring to Cailan.  Silver and gold coins were both common in Arten, and both used for exchange whether you were royal or common born, but he could tell immediately that the purity of the gold he currently held was leagues above what he was used to; and to see the face of his master on the coin, as well as his master’s father, was surreal.  That sense deepened when Jarek revealed something else.

“I would request that you not mention this coin to anyone, petling.  You are now the only person besides me, my father, and the man who minted this coin who has seen it or knows of its existence.”

Cailan looked at his owner in shock.  “Why would you reveal this to me?!”

Jarek’s eyes were their darkest blue and wholly serious.  “Because you are very special, my prince.”

Cailan swallowed, feeling both nervous to be trusted with something so significant, and suddenly very connected to his master.  “I will never tell, my lord.  I promise.  I will not break my word.”

Jarek slowly leaned in and kissed Cailan with a light brush of his lips.  “Thank you.”

Feeling a little shaky with the intensity of things, Cailan carefully put the coin back in the keeper.  “What is the other item, my lord?”

Jarek rubbed a heavy hand across Cailan’s back for a moment before retrieving the second item and holding it up.  “As a toddler I had enough curls on my head to be confused as a girl child,” he said lightly, thankfully bringing down some of the strong emotions in the air.  “This is one of my curls.”

Cailan chuckled and willingly held out his hand for the curl which he saw the silver sparkle in now that he got a closer look.  The tiniest of ribbons held the curl in one piece.

“Whoever tied a bow this tiny?” Cailan questioned.

“The palace sorcerer,” Jarek told him.  “The ribbon is tied with a spell and within its bow are ingrained the words of the promise I was given to keep.”

“How can that be?  And how can you even read them if that’s true?  They’d be too small.”

“It’s all a part of the spell.  Those who are members of my family, including myself, can see and clearly read the words that are there as if they were written on plain paper, but they are imperceptible to everyone else.”

“Why is this promise you’re to keep such a secret?”

“I’m afraid that is something else I can’t reveal to you at this time, although again I hope to someday.  All I can tell you is that the promise, kept or broken, has the power to affect every person in the kingdom.”

Cailan thought carefully on that.  He could tell the significance was highly important.  “Do you struggle to keep the secret?” he asked eventually.

“Do I struggle to keep the promise a secret?  No, not really.  What I struggle with is the fear that I will break it.”

Cailan shook his head.  “I do not think you will.  You have kept your word to me so far.  I did not trust that you would initially, but if you had not intended to keep it, I think you would have broken it already.”

“My word not to force you, little prince?”

Cailan nodded.  “You have the right and the strength to do just that, but you haven’t.  Of course, you may not have that strong an attraction to me, but I know that for some men that does not matter so much as getting the sexual release they desire.”

The last few of Cailan’s words were drowned out by Jarek’s laughter.  Startled, Cailan looked wide-eyed at his owner’s mirth.  “Why do you laugh at me?” he needed to know.

Jarek wiped at his eyes.  “Oh, petling.  I just find it shockingly funny that you think I may not be attracted to you, especially after what you’ve allowed me to do so far with your body.”  He roughly put his arms around Cailan and latched his mouth onto the younger man’s lips, kissing him fervently.  Cailan nearly ran out of breath by the time Jarek released him, and panted to retrieve his air as Jarek grinned at him.  “I am so very attracted to you that I fear my constant state of arousal will be noticed by all who see me.  I have made quite sure that my tunics these last few days have been long enough to keep my decency.”

Cailan laughed out loud at that.  “Truly?”

“Truly, my beautiful prince.”  Jarek kissed him again, much more lightly but with as deep a sense of passion.  “Such a stunning gift you are,” he said softly.  “Speaking of which, I have a gift for you.”

It took several seconds for that comment to sink in because Cailan rather felt like he was floating for a brief moment.  “Um…a gift?”

Jarek smiled.  “Yes, but it comes in two parts and takes some explanation.”

“Ok.”  There was still breathlessness to Cailan’s reply and he worked to steady himself as he gave his master back the keeper and its contents.  Jarek carefully put them away and then moved to the stone mantle over the fireplace to retrieve a velvet bag.  He sat back down but didn’t immediately open the small purse. 

“I am not your father to make this the same rite as I know, nor are we in Arten to do things your way, but that final step into manhood is not something that should go by without being commemorated.”  He opened the velvet bag and took out a ring.  “I would have preferred to have this made in gold, but since I only had today to see to its creation I had to accept the use of silver.” 

He held the ring up with two fingers so Cailan could see it more clearly. There was a gemstone as the dominant piece, and then two rather plain and rough looking stones flanking the gem’s sides.  When Jarek held it out to him, he accepted it and studied it more closely.

“Let me explain the stones of this ring, petling,” Jarek requested and pointed at the rock to the right of the gem.  “You have two kingdoms, two worlds, as a part of you now.  This stone is from your land of Arten, prince.  It is from a smoothed over rock I found in a stream while marching in your land during our years of battle.  The water had washed it nearly white and I couldn’t resist pocketing it because I found it beautiful.  I had it delivered to a stone mason this morning who took this piece off to put in the ring.”

