“Yeah. What-?”
“Oh, you made a mess when they dragged you in here, blood everywhere,” Aven explained, shrugging. “Someone needed to clean it up and the king’s chatelain didn’t seem too keen on taking care of it so I stepped in.” Aven frowned. “I think that’s still technically in my job description as part-time servant.”
Relam chuckled, air wheezing through the ruin of his nose and creating little pains. “You never cease to amaze, Aven. Even in the roughest places you always have a smile. Where did all this positivity come from?”
“It’s the only way to live,” Aven replied, scrubbing more bloodstains off the floor. “Better than being sad all the time. A good attitude may not change your sad situation, but it makes it more bearable. And if you’re looking up and around instead of down you might find some opportunities you would have missed out on otherwise.”
“Like training with Tar Agath?”
“Yes,” Aven said brightly. “He moved me into a different class, starting on the first day of the next week. Said I was making really good progress.”
“That’s great,” Relam said. “By the way, I’m sorry I decked you a couple weeks ago. When . . . you know.”
Aven nodded sadly. “That night was rough on all of us. Overhearing those two men outside the banquet hall, then running up here to find . . . well . . .”
“I know,” Relam agreed. “I hope we catch them eventually. Maybe they’ll make a mistake and we’ll be able to blow this thing wide open.”
“That would be nice,” Aven muttered. “But I’m not sure it will happen. They haven’t slipped up so far, and the prisoners-”
“The prisoners!” Relam broke in, mentally kicking himself. “Of course. We said we were going to interrogate them and then-”
The prince broke off, realizing that Aven had no idea Narin was alive and well, and that he may not even know that most people within the palace thought Narin to be dead.
“We’ll get them,” Aven said confidently, dunking the brush in the bucket. “You’ll see. How’s training with Oreius?”
“Tough,” Relam said truthfully. “But fulfilling. I think that once I’ve finished with him, whenever that is, I’ll be better prepared than I ever imagined.”
“That must be a good feeling,” Aven observed, standing and surveying the floor. “That should take care of the mess for now,” he said to no one in particular, rubbing his back.
“You should be heading home,” Relam said. “It’s getting dark out, and we know better than anyone that the city isn’t safe right now.”
“Yes,” Aven agreed. “We do know that better than anyone.” He collected his brush and bucket and moved to the door. “Anything you need?”
“No,” Relam said, shaking his head.
“Well, good night, then. Get some rest. You’ll need it for when you go back to training day after tomorrow.”
Relam nodded in acknowledgment and Aven let himself out, the bucket clunking awkwardly against his leg as he walked. The door swung shut and Relam glared up at the ceiling, wincing as his nose throbbed.
“So much for that restful weekend,” he muttered to the dark room. Then, he rolled onto his side and promptly fell asleep.
The next day Relam felt a little better. The pain was starting to decrease. Either that, or he was getting used to it, one of the two. A servant brought him breakfast so that he didn’t have to get out of bed and the healer checked in on him, announcing that barring another foolish training accident he would be right as rain in a few days.
“Can I still train tomorrow?” Relam had asked.
“Certainly,” the healer replied. “Just don’t overdo it. You did lose a bit of blood, but not enough to cause undue concern. I would avoid blocking any more drill swords with your face though, your highness.”
Relam sighed. “Advice noted,” he said drily.
The healer patted Relam’s shoulder, smiled thinly, and departed.
The rest of the day was spent resting, but even with a full day of nothing, Relam was sore when he woke on the morning of the first day of the week. His nose was the worst, but there were still lingering aches and pains in his arms and legs as well. To make matters worse, the weekend had left him emotionally bruised as well. He had not seen his father since their confrontation in the audience hall, nor heard anything from him. There was no sign of him as Relam ate breakfast, and no sign as he prepared to leave with Eric and Wil in tow.
“Don’t worry, sir,” Eric said brusquely. “He’ll be around when you get back, like as not.”
