‘Go on.’
‘And then a hero stepped forward to save us. A captain, from modest stock, whose late parents had only been poor woodcutters. But he had a nobility of heart that far outstripped that of any of the great families.’
The Commander regarded me impassively. ‘No flattery. I have no interest in it.’
‘But sir …’ I swallowed. ‘Sir, it is not flattery. It is the truth. You – you saved us from the scourge of the Prince of Night.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘And how did I do that?’
‘You rallied the men. You made them stand and fight again. And it was you who worked out that the witch – not a feyin, like the Prince of Night, but a full-blooded, powerful feya – was the source of the Prince’s invincibility. If she could be taken, he would be fatally weakened and could be defeated. So you devised a plan to capture the immortal witch and lock her up in a place where her magic can never work. Somehow you managed to trap her, and now she is in the Tower, forever powerless. Our land is safe from the Prince of Night, who has returned to his underground lair and has never – him or his Marshals – been seen in our land again.’
‘All’s well that ends well, then,’ murmured the Commander.
‘Things are quiet, but peace has come at a price,’ I continued. ‘We have right and justice on our side, of course, but we must still be on our guard. There is no knowing if the Prince will one day find a new ally to help him. We must be on a war footing, always. That is the ruling of the Supreme Council. And that is why each and every man in Krainos must be prepared to serve in the army.’
‘Mmm.’ The Commander’s blue eyes pierced right through me. I felt as though that pale glance was peeling back the jumble of thoughts and feelings in me like a knife unlayering an onion. He shook his head. ‘There’s always truth in legends,’ he said, and gestured for me to follow him through the dark opening. I’d passed some kind of test, though I had no idea what it was.
We both had to stoop low to get through. The passageway beyond, damp and dim, resembled the underground stone chambers that dot the remote corners of our country, the ones that some have said once housed feyin. There were a couple not far from Fish-the-Moon, and as a child I’d climb through them with my sisters and cousins, looking for legendary feyin treasure. We’d never found any, of course, any more than our ancestors had managed to capture the moon.
It took longer than I’d expected, but we finally emerged into a wide grassy plain. I was dishevelled, covered in dirt and dust, while Commander Los was as impeccable as ever. His smart green uniform showed not a stain, not a crease, his blond hair parted neatly, his black gloves glossy and immaculate. Rumour had it that he always wore them to hide his terribly maimed hands, a legacy of the war with Night. His boots were not even dusty.
‘See?’ The Commander pointed to the sparkling water at the end of the grassy plain. And there it was – an island, a short distance out to sea. And on the very centre of the island, rising high above a jumble of low buildings, stood a tower of black stone girded with steel plating.
My heart pounded. If I’d had any doubts before about what was being asked of me, I knew the truth now. ‘Sir, my parents …’
‘You’ll get a chance to write to them. Think how proud they’ll be, Kasper.’
His calling me by my given name made me realise how things had changed. I’d never imagined this. I was from a place that was a national joke. I was of ordinary stock and, according to Gawel, I was one of the worst recruits in years. ‘Sir, the Tower Guard – it is a great honour to serve in it.’
The Commander smiled. ‘Indeed, Kasper.’
‘But I don’t deserve it – I didn’t expect it –’
‘Precisely. Those who do expect it – those who think they deserve it – they are exactly the wrong kind.’ The Commander paused. ‘And I never make mistakes. You are the right choice.’ He looked fixedly at me. ‘But you must be honest, Kasper. If you are afraid of this – if you don’t want this – then you only have to say so. And you can go home, no questions asked, no recriminations.’
‘I want this, sir. I want to serve Krainos.’
‘Good lad,’ said the Commander, briefly placing a hand on my shoulder.
My chest swelled with pride, and I followed him towards the pebbled beach, where a ferryman was waiting to take us across to the island. And all the way, I kept thinking of how my life had taken a turn I had never expected, hardly even dreamed of. It was a great honour and I had to try to live up to it.
Kasper
Days passed, then weeks. It wasn’t quite what I’d expected. I might have worn the smart grey uniform with its red stripe, but I was hardly carrying out elite work. At nearly nineteen years of age I was the youngest and most junior member of the Tower Guard, so my duties were pretty menial. I was a kitchenhand, in fact.
When I had first arrived I was introduced to the chief of staff on the island, Lieutenant Romus, who asked what my parents did for a living. On my telling Romus that they owned a small restaurant, I was swiftly assigned to a position in the kitchens. I had thought of protesting, but one look at the Commander’s face informed me that I would be making a mistake. This was all part of the test and I had to accept it.
So I did. Romus sent me off to get kitted out in the uniform and I was allocated a place to sleep – a hammock in a wooden dormitory with other young guards. My peers accepted me with a sort of casual kindness, but they were clearly not interested in me. After introductions in the dormitory that first night, they returned to their own evening pastimes, which, for those who weren’t on watch, mainly consisted of playing cards and other games of chance.
After the first couple of nights, I was allowed to join in on one of those games, and soon proved that I knew my way around cards. After a short time, three of those card players – Franz, Serek and Marcinek – became my friends. Franz also worked in the kitchens, but as assistant to the cook. The other two had duties in the armoury, which Serek said mostly consisted of cleaning guns that had never been used.
From the outside the island might seem like a fearsome place, with the grim Tower and its deadly prisoner. But actually, despite the fact that from time to time we were reminded by the chief of staff about how important our jobs were and how we must always be on our guard, life on the island was pretty quiet, even humdrum. With the officers’ neat thatched houses dotted around the place, complete with little gardens, and the cluster of buildings for the single soldiers, it looked and felt pretty much like any small settlement, apart from the fact there were only a few women on the island. And there were no children at all – they were all sent to school on the mainland. But though I’d got used to my new surroundings, I couldn’t help being aware of the Tower and wondering about the prisoner. I’d asked my friends, but none of them had ever seen her. In fact, neither had most people on the island. ‘The door to the elevator is always locked and Lieutenant Romus keeps the keys,’ Franz said one evening when we were sitting around the card table. ‘He goes up every week when the room must be cleaned.’
‘But who cleans the room?’ I asked.