tried, and wherever he went, the war was in his path. The war was his destiny. He had not avenged the deaths of the Abask people, as he’d originally left Theloni-us’s castle to do, and he knew now that it wasn’t possible. They were gone years ago. But Edyon was still alive, and the Brigantines were certainly going to attack Calidor. Could March help in some way? Could he somehow spy on the boy army and return with valued information to give to Edyon? Could he win back Edyon’s trust?
It seemed like an absurd idea. Most likely he’d just be killed in the first battle. But he had to do something. He couldn’t just pretend the war wasn’t happening. He couldn’t pretend that he’d never met Edyon. He didn’t want to do that. He wanted to return—not to Calidor, but to Edyon.
March’s stomach growled, bringing him back to the real-ity of sitting in a wet ditch with Sam. The simple fact was that he was starving, and at least in the army he’d get food. He said, “Yes, I’m going to join the boy army too.”
EDYON
CALIA, CALIDOR
EDYON STOOD on the edge of the field in the hot after-noon sun, a bottle of demon smoke in his hands. With him were two young noblemen named Byron and Ellis. They would be his assistants for the demonstration. Byron was Edyon’s age, handsome with a long black plait of hair draped over his shoulder, and Ellis was a couple of years younger, broad-shouldered, and blond.
Across the field, a few of Lord Regan’s men laughed loudly at some joke, while another man stretched and yawned. To Edyon’s right, in the shade of a long, open marquee, ser-vants in bright white shirts stood ready to pour refreshments.
Edyon looked round toward the castle for the hun-dredth time, hoping to catch sight of the audience arriving for his demonstration. Lord Regan had said he’d get the other lords there after quizzing Edyon on what he’d planned to do. Regan had told him, “You can make the demonstra-tion on the knight’s practice ground. I’ll have it prepared and set up.” But Edyon had been waiting for what seemed like hours in the hot sun, and no lords had arrived.
Edyon paced around until finally Regan came into view, walking beside Prince Thelonius and leading a throng of well-dressed men—the lords. They strolled up and slowly gathered in the shade of the marquee, sipping cool drinks and talking to each other, ignoring Edyon. Edyon was just about to call for their attention when Regan turned to him and shouted, “Are you ready yet, Your Highness?”
As if you’ve been waiting half the afternoon for me!
Edyon smiled and said, “I hope we are all ready, Your Highness and my lords.” He stepped closer to his audience. “Thank you, Father, for allowing me to make this demon-stration. And thank you, my lords, for sparing your time on this glorious afternoon.
“I left Pitoria just a couple of weeks ago to come to Cali-dor, and I was given the responsibility of bringing two things with me. Both of these things were handed to me by Queen Catherine herself. The first item was a letter of warning. A warning that King Aloysius of Brigant is building a new army, with which he intends to take over the world. First, he intends to crush us, his neighbors—Calidor and Pitoria.”
Edyon had to be careful not to mention that the Pitorians had asked to join forces with the Calidorians, but he felt he should explain that the Pitorians had warned Thelonius of the threat. And that seemed to be going fine so far. Edyon contin-ued, “This new Brigantine army is powerful and terrifying, but also unusual, as it is made up not of men but of boys.”
There were a few laughs and smiles among the lords at this. “How old are these boy soldiers?” one asked. “Out of nappies, I assume?”
Edyon was beginning to wonder if there was alcohol in the drinks being handed out. He tried to quell their mirth. “I know it doesn’t sound either powerful or terrifying. It sounds absurd. But I can prove that it’s quite real. And that brings me to the other item that I carried with me from Pitoria: purple demon smoke.”
Edyon raised the bottle of smoke for his audience to see. But in the heat, sweat had run down his arm, and as he raised his hand—possibly with a little more enthusiasm than was needed—the bottle swung up and out of