"You lads are good at driving off dogs with stones ... Your skills are wasted in the fields. Let's see how you fare with spears instead."
It had been three days since Emperor Vigarde had personally enlisted Glen and Cormag. While Cormag was still a bit too young to venture around on his own, Glen was allowed to wander about the halls of the castle pretty freely, barring some exceptions such as the throne room (obviously).
Glen looked around at the myriad of pathways eagerly. He intended to bring back some exciting stories to his little brother, who had protested rather vocally when informed that he couldn't wander about the castle like his older brother could. Cormag had finally calmed down after being soothed with the words that he would be told everything that Glen experienced, so Glen felt that it was necessary to experience as much as he could so that Cormag wouldn't miss out on anything.
Seeing a big, intricately-designed door, Glen looked at the sigils engraved on it. He knew that they were letters - he had seen them all the time, but had no idea what they read or meant. After all, in the poor village he had grown up in, few of his social class were literate, too impoverished to worry about such luxuries. Deciding to take his chances, he pushed the door open and sneaked inside. Looking around, he took a gasp of wonder and awe. Inside the room were rows upon rows of cases that held rectangular objects of varying colors, mostly muted greens and blues and reds. Some desks and chairs were set up here and there, and men in long robes and tunics sat about, staring at thin sheets of paper filled with more scribbles of marks.
Feeling somewhat daunted and out-of-place, Glen darted from shelf-to-shelf, wondering what exactly this room was for. He had learned by now that those men in robes were mages, utilizing arcane powers to heal allies or devastate their enemies. But he was more a soldier than a mage, better with physical prowess than intellectual studying. Spotting an important-looking man in heavy armor sitting at a desk, Glen decided to venture closer. In fact, the man was so engrossed with his rectangular paper-holder that he didn't notice the young boy's presence. Glen peered at the sheets of paper, but he couldn't understand anything. They were filled with complicated-looking scribbles that were for the smart, rich people.
"Hm?" The man noticed his presence now, and patted the small blonde head as if he were a father talking to his son. "Ah, you must be the boy Glen that His Majesty had mentioned, are you not?"
"Y-yes, sir …"
"I'm Duessel, the Obsidian, one of the Imperial Three." Seeing Glen's small, shocked gasp, he chuckled and continued, "Oh, no, no … I'm not a scary person, at least I don't think. Come, stay here. There's nothing better than teaching others, after all." He stood up, moved his imposing figure to a chair, and carried it over next to his own. Glen sheepishly sat in the seat as Duessel returned to his place.
"What - what is that?" Glen pointed curiously at the rectangular object.
"This? It's a book. I'm reading about battle tactics that our predecessors have developed and experimented with."
"Pr-prede-?"
"Predecessors are people who have come before us; those who have lived and died before we came along."
"Battle tac...tics…?"
"They are different ways that we plan how to attack our enemies and defend our own troops. Having good tactics ensures that we fight the best that we can."
"Wh...what is this room …?"
"This room?" Duessel's eyes wandered the magnificent ceiling of the room, following Glen's lead. "This is a library. Many, many books-" he tapped on the large, open book he had been reading "-are stored here. If you want to learn more, you come in here. At times, this place can prove to be rather relaxing, even. You should stop by here often."
Looking at the indecipherable print on the pages, a sense of shame and inadequacy filled Glen's heart. Although he did his best to hide it, large teardrops rolled out of his eyes and landed on the clenched hands that rested on his lap. These books were for the rich, the privileged, the smart, none of which he was. Before this, his only memory of books were those of the imposing, balding men who occasionally visited the village. He never really knew what those men came for, but he knew that after they came, father would always have an angry look on his face and they wouldn't be able to eat for the next couple of days because they had to sell all that they grew, only to lose that money to the men with books.
Mother would always apologize profusely, first to him, and then to Cormag as well after he was born; sorry for being so poor, sorry for making them go hungry, sorry for being a bad mother, sorry that she couldn't make a good life for them … Glen had never understood why she had to apologize for it. But now, looking at the foreign, alien glyphs on the paper, he felt as though he could touch a bit of mother's agony. It was just so far beyond him that he didn't know if he would ever become as good as those men in cloth, those men who were able to toss coins as if they were a toy.