Relam nodded distractedly, then pulled the door to the royal suite shut and led the way down the corridor towards the entrance hall.
There was a light mist falling over Etares as Relam and his guards made the journey to Oreius’ house. The far bank of the river was shrouded in fog and the taller buildings disappeared into the low-lying clouds. Sounds were amplified and redirected in mysterious ways. Ordinary people bundled up against the weather appeared as sinister shadows rising from the mist. Each time they were approached, Relam and his guards would stiffen and lay hands on their blades, only to inevitably relax as a merchant or other citizen ambled past, nodding politely.
The Citadel looked particularly sinister, the towers and walls appearing as black shadows stretching up into the sky until they vanished, with indistinct figures patrolling the walls. Relam looked but could not see the bridges between the three central towers. They must have been hidden by the mist. He wondered briefly what it would be like to stand on one of those bridges on this morning, and shuddered inwardly before hurrying on his way.
At Oreius’ house, Relam stopped and drew his two guards closer. “You can wait out front or return to the palace,” he told them. “I don’t care which. I’ll be safe enough with Oreius, and there’s no need for you to stand here all day.”
“Yes, sir,” Eric replied. “When will you be finished? Will you need an escort back?”
“I should be done six hours after noon,” Relam said. “That’s when we usually finish.”
“Good,” Wil replied airily. “Best of luck, sir. Watch the nose today, eh?”
“I will,” Relam promised. “See you later.”
The guards turned smartly and began heading back to the palace. Relam meanwhile followed the path around the side of Oreius’ house to the back, wondering if the old man would be out in this weather. Relam was not even remotely surprised to find Oreius on the stone bench, as usual.
“Good morning,” Oreius said as Relam approached, gravel crunching under foot. He opened his eyes and looked up at Relam, then frowned.
“I thought I told you to rest up and recover this weekend?” he said, raising both eyebrows.
Relam nodded. “You did.”
“And your idea of resting up is a broken nose and a couple nasty scratches?”
“Not exactly,” Relam said. “The weekend didn’t quite go as planned.”
“Hmph,” Oreius grunted. “Well, we can talk about it later with the commander. I’m sure he’ll want all of the details. Come, sit on the bench.”
Relam smiled, glad that they would be sticking to the normal routine this morning.
“Draw your sword and place it by your right hand.”
The prince frowned. This was not part of the normal routine and he was instantly wary. But he did as Oreius said, thinking that he would surprise the old man by being ready if there were any tricks in the coming exercise. Relam laid his bare sword blade on the bench beside him, close to his right hand.
“Now, close your eyes,” Oreius instructed. “And tell me what you sense around you.”
Relam was used to this part of the drill by now. He took a few moments to really relax and focus, then began identifying smells and sounds. “I sense-”
“Defend yourself!”
Relam’s eyes snapped open and he snatched up his sword, rolling forward off the bench and springing to his feet. As soon as he had, Oreius struck and Relam was forced to parry.
The sword master locked blades with the prince and shoved him backwards as he disengaged.
“Tell me what you sense,” he demanded, advancing on Relam.
Relam stumbled off balance, trying to refocus, to find the calm he normally needed to succeed in this drill. But his heart was pounding too fast and his brain was too busy worrying about where Oreius would strike next.
“The river,” he said finally, knowing that this was a safe guess.
“Not good enough!” Oreius shouted, lunging forward and driving Relam backwards again. “You must be able to keep your focus, even on the field of battle. You must be able to sense and hear threats before they materialize, must instinctively know what is going on around you. Now, what do you sense boy?”
Oreius struck again, a looping side cut followed by a lightning fast backhand. Relam parried clumsily, sliding to one side so that the house was to his left and the river to his right.
“Birds,” Relam said desperately.
“What are they doing?” Oreius asked, slamming his blade into Relam’s again.
“Building a nest?” Relam guessed. Immediately, he kicked himself knowing there was no way he could have divined that using his senses.
