Chapter I – In which I give a brief history lesson

My story is entwined with that of the Rebel War. Readers aware of the history of Albion will easily realize the importance of the period, but even so, I have decided to include a summary of my circumstances and how it relates to everything.

I was born as Edward Deiramund , a full-blooded noble (descended from the steward of Anosurais), son of Count Rupert Deiramund, Lord of Granhurst and Deirmoor, Knight-Cavalier of the Order of the Birch; and Lydia Granhurst, Priestess of the Gentle Flame.

My happy childhood ended with the death of my mother, at the tender age of six. My father sent me away to live with my aunt, so I would be looked after properly. He visited often, but didn’t stay for long. He blamed himself, and the guilt cast a deep shadow over our meetings. It is evident to me now, but back then, I was still unable to see it. For me, it seemed like I had lost both my parents.

My miserable self lived in Gwynheid manor, a house in the middle of nowhere. It was five miles to the nearest town of Livington, and two from the edge of Gwynheid forest. I had free run of the place. Aunt Ethel saw me once a day, at breakfast, after which I was free to do whatever I pleased.

It was bewildering at first, but I soon got used to it all. I read books, swung a sword, rode horses, chased geese, hunted rabbits… all the things children do. I was enchanted by the knightly tales of loyalty and chivalry, the history of King Ambrosius, his great deeds, and all the things that he accomplished. I thought of the time when I would be of age, when I would meet my father again, myself at court, knighthood, the valour of battle… I would dream of it all, and sought to prepare myself. Those were the blissful days.

War broke out in 1450, when I was thirteen years old. Everyone now knows what happened, but back then, my knowledge was lacking. All that I knew was that there was a rebellion against the king. Father sent a letter in Aurelius, stating that he wouldn’t visit this year. Seven months later, all the able bodied men were also being called to fight. Although I wished to go, Aunt Ethel didn’t allow me (I hid in the cart, but they found me and brought me back).

The men left the household; James and Sean, the two butlers, Roarke, the stable boy. I remember being envious of him. A few months later, teacher Derek quit as well. There were only four people left by 1452 – Aunt Ethel, her maid Gilda, our cook Sheena, and me. An overbearing silence descended upon the halls. The war continued. Although none of us showed it, we all were worried.

But all we could was to wait.

***

It was 3rd of Julius, a warm, sunny day. I was resting under a tree, having spent the morning climbing trees, searching for eggs. The manor was well within my sights, and so was the road that led to it. Therefore, I was the first to see Jacob riding his cart leisurely towards the gates.

Jacob Armitage was the old verderer that lived in the forest. Most of my excursions outside were together with him. He had taught me how to hunt, fish, and even the basics of the sword. The man brought supplies from the town twice a week, and was basically our contact to the outside world.

“I hope you have some venison.” I said to him. “Aunt Ethel won’t be happy to see you otherwise.”

“No venison this time, Master Edward.” He gave a weak smile. “Though I do have news.”

“How fares the battle?” I asked. He shook his head. “Let’s go inside first.”

I had a premonition of what he might have to say. “How bad is it?”

He looked at me thoughtfully for a moment. “The worst imaginable.” And then he would say no more.

***

We were admitted into the study after a while. Aunt Ethel sat by the table, her face highlighted by the lamp upon it. Gilda, her maid, fidgeted nervously by the corner. I flopped down at my usual spot at the door. Jacob stood in the middle, uncomfortable by the attention.

“The riders came last Erthday.” He said. “I was in the pub when they were drinking.” He shifted slightly. “They seemed drunk, so I didn’t think it true. But more of them came in yesterday, saying the same thing -”

“What is it?” Aunt Ethel.

“There was a grievous battle at Naseby.” He said after a while. “The King and his compatriots were defeated.”

“Impossible!” I cried out.

“It is true, Master Edward.” He said. “The war is over. We have lost.”

“Grace light our paths!” Aunt Ethel muttered under her breath. For a second, she seemed to sag under the strain, almost collapsing in her chair, but the moment passed, and then she was whole. “Glinda!” Her harsh voice shook everyone in the room. “Bring the brandy from the cellar. I suspect we all need something strong today.” She said. “Go on, girl!”

Glinda shakingly rose and went outside. We heard Sheena’s shriek a minute later. I stared into the flickering light and thought of those who had left to fight. I remember Robin boasting how he would return as a famous knight. Somehow, I knew that wasn’t possible anymore.

***

“What shall we do now?” I asked Aunt Ethel. We were all sitting in the main hall, the fire blazing in the hearth, though it offered little comfort. I and Aunt were the closest to the flames. The others were seated at a distance, talking and crying in hushed tones. The crackling fire seemed to made their words indistinct.

“Have you felt anything?” Aunt asked after a long while. Her tired face was half covered in shadows. “Any sort of change within you?”

It took me some time to realize the meaning behind her words. My grasp upon the cup tightened as I did. “Father is alive.” I replied as softly as she had asked. “If I awakened, you would be the first to know.”

“I am glad to hear that.” She smiled softly. “So we have to wait.”

“We can’t just sit around!”

“We have to.” She said. “We do not know anything about what will happen. Until we get word from your father, we continue as usual.” She sighed. “There’s nothing else we can do. I hope you’re old enough to understand that.”

“I do.” I said.

“Yes.” She said. She sighed again. “You’ll be a fine man one day, Edward. But right now, I need you to be patient. Don’t act rashly. Can you promise me that?”

Could I? In my mind, I thought of riding to the King’s rescue, charging with my men, the banners of Deiramund flying high in the air, noble and unbroken. The desire to do my duty, to serve the country and our King was too great. But she was right. If I went out now, I would most likely fail. There were so many things that I didn’t know. Even so, what if this my chance? Could I really pass it by?

“Edward?” Her voice was stern. “Promise me.”

“My father fought his first battle when he was thirteen.” I said. “I am fifteen now.”

“You do not know to fight, Edward.” She said. “And you alone cannot change anything whatsoever.”

“The courage to act at the right time makes all the difference. What if this my moment? What if this is the Light’s way of showing me my path?”

“It is not, Edward.” She said. “Your father asked of me that I keep you safe until you’re of age. And I swore to goddess that I would. Do you understand what that means?”

“That’s not fair.”

“Please, Edward. Listen to me, just this once.”

“Fine.” I said. “But as soon as I turn sixteen, I am leaving, with or without my father.” Having made my declaration, I left the room.

I slept little that night, or the followings night thereafter. There were a lot of emotions swirling within me; anxiety, for the fate of my father; anger, at the rebels; hope, at how I could change things; despair, that events were beyond my power; sadness and denial, rage and envy, everything mixed with everything else. I made plans of what I had to do. Return to our holdings, gather news, raise the banner, fight for the King… the details were vague, but I was certain I could accomplish it all. My belief in myself was unshakeable.

The news trickled in, some good, others bad. The King hadn’t been captured, but most of his staunchest supporters had surrendered. There were still a few pockets of resistance, but they were expected to fall soon. Everyone was fighting, and I was forced to stay away, safe in my corner of Albion.

Until the day the war arrived on our doorstep.

***