Relam gasped, then grinned as he recognized his former guard commander, Narin.
“You always were a tactless dolt,” Oreius growled threateningly. “Of course we were in the middle of something! That’s how training works.”
“My sincerest apologies,” Narin said formally, still grinning. He clasped hands with Oreius briefly. “It’s been a long time since you had a student, old friend.”
“Well, it had to happen eventually. My judgement seems to be deteriorating with age.”
“Be that as it may-”
“You two know each other?” Relam demanded.
The two men looked at him. “Yes,” they replied in unison. Then, they went back to their conversation.
“I assume that you are not here on a social call, commander?”
“Forget the title,” Narin said, waving a hand. “It’s not mine anymore. I’ve been replaced.”
“Really?” Oreius asked. “And how did that come about?”
“The king fired me,” Narin said, shrugging. “It seems I let him down by allowing someone to get to the queen.”
“I had not heard she was murdered.”
“We’ve been keeping it quiet. Anyway, the king wanted me sentenced to life in prison but Relam convinced him to execute me instead.”
“What?” Oreius demanded, rounding on the prince. Relam rose to his feet, holding his hands up to ward off the sword master. “You might have mentioned that,” he said in a dangerous voice, advancing on Relam.
“Calm down, gray one,” Narin said, laughing. “It was all a ruse. We took four guards we could trust to the Citadel and faked my execution. They carried me out in a body bag and buried the bag beyond the city gates. I reentered the city last market day, disguised as a trader. I’ve been laying low since then.”
“Well, that’s more like it,” Oreius said, sliding a sidelong look at Relam. “You had me worried about our boy here for a moment, Narin.”
“I told you before and I’ll tell you again, he’s a good one, Oreius,” Narin said. “The finest you could ask for.”
“So I hear,” Oreius replied drily. “Let me guess, you need a place to stay for a while?”
“If it would not be too much trouble.”
“You know there’s far too much house here for one old man,” Oreius grunted. “Take the north wing for yourself if you want. I’ll get you a key to the back door.”
“Thanks,” Narin said, nodding.
“Anything new on my mother’s death?” Relam asked eagerly.
Narin hesitated. “Early days yet,” he prevaricated. “There’s some information I need to verify, some contacts I need to speak with. To get things done secretly takes time, your highness, especially when you are dealing with the lowlifes of the city. Their information is top notch, but you have to be careful how much you tell them. And there are always unwelcome listeners, hoping for information they can turn to profit themselves.”
“Go carefully,” Relam urged. “You’re of no use if you get yourself killed.”
“Haven’t you heard?” Narin said, flashing a quick grin. “I’m already dead.”
Relam rolled his eyes. “Let’s get back to training,” he suggested to Oreius.
“Yes, let’s,” Oreius agreed. “Get going Narin.”
“See you around, friends,” Narin replied cheerily, moving smartly around the side of the house and back out into the bustling city.
“Right,” Oreius grunted. “Back to work.”
The rest of the morning was spent on more of the same awareness drill. Relam sat on the stone bench and listened, listing what he heard and sensed around him, what he could smell and taste on the air. Oreius gave him no indication of how well he was doing, but Relam privately thought that he had performed decently.
They took lunch together in Oreius’ dining room again, a quick meal of ham, biscuits, and fruit. Then, it was back outside for an afternoon’s work on the practice patterns, starting with the ten Tar had taught Relam and moving into the new ones they had developed the previous day. Oreius did not demand the same frenzied pace, but Relam performed the strokes as fast as he could, knowing that he should get used to fighting at the speed of thought. This practice could one day mean the difference between life and death.
Towards the end of the day, Relam helped Oreius develop two more practice patterns, numbers thirteen and fourteen. They were significantly more complicated than eleven and twelve, involving far more movement and imagination. By the end of the day, the young prince was wrung out once more, completely drained of energy with barely the strength to stumble home, clean up, and eat dinner alone before collapsing on his bed.
The rest of the week followed a similar pattern. Morning drills in awareness, then lunch, and finally swordplay in the afternoon. Relam’s muscles grew stiffer and sorer every day, and the weekend could not come soon enough. He needed time to recover, two days of rest to build his strength up once more, so that Oreius could tear him apart the next week.
The fifth day of training ended at last and Relam returned to the palace. There was no sign of his father again, and no sign of Lord Clemon or Eckle either. This was a welcome bit of good news for Relam. In truth, by spending most of his time either sleeping or away from the palace, he had managed to evade his father’s advisors and officials.
Relam’s luck couldn’t hold forever though. As he was sitting down to a leisurely late breakfast on the sixth day, there came a brisk knock at the door and Eckle entered without so much as a by-your-leave. Relam scowled at the commander and swallowed, clearing his mouth so that he could speak.
“Good morning, your highness,” Eckle said pleasantly. “Did you have a good night’s rest?”
Relam scowled at the commander. “Yes.”
Eckle nodded. “Glad to hear it. Here is the list of names I promised you. All
