The Chronicles Notomol Ch 01

NOTOMOL Chapter 1

This is the 3rd Chronicle of Hvad. I would highly recommend The Three Sisters before this one; many characters from that story appear again here. This one also overlaps the Three Sisters in terms of time frame; chronologically, Notomol begins after Veran and his daughters reach Prospal Hill. If you've read that tale, the events depicted here will eventually be easy enough to place.

The narrator's name is pronounced with emphasis on the second and last symbols (ko-LA-so-VETS).

If you're looking for a map, they're down at the bottom of my author page under 'Illustration Submissions'. Thanks again to my valiant editors, Alianath Iriad and Lastman416.

*****

My traps yielded only a single hare, but I was able to shoot a groundhog on the way back. It had been a hard winter; neither animal was particularly plump. Still, they'd be enough for my parents, my sister, and me.

When I returned to the house, Mother took the animals from me. My father was in an expansive mood. Somehow or other he'd gotten his hands on some sweet honey liquor. There was also a large bag of salt on the table. Papa had come into a windfall of some kind.

- "Tomorrow, you go to see the Hospodar." he told me. The Hospodar was our local lord, our judge, in peacetime, and our leader in time of war. "And if anyone asks your age, you're 18 years old. Small for your age - but you're 18. Understood?"

- "Yes."

- "Repeat it to me." My father frequently made me do this. He seemed to think that I was a simpleton, capable of following only the simplest instructions.

The truth was simple: I chose silence, more often than not. When my father and older brother teased and mocked me, I took refuge in silence. It didn't stop them from taunting me, but an angry retort on my part could lead to a beating.

- "I'm 18. I'm just small for my age."

- "Good. See that you remember it."

I had no earthly idea why he would want me to lie like that. I was, in fact, not quite sixteen years old.

- "And your grandmother wants to see you before you go." added my mother.

Bright and early the next morning, I went to see Grandma Kanni. She was the only member of my family who'd ever really taken an interest in me. She was certainly the kindest of them all.

She also told the best stories. Grandma had known many of the heroes of Yeseriya, like my grandfather, and my great-Aunt Tsoline. She'd known Borna personally - the first Borna - and she'd even met the wild-woman Payl (although Grandma never called her that; it was always ' the warrior-woman', or 'the Uplander').

She always preferred telling tales of Ljudevit - the hero from the song 'Borna's Bucket'. It made me wonder, sometimes, if they'd been more than friends.

- "You wanted to see me, Grandma?" Poor old lady: she was incredibly ancient, and completely blind in one eye.

- "Thank you for coming, Kolasovets." she said. "I hear that you're to see the Hospodar today. I wanted to give you something. Things, really. On the bed."

- "A rolled up blanket?"

- "You may need it. And you can have what's inside, too."

Wrapped in the blanket was a long knife. A fighting knife.

It was beautiful. The knife was perfectly weighted, and the blade was still sharp.

- "For me?"

- "Take them both, Kolasovets. You may need them."

- "Thank you."

- "You're welcome. You'd best be off - they'll be waiting for you." she said. "Just give me a kiss before you go."

I did as she bade me. I probably should have asked her a great deal more.

***

I grew up barely a league from the steading where Borna had been born, and where his father was Hospodar. They'd rebuilt the steading, of course, after it was destroyed in the war.

There were two guards at the gate, big men with spears and helmets. I told them my name, and my business. I had my bow, a dozen of my best arrows, plus the blanket and the long knife Grandma had given me.

- "Bit small, an't he?" said one of the guards.

- "How old

are

you, lad?" said the other.

- "I'm 18." I said. "I'm just small for my age."

He looked at me askance for a moment, but eventually pointed me in the direction of the great hall.

I'd never been in such a huge building before. The roof was high overhead, and there were servants everywhere.

- "What do you want?" asked a tall, greasy-haired man.

- "My name is Kolasovets. I was told to see the Hospodar."

- "Ah - you're Kolasovets?" His eyes narrowed. "Bit small, aren't you? How old are you?"

- "I'm 18." I repeated. "I'm just small for my age."

- "Good. Remember that." he said. "I'm the Hand, here." That meant that he was the Lord's bodyguard, and champion.

He took me to the other end of the Great Hall, where the Hospodar was sitting in his chair, stifling a great yawn.

"My Lord." said the Hand. "This is young Kolasovets. The fellow we spoke about."