Cailan’s eyes started to blur as he looked at the white stone with new appreciation.  It was a bit of home, and that rough rock was suddenly very precious to him.  He nearly hugged Jarek right then, but his master pointed to the stone to the left of the gem.

“It may not be as important to you as I would hope, but this part is a bit of Cylandrean stone.  It is a small piece chipped from the palace walls, because both this land and this palace are your home now.  I wanted you to carry both kingdoms, both homes, with you.

“And this,” he continued, pointing to the center gemstone which was a beautiful purple.  “This is an amethyst jewel taken from the first crown crafted for me as a royal son of Cylandrea.  It is only right that the prince in you receives a royal gem, and I wanted it to be one that was mine that I could give to you.

“I can’t say I’m entitled to call this your rite of passage into manhood, but at the least I hope you’ll accept it as a birthday gift.”

Cailan couldn’t talk.  His throat had closed up, but he nodded his acceptance.  Jarek took the ring and reached for Cailan’s right hand, slipping the jewelry onto the center finger.  He then tipped Cailan’s chin up to meet his eyes.

“Are you all right?” 

Cailan nodded, but he still couldn’t speak. 

“Are you sure?  I said there were two parts to your gift.  Are you ready to hear the second?”

Cailan took a deep breath and nodded again.

“All right.  This second part is more of an offering which you can accept or decline as you see fit.  I promise I will not be bothered however you choose.”

“Ok,” Cailan managed gruffly.

“Alright.  Then I want to offer you your true rite of passage as you would have done in Arten, but I’m afraid it comes with conditions.”

Cailan’s hopes lifted so high in that moment he almost felt dizzy with the sensation.  “Really?!”

Jarek held up a hand, his expression serious.  “Hear me out please.  I don’t want your excitement to lift so high and then fall when you hear my stipulations.”

Cailan worked to ground himself and nodded. 

“Ok, this is what I can offer you.  I do not truly wish for you to cut your hair, but I am willing to let you to the length you showed me this morning.  But, while I know you love your father and are loyal to him, your first allegiance is not to him anymore.  You are mine before you are his now.”

Those words were more grounding than Cailan’s own attempts had been.  Some of his hope died even as he understood what Jarek was saying.

“If you do cut your hair, you will split the locks into two halves.  Even though your first loyalty is not to be to him anymore, I do understand that you will always be your father’s son; so, if when your family visits in a year’s time and you wish to offer King Saxon one half of your hair, I will not find fault with that choice.”

“What…what of the other half?” Cailan asked.

“The other half might be more difficult for you.  I realize it is too soon to truly expect an allegiance to me, but I want it from you.  So, you will keep the other half in your possession, and if the day comes when you can honestly offer me your loyalty, then I’d like you to offer me your hair as well.”

Cailan licked his lips as he considered that.  He’d never thought he’d be asked to split his loyalty in such a way, but he could understand why Jarek made this a stipulation.  Truly, he was being more generous than anyone could expect him to be, and Cailan understood that.  He sat quietly for several minutes, carefully considering the decision before him.

“I…I would like to accept what you offer,” he finally chose, knowing he was being honest with himself in this decision.

Jarek gave him a half-smile that didn’t reveal much.  “As you wish, little prince, although I do have one last stipulation for you.”

Cailan felt a moment of irritation, thinking Jarek should have said something before.  “What is it?”

“I want the cutting of your hair to be a one-time event.  I will miss its length and I will require you to grow it back once it’s cut.”

In Arten, very few men regrew their hair once they’d cut it for the king, but Cailan knew a few did choose to do so and it was not considered something grievous to do.  “Ok,” he agreed, not finding that requirement too hard to follow.

“Shall we do this now then?” Jarek asked.

“Yes please,” the younger man requested.

The two of them moved to the bathing room together and Jarek retrieved a pair of shears as Cailan stood in front of a full length piece of framed, mirrored glass.  Before accepting the shears, he took a brush and moved it through his length several times until it was smooth and shining.  He then parted it down the center and let each half fall loosely over the front of his shoulders.

Jarek silently handed over the shears when Cailan was ready, and the smaller man noticed he also held two dark purple ribbons in his other hand. 

He took a breath and steadied his hand before lifting the shears to the first half of his hair, right to the top of his shoulder, and then cut cleanly.  The locks fell away and Cailan silently handed them over to Jarek when the man held out his hand.  He watched as his owner carefully tied that first bundle.  When he was done, he returned his attention to Cailan and nodded.  Cailan lifted the shears a second time, making sure to place them evenly to where the other side had been cut.  In moments the second half fell away, and it too was carefully tied.

Cailan studied himself in the glass when the deed was done.  The shorter hair made him feel older, even look a bit older, and whether the ritual was truly meant to or not, Cailan did feel like he’d taken that step into manhood that he’d needed.  He looked at his hair, and then looked down at his finger that now wore a very special ring.  Overwhelmed with joy and gratefulness, he abruptly flung himself at Jarek, who had to take a step back at the force that Cailan impacted him with.

“Thank you,” Cailan said sincerely as he hugged him. 

            Jarek hugged him tightly in return, even lifting Cailan until the smaller man’s feet left the ground.  “You’re welcome, my petling.”