Relam frowned, then sat as well after the slightest hesitation. “What’s going on?” he asked, concerned.
Cevet hesitated as though not sure how to begin. “My father says that there is a strong feeling of ill will towards your father right now in the Assembly of Nobles, and particularly in their High Council.”
The prince considered this. Cevet’s father was the Head of the Assembly, and as such led not only the larger Assembly of Nobles, but also the more elite High Council. If there was anyone who would know the general feeling and pulse of the nobility, it was Lord Thius. Then again, in Relam’s experience the Assembly was not a very active entity, all talk and no action.
“It’s probably nothing,” Relam said finally, glancing sidelong at Cevet. “The Assembly is always finding something to complain about.”
“Relam, this is serious,” Cevet said quietly.
The prince stiffened. “How serious?”
“A list of demands is being prepared by their High Council,” Cevet replied. “There are several issues the nobles feel the king has been too lax about. Security along trade routes is the biggest one, but also the river - all that rubbish washing up beside manor houses on the River Road - the lack of a royal navy to patrol the southern sea, something about taxes and a few other things.”
“How does this concern me?” Relam asked. “My father is the king.”
“The nobles seem to think that your father will ignore their demands no matter what they do,” Cevet said grimly. “Of course, if you were to mention their concerns as well, that would help, but what they really want is action.”
“Action is hard to come by in a kingdom that rules the entire world,” Relam reminded Cevet. “Besides, where will the money for greater security and a royal navy come from? Not from reducing taxes, I can tell you that.”
“I just thought it fair to warn you,” Cevet said, shrugging. “Also, my father asked me to. Seemed to think that if the prince mentioned it as well things might get done.”
“Not likely,” Relam said grimly. “And that’s not a comment on my father’s ability to get things done, it’s a comment on the world we live in.”
Cevet nodded morosely. “One man versus the world. I’m putting my money on the world.” He stood and stretched, drawing his sword a few centimeters and then ramming it home once more. “It’s frustrating, that’s all. Anyway, we’re here to spar, aren’t we? Let’s get started.”
“Do you want to run a couple patterns first?”
Cevet shook his head. “Nah. Let’s jump straight in.” He set his real sword to one side, the steel blade gleaming dully, and grabbed a practice sword from a rack, tossing a second to Relam. The prince set his sword beside Cevet’s, then took a few steps away from the benches and took up a ready stance.
“Begin,” Cevet said, grinning.
Relam flashed a grin in reply, then went on the attack. The practice sword whistled through the air at head height, cracking against Cevet’s own wooden blade. The sound of the impact reverberated around the training center. Relam drew back the practice sword for another blow, but Cevet was already retaliating, lunging forward with a quick thrust. Relam deflected it to one side and went to cut at Cevet’s left side. Cevet twisted out of the way and struck at Relam’s ankles, forcing the prince to jump to avoid the questing sword.
Cevet spun with his blade, bringing it up and around. For a fraction of a second his back was exposed and Relam tried to take advantage with an overhead cut. But at the precise moment he struck, Cevet’s own blade came around and smashed into Relam’s. Both fighters grunted in surprise at the force of the contact, but neither lost his balance or backed down, locking the blades. They shoved against each other for a moment, then Relam abruptly disengaged and stepped to one side. Cevet, who had been watching for the trick, fell forward, tucking himself into a ball and rolling past Relam, striking at his knees as he did. Relam jumped back and held his blade ready, Cevet already standing again to face him.
“Not bad,” Relam observed. “I wish you would stand still though.”
“I know,” Cevet said grinning. “Every cadet I’ve ever fought said the same thing.” He lunged forward again, feinting a thrust and going instead for a side cut. Relam parried easily, then stepped inside Cevet’s reach, hooking his left leg around Cevet’s right and jerking. The smaller warrior stumbled, hopping on one foot to keep his balance. Relam struck again, with a simple straight thrust. Cevet was forced to deflect it, but lost his balance in the attempt, crashing to the ground.
“First bout to me,” Relam said, extending a hand to Cevet to help him up.
Cevet let out a low groan and took the proffered hand. Relam hauled him to his feet. As he did, he looked past Cevet to where the guards were seated. The one on the left muttered something to his companion. The other guard scowled and tossed the first guard a silver coin.
“I think you just lost one of my guards a bet,” Relam observed.
Cevet shrugged. “I would probably have bet against me,” he replied. “Obviously your guards have never seen us fight before.”
“You did well.”
“Until you knocked me on my back in the space of three seconds, yes.”
Relam grinned. “Are you up for another?”
Cevet glanced at the guards, who seemed to have realized Relam had been watching them. “Why not?” Cevet said. “Give that one a chance to win his money back.”
They fought a dozen more bouts, each fiercer than the last until finally they were too exhausted to carry on, their blows losing power, their thrusts ill-timed and easily avoided. The final fight ended with Relam tripping
