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Two days later he was dead, killed by a border-breacher. His lieutenant told us that my father greeted the Koretian's upraised dagger with that same smile. Ever since then I have believed what my father told me and have had less fear of death than of neglecting my duty. It was for this reason that, on a sunny autumn day three days after the Chara Nicholas's enthronement, I obeyed the imperious command of an ill-trained soldier who was half my age.
When this first line of my fate hooked me, I had been leaning for some time against the wall of the city physicians' house, staring at the black border mountains that stand between the Empire of Emor and its southern neighbor, Koretia. The day was warm for that time of year, with hardly a cloud in the sky, and the morning sun was cascading golden light onto the fields between the mountains and the city where I stood. I could see, blooming like brown field-daisies at the roots of the mountains, the tiny outlines of the Emorian border villages, and beyond them, barely visible, the beginnings of the path that leads through the mountains to Koretia. The path, I knew, was as empty now as it would be during the snowbound winter season. Not even the most desperate Koretian would dare to break his King's peace oath.
"Ho, there, you!" My thoughts were interrupted by this brusque voice. The assertive confidence of the voice, however, was belied by the wavering caused by a boy's transition to manhood. I turned my head. Standing near me, with his sword unsheathed, stood one of the soldiers who keeps watch over the Emorian capital, looking for lawbreakers. This one, judging from his accent, was from the imperial dominion of Marcadia, and judging from his manner, he had arrived at the capital recently enough that he felt the need to assert his power.
I waited as he strode up to me, his sword held in readiness against me. He flicked a brief glance down at my belt to see that I was unarmed. Then he said curtly, "Who are you? What are you doing in this city?"
I preferred not to give my title, and I was not prepared to give my name to a stranger, so I said, "I'm a soldier."
This was the wrong answer. He gripped his hilt tighter as he ran his gaze over my dark skin. I added, "An Emorian soldier. I guard the local border."
This statement, which would have enlightened any soldier who had been in the Emorian army for long, made no impression on the Marcadian. He said, "Then you're in trouble anyway. The Chara cancelled all leave three weeks ago. You ought to be in uniform and reported to your unit. Come with me."
I considered this for a moment. I outranked the young man before me, and I was carrying, as always, a dagger in my hidden thigh-pocket. It would be easy enough to disarm this young soldier and hand him over to the nearest city watch guard, who would no doubt explain the situation to him in terms he was unlikely to forget. But I was restless after my long stay in the physicians' house; moreover, I was interested in learning whether a letter I had sent recently to the army headquarters had reached its recipient. I therefore nodded and allowed myself to be guided away from the house.
To the Marcadian's credit, he did not attempt to bind my hands. Instead he asked, "Who is your subcaptain?"
"I don't have one. The border guards are under the immediate care of the Chara. I report to Captain Wystan of the Home Division."
This disconcerted the soldier, but not enough for him to ask further questions. He maintained a dignified silence as he led me through the straight, broad streets up to the outer palace wall. So intent was he on carrying out his mission that he missed the puzzled looks of the guards at the west gate as they waved us through. I nearly missed seeing their expressions as well, for my eye was on the Chara's palace, shining white atop the hillside we were climbing, surrounded by the inner palace wall and accessible to few. Even I had been inside only once, a few days after my sixteenth birthday, when I had gone there to stand before the Chara and pledge to him my oath as a border guard.
It had been the Chara Anthony whom I had met then. The blackened remains of the Chara Nicholas's enthronement bonfires were still scattered on the ground about us as we curved round the hill to reach the army headquarters on the north side. As we arrived at the tents of the headquarters, several soldiers cast startled glances our way, but none stopped to ask questions. The Emorian army remained on high alert, as it had been since a few minutes after I arrived at the headquarters six weeks before.
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