The Army

I’m so excited that I’m no longer riding the bus! That doesn’t mean that I’m done with school (I have two finals) or that I won’t be going to Pocatello again (the dietetics department is having a graduation dinner for us graduating), but I am done with the bus. Thank goodness! I’ve been trying six years to stop riding it and now I finally am.

However, this blog isn’t about my exciting news. It’s about what I’ve written in stories. Today we continue with Aeterna’s Heir. This is kind of a boring section because I spend most of it explaining things already known. But hey, that’s what you get when you start a new book. To the story!
**************
Dixon wished the general would summon him earlier in the day, or perhaps tomorrow morning. But no, the general wanted to see him now, late into the night while everyone else was getting ready for bed. However, Dixon wasn’t going to disobey an order. Even if that meant missing out on their nightly card game.

General Chief used his room as both his sleeping quarter and temporary office. It was less space they had to clean up, which in Dixon’s opinion, was good. During the first week of their stay, everyone pitched in to help clean up the rooms. By the end, everyone was dirty and tired. Even he had the thought to ask the prince to use his powers to clean the rooms.

“Sir,” he said, knocking on the open door. “You summoned me?”

Chief was writing something at his desk. He put the pen down and stood up. “Yes, I did,” he said, gesturing him into the room. Once Dixon was inside, the general closed the door. “I’m sorry for calling on you so late. I know you enjoy the card game.”

“I need to get out once in a while,” Dixon said respectfully. His duty to Aeterna came first.

“I’ll try to keep this meeting short,” Chief promised. “You are second in command in this team.”

Dixon somehow managed to keep his feelings from his face. He should have been put in command four months ago, when Hillard was forced to retire from the Ghosts. It should have been him promoted to captain. Not that upstart prince.

“Thank you, sir,” he said slowly.

Chief raised an eyebrow. Why was it that the Ghost general could see through lies? “Something the matter?”

Dixon struggled within himself. There were so many things he wanted to rant and rave about how unfair it was when the prince joined them. The prince’s sudden promotion just so he could have a reputation, the way he was favored in most tasks, his own arrogance, his disappearance acts. There was very little Dixon liked about Martin Santer.

“Sir,” he said instead. “I respectfully request a change of post.” Chief frowned, but said nothing. Dixon cringed. He knew what the silence meant. He had to explain.

“Sir, you know I hate nobles.” The general nodded. Of course he understood. Dixon was a little ashamed to admit it, but during his training he had often picked fights with noble hotheads, getting both him and the noble in trouble. It had gotten to be such a problem that the Ghost general had to be involved.

“You’re asking me to be in second command to the height of nobility,” Dixon pointed out bitterly. “I’ve put up with him this winter, because you asked us to help him control his powers. I’ve bitten my tongue so much that I have sores. While I appreciate the opportunity to become a Ghost legend by leading an army, I don’t want to do it by riding on the fame of a prince.”

The general shifted on his feet, though it wasn’t for embarrassment. “Mind if I sit?” he asked, limping to his chair. “Actually, it’s not a matter if you mind.” Groaning softly, he sat down, rubbing that aching knee. Dixon felt a bit ashamed at himself, watching the general. Chief was one of the most brilliant, courageous, and loyal Aeternan Dixon knew. Part of the reason he joined the Ghosts was because he wanted to be like this man. He should have been more conscious of the general’s pain.

“I know you don’t like nobles,” Chief said. Even when sitting, the man seemed to be towering over him with authority. “But I didn’t pick this team just because Martin needed a reputation. Part of my reason was because you are in it.”

Dixon blinked, shocked. “Sir!” he started to exclaim. Chief held up a hand, silencing him.

“What do you know about Martin’s life? Before I forced him into the team?”

Dixon frowned. “He was the Alex,” he said. “Aeterna’s top spy. He lied about being a Santer for over a year. His best friend was killed because of it.”

“Anything else?”

The Ghost gaped at the general. “What else is there?” he asked. “He’s a cocky, arrogant, selfish upstart.”

