“I should think not,” Oreius agreed. “Now, since it appears that you are not capable of working through this pattern any further, let’s take a moment and develop pattern twelve. Are you up to that?”
“Yeah,” Relam said, picking up his sword again. “I think I can do that.”
Oreius took a little longer developing the twelfth pattern, adding in side steps and ducks to complicate things. The first time they tried the pattern all the way through, the two combatants ended up some five meters from their starting points. Oreius made a few adjustments and they tried again, this time barely missing the starting point.
“That’ll do,” the sword master announced. “Commit those to memory. We’ll do more work on them tomorrow afternoon, maybe add in number thirteen while we’re at it.”
“Is that it for the day?” Relam asked, surprised.
Oreius raised an eyebrow. “The day is nearly over, boy. Or can you not tell time by the sun? Has everyone started using those finicky water clocks now?”
Relam looked up at the sky and realized that the sun was indeed sinking towards the horizon. “I had no idea we’d been at it so long,” he said truthfully. “I should be getting home.”
“Yes, you should,” Oreius agreed. “Rest up, and be back tomorrow morning.”
“Same time?” Relam asked.
“Of course,” the old warrior replied. “Now, get going.”
As Relam turned to go, the old man paused and looked back. “Incidentally, this is the best one of my students has ever done on his first day. Congratulations. I’ll have to make tomorrow harder to compensate.”
Then, the old man dismissed Relam, walking back towards his house, whistling as he passed through the garden. Relam shook his head in surprise, then began the long, painful walk back to the palace.
The River Road was crowded with people heading home from a long day’s work or making a last-minute run to one of the markets. Students were leaving Tar Agath’s facility when he passed, shoving each other and chatting good-naturedly, excited to be leaving after a day’s hard work. Relam wished he had their energy, that he wasn’t stiff and sore and discovering new muscles by the expedient of identifying where he hurt.
As he was passing the Citadel, a voice hailed him from nearby the wall. He paused, turning, trying to identify the source, then a man in armor shoved his way through the crowd to join him.
“Your highness!” the guard called again. “Master D’Arnlo just dispatched me to the palace, asking after you. He was wondering if you would care to meet him in his office. If you like, I can take you to him now.”
Relam frowned. He did not like the idea of D’Arnlo summoning him to the Citadel, or conducting any sort of meeting on the nobleman’s home field. “The master of the Citadel may come to the palace himself,” Relam told the guard quietly. “I’ve had a very busy day and there are other things I need to attend to at the moment. I will be free in two hours’ time if that would suit the master.”
“I’ll convey your message,” the Citadel guard replied, bowing. “Thank you, your highness.”
The guard retreated, ducking through the gate and into the Citadel, the doors closing behind him. Relam wondered briefly what D’Arnlo wanted to see him about, then shrugged. He’d likely find out this evening, if it was at all important.
The young prince returned to his room just before dinner was due to be served, with barely enough time to wash away the grime and sweat from his training. When he emerged from his room, he was pleasantly surprised to find his father sitting in the main room, in one of the armchairs close to the fireplace.
“Father!” he said brightly, moving to stand beside him. “How are you?”
“Fine,” the king grunted. “I can only stay for a moment, then I have to get back to work.”
“Um, you live here,” Relam pointed out. “You’re perfectly welcome to stay.”
“Business to attend to,” his father muttered, eyes darting around the room. “I’ve been away too long already.”
Relam sighed, smothering his frustration. “Very well. What did you want to discuss?”
“I’ve chosen a new guard commander to replace the traitor we had executed.”
For a moment, Relam was confused, then he remembered that Narin was supposedly dead and buried. “Oh, right,” he said, nodding. “Who did you choose?”
The king turned to the door. “Eckle, attend me.” He turned back to Relam. “Meet the new commander of the guard, Rom Eckle.”
The door opened to admit a tall, burly man in full armor, a two-handed broadsword slung over his right shoulder. Eckle was extremely pale, as though he had never seen the sun, but Relam could tell he was immensely strong and powerful from the muscles rippling on his frame as he moved.
“You called, your majesty?” Eckle said, kneeling before the king.
Relam’s father nodded. “Commander, this is Prince Relam. Relam, Commander Eckle.”
Eckle rose and bowed deeply to Relam. “It is an honor, your highness,” he said.
“Are you new to the guard?” Relam asked curiously. He couldn’t remember seeing this man before.
“Yes,” Eckle agreed. “I was brought on by former commander Narin, to replace one of the guards killed in the failed assassination attempt last year. Before that I served at the Citadel.”
“Ah,” Relam said nodding. “You must be a good fighter.”
“One of the best.”
Relam’s eyebrows shot up in response. And incredibly modest, he thought privately.
“You will need to choose men for your personal guard, your highness,” Eckle continued. “I’ll assign them to stick with you day and night.”
“Excuse me?” Relam asked.
“Sorry, highness. I was speaking about arrangements for escorts for you. I think we should start with eight guards for now-”
“I don’t need an escort,” Relam said bluntly.
Eckle smiled patronizingly. “Be reasonable, my prince. You need the