“Wrong answer!” Oreius grunted, confirming the prince’s fear. “Try again.”
“An oxcart, on the far side of the River Road,” Relam gasped, parrying another blow. “A blacksmith, not far to the north.”
“Ah, better,” Oreius said, striking again. “What else?”
“A ship on the river,” Relam answered, just before a ship came into view, headed downstream, sliding eerily through the morning fog.
“Keep going,” Oreius barked, driving Relam back towards the house.
“The flowers, I can smell their scent. I can hear the fountain, directly behind me,” Relam panted as he backed up the sward towards the stone bench. “There’s a bench around here somewhere-”
A different noise reached Relam’s ears as he was speaking, a footstep crunching on gravel. And neither he nor Oreius were standing on any of the garden’s paths.
Relam parried the latest blow from Oreius then spun and brought his blade up. Just in time to deflect a blow from a wooden practice sword.
“Halt!” Oreius shouted, lowering his sword.
Narin grinned at Relam, then yanked on his wooden practice sword. Unfortunately, Relam’s steel sword had bitten deep into the wood. It took the two combatants some time to separate the weapons, finally wrenching them apart with a coordinated heave. Relam stumbled down the hill a pace or two, then righted himself and sheathed his sword.
“This is terribly balanced,” Narin observed curiously, waving the practice sword. “I’m disappointed, Oreius.”
“It’s a drill sword,” Oreius grunted. “I didn’t need it to be balanced, I needed it to be relatively harmless.”
“Which I would say you accomplished,” Narin agreed. “I can barely swing this thing properly.”
“Thank you for your assistance, Narin,” Oreius grunted. “You can go back to whatever you were doing now.”
Narin gave a mock salute, then trudged back up to the house. Relam watched him go, then turned abruptly to Oreius, folding his arms across his chest.
“Did I pass?” he asked the old man bluntly.
Oreius looked at him evenly. “Well, you were aware that Narin was creeping up on you, I’ll give you that. And you knew there was a bench behind you somewhere, but not how far. You could have tripped over it as you were speaking.”
“That would have been embarrassing,” Relam admitted.
“Yes,” Oreius agreed. “So I would call this a partial success. You were aware of things very close to you, but your sense over a wider range was sadly lacking.”
“I wasn’t exactly prepared,” Relam protested, gesturing angrily to the bench.
“Being ready for anything is critical,” Oreius countered. “If you were ambushed, your attackers would hardly let up because you told them it wasn’t fair.”
“That’s not what I said,” Relam replied, sticking his chin out belligerently.
“That’s basically what you said,” Oreius growled. “And trust me, after this many years of teaching I’ve heard every version of ‘it’s not fair’ that exists. Now, I want you to try again. This time, keep up a constant stream of words describing what you sense around you. What you see, hear, feel, and smell.”
“What about taste?” Relam asked, grinning.
“If you taste something, by all means tell me, but that sense is not very useful for a situation such as battle. Now, let’s try this again.”
“You’re pulling your blows in case I don’t block, right?” Relam asked as he hefted his sword.
Oreius raised an eyebrow. “Absolutely not. I’m one of those bandits you cleared out of the woods last year, intent on defending my rightfully stolen loot from you. Now, let’s GET ON WITH IT!”
As he roared the last words, Oreius ran forward, striking left right and center. For the first three blows, Relam thought of nothing but blocking Oreius’ questing blade.
“What do you sense?” Oreius demanded as he struck again. “You’re failing badly right now, boy.”
“Trees everywhere,” Relam gasped. “Patterns of light and shadow. The mist swirling around us, making it harder to see. Grass underfoot, yielding, with the threat of tangles to trip us up as we fight.”
“Better,” Oreius shouted. “Keep going.”
“A ship,” Relam continued. “Moving downriver, a waving man on the bow. There are guards marching along the River Road; you can hear their armor clanking in rhythm. There are ox carts and horse carts - one ox cart headed south, and a pair of horse carts heading north. The blacksmith has started up again, and I can still hear the splashing fountain.”
