Crown Seeker

Chapter 2: Recruits

On a dusty highway winding through the green wilderness, a wagon creaked steadily along its way. The sun slashed through the spokes of its wheels in brilliant beams, casting long shadows over the ground. Squirrels and rabbits foraging warily on the edge of the road, their pink noses twitching, ducked for cover as soon as they heard it coming.

Oliver Trimble watched the little creatures vanish into the undergrowth. He was the only one in the wagon who was not talking or laughing merrily.

At eighteen years old, Oliver was quite tall for his age, a little on the gangly side. He had short, sandy hair that was sticking up slightly in the back, despite his many attempts to run a nervous hand over it. His eyes were hazel, resting beneath thin and delicate eyebrows.

He turned back to face forward. There were six other young men surrounding him on the low benches of the wagon. They were all talking animatedly with one another, laughing often, and occasionally bursting into snatches of songs that Oliver had never heard before.

Oliver hunched down in his seat a little further, trying to take up as little space as possible, which was difficult with his height. So far it seemed to have worked. None of the other young men had said a word to him since he had climbed aboard the wagon at Trinn, and that was fine with him.

For the moment, it seemed a wise idea to keep his mouth clamped shut as much as possible. He did not want to spend his first day in Camp Bracken smelling like the remains of his breakfast.

The wagon hit a bump in the road, jostling Oliver and causing the butterflies in his stomach to start fluttering around all over again. He smiled to himself, half-elated, half-terrified. A little while longer, and he would be there.

'I'm really doing it!' he thought for the hundredth time. 'If only everyone from the Hollow Vale could see me now!'

“There!" a voice cried excitedly from the front of the wagon. Oliver jerked upright along with everyone else in the wagon, craning to get a look at the horizon. For a moment, he did not see anything. But then the first of the watchtowers crept up into view, a wooden spear that stabbed at the sky.

The rest of Camp Bracken came marching over the hilly road after it. Oliver let out his breath softly at the sight. One of the other young men whistled appreciatively. There was not a soft or rounded edge to be seen on the fort; every inch of it bristled with fortifications.

The squat buildings that made up Camp Bracken were barely visible from where they crouched behind fifteen-foot-high palisades. Sharpened logs had been driven into the ground all around the fort, looking like crooked teeth sticking out from marshy gums. Murder holes peeped out from the two tall watchtowers that flanked the gate, which was thrown open wide to receive the approaching wagon.

A chorus of murmurs went up from the young men. “Goddess bless my eyes," one of them said. “It's massive, isn't it?"

“Of course it is," another man said. He had long brown hair and wore a disdainful expression. “Camp Bracken holds the largest force of Crownseekers for thirty miles in any direction. Those towers are near twice as tall as the steeples of the Church back in Trinn. If you were standing atop them, you'd be able to see as far as you could strain your eyes."

“Oh and I will be standing atop 'em, Master Evanwood." A grinning young man jumped up suddenly so that he was standing on his seat, swaying with the movement of the wagon. “When I'm Lord Commander of the Crownseekers, that is! Then I can look down my nose on the whole of Dorne, same as you."

“Sit down, Kelley," the long-haired man snapped at him, “before I knock you down."

“Ooh, look at the merchant's son giving orders!" Kelley hooted. “Better enjoy it while you can! Soon enough you'll be a solider along with the rest of us lowly peasants. And then, when I'm Lord Commander, you can get used to shining my boots for me, Rolind!"

The young men laughed together, a few of them shouting good-natured insults at Kelley from their seats. He just twisted around on his precarious perch, his arms upraised as though challenging them for more, his smile growing wider by the second.

The only one who did not laugh was Rolind. He had turned away and was looking sullenly out of the wagon at the passing wilderness.

Oliver smiled. He felt much less nervous, watching the other young men horsing around.

A muscular fellow reached up and tugged Kelley roughly back into his seat. The young man fell hard on his rump with a grunt. “If the Crownseekers ever have need of a jester," the muscular youth said stoically, “we'll know just who to call on, won't we?"

Kelley just laughed, his smile returning to his face almost instantly. Then, to Oliver's surprise, his eyes traveled to where Oliver was sitting. “Hello!" he said in surprise. “I don't think I know you! You've not said a word from here to Trinn!"

Oliver reddened as everyone turned to look at him. “I'm Oliver." He cleared his throat noisily, face burning under all the eyes suddenly on him. “Oliver Trimble."

The muscular young man nodded to Oliver. He had a flat, wide nose, short-cropped hair, and serious eyes. “Luck and favor to you, Oliver. My name is Aldric Fale of Trinn." He went around and introduced the other young men in turn, but Oliver was so flustered that he almost instantly forgot the names of all of them, except Rolind and Kelley, whose names he had already heard.

“Luck and favor to you," Oliver said to the group of men at large, mimicking Aldric's greeting. He nearly tripped over the words and the other youths chuckled.

“It sounds like the first time you've ever met someone!" Kelley joked. “Do they have a different way of greeting a person where you hail from?"

“Yes," Oliver said, embarrassed. “I came up from the South."

“From Naven?" asked one of the young men. Oliver did not remember his name. He was short and had a dusting of a beard below his chin. “I have a cousin who lives in Naven. Funny little village. She says the oddest things you can imagine, sometimes."

“No," Oliver said. He had had to travel north for four days before he had even caught sight of Naven. “From the Vale."

The other young men looked blankly at him.

“Um, the Hollow Vale?" Oliver tried again, fidgeting under their stares.

“What did you do, Oliver?"

Oliver turned to see Rolind looking at him appraisingly. The corners of his mouth were turned up slightly in a smirk. “What was your profession before you left for the Crownseekers?" he clarified, speaking slowly and clearly, as though Oliver was not clever enough to understand him.

Oliver almost wished he did not have to answer. “Oh, well, I was an apprentice farrier."

More blank stares from the young men.

“Er... my master shoes horses," Oliver explained, feeling foolish. “We herd a lot of them in the Vale. And we don't have a blacksmith, so I helped my master forge horseshoes as well."

Rolind looked at him silently for a moment, as though waiting for more. Then he snorted softly, tossed his long hair back, and turned away again, acting as though Oliver had not answered.

Anger crept up inside Oliver's belly, overwhelming his anxiety. He had never met anyone so rude before.

“Ignore Rolind, Oliver," Kelley said. “The rest of us learned to long ago."

The joke was met with a round of laughs from the young men. Even the serious Aldric cracked a smile. Oliver tried to laugh with them, but the anger roiling inside of him would not go away.

He shot a glare at Rolind. 'Goddess, let that man stay far away from me.'