Empire of Ashes

Chapter XL - Practice Makes a Killer

They won! By quite a lot, actually! That's right - the underdogs thoroughly kicked your asses. Props to the two of you who made my phone buzz day and night, though. At least we all had fun.

So ... what is this chapter doing here, you ask? The losers weren't supposed to get chapters ... right?

This is all true. But I'm too nice. It's an actual medical issue where I can't bear to leave people without presents on Christmas just because someone else spent longer spamming me. So, yes, you will get all three chapters. And I've learnt my lesson about making competitions.

Ark and Saqui rode into camp in the hour before dusk. Their horses were strange creatures —
 long-legged and frisky and built for sprinting. It was an abrupt change from the stocky mountain breed favoured by the northerners. They were blowing hard.

Glyn trudged forwards to catch their reins. He took his job as tyro seriously, and rightly so — it was the only responsibility he had. Saqui threw his leg over his horse's neck and jumped to the ground, landing as lightly as a professional tumbler. Ark leaned forwards and dismounted like a normal person.

"You really came," Tem marvelled.

"Such faith," Ark retorted, "that you send your friends to shadow us."

Poor Colloe. Poor Eirac. They would have to walk the distance the horses had covered.

Tem didn't show even a flicker of surprise, so I assumed he too had anticipated Colloe and Eirac's discovery. "It would be irresponsible on my part to let you wander freely, wouldn't it? You know where we are, and you were hired to kill me..."

"Oh, I understand the whys. I just enjoy poking wolves," he muttered. "So, you haven't yet told us what you want from us?"

"For the meantime, nothing complicated. I want you to fight me."

Fendur's dismay was picturesque. He actually slipped out of his guard demeanour to scrub at his face and make a sound combining a groan and a sigh. And me? I felt excitement spark in my chest. Whenever someone drew a blade, every other northerner in the vicinity decided that their sword-arms were itching, and I really wanted to spar with someone. Anyone. Hell, even Anlai would be acceptable.

Well, maybe that was an exaggeration.

"It would be my pleasure," Ark agreed, a note of merriment to his voice.

And Saqui, barely bothering to conceal his enthusiasm, beamed. "And mine."

I assumed there was an ulterior motive. He had to have a motive, right? Maybe he wanted to get a feel for the king's fighting style? They had been trained by the same man, after all. But why would he need to fight the king? The king wasn't a warlord to be challenged on a whim. He had thousands of soldiers to fight his battles for him.

So ... what are you playing at, Tem?

I was still making puzzled eyes at him when Ark drew his sword from a saddle-sheath and Saqui palmed his knives for the second time that afternoon.

"Ragnyr," Fendur implored. Unlike Colloe, he was entirely open about his disapproval. "Do you think this is wise?"

"Wise? No. Necessary? Yes." Tem proceeded to slip the naked blade from his belt and shed his jerkin. It was midsummer, after all, and not even an easterly wind could chase the heat from the afternoon. "Go and spar with Glyn — he could use the practice."

"Fine, fine. If you want to lose your bloody head, who am I to stand in your way?"

And, without further ceremony, Fendur traipsed after Glyn to fetch him back, and it was then that Melia shyly raised her hand. "I would like to spar, too."