Chief chuckled. “I would argue with all of those labels. But I’m not surprised you really know nothing about Martin’s life and it is not my place to enlighten you about how much he struggled. But I will tell you this. You are not the first to think Martin is worthless. When he first joined the spies, he was viewed as a thief and a liar. It took him four years to become Suit’s apprentice then another three before he became the Alex. He’s been beaten, cursed at, betrayed, and abandoned.” The general leaned forward, his expression serious.

“While most people would become bitter and see themselves as worthless if they’re treated like that, Martin thrives on it. If no one is fighting against him, he feels as if something is wrong. He needs opposition to grow. I picked this team, knowing you hated nobles, because that hate you have is exactly what he needs.”

Dixon took a step back, shocked. He had been picked because of his hate?

“If you truly feel that you cannot continue working with him, then I will reassign you,” Chief said. “However, I want you to consider why I picked you. I don’t want you to like him. I want you to hate him, make his life difficult. It is also why I’m putting you in second of command. While it would be preferred that you don’t argue with him in public, I do want you to argue with him. Don’t bite your tongue around him. Speak your mind. Martin will appreciate it.”

Dixon sat down on the bed, stunned. Was he really having this conversation? It was like four months before, when Chief ordered them to throw as many snow balls at the prince as possible. He was ordering him to treat the prince with disrespect.

“Do you accept?” Chief asked.

Dixon took a minute before answering. “How can I say no?” he whispered. Hadn’t he dreamed of berating nobles? Arguing with them? Showing them that they weren’t the boss? He wouldn’t just be punching a cocky minor noble in the nose like during his training. He would literally be a stumbling block for the prince of Aeterna. “I’ll do it.”

“Good,” Chief said briskly, as if he were expecting that to be his answer all along. “There are a couple of things about being second in command that I do want you to be aware of. You already know that you are to argue with the prince. The second you’re going to have to keep secret from Martin.”

This peaked his interest. What could the general have in mind that he didn’t want the prince to know?

“If Martin is ever incapacitated, your main duty is to keep him safe.” Chief looked wearied now and, somehow, pained. “There have been a lot of mistakes where Martin is concerned. And one of them is his safety. Oh, yes, I have no doubt that he can take care of himself in a fight, but that doesn’t mean that a blow to the head won’t land. Accidents happen and not even he can prevent that. If it does happen, and Martin can’t give orders, your job is to keep him safe, above everything else. I hate to say this, but if you have to pick from protecting a town and protecting Martin, you are ordered to pick Martin. Towns can be rebuilt. But we only have one prince, and he’s been through enough. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Dixon did understand. It was one of the reasons why he hated nobles. They felt entitled to protection and considered themselves more important than the lives of others. However, Chief wanted him to keep this a secret from the prince. Did that mean that Martin considered others of more importance than himself? Dixon wasn’t sure what to think about that.

“Good,” Chief said, now just looking tired. “You are dismissed for the night. We have an early start tomorrow. I know everyone is looking forward to leaving this place.”

Dixon finally chuckled, completely in agreement. Everyone was getting tired of these abandoned walls. Standing up and saluting, he left the general, heading back to his room. It had been a short meeting. Perhaps he wouldn’t miss the card game after all. He hummed to himself as he found the game still in progress. The near future looked a lot better than it had this morning.
**************
His Rowan was ready to leave, nearly more so than he was. Martin patted the elven horse’s neck, feeling the tense, excited muscles in the powerful neck.

“Patience, Rowan,” he chuckled, sitting back up in his saddle. “We need to wait for everyone else.” It wasn’t much of a surprise when Martin was the first one in his saddle and rode out the door. He had less to pack on Rowan’s back than the others. Martin doubted that aspect of his life was going to change. No matter what he owned, he knew it could be replaced by something else. There was no need to form attachment to things he knew he was going to loose anyway.