The great man looked my way for a brief moment. He blinked. Then he waved me away. I suspect that I mattered far less to him than one of his sheep, or even a goat.

- "Come with me." said the Hand. He took me outside the hall, and introduced me to a man named Hunuil. I didn't like the look of him from the very beginning.

"He'll be your guide. Hunuil will take you to Lord Athal's steading."

Athal the Old was the son of Hravar, one of Borna's greatest warriors. He was a Hospodar, as well, the most powerful man in southern Yeseriya.

- "May I ask why I'm to go there?"

The Hand nodded several times, as if that was a fair question.

- "You're to be a Guardsman for this year." he said.

A Guardsman.

I knew what that meant. The first Borna - our first Voivode, or Duke of Hvad - had instituted a system whereby 40 young men would gather every summer on the banks of the Grey river.

Their first function was to watch for signs of an Izumyrian invasion. Their second task was to train - to become warriors. That way, the Voivode would be able to call upon a reserve of veteran fighters.

I was going to be a Guardsman.

Hunuil produced two ponies. I'd never ridden before, but he adjusted my saddle and my stirrups, so that I would be more comfortable. His task was to deliver me to Athal's steading, and then return with the two ponies.

I'd never ridden before. After a long day in the saddle, my butt was sore, the inside of my thighs were chafed raw, and I could barely walk. I didn't complain, but I was certainly feeling the pain by the time we stopped for the night.

I helped Hunuil gather firewood. He saw me limping about.

- "I have an ointment that may help." he said, coming over to my side of the fire.

When he put his hand on my thigh, I got up and moved to the other side. He followed me.

I pulled out the long knife that Grandma had given me. Hunuil retreated to his own side of the fire.

I slept with one eye open.

My brother (and my father) had always made fun of me. I was small... I looked like a girl. I had big ears, and 'big girly eyes'.

- "Don't listen to them." Grandma Kanni told me. It was good advice, but easier said than done. My aunt and some of my cousins were decent enough, too, but I couldn't ask them to fight my battles. I spent most of my time alone, in the woods.

Hunuil took me to Lord Athal's steading. He handed me over to the care of a grey-bearded warrior, took my pony, and left. I never saw him again.

- "You're awfully small." said the warrior. "For a guardsman."

- "I'm 18. I'm just small for my age."

- "Well, let's get you settled with your companions."

The four other men from our province were all strangers to me. Two of them were brothers who stuck together. The third was gruff to the point of rudeness. Apparently he was too good to mix with a mere forester like me. The fourth was merely reserved.

We never met Lord Athal, or the Ban either. They provided ponies, and two men to guide us (and to bring all of the ponies back afterwards).

The guides spoke to each other. The brothers conversed only in whispers. The other two didn't speak at all. Apparently 'companions' didn't mean what I thought it had.

So I watched, and I learned.

Hvad was much bigger than I'd imagined. Richer, too. Once out of the forests and rolling hills of Yeseriya, we crossed open plains. I saw prosperous farms, and lush pastures for sheep and cattle. Adarion was tremendously rich, a veritable land of milk and honey.

My first glimpse of the Grey river came as a bit of a surprise. It

was

grey in colour, no doubt from the silt churned up by its swift currents. I was amazed by how wide it was - and how fast the water was moving.

The Ban's men delivered us to the Guardsmen's camp, on a little hill overlooking the river. We were received by a grey-bearded man in quilted armour.

- "My name is Tumay. You may address me as 'Captain'. I'm your trainer for the next year." He looked us all in the eyes, one at a time - me last of all.

"Do what's expected of you, and you'll have no trouble from me." he said.

Then he led us to the edge of a small copse of trees.

- "You two, here." he said, to the kinsmen. "You two, here." he said, to the next two. Then the Captain looked at me. He didn't say it, but I knew what he was thinking.

- "I'm 18." I said. "I'm just small for my age."

- "You're lucky." said the Captain. "Your partner has already built your lean-to."

A tall, well-built young man nodded to me. He had long red hair.

- "Notomol. From Stonje." He pronounced it a way I'd never heard: Stone-yeh.

- "Kolasovets." I said. "From Yeseriya."

- "You two will be a pair." said the Captain. "You'll stand guard duty together, train together, and so on. Since Notomol here built your shelter, it's only fair that you fetch water. Yours, and then enough for the other Guardsmen you came with."

