“See you back at the barracks,” Sermas shouted over the noise.
Khollo nodded and turned toward the spiral stairs in the back-left corner of the hall that led up into the tower above, where Lord Janis Kurkan and the other high-ranking residents of the West Bank lived and worked. Khollo took the stairs two at a time, nodding to the guards on each floor as he passed. He was not challenged. His cadet’s tunic was enough to tell them he was on some sort of errand. Cadets were often sent for to accomplish minor tasks. It was good training.
Khollo eventually came to the top of the steps. The tightly turning stairwell opened up into a space some ten feet wide and five feet deep. The wall across from the stairwell was straight, with a single door. To either side of the stairwell entry, the walls curved away until they hit the far wall, so that there were really only two walls to the room. A pair of guards armed with short swords and heavy-bladed daggers flanked the oaken portal.
Khollo took a moment to catch his breath, then addressed the guards as protocol demanded. “Cadet Khollo to see Lord Kurkan, by his express request.”
One guard turned and entered the room, murmuring to whoever was inside while Khollo waited at attention. There was a pause, then a barely audible reply. The guard returned and waved Khollo in.
“No trouble now, you hear?” he said as Khollo passed.
As though any cadet would be foolish enough to cause Janis trouble, Khollo reflected. He still remembered vividly what Janis had done to those bodyguards the day they had met.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said in reply to the guard. The guard nodded and pulled the door shut. Khollo stood at attention, motionless save for his eyes, which scanned the tower room quickly. Some of his old habits from the streets, like observing every detail there was to observe, had never left him. Information had the potential to be life and death, especially for a starving thief.
The tower room held no threats though. The wall Khollo had just entered through, the north wall, was solid stone. All around the rest of the perfectly circular room though were wide windows, providing a virtually unimpeded view of the surrounding lands. Wooden shutters with iron latches hung above and below the windows, to allow for maximum viewing space.
In the center of the room was a long, rectangular table, large enough for five people to sit on the long sides and one at either end. Every time Khollo had visited, the pinewood surface was buried beneath multiple layers of reports, maps, written orders, and inventories. This time was no different.
What held Khollo’s attention though was the two men seated at the far end of the table.
“Khollo!” the man seated along the long side of the table called cheerfully. “Good to see you lad! Be at ease. How’s your training going?”
“It’s going, Ondus,” Khollo said heavily. Ondus was Janis’ second in command, a stocky warrior with a fiery temper and a larger than life personality. His squarish, craggy face was weathered from a lifetime of being outdoors, with laugh lines around his eyes and the corners of his mouth. Set a little wide of the many-times-broken nose were two blue eyes that twinkled with barely suppressed mirth. Ondus was clad plainly, in a gray tunic and brown breeches, a wide weapons belt holding an armory’s worth of small axes and daggers. His preferred weapon, a long-handled, double-bladed axe, leaned against the table.
“How’re the practice bouts going?” Ondus pressed, eager for details as always. “Rearranged anybody’s face recently?”
“Only my own,” Khollo informed him ruefully. “I haven’t got the hang of it yet it seems. Sermas says today was my seventy-third loss in a row.”
Ondus released a booming laugh that shook the exposed wooden beams overhead. “Ah, you’ll get it eventually, Khollo. Right Janis?”
The man at the head of the table, Janis Kurkan, nodded gravely. “Perhaps.”
Khollo studied his sometime mentor critically. The years had not been kind to Janis. His hair and beard were more gray than brown now, and had grown wild and tangled. The face was a grief-stricken landscape consisting of a downturned mouth and drooping eyes that contained infinite sadness. Khollo didn’t know much about Janis’ past, but he knew he’d lost someone to the war. Janis was prone to bouts of depression and excessive drinking even now, ten years since he had left the war for good and been assigned to the Academy.
“It’s imperative that you learn to be a warrior, Khollo,” Janis said after a few moments, peering out from beneath bushy eyebrows. “You need to be able to protect yourself in this dangerous world.”
“I’m trying,” Khollo sighed. “But I just don’t seem to be cut out to be a soldier.”
“You know, Janis, we might be on the wrong track here,” Ondus observed suddenly.
“What do you mean?” Janis snapped.
Ondus turned his attention back to Khollo. “You’re what, seventeen now? Haven’t grown recently?”
Khollo shook his head. “Not in a couple years.”
“Hmm.” Ondus rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Then I’d say you’ll never be as big or strong as me or Janis. How are you with a sword?”
Khollo hesitated. He was tempted to lie, to boast about his nonexistent skill. He hated disappointing Janis. After all, he owed him everything. But he sensed Ondus was trying to help, and was curious where this might lead.
“To tell you the truth, I’m pretty