The next one to ride out of the gates was Art Suit. Art looked a lot like his father, though he didn’t have a mustache and he had his hair grow out ridiculously long. While Martin knew it was the current fashion for men to have their hair like that, he couldn’t bring himself to let his hair grow that long. It was getting too long for his liking now, the dark brown hair nearly constantly falling into his eyes. One of the first things he was going to do when they joined the army was to cut it short again.

“A beautiful day,” Art laughed, smiling up at the sunshine. “Isn’t it?”

“Fresh air,” Martin agreed, grinning, “new views. Any day is beautiful if we’re leaving this place.”

“Ha!” Irvin laughed, hearing the comment as he rode out. “Couldn’t agree more. No offense to you, Martin, but I’d rather join society again.”

“Can’t wait to shave your head again,” Clary teased, following after Irvin. “Why you couldn’t use one of the razors we already had…”

“I explained it!” Irvin sighed dramatically. “Face razors are different from head razors!”

“To you, maybe,” Art chuckled. “Is Dixon and Chief ever going to come out?”

“Be patient,” Dixon said as he and the general rode through the gates, leading the two pack horses. “We’ll leave just as soon as the general tells us so.”

“I don’t know what you’re waiting for,” Fred chuckled. “Let’s go.”

“Aren’t you going to lock it up?” Clary asked, turning back to the abandoned mansion that had been their home for the last four months.

“Why?” Fred asked, frowning as he too looked at it. “No one is using it besides wild animals. If we leave the door open, then they won’t break in. Come on, there are some supplies in town I want to pick up before we head out.”

The ride to town wasn’t long. Martin had been a little surprised that they hadn’t visited the town during the winter. It had only been midwinter when he and the others learned why. The town had no idea they were there and Fred intended to keep it that way. The easiest way to hide someone, himself in this case, was simply to not let people know where they were. Terk was no doubt trying to find him this winter. It would have been hard to find him because no one knew where he was with the exception of the Ghosts who were staying with him.

Now I’m going to be out in the open again, Martin thought, as he and the others waited for Fred to come back from the town. They waited out in the forest for the general. No need for the town to realize just who had been staying in their abandoned mansion all winter.

He actually felt excited that he wasn’t hiding anymore. It was almost a relief, a burden off his shoulders, to be among people who knew he was. While he still felt that Fred was going a bit extreme to give him a reputation, he was glad that he was finally doing something other than dodging snowballs.

Fred’s trip into town wasn’t long and he was soon back with the two pack animals with new provisions, and he carried a limp brown package.

“Here,” he said, riding up to Martin and handing him the package. “This is for you.”

Martin frowned. The last gift he received from Fred was the elven horse he was riding. “What is it?” he asked, ripping the brown paper off. The other Ghosts surrounded him, frowning in confusion as he pulled out a glove.

“That’s to make your Connection less noticeable,” Fred said, nodding briefly to the other glove that was looped through the prince’s belt. Martin also glanced at it. It hardly ever left his persons anymore. It was his Connection, a magical focus that kept the magic of the land, and his command over that power, under tight control. As long as he had his Connection nearby, he wasn’t likely to cause as much damage without it.

“I get it,” Art said. “That’s an extra glove. Martin’s Connection is just the one glove. If he walked around with just one glove people would wonder what happened to the other one.”

Martin pulled his Connection out and compared the two gloves. They were nearly identical. Both made of brown leather with dark green trim on the end. He put them both on, nearly reaching his elbows, and held them out. He hardly wore his Connection because it did look strange with just one glove on. With this new glove, he could wear his Connection without too much attention.

“Thanks,” he said, moving his fingers to make sure the gloves were comfortable to wear. The Connection felt as if it were made for his hand, while the other, though still comfortable, felt like a generic glove. “I’m a bit amazed you got it to look so close to my Connection.”

Fred shrugged. “The tanner in town is one of the best undiscovered artists in Aeterna. I gave him the best description I had and produced it nearly perfectly. Though,” Fred said in almost an afterthought, “he did take a couple of tries to get it near perfect.”

