4. Chosen

     "How do so few of us rescue such important prisoners?" asked Devron, suddenly realizing as eyes turned his direction that he had spoken his thought aloud.
     "We are the Salvorian Guard, you green recruit," thundered an older man who seemed ready to strike him across the face for what apparently was the greatest of insolent remarks.  "Do not doubt our abilities that you know nothing of!"
      "I just meant that if I was a lord of Carthor, I would expect an attack and prepare for it," stammered Devron, backing up slightly but finding the man behind him standing fast and forcing him to face directly the angry soldier.  "No warrior is invincible."
     "You know nothing of warfare or strategy, commoner!  If I was not a sworn brother, I would challenge you to combat and pin your head above the mess hall."
     "Is this true, lad, are you a commoner by birth?"  This question came from the prince himself, a man who was not really much older than Devron and hardly one to be suggesting great age superiority, but the new guardsmen answered all the same out of respect.
     "Yes, my family, the Valiani, come from the common people," said Devron.  "We may be simple folk, but we are loyal."
     "I do not doubt that," replied Prince Marcus, catching the eye of his councilor for a moment.  Then he addressed the group of guardsmen as a whole.  "Men, you will soon receive instruction from Lord Sevroth regarding the specifics of your mission.  Kindly attend to your duties and make preparations for your eventual departure.  May the will of the emperor never falter!"
     "Hail the emperor!" cried the guard in unison.
     The Salvorians moved as a body to leave with Devron getting jostled by some of his fellow soldiers as they filed out of the room.  Without saying much, he was pushed by the others out of line and made to wait inevitably until the end as the others moved ahead.  Just as he was finally allowed to follow, he felt a strong tap on his shoulder.  Turning around he looked straight into the care worn but firm face of Adrius the Black.
     "Common, but not so common I think," spoke the wizard for the first time with deep measured tones.  His grey beard on closer inspection still bore traces of the black he had been named for so many years ago, leaving now only his robes to suggest the nickname.  His intimidating presences was more than just his height and strength in body, but seemed to flow from around him like an invisible cape that threatened to snap out at anyone foolish enough to cross him.  "Forget the others, Marcus.  Give them something to do to keep them occupied.  I want this one, the one from the common folk."