The day after, Relam never saw his father. The king stayed in his room, having his food delivered to him by servants, never opening the door any wider than was necessary for a plate to be passed into the room.
Relam was glad when he woke on the first day of the next week for Oreius’ training. Any excuse to get out of the gloomy palace would suffice at this point. The prince was also understandably nervous, but at least with Oreius there was opportunity. With his father, there seemed to be no hope of progress in the near future.
He rose early and dressed, eating a hasty breakfast in the dining alcove. Then Relam set off along the River Road, leaving the palace and his father and the guards behind. There were not many people up and about this early in the morning, and he made good time to Oreius’ house, slipping around the side and through the gate as he had when he first visited the old man.
As before, Relam turned the corner of the house cautiously, not wanting to disturb Oreius or startle him. He needn’t have worried. The old man was sitting on the same stone bench, gazing out towards the river.
Relam moved to stand behind Oreius and slightly to one side, waiting to be noticed. The old man did not stir or speak though, continuing to sit facing the river. Relam took his cue from the sword master and stayed perfectly still as well, breathing lightly and enjoying the fresh morning air. Finally, some fifteen minutes after he had arrived, Oreius spoke.
“You have learned patience at least. That is good. It will help things go more smoothly.”
Relam said nothing, not exactly sure how to reply to Oreius comment.
“You are here for training, princeling?”
“Yes, master.”
“That’s not necessary,” Oreius replied brusquely. “You know my name. Use it.”
“Sorry, Oreius,” Relam replied, dipping his head slightly.
“Much better. Now, boy, you performed well on our little forest excursion. Very well.”
“Thank you.”
“I wasn’t finished yet. You still have much to learn. Fortunately, I hear you are a keen student. You listen well and take instruction even better according to Tar.”
Relam said nothing, waiting for Oreius to continue.
“Sit,” the old warrior commanded, rising from the bench to make room for Relam.
The prince, a little surprised, stepped forward and sat carefully on the edge of the stone bench, his scabbard scraping the surface as he did so.
“This is your first lesson,” Oreius said quietly. “It is one that few warriors understand, and one that they all need. What do you see and feel all around you? There is a right answer to my question, I promise.”
Relam frowned. There were a great many things he felt and saw. He saw the river for one. And he could feel the bench below him. And the wind, stirring the trees. He could smell the hundreds of blossoms from the garden, and the scent of the grass between him and the river. But Oreius had not asked about smells. He had asked about sight and touch.
“Let me give you a hint,” Oreius said, gravel crunching as he paced to stand on Relam’s other side. “It is not a tangible thing that I want you to notice. It also might help if you close your eyes and try to relax.”
Relam wondered briefly how he was supposed to summarize what he saw and felt if he couldn’t see. But he followed Oreius’ suggestion, trusting that the warrior knew what he was talking about. Relam closed his eyes and relaxed. Predictably, the only thing he saw now was darkness.
But he was aware of something else as well. The gentle sounds of the river and the trees, the scents of the garden. He knew that all around him was natural beauty and peace.
“What was that?” Oreius asked. “What did you say?”
Relam realized that he had whispered the last word aloud. “Peace,” he said, more loudly this time.
“Very good,” Oreius grunted. “Move over a bit.”
Relam shifted to one end of the bench so the old warrior could sit as well. “Peace,” Oreius repeated, looking around the garden. “It’s a beautiful thing, boy. And so very fragile. Especially in a world like this, with power-hungry men and women looking out for their own interests, pushing and shoving and sabotaging to get ahead. It’s madness, chaos. And when there is not enough space left in one kingdom for this chaos it bleeds over to its neighbor and beyond.”
“You mean war?” Relam asked.
“Right again,” Oreius growled. “You are a sharp one. Yes, war. Remember this lesson, boy: peace is the one thing above all worth fighting for. Fighting for anything else, be it conquest, land, expansion, whatever, is wrong. The true warrior only takes up his sword when necessary, and then in the defense of peace and all that is good.”
Relam nodded, storing the information away. “What about the uprisings in Mizzran?” he asked, remembering his father’s discussions with Clemon.
“You mean the miners?”
“Yes.”
“They fight for peace too.”
“But they started the conflict!”
“Did they? Or has the conflict just been on hold since the miners were beaten into submission all those hundreds of years ago?” Oreius asked.
Relam opened his mouth to respond, then stopped, frowning. “I’m not sure,” he admitted. “I suppose your take on it could be right though.”
Oreius nodded gravely. “It’s a matter of perspective, boy. The miners of Mizzran have long been enslaved, but how they came to be that way is a fascinating story. Which we don’t have time for,” he added before Relam could ask.
“Oh,” Relam said, vaguely disappointed. “That’s a shame, I love a good story.”
“Well, you’ll have to wait for that