“I hope you paid him well,” Martin said, taking hold of his reigns.

“Of course,” Fred snorted. “I’m not about to cheat out talent. Now that we have that out of our way, let’s ride.”

No one needed to be told twice. Their journey took them out of the forest. The other Ghosts joked and laughed as the forest slowly cleared and more farmlands started to appear. Martin didn’t join in much with the joking, unless his name cropped up. Instead, he rode mostly in silence, constantly glancing down at his hands.

His Connection had always been part of his life, though in his street days, it had just been a lucky charm. Things just happened better if he had it. As he had grown up, moved to Aeterna, and became a spy, he kept the glove, a small part of him still believing it was magic. He had no idea it was magic. But once the Inhibitor was turned off, his Connection returned to its full potential and he to his true powers.

His true powers.

Martin closed his eyes, a habit Fred had been trying to break him of. But every time he wanted to use his powers, the prince wanted to blot everything out to focus on those powers.

The Seven Founders were the reason for his powers. They, over a thousand years before, merged the magic of the land, a young nation called Aeterna, to its rulers, the Santers. The result in that spell made the Santers masters over the land. Martin could feel the land now. If he focused enough, he could tell every tiny detail of Aeterna. That Evan’s Stand, much farther south, was suffering from a harsh spring storm. Nacre, the capital, was currently enjoying a brief break in the weather. The Tree, home of the spies, felt as old as it was. Around him, as they traveled, he could feel the young forest, the life in it.

And that was only the tip of his powers.

Martin knew he had to be careful with his powers. He had already made a volcano go off and affected the weather whenever he was hurt or depressed. The others were a bit scared of his powers, but they didn’t know he was probably more scared than they. Which was why he had the Connection. The Connection helped him keep his control over the magic of the land. It even prevented the land from reacting whenever he was hurt. Martin could tell the difference between the raw power and the control the Connection gave him. He knew, now, that he would never go without his Connection again.

His sixth sense, his powers, tingled. Someone was coming.

“Martin?”

The prince opened his eyes to find that Fred had rode up beside him. Another gift from his powers. He knew when people were around him and if he focused, he could tell the emotions of those around him. In truth, he could tell what most Aeternans felt. Thankfully, he couldn’t alter those emotions. That, he felt, would be too much power.

“Yes?” he asked.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Fred asked.

Martin chuckled. Fred Chief was one of the few people who could tell when something was bothering him. “I’m just thinking about my powers,” he honestly said. There was really no use lying to Fred. The Ghost general was one of the even fewer people he trusted. “What were the Seven Founders thinking when they merged the Santers to the magic of the land?”

Fred didn’t answer right away, stroking his beard. “I think,” he said slowly. “Think, mind you, that they wanted leaders who knew what best to do for the people. Can’t do that if the leaders don’t know the people, now can they?”

“Point,” Martin agreed, smiling a bit. “But don’t you think there might be an easier way?”

Fred shrugged. “I suppose so, but I doubt we’ll ever know, now will we?”

Martin didn’t reply to that response. No, the Seven Founders made sure of it. They knew, after they had laid the spell and gave the Santers Connections, that their spell would not last through the generations. They created the Renewal Spell, a way to renew their original spell in the Santers every four hundred years.

King Bert, Martin’s grandfather, was supposed to bear the burden of the Renewal Spell, but his increased powers had terrified him and no one believed him when he said he was getting stronger. Instead of taking on the responsibility, however, Bert passed the Renewal Spell to his unborn grandchild. Bert had only lived long enough to crown his heir as king and to see his grandson, Henry, born with the Renewal Spell. The only clue he left about his deeds was a letter, apologizing to his grandchild about the burden he placed on him.

It had only been within the last couple of years that the pieces of the past began to be put together. When his Connection was unblocked and the queen saw it. Other troubling details were soon to follow. How Terk, the Mad General of Venter, had learned of the Renewal Spell through Bert and vowed to sever the Santers from the land. How Terk ordered the young two year old prince kidnapped and his face magically altered. How the Inhibitor was placed, thus creating a block between the Santers and the land. Martin’s little sister, Princess Sara, had been born without powers because of it.

