The Sovereign Codex.

Northern Assignment

The officer's voice lingered in the air at the moment when the initial protests began. A woman moved forward, holding a small pouch containing coins in her hand. She said "My boy is all I have left. Take the money instead." Another man raised his hands and spoke, saying "My son’s fever has not broken for three days. He can barely stand." From the edge of the square, a rougher voice shouted "We need him for the harvest. Without him the fields die."

The officer kept his calm tone and did not raise his voice. He lowered the parchment he held and looked at each protestor in turn. He stated "There are few legal exemptions. Illness must be certified by a royal physician. Payment is not accepted. Farm work does not count as grounds for refusal. One man must come from every eligible household. That is the order."

Edrin’s mother stepped forward before he could stop her. She moved into the space between the soldiers and the people and stated "My husband already served." Her voice was steady while her hands shook. "He gave his leg and years of his life. This household has already paid. The crown still owes us the rest of what was promised."

The officer glanced at her and then past her as if she did not exist. He repeated "One man from every eligible household." That was all he said in response.

Edrin felt the weight of his words settle cold in his chest like iron. He turned away from the square and walked without thinking. His feet led him to the village head’s house without conscious thought. The door was open. The old man sat at a low table that had lists and seals on it.

Edrin spoke right after entering, before the old man could greet him. "Is there any way around it?" The village head did not seem surprised. He moved a thin booklet closer and ran a finger down the page. "If you refuse, the household loses its protection under royal agricultural law. The land can be seized for not answering a royal levy. There is no other way written here."

Edrin stared at the ink. The choice was not a real choice, it only appeared to have the shape of one. He left the old man’s house without saying anything more.

The rest of the day went by in quiet work preparing to leave. He cleaned the hoe and propped it against the wall. He filled the water jars higher than usual. He checked the fence posts one last time even though he knew they would not hold without him. His mother moved through the house, packing a small bag that included a spare shirt, some dried meat, and a cloth for wrapping wounds. There was little spoken between them.

His sister was the first to try to encourage him. She stood in the doorway and tried to seem cheerful. "You will come back with stories. And maybe a medal. I will tell everyone my brother is a soldier." Edrin managed to nod in response. Later in the day, as the sun began to set, he found her sitting behind the house. She had her knees drawn up to her chest and her face buried in her arms. He noticed her shoulders shaking but did not call her name and just sat near her until the shaking stopped.

Night settled over the land. His mother approached him where the old walking stick was located. She held out a knife to him. The blade was short, the handle worn smooth from use over the years. It was not a fine weapon and it was not a good one either. However, his father had carried it through mud and blood and long nights while being far from home.

She pressed the knife into his hand. "Do not become like your father." Edrin looked at the knife. He thought she meant the ruined leg his father had suffered and the slow death that followed unpaid promises. Her eyes showed something else. She meant loyalty. Hope that the kingdom would someday recognize its debts. His father had died waiting for that day to come.

Edrin tightened his grip around the knife handle. "I will serve the year. Then I come home." She did not respond with words. She touched his face once, briefly, and then turned away.

Before the first light shone on the fields, the recruits gathered in the square. Nearly thirty young men stood there. Some were still trying to wipe sleep from their eyes. Others wore expressions that showed acceptance of the path ahead. Mothers and sisters stood at the edges. A few fathers were present but there was no cheering.

The wagons were present, made from rough wood and had iron-rimmed wheels. They were similar to those used for transporting grain or the dead. Edrin climbed into the second wagon. The boards shifted under his weight. A mixture of old straw and horse sweat filled the air. He kept the knife pressed close against his side.

The officer who had read the names walked along the line of wagons holding a second piece of parchment. He stopped beside several of them, marked something with a thick quill, and then moved on. When he reached Edrin’s wagon, he hesitated longer. His pen scratched out once, then again.

The wagons began to move. The square faded behind them. The houses and fields disappeared from view. The walking stick was left leaning against the wall of a house that could no longer support three people.

Edrin looked back one time. His mother and sister stood together, looking small against the morning light. Then he turned his focus forward.

The officer had already gone to the next wagon, but the parchment stayed open just long enough for Edrin to see the mark next to his name. Two words were written there. Northern Assignment.