He seemed to expect some sort of acknowledgment.

- "Understood, Captain."

- "A simple 'Yes, Sir' will suffice." Tumay gave me a long look for some reason, and then left me with the redhead.

I'd had time for a glance at the lean-to he'd built. It was solid, and well put together.

- "That looks good. You've some woodcraft." I said.

- "Thank you." he said, with a slight grin.

- "Could you give me some idea where - and how - I'm supposed to collect water?"

- "Of course."

Notomol showed me where the leather buckets were kept, and then tried to explain how I could find the stream than ran behind the hill. He quickly decided that it would be easier to show me than to give directions, so he ended up leading me to the water, and then carrying back two full buckets beside me.

- "Thank you." I said. "You didn't have to do that."

- "You're welcome." he said.

I slept well, that night.

***

Without knowing - or intending it - Tumay had done me a great service by partnering me with Notomol. He was an archer, like me, and kept his bow and quiver (with twenty well-made arrows) under the lean-to. He was helpful, good-natured, and he didn't talk my ear off.

I'd spent years hunting and trapping in the forest, most of the time alone. I didn't mind. Solitude is not the same thing as loneliness. I simply followed the hunter's custom of not speaking unless I had something important to communicate.

Somehow, I also got into the habit, whenever possible, of thinking twice about what I was going to say. Would saying this earn me a backhand from my father? Or would my words hurt my mother's or my sister's feelings?

Some people are afraid to speak their mind. Others have no hesitation at all about sharing their thoughts - regardless of whether other people are actually interested in what they have to say. My brother called this 'honesty'.

Notomol was quiet - a quality I appreciated.

There were 40 of us in the camp: five each from Adarion, Mahuc, Pitve and Stonje, Yelsa and Yeseriya, and 10 from Hvad town. The men from each province tended to stick together, at first - my 'companions' from Yeseriya were a bit odd, in that regard. Yet Notomol didn't seem to have much in common with the other fellows from Stonje.

Another odd man out was Motekin (pronounced Moe-Tay-Kin), from Hvad Town. He was fine-featured, almost delicate. His fingers were stained with black spots. He saw me looking.

- "Ink." he said.

- "Ah."

- "I was a student, and a tutor." he explained. "A clerk, as well."

- "You can make a living doing that?" said Notomol.

- "Of course." said Motekin. "I drew up documents for people. Wrote letters for them. I would also read any written messages they had received. Wealthy men would me hire to teach their children."

- "Teach them... what? Sorry - I don't mean to be rude. I'm just curious."

Motekin wasn't offended. "Reading and writing. Poetry. History. Oratory. The elements of style."

I had no idea what those last things were, but I was even more curious about how Motekin had ended up as a guardsman. His skin was baby-soft; he'd probably never spent a night out-of-doors before. His hands were soft, and smooth, too.

A couple of days later, I had my answer.

Tumay kept us busy - all day, every day. Four men were on watch, down by the river, at all times. There were daily duties: fetching water, gathering firewood, sharpening knives and swords, fletching arrows, and the like. Then we had weapons training: archery, swords and axes, and shield-work.

Notomol and I acquitted ourselves well at the archery butts. My partner might have been in the top three or four, but there was one fellow, from Mahuc, who far surpassed all of us. I was accurate, but I knew that I lacked strength; I could barely pull Notomol's bow.

Motekin was a disaster. He nearly put his own eye out, the first time he tried to shoot an arrow. Tumay eventually made Motekin find and collect the arrows which had missed the butts - primarily because most of those were Motekin's.

He was equally terrible with swords and axes. There, at least, he had plenty of company. I could barely lift the heavy practice swords. Notomol wasn't much better: axes he could manage, but he'd never held a sword before, and neither of us had the slightest idea what to do with a shield, other than hold it in front of us.

I may have looked like the runt of the litter. But Motekin was absolutely the worst at

everything.

He

was

game - you had to give him that. He kept trying. Tumay made an effort to teach him, but I suspect that our Captain gave up on the poet/tutor fairly early.

I had to ask.

- "I don't understand, Motekin. How... how did you end up chosen to be a Guardsman?"

Motekin had never handled a weapon in his life. But he didn't lack confidence when it came to his own fields of expertise.

- "I will gladly share my story," he said, "if you will do the same." He looked to me. "Both of you."

