that pointed question. The notion of Celimus ruling Morgravia twisted in his gut all too often. Kneeling to him, swearing loyalty to him—privately he wondered if he could ever do this and mean it.
He knew he was ugly to the heir’s beautiful eyes. Celimus took immense pleasure in reminding Wyl of his plainness. Wyl had little choice but to accept the taunts with grace; he knew the Prince was, for once, not lying in this regard. Nevertheless the words stung. It was Alyd who always helped him retrieve his sense of humor and whenever the pair found time alone together explosions of laughter could be heard.
Wyl firmly believed Shar had sent a golden-haired angel to him in the shape of Alyd, for laughter had been rare in his life at Stoneheart before his arrival. Alyd’s sharp wit and easy style seemed perfect foils for Wyl’s remote, yet very direct manner, and where Wyl was brutally honest. Alyd had the gift of gilding the lily, always prone to exaggeration. Alyd’s storytelling powers had become legend, even in his short time at Stoneheart; a minor event, such as Lord Berry’s wig slipping when the old fellow napped during a council, took on gigantic, hysterical proportions when retold through the imagination of Alyd Donal.
Wyl loved Alyd for his friendship, his ability to make him laugh out loud, and for his interest in Ylena. It never bothered Alyd on the rare occasions she tagged along with them and he appeared to take as much delight in entertaining her as Ylena did in accompanying them. And while she was blossoming into the same golden beauty her mother had once possessed, the boys had put on some height and bulk. Gueryn had seen to it that if Wyl was not going to be especially tall, then he would have strong physical presence that would impress his men in years to come. He devised for Wyl and Alyd a special training routine that worked on their boyish muscles, and the results were impressive already.
“You’ll be my second, I promise,” Wyl said solemnly to Alyd as they chewed on apples near the lake that flanked Stoneheart. It was a free afternoon; the day was cold but the sun shone and both boys had nothing better to do than lie on their backs, hidden from the castle’s world, and stare up at the sky, making plans as they dreamed of soldiering together in the Legion.
“How do you know they’ll allow it?” Alyd replied.
Wyl snorted. “Who is ‘they?’ I will be ‘they,’” he said in a rare show of arrogance. “I am General of the Morgravian Legion.”
“Title only.” Alyd corrected.
Wyl ignored him. “And in a few years. I will lead our army. My father had total control of the men. And I will have only those I trust as my Captains and Lieutenants.”
“But what if—” Alyd broke off as a disheveled and weary-looking page suddenly crested the hillock they lay against.
“Oh, what now?” Wyl muttered. “Ho, Jon!”
The relief was evident on the youngster’s face. “You’ve got to come, Master Thirsk—he commands you.”
Wyl grimaced, resigned. He stood. “The Prince?”
Jon nodded, still breathing hard from his exertions. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. He’s in a hot temper, too.”
“Lovely—just how we like him,” Alyd said, grinning and standing as well. “How did you find us anyway, young Jon?”
The boy’s eyes flicked nervously at Wyl. “Your sister. Master Thirsk. I’m sorry but I had to find you.”
“That’s all right, think no more on it.”
“We’ll just run her through with our swords later,” Alyd reassured him.
Jon looked aghast.
“He’s being witty, Jon. As if he would harm the girl he loves.” It was Alyd’s turn to look shocked. He threw his apple core at his friend, then in a blink he knocked Wyl backward and sent them both rolling down the hill with the poor page running after them.
“How dare you!” Alyd accused, not sure whether to laugh or punch his friend.
“It’s obvious to a blind man, you fool.”
“She’s
He knew he was ugly to the heir’s beautiful eyes. Celimus took immense pleasure in reminding Wyl of his plainness. Wyl had little choice but to accept the taunts with grace; he knew the Prince was, for once, not lying in this regard. Nevertheless the words stung. It was Alyd who always helped him retrieve his sense of humor and whenever the pair found time alone together explosions of laughter could be heard.
Wyl firmly believed Shar had sent a golden-haired angel to him in the shape of Alyd, for laughter had been rare in his life at Stoneheart before his arrival. Alyd’s sharp wit and easy style seemed perfect foils for Wyl’s remote, yet very direct manner, and where Wyl was brutally honest. Alyd had the gift of gilding the lily, always prone to exaggeration. Alyd’s storytelling powers had become legend, even in his short time at Stoneheart; a minor event, such as Lord Berry’s wig slipping when the old fellow napped during a council, took on gigantic, hysterical proportions when retold through the imagination of Alyd Donal.
Wyl loved Alyd for his friendship, his ability to make him laugh out loud, and for his interest in Ylena. It never bothered Alyd on the rare occasions she tagged along with them and he appeared to take as much delight in entertaining her as Ylena did in accompanying them. And while she was blossoming into the same golden beauty her mother had once possessed, the boys had put on some height and bulk. Gueryn had seen to it that if Wyl was not going to be especially tall, then he would have strong physical presence that would impress his men in years to come. He devised for Wyl and Alyd a special training routine that worked on their boyish muscles, and the results were impressive already.
“You’ll be my second, I promise,” Wyl said solemnly to Alyd as they chewed on apples near the lake that flanked Stoneheart. It was a free afternoon; the day was cold but the sun shone and both boys had nothing better to do than lie on their backs, hidden from the castle’s world, and stare up at the sky, making plans as they dreamed of soldiering together in the Legion.
“How do you know they’ll allow it?” Alyd replied.
Wyl snorted. “Who is ‘they?’ I will be ‘they,’” he said in a rare show of arrogance. “I am General of the Morgravian Legion.”
“Title only.” Alyd corrected.
Wyl ignored him. “And in a few years. I will lead our army. My father had total control of the men. And I will have only those I trust as my Captains and Lieutenants.”
“But what if—” Alyd broke off as a disheveled and weary-looking page suddenly crested the hillock they lay against.
“Oh, what now?” Wyl muttered. “Ho, Jon!”
The relief was evident on the youngster’s face. “You’ve got to come, Master Thirsk—he commands you.”
Wyl grimaced, resigned. He stood. “The Prince?”
Jon nodded, still breathing hard from his exertions. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. He’s in a hot temper, too.”
“Lovely—just how we like him,” Alyd said, grinning and standing as well. “How did you find us anyway, young Jon?”
The boy’s eyes flicked nervously at Wyl. “Your sister. Master Thirsk. I’m sorry but I had to find you.”
“That’s all right, think no more on it.”
“We’ll just run her through with our swords later,” Alyd reassured him.
Jon looked aghast.
“He’s being witty, Jon. As if he would harm the girl he loves.” It was Alyd’s turn to look shocked. He threw his apple core at his friend, then in a blink he knocked Wyl backward and sent them both rolling down the hill with the poor page running after them.
“How dare you!” Alyd accused, not sure whether to laugh or punch his friend.
“It’s obvious to a blind man, you fool.”
“She’s
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