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              “Just practice…not training,” Gwaynn added, trying to create a distinction between the two with his voice alone, though most of his hope was already beginning to fade.

              Tar Kostek stood where he was for what seemed a very long time to Gwaynn. The Tar said nothing, just stood frozen, looking off, out into the night. Finally he started, and looked back down at Gwaynn.

              “I’m not sure,” he said slowly. “Let me put it to Tar Amon, and see what he thinks of the idea.”

              Gwaynn couldn’t help but let out a loud sigh of relief; his dreams were still alive and intact. Kostek eyed the boy for another moment longer and then continued to his own cabin. “Practice must not interfere with your duties to Leek,” he shouted back without turning around.

                                                                 ǂ

              Tar Navarra spun and struck, bringing his wooden kata down upon the Deutzani soldier’s left forearm with enough force that the man dropped his weapon, which clattered on the stone floor. Navarra followed it up with a kick to the face for good measure then with practiced ease he turned on the other two soldiers who were his sparring partners by default rather than choice.

              Both King Arsinol and his advisor Ja Brude watched with interest, Arsinol from the former throne chair of the Massi, and Ja, one level lower and in a much less ornate chair. Arsinol loved the throne room. It was large, nearly fifty paces across and double that in length, and the ceiling was a full three stories above them. There were three enormous fireplaces, the largest directly behind the King and one on each of the longer walls. Hanging on the walls, covering nearly every inch of space, were large intricately woven tapestries that were both beautiful and functional, as insulation. It was a room fit for a King…a King of two countries.

Navarra moved between the two remaining soldiers, a wolf among lambs. He toyed with them, showing off his skill and though his King believed he could control the man, Navarra made Ja very nervous. The man was too deadly and enjoyed dealing out death a little too readily for Ja’s peace of mind. He watched as Navarra quickly dispatched his other two opponents. It was neatly done, though the Executioner still grimaced a few times when he had to block strong blows with his right arm. He was still feeling pain and not yet fully recovered from his recent injury.

              With two of the soldiers still unconscious on the floor, Navarra wiped his brow and joined the King on the platform. He sat without being asked, without a bow of respect. Ja caught the slight but said nothing. King Arsinol, however, appeared not to have noticed.

              “Your health is improving rapidly,” Arsinol commented. “I will want you to begin hunting for the prince soon.”

              Navarra shrugged. “He is dead. Where do you suggest I search the bottom of the Inland Sea?”

              The King frowned, disliking the man’s tone, but knowing the Executioner was still needed, and still deadly. Arsinol would never forget how easily Navarra had killed his former Weapons Master a few years prior. The Executioner had played with the man before finally slicing open his lower abdomen.

“I want to see a body. I want proof,” Arsinol finally answered.

              “The people of Massi would be easier to control if there was proof to the end of the royal line,” Ja chimed in.

              “I control them easily enough,” Navarra answered as if bored, and slung one leg over the arm of the chair in which he now rested. “Speaking of royal line, I suppose congratulations are in order.”

              “Killing them is different from controlling them,” the King retorted, but smiled, thinking of his daughter’s upcoming nuptials to the High King. It was finally coming to pass, after years of planning. And though he had many strong, ambitious sons, it was ironic that it would be his youngest daughter who would lead him to the highest throne in the land. Ironic maybe, but not surprising, Audra was such a beauty. The High King Mastoc was smitten with her from the first time he set eyes on her, though the girl had not yet reach the age of twelve at the time. Ja Brude was the first to notice the lust in the old King’s eyes, and together they had played it very shrewdly. The two of them had dangled Audra before the King at every opportunity, and like a large fat pike, they had finally landed him, earning the Kