At the edge of the ring closest to the house was a single, stone bench with a high back. Just visible over the back of the bench was a man’s head with a mane of gray hair. The solitary figure had taken no notice of Relam yet, and did not seem in any hurry to do so. In fact, he sat perfectly still.
Relam advanced slowly, moving noiselessly over the paving stones, then wincing as his first step on the gravel sounded loud enough to alert a blind and deaf drunk to his presence. He wondered briefly if that had been the intention when the path was laid, then carried on, cautiously approaching the man sitting on the stone bench.
Finally, the prince had drawn level with the bench. Glancing sideways, he saw Oreius, sitting with his back against the bench, his eyes closed, his hands folded in his lap. For a moment, Relam thought that the old man may have been asleep. Then, he noticed that Oreius was breathing lightly and evenly, and that every so often his hands twitched involuntarily.
Relam waited, confident that the old man knew he was there. How could he not after Relam had come traipsing noisily down his path, and come through the creaking gate before that? But if he knew Relam was here, why did he wait? Was there some code phrase that Relam was supposed to utter to let the old man know he was a friend? Was he suddenly going to stand and throw the prince into the river?
Finally, Relam could stand the suspense no longer. “You have a beautiful garden,” he said quietly.
The old man said nothing for a long moment, then stirred slightly but did not open his eyes. “It was more beautiful a few minutes ago,” he replied gruffly.
Relam, somewhat taken aback by the blunt reply, struggled to find his voice again. “I apologize for disturbing you, but I have an urgent request. You are one of the few people I could go to with this problem, and Tar Agath recommended I go to you first.”
The old man stirred again, and this time Relam thought he detected a spark of interest. “Tar sent you, hmm? That’s interesting. What is it you want, boy? Training? I haven’t taken a student in twenty years. Some hopeful trainees have sought me out, you know, and I rejected them. Tar recommended a couple of those lads as well.”
“Well, I was after something beyond ordinary training,” Relam said carefully. “You see, I’ve been given a mission by my father.”
“A mission? Of what sort?”
“Military,” Relam replied immediately, his confidence growing with every moment he stayed out of the river. “A raid on some bandits along the Furnier Sea. My force will consist of a hundred cavalrymen.”
“I pity the cavalrymen if they put a boy in charge of this,” Oreius muttered grimly.
Relam sighed. “I can fight, but you are right. There are things I still must learn. About leading men, planning battles. I believe you can help me there.”
“I could,” the old man said evasively. “But haven’t you heard? I’m old now, all but retired some would say.” There was a bitter edge to his voice that surprised Relam.
“I still have faith in you,” Relam said quietly. “If you are the man Tar says you are.”
Oreius finally opened his eyes and looked up at Relam. “I am,” he said simply. “And I know who you are, Prince Relam, heir to the throne. Not ready for the throne yet though. Probably trying to avoid it, really.”
“And you know this how?”
Oreius snorted. “Tar Agath. He’s been telling me for a while that you might be worthy of my time. Or at least that training you would not be a complete waste.”
“I’m honored,” Relam said, a little stiffly.
Oreius gave a short, derisive bark of laughter. “We’ll see. Now about this mission of yours. You’re given a hundred cavalrymen. What are the enemies’ numbers?”
“Between sixty and seventy.”
“Position?”
“Camp along the west side of the Furnier Sea, in the Midwood. My father says the trader can give us the precise location when he comes with us.”
“Not bad. Tell me, Relam, how would you handle such a battle?”
The prince thought for a moment. “Well, traditionally, cavalry are used in charges,” he said finally. “But that doesn’t seem like a great strategy here. Too many trees in that region for a frontal charge, and it would give the bandits a fair bit of warning and maybe enough time for some to escape.”
Oreius stared at him, unblinking. “Go on.”
Relam, having thought that he had done an excellent job already, quickly started thinking again. “I think I would try to hit them from multiple angles, attack from the west first, drive them towards the sea, then send in another force from the south or the east. That way, we drive them east or north, towards areas with less cover where the cavalry would be more effective.”
Oreius nodded thoughtfully. “Your instincts are good, I’ll give you that. But can you handle yourself in a battle?”
“What?”
“Defend yourself!” Oreius roared, springing forward and drawing his sword in a fluid motion.
Relam ducked the first blow and jerked his sword from its sheath. Without thinking he parried low, blocking Oreius’ second attack. The old man was incredibly quick, and strong too. The force of the collision shook Relam’s arms.
Oreius bared his teeth in a fierce grin. “Come on princeling,” he said as he spun his sword upright and locked blades with Relam. “Show me what you have.” Then, he began pushing forward, slowly shoving Relam’s own blade back.
Relam disengaged with a snarl, ducking and spinning, slashing at the old man’s legs. Oreius parried easily,