It all really comes down to Terk, Martin thought bitterly. If he just kept his nose out of Aeternan affairs, this mess wouldn’t have happened. However, Terk had intervened and now Martin Santer, not Prince Henry, had to clean it up.

“You’re having dark thoughts,” Fred pointed out.

Martin let out a deep, frustrated breath. “Just thinking about Terk now. My life would be so much easier if he hadn’t come meddling in it.”

Fred snorted, shifting in his saddle. “Everyone’s life would be simpler without him.”

“Including yours?” Martin asked, smirking at his guardian.

“Especially mine,” he grumbled. He reached down to rub his knee. “Do you realize I wouldn’t be dealing with this knee if he hadn’t invaded Aeterna?”

The general had a point. However, by mentioning the attack on Fort Bree Fred reminded the prince of someone else who had been at that battle.

“What was my father’s Connection?”

Fred blinked in surprise at the question. In truth, Martin was a bit surprised he asked it himself. He had wanted to know more of his father, but he refrained because it was painful for him to think about. For years he had wanted a father, though he did consider Fred close enough to a father, but the moment he knew he was part of a family, he had to deal with the loss of his father.

“It’s a little embarrassing,” Fred admitted, his cheeks coloring a bit.

“Embarrassing?” Martin asked, confused. “How can it be embarrassing?”

“Well,” Fred coughed, looking reluctant. “It was… a belt.”

Martin tried to stifle his laughter. “A belt?” he repeated, struggling to keep from laughing. “Are you serious?”

“I’m afraid so,” Fred said softly, though now smiling a bit himself. “The Seven Founders tried to make the Connections as wear-friendly as possible. They didn’t make shirts or pants because people would question why the Santers didn’t change, but they instead tried to keep them everyday wear that people wouldn’t question.”

That made sense. Martin’s Connection was a glove, the queen’s a necklace, Sara’s a bracelet, and Bert’s a war medal. A belt didn’t seem too out of place. Still… A belt?

“The Seven Founders must have been scrapping the bottom of the barrel for Connections on that choice,” Martin snickered.

“Probably,” Fred sighed. “However, the Connections are reused. I can think of a dozen Santers in the past who had a glove as their Connection.”

“Hey!” Art called out. Martin and Fred turned around to see the rest of the Ghosts had lagged behind. “Are we going to call a break for lunch? Or are you two too busy?”

“We should feed them,” Fred commented quietly to him. “Otherwise they’ll be bugging us all the way to the army.”

Martin chuckled and rode back to the other Ghosts. “An empty stomach is a complaining stomach.”
*************
They reached the army when the sun was nearly behind the horizon. As Martin and the other Ghosts knew, there were no generals to greet them. After all, they were supposed to be the head of this army. However, there was someone there to greet them. As they dismounted, the man with commander strips came forward and shook each of their hands.

“Commander Bentley,” Martin said, shaking the man’s hand. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

“No more than I am to see you,” Jim Bentley said, his eyes flickering briefly at the gloved hand he was shaking. “I’ve been informed of your promotion. Congratulations.”

“You two know each other?” Art asked, the next in line to shake hands with the commander.

“I was the commander at the Grelend Estates,” Bentley explained, again glancing at the prince. “I got to know Ghost… Stevens here while we worked there together.”

A vague answer that even Martin could appreciate. In all reality, Bentley knew exactly who he had been, who he had been pretending to be, and who he actually was. Martin spared an enquiring glance at the Ghost general.

“Yes,” Fred sighed quietly. “He was picked because of what he knows.” In an even softer tone so no one could hear, he went on. “He also knows that you’re supposed to continue under the name Stevens instead of Santer.”