- "You want to know how we became Guardsmen?" I asked.

- "Precisely."

That wasn't so hard. I didn't think that my story was anything special. I told it. Motekin had a dozen questions. He kept prying for more detail, more information.

- "Your Hospodar ignored you? And you never even met the Ban?"

- "The Hospodar knew that you weren't 18 years old, didn't he?" said Notomol. "How old

are

you, Kolasovets?"

I didn't know what to say.

- "You're alright with us." he said. "We won't tell anyone."

- "Of course not." said Motekin.

I frowned. But something told me that I could trust these two. They had yet to tease or mock me - and Notomol

was

my partner.

- "I'm 15."

Motekin nodded several times. "And the Hospodar knew very well how old you were, didn't he?"

- "I... I was to tell anyone who asked that I was 18. You won't squeal on me, will you?"

- "We won't." said Notomol - though he glanced at Motekin when he said it.

Notomol's tale was simple: he was a forester, hunting and trapping to support his mother and his sister. His father had passed away when he was 12. The Ban of Stonje had tried to pass a law that only he and his nominees could hunt in the forests. His warriors had threatened to mutiny - so the Ban had quickly withdrawn the idea. Many suspected that he still harboured hopes of implementing his scheme.

- "If my family home is declared forfeit," said Notomol, "I'm sure that the Ban or his agents will be first in line to buy it."

- "But that's... that's monstrous!" I said.

- "It's the way of the world." said Motekin, sadly.

I turned to my partner. "How will your mother and sister survive - with you gone for a year, I mean?"

- "My sister is good with a bow. She has a friend who'll help her, too. With a little luck, they can hang on until I return."

- "My own story is very different - yet there is a pattern." said Motekin. He looked up, as if he were studying the sky, or counting stars.

"I met a girl... in the marketplace. She loved the works of certain guslars, and asked me if I could write out some of her favourite songs. She offered to pay me, but I was smitten. I was happy to do as she asked for free. Just to hear the sound of her voice."

"She probably came to see me too often. Her father was an influential man - a friend of the Duke himself. Does that help you understand why I am here?"

I had my mouth open, entranced by Motekin's tale. Notomol was equally surprised.

- "This was a

punishment

?"

- "The original idea for the guardsmen was Borna's." said Motekin. "The

firs

t Borna, that is - our Voivode - or Duke, as some would say. Five young men from each province would be asked to serve together, training under an experienced warrior while they watched our border with the Kingdom of Izumyr."

"Their main task was to give warning if there was an invasion, but Borna certainly intended that all of these Guardsmen - 40 men

every

year - would create the nucleus of a trained army, should the need arise. He may also have intended to encourage some sort of friendship or camaraderie between the different provinces."

I could understand how that might be important. Most of us had never been more than a few leagues from our home villages.

"I'm told that Borna used to come here every year - to meet the Guardsmen, to give them a little encouragement. He wanted to build some pride, to make them feel special."

- "What happened?" I asked. That was nothing like

our

experience - the three of us.

- "The second Borna didn't care. He rarely bothered to come here. And as far as I know, Duke Richwin has

never

visited his guardsmen, either. That's why it's no longer considered an honour. It's a duty - an obligation. The Hospodars and the Bans used to send their close kinsmen. Now they choose men who won't be missed."

Men who won't be missed. That certainly described Motekin, Notomol and me.

***

- "What are you looking at?" I asked my partner.

- "Far side of the river. See them?"

- "Two riders. But there are always riders on the other side."

- "Yes - but why?"

I was no warrior. But I wasn't stupid, either.

- "What are they doing?"

- "That's what I'm wondering." said Notomol.

We Guardsmen watched the site of the ferry crossing. Riders from Adarion regularly patrolled the riverside further north, watching for signs that the Izumyrians were building barges. The river was too wide, the current too swift for anyone to cross, except by boat.

But strange things had been happening.

"Have you noticed the traffic on the ferry?" he said.

I had to think about it. "An Izumyrian merchant, the other day. Headed home."

- "That makes five of them, in the past week."

- "Hmm..." I was considering what he'd said.

- "How many Izumyrians have you seen going the other way - coming

to

Hvad?"

- "None." I made a face. "Have you mentioned this to Captain Tumay?"

- "He commended me for my 'observational skills'."

- "Hmm..."

***

Entry 1: Summer, 937