Relam parried yet another blow from the sword master, locking his blade with Oreius and shoving against him. Oreius did not yield under the increased pressure but stood rock steady, watching Relam carefully.
“I sense birds above, moving from branch to branch, feathered shadows in the mist,” Relam panted. “I smell the flowers of the garden. I feel the mist collecting on my arms and body. I sense the bench, three meters behind me-”
“Two, actually,” Oreius interrupted.
“What?”
Oreius attacked in a blinding series of slashes and thrusts, driving Relam backwards quickly. Relam parried twice, then something caught him from the back at knee level, and he sat down hard on the rough surface of the stone bench.
“Two meters,” Oreius said again with a slight smile. “Not three.”
Relam sighed. “Point taken.”
“That was better,” the sword master continued. “We will spend the rest of the morning on this drill, and hopefully you can advance to halfway competent by then.”
“Where would I be on that scale right now?” Relam asked curiously as he got to his feet.
“I don’t really think you want to know,” Oreius replied, grinning wolfishly. “Ready?”
Relam nodded, then attacked without any further warning. Oreius parried, smiling fiercely.
“Good!” he cried. “Excellent instinct. Take the fight to me, boy, attack! But keep your awareness. What do you sense? Let’s hear it now.”
Relam began listing what he heard, saw, and felt, as fast as he could, this time including analysis of what he saw from Oreius as well. All the while, he kept attacking the old man, switching fluidly between practice patterns, connecting them with bits of improvisation. He wasn’t flawless, and he knew that Oreius would easily handle such an attack normally, but he felt he was doing better.
“You’re slowing down!” Oreius shouted. “Keep it up, boy. Be aware of everything.”
Relam stepped forward, his foot sliding through the grass. Oreius backed away and Relam took another step. As he tried to bring his right foot forward again, it snagged on something hidden in the grass. With a yelp, Relam fell face first, holding his sword out to the side. He looked back a
nd groaned as he saw a rope noose tied around his ankle.
“I didn’t sense that,” Relam muttered, reaching back to untie the loop.
“No, you didn’t,” Oreius agreed. “And if I were your enemy, I would take advantage of this moment to lop your head off. Fortunately for you, if you’ll remember our talk on the first day, I am not your enemy. Merely your opponent.”
“There’s a difference?” Relam muttered, loosening the rope around his ankle.
“There’s a huge difference,” Oreius replied grimly, watching Relam fumble with the knot. Finally the sword master sighed with exasperation, as Relam tried and failed yet again to loosen the noose. “You have a nice sharp sword lying next to you, you know,” he pointed out.
Relam scowled and scooped up his sword. It took him only a second to sever the rope and free his ankle. The prince stood uncertainly, shaking his leg a little to make sure he had not hurt himself.
“Again!” Oreius yelled, springing forward with his sword at the ready.
They continued running the drill for the next few hours until it was time to break for lunch. During that span, Relam was snagged by four nooses, including two that dropped dead branches uncomfortably close to him, and he tripped over half a dozen tree roots. For the grand finale, he failed to notice a thin tripwire at the base of the hill, near the river bank. Oreius stepped smartly to the side and let Relam go tumbling past, sword flying out of his hands, to splash into the river, right as a boat was rowing past upstream. Fortunately for Relam, the men on the boat were too focused on the task at hand to notice, and the fog still lingered, making it difficult to see.
On the bright side, Relam was feeling more and more confident about his abilities. He avoided two more nooses, avoided the stone bench, and held his own in the ongoing battle, though he knew Oreius was going easy on him.
“We’ll continue this tomorrow,” Oreius said finally, sheathing his sword. “And the next day, and a little way after that.”
“Until when?”
“Until nothing surprises you on the battlefield,” Oreius replied. “Until there are no small details overlooked and you sense every threat.”
The Prince (Heirs of Legacy Book 1) Page 37