Martin just sighed. Yes, he was out in the open again, but he still had to go under his cover name, Stevens. Not that he was exactly anxious to let the general public know he was a Santer, but enough people knew that Martin Stevens was actually Martin Santer. Including General Terk.

“It is my pleasure to meet each of you,” Bentley was saying to the Ghosts, trying his hardest to not to bring much attention to Martin. “I’m sure that you would like to freshen up and get some rest tonight before addressing the troops tomorrow morning.”

“You bet I want to freshen up!” Irvin said, rubbing a hand over the fuzz on his head. “I’d like to get this off. I feel too warm with this mop on my head.”

“A hot meal wouldn’t hurt,” Dixon chimed in.

“Perhaps something to drink,” Clary sighed.

“I’d to change out of these muddy clothes,” Art added, picking at his pants.

“Very well,” Bentley said, holding his hand out. “Your tents are this way.”

“I will miss the real beds though,” Clary remarked to Martin as they followed the commander. “That was nice.” Martin just shrugged. There were very few places he couldn’t sleep.

Bentley left them at their tents to arrange for dinner and to allow them time to freshen up. As they suspected, Irvin went in search for the barber. Martin went along with the Ghost, wanting to get his hair finally cut. Oddly enough, Fred also followed them.

The barber wasn’t far from their tents and wasn’t at all annoyed that they interrupted his dinner. The man took his duty seriously and had Irvin down in a chair for a shave before either Ghost could apologize for their disturbance. Martin was a little nervous at how fast the man worked, but in a short time, Irvin hoped out of the chair with a clean shaven head without any cuts.

“Your turn captain,” the barber said, grabbing Martin’s arm and practically shoving him into the chair. “A clean shave or just a chop?”

“Chop,” Martin said, “I don’t want it in my eyes.”

The man went to work, cutting and snipping. Martin sat completely still. This was far from his first haircut from someone else, but this man was still going a bit too fast for his liking. The barber didn’t even try to entice a conversation out of him, like other barbers.

“There,” the barber said, snorting in satisfaction. He handed Martin a mirror. “What do you think?”

Martin gazed down at the mirror, feeling his stomach drop.

There was no reflection.

Shortly after the discovery of his Connection, Martin had stubbornly refused that he was the prince. The magic of the land, known as the Spirit of Aeterna, had taken actions it thought that would remedy that and had taken away his reflection in consequence. The Ghosts still teased him about how long it took him to shave.

“Captain?” the barber asked again, insistently. “Do you like it?”

“It looks good, Martin,” Fred said. Now the prince knew why the general came along. His guardian knew he couldn’t see his reflection. “A bit longer than you normally keep it, but a good cut.”

“Yes,” Martin said, relieved that Fred had described the new cut to him. He gave the mirror back to the barber. “You do good work. A bit fast, but good.”

“I have to be fast,” the barber snorted. “I’m the only barber in this unit. If I didn’t work fast, I’d still have a line long into the night.”

“Thank you again,” Martin said, sliding out of the chair. “I’m sure you’ll be seeing a lot of Irvin. He likes a bald head.”

“You should try it, Captain,” Irvin teased, rubbing his now smooth head. “I don’t have to worry about bed head like the rest of you.”

Martin didn’t give a response and headed back to their tents. When they arrived, Commander Bentley had returned with dinner. The command tent was converted into a dinning tent. Privates acted as servers, lighting candles, pouring drinks, and setting the table.

“Is this necessary?” Martin asked Bentley as he and the other Ghosts waited for the actual dinner to arrive.

Bentley raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Don’t you like being served on?”

“Like?” Clary laughed, clapping the prince’s shoulder. “He’s likely to disappear on you than let you serve him.”

“A self-sufficient man, our captain,” Art agreed, accepting a drink from one of the privates. He held his hand out to stop the private from offering Martin a drink. “He doesn’t want one,” Art told the young man. “Best never to offer him something other than water to drink.”

Martin sighed, wishing Art hadn’t put it out so bluntly. “I’m allergic,” he clarified, the hesitant look from the private revealing the young man’s unease about a possible drunker as one of his commanders. “I get violently sick.”

