“Eckle said you brought him on,” Relam interjected.
“Absolutely not!” Narin replied hotly. “At least, not that I remember. Maybe one of my officers brought him in. In any case, it doesn’t sound as though he’s well-suited to the job, which makes me wonder why your father appointed him.”
“He was going through a rough time,” Relam said, shrugging. “Honestly, he might not even know why he appointed Eckle as the commander. Some of your guards have no use for him either, just so you know.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah,” Relam said, grinning. “My personal guard. You know the four who helped me execute you? Wil, Eric, Johann and Galen?”
Narin threw back his head and laughed. “Those ones! What have they been up to?”
“A few privy buckets mysteriously dumped their contents outside the commander’s door,” Relam replied, grinning evilly.
Narin snorted. “They did the same thing to Bannen on his first day, to welcome him to authority. You said they’re your personal guards now? How did that come about?”
“Eckle demanded that I select eight men to my personal guard,” Relam said, shrugging. “So I went to the guard barracks and selected four, then told Eckle I’d be taking those men off his hands for him. He took the news without too much complaint. I think he must suspect they don’t like him very much. He should, at any rate, since he assigned them to double night shifts three days in a row.”
Oreius winced. “If double night shift means the same thing it did when I was in the army, then that’s pretty rough,” he observed, producing plates for everyone. “Narin, there should be some bread back there somewhere.”
“And ale?”
“I thought palace guards couldn’t drink?” Relam called as Narin rummaged in the pantry for the bread.
“Well, not when we’re on duty,” Narin agreed. “But seeing as I’m dead, I could be considered permanently off duty.”
“Back there, in the cold storage,” Oreius grunted.
Narin pulled open another set of doors to reveal a space framed by stone, with blocks of ice lining the walls. Several casks and flasks were standing in the crushed ice at the bottom of the cupboard. Narin selected one, poured himself a glass of amber liquid, then replaced it with its fellows.
“You’re welcome,” Oreius said drily, rolling his eyes.
The former commander took a sip and smacked his lips. “Excellent,” he pronounced. “You have incredibly good taste, my old friend.”
“Into the dining room,” Oreius grunted, hefting a laden tray and gesturing for Relam and Narin to do the same. “We’ve wasted enough time nattering. Let’s eat and let the boy get home, shall we?”
“What?” Relam demanded, nearly dropping his tray in surprise.
“Careful!” Narin warned, reaching out to steady Relam, watching his glass of ale cautiously.
“You’re letting me go early?” Relam asked, following Oreius to the dining room.
Oreius took the tray and set it on the polished table. “Well, you’ve been through a lot this weekend, and after what I put you through this morning-”
“I can handle it,” Relam said defiantly. “I did well enough this morning, didn’t I?”
Narin looked up from his glass of ale. “How did he do?” he asked curiously. “Outside of falling into the river I mean. That obviously wasn’t good.”
Oreius was quiet for a long moment, then shrugged. “He was good,” the old man admitted at last. “Very, very good. Even without considering the beating he took over the weekend.”
Relam’s eyes widened in surprise. This was high praise indeed coming from Oreius.
“You’re sure you can keep pushing this afternoon?” the old warrior asked, glancing at Relam. “I don’t want you to burn out on me.”
“I can do it,” Relam said firmly. “I will do it.”
Oreius nodded gravely. “Yes,” he said as he reached for his sandwich. “I do believe you will.”
They ate lunch in relative quiet, each with his own thoughts. Relam kept mulling over the battle with his father, wondering if the king would be around when he got home, if he would be any better, if, somehow, Relam had stirred him to action by provoking him in that fight. What if he had made the situation worse, though? What if the shock of striking down his son and losing his wife was too much for the king? That possibility had not occurred to Relam until this point and he quite suddenly lost his appetite.
Finally the quiet meal broke up, and Relam and Oreius moved back outside to continue training. The mist and fog had cleared up, leaving behind the usual summer warmth and an unusual amount of humidity. A light sheen of sweat had formed on Relam’s arms before they even reached the stone bench and the quiet glade beyond.
“How do you feel about some practice patterns?” Oreius asked, glancing at Relam. “I have two more for you to try if you are ready. Narin helped me develop them over the last two days.”
“We can give it a shot,” Relam said, shrugging. “Are they any harder than the first four?”
“The first four weren’t hard,” Oreius said dismissively.
Relam raised an eyebrow at that, but wisely said nothing. Instead, he drew his sword and assumed a ready stance. “What’s first?” he asked pointedly. Oreius hesitated, then drew his own sword and began walking Relam through the newest practice pattern.
An hour later, Relam was drenched in sweat, even though he had not worked particularly hard. He and Oreius had run through patterns fifteen and sixteen at the speed of dirt, exaggerating every blow, the placement of every foot. These patterns were much longer, and far more complicated, requiring an enormous level of focus and determination in order to get all the steps in the right order. Twice, Relam ended up three meters from where he started, and had to try again. Normally,
