Once everyone was ready, we exited the annex to find the usual six guards outside our door. One arched a dirty blond eyebrow at us. He bore a diagonal scar across his face, one that brought to mind orc claws. “Do you wish to break your fast?”
“Actually,” I said, “we’re hoping to work stiffness from our bones. To train, if you’ll allow it.”
The guards exchanged glances, but none looked surprised. Perhaps their leaders had already presumed I’d asked for such freedoms. I was, after all, the Warrior Prince and had to remain fit and nimble with my weapons.
“The others will remain here?” the same guard asked.
“Yes. I suppose the others may wish to eat soon, but most of them are not the sort of fae to enjoy sparring.”
He looked to Duran, a dwarf who had spent a total of three days sparring in his thirty turns of life. After a pause, though, the guard only shrugged.
“Very well, you’ll follow me.” He motioned for two other guards to join us. “I’m Svald, head of your escort retinue today. If you have requests while you train, ask me.”
“Very well.” I nodded, and the faerie led us through the castle.
Thus far, we had seen little of the cursed place. Still, I recognized many of the tapestries that we passed by. Familiar areas too. Odd, for I knew the castle to be large. I guessed that parts were so destroyed that the rebels only used a portion of it.
“Any word on King Magnus and his retinue?” Neve asked Svald, breaking my short musings.
My clever mate. Always digging for more information.
She’d been shocked to hear of the Falk bastard, another relation. Almost as surprised as she’d been to learn of the king flying overhead—on some sort of mission, I guess.
“Our fylgjarn has his hawk following,” Svald replied. “So far, he and the other fae—Lord Roar Lisika being one—seem to be hunting for something. We know not what.”
“Where are they now?” Iasked.
“Can’t say for certain. Last I heard, they entered a mountain abutting Eygin, and the hawk has since lost them. Can’t go in there, can she? But she’s staying nearby, waiting to see them come out. We can only hope they emerge from the same hole they entered by.”
We turned a corner, and I caught the sounds of clanging metal and jeers that indicated sparring fae, when, to my right, Thantrel shuddered.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Don’t you feel something off here?” He peered about, as if searching for something. “Like your nerves are on fire? I’ve felt it a bunch of times and can’t help but think it must be the curse.”
“Can’t say I have.”
Neve, Luccan, and Duran echoed me.
“Guess I’m special. Not that we didn’t already know that.”
Duran scoffed. “By the dead gods, your ego knows no bounds.”
Thantrel scowled. “Why are you here, dwarf? You don’t even fight.”
“I’m curious about the castle. Wanted to see more and hear stories of it—if I can get anyone to talk.”
“Oh yes, seeing a rotting castle is such a breath of fresh air,” Luccan added, before Thantrel could respond, as he appeared to be about to do. The way Duran and Thantrel bickered, you’d think they were brothers too.
“We’re here,” Svald announced as we approached the end of the hall and stopped before an open set of doors.
Inside a large room about half the size of the trainingfacilities at Frostveil, a hundred rebels sparred with swords, maces, axes, and other weapons. One female fighter hurled daggers at a target. This room, unlike much of the castle, looked to be in good shape. No crumbling walls. No holes in the ceiling or blown out windows. It might be bare and cold, but it was functional.
“Where do the archers train?” Luccan asked.
There wasn’t room in here, but many of us had seen Thyra shoot. She was no slouch, and I suspected there were other rebels talented in archery too.
“Outside,” Svald said. “If you wish to train in archery, I’ll have to request permission. You are permitted in here, though.” He gestured inside. “No magic. Just weapons.”