That had been an experiment early during the winter. Chief had recovered some records that said one of the side effects of the Renewal Spell was the inability to get drunk. Of course, the other Ghosts wanted to see if that were true, so they didn’t tell the prince that they had slipped alcohol into his drink. Martin spent the night sitting by the privy, throwing up everything in his stomach and then some. The next morning Chief, after chewing the Ghosts out for their prank, clarified what he had said. Because of Martin’s connection with the land, the magic wouldn’t allow him to do anything self destructive, including getting drunk. The only way to not get drunk was to simply not drink. The magic of the land did that by making the prince suffer if he did drink. Martin figured he could just tell people he was allergic to alcohol.

The private visibly relaxed and circulated his drinks around the other Ghosts before retrieving a glass of water for him.

“Dinner is served,” said one private, who had been standing by the tent entrance. Other privates rolled in a roasted goose and began to cut to plate. Martin and the others sat down. Martin stiffened a little as one of the privates placed the plate of food in front of him. No matter how much Fred kept telling him to relax around servants, Martin just couldn’t. He had spent too long serving to be comfortable around those who did the work for him.

“You are dismissed for the rest of the evening,” Bentley told the privates, who stood at attention. “Thank you.” The privates saluted and left, much to Martin’s relief.

“To business?” Fred asked, casually waving at the tent. Martin knew the signal and what it meant. Taking a deep breath, he opened himself to the emotions of the camp. He knew there was no one around their tent. To make sure it stayed that way, he focused on the tent itself, making the fabric sound proof. The only way someone could listen in was if they were inside the tent itself. This anti-listening trick was another aspect to his powers he learned over the winter. He rather liked it.

“Your letters explained everything,” Bentley said. “The Ghosts are to lead, with Captain Stevens as the final say in things.” Bentley once again glanced at the prince. Martin thought he knew the source of the commander’s unease. He had seen first hand the prince’s power and just how dangerous he could be.

“There are a few other details,” Fred corrected. “One. Martin is a horrible fencer. We’ve been working with him all winter to improve his skill, but he’s not there yet. The Ghosts will continue on with those lessons.”

Martin scowled. He wasn’t that bad; most would consider him an average fencer. He just wasn’t as good as the other Ghosts; but he was good at other forms of fighting. However, Fred pointed out that most nobles favored fencing, instead of fist fighting and knife fights.

“Second,” the general went on, ignoring Martin’s scowl. “Everyone in this tent knows that Martin is the prince. I mention this now because you’re going to help him get used to be served on.”

Martin groaned at this, planting his head in his hands. He had hoped Fred would forget that detail.

“You got to learn,” Art teased. The Ghosts had an entertaining winter trying to serve a prince who had a habit of disappearing when they did.

“And thirdly,” Fred said louder, cutting the teasing short. “Martin’s main purpose being here is to gain a reputation as a Ghost. Try to give him credit for things, unless of course someone else deserves that credit. But try to put him in situations where he’s going to get the credit.”

“No problem,” Irvin laughed. “We’ve just got to keep him in sight long enough to do something heroic.” He turned to the commander, smirking. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but our prince likes doing good deeds when no one is looking.”

“That’s our main problem,” Dixon added dryly. “His Highness doesn’t like attention.”

“Can you blame me?” Martin muttered. “A spy doesn’t like attention.”

“But you’re not a spy anymore,” Fred pointed out, jabbing his fork in the prince’s direction. “You have years of spy training to overcome before you can be a prince. We’re trying to help you.”

Martin stared at his plate, feeling a bit ashamed. They were only trying to help him. It was just… He sighed. Life used to be easy.

“Tomorrow morning,” Fred went on, seeing that he wasn’t going to reply, “we’ll assemble the troops, introduce their new commanders, and head out. Sitting here isn’t doing anyone any good.”
**************
Snicker. Next week’s post is going to be entertaining. Enjoy the journey!