"Glen, what's wrong?" Worry was etched into the general's face as he saw tears of anger and anguish fall from the boy's eyes. Connecting the dots between what Emperor Vigarde had told him about Glen and Cormag to his brief interaction with the elder brother, he realized the answer to his question and was filled with sympathy. He placed a reassuring hand on Glen's shoulder. "Look, boy. You are still young, and you have plenty of time to learn. Why don't I teach you how to read and write?"
The boy looked up, his eyes wide in surprise. His facial expressions and reactions were so honest and genuine, Duessel couldn't help but feel a paternal pull towards him. "Really? You'll make me like those smart people?"
Duessel chuckled, amused at the boy's choice of words, and saw that some of the mages nearby that had overheard their conversation were also stifling their laughter. Bless his heart, Glen hadn't noticed at all, too enthralled by the proposal to notice. Duessel patted Glen's head again, continuing, "Of course. There's nothing better than teaching others, after all. I can't start right now because I don't have the right stuff with me, but … let's see … why don't we meet every day at, ah, five in the afternoon?"
Seeing the quizzical look on the boy's face, he realized that oh right, telling time was also for the 'smart people.' Scratching his head, Duessel looked for another way to organize things in a way that Glen understood.
"Er, well … why don't I come and fetch you every day, as the sun starts hitting … well, where it is now?" Glen looked out the window. As a boy from a farming family, he at least knew how to read the sun, and understood Duessel's intentions. He nodded eagerly, his blonde hair bobbing up and down with his movements.
Duessel ruffled Glen's hair before dismissing him with "Then we'll start tomorrow, okay?" After another curt nod, Glen scampered off, presumably to find his brother.
"... Oh, what have I gotten myself into …?" Duessel kneaded his temples. Really, he was always causing more trouble for himself. "... Well, the boy shows promise. He'll grow up to be a fine young man, I'm sure of it."
Cormag sulked, sitting on the edge of the bed he was now sharing with his brother. It was much comfier and spacious than the tiny mat on the floor they had at home. Or, well, what was their home. The castle, with the knights, was their home now.
He watched the sun begin to dip down below the horizon. It was strange, sitting inside at this hour, doing nothing when he was accustomed to toiling over the fields all day. Also, Glen wasn't here like he usually was. Even when they were working, panting, sweating, Glen would never stop talking. Half the times, Cormag wasn't sure what Glen was talking about. He wasn't sure if his brother himself knew what he was spouting. But just the sound of Glen's voice always made him feel less lonely, and it carried him throughout the day. And right now, that voice was gone. Glen had wandered off to explore the castle and left him all alone in here.
Cormag wrapped the blanket around him tightly, as if to fend off the thought that Glen had forgotten about him. He didn't need to block the idea out, though, because not even a second later, he heard small but speedy footsteps approaching the door. It opened and he heard the voice that he already started to miss.
"Cormag!" Glen closed the door and, seeing his brother, ran over and dove towards him, tackling the younger brother onto his back. "Cormag, guess what?!" His younger brother's large, innocent eyes stared back at him in curiosity, but Cormag said nothing, so Glen continued. "I met Sir Duessel, one of the Imperial Three!"
"Imperial … Three?"
"That's right, they're the best of the Empire! The strongest!" Seeing his brother's eyes light up, it sparked even more excitement in Glen. "And Sir Duessel, he was - he was a great person! He reminded me of dad, a bit!" Glen dropped himself onto the bed and rolled from side to side in his excitement.
"Brother, what is it?" Knowing that there was more to the story, Cormag pressed himself closer to Glen to catch his attention.
"Oh, you won't believe it! Cormag, Sir Duessel said he'd teach me how to read and write! Just like the smart people! Oh, mother would be so proud of us. She won't have to cry anymore! If we learn how to read and write, join the Grado army … we can support mother and father! They won't have to go to bed praying that we'll be able to survive winter, or praying that we'll survive unlike some of the others …"
"... Mother … do you think mother's worried about us? The last thing she knew, we were being taken away by the soldiers … she must be …"
Cormag's words reminded Glen that they hadn't returned to the village yet. "Ah … mother must be heartbroken, that's right …" He tousled Cormag's hair. "You're always so responsible and caring, Cormag. I'd forgotten that we didn't return to the village to tell mother and father we'd been enlisted in the army … perhaps General Duessel will allow us to go back, okay?"
Cormag nodded determinedly and shook away the tears that were forming in the corners of his eyes. He'd make mother and father proud. He'd break away from the fate of being a peasant farmer that flowed in his veins, work harder than he'd ever worked before, and become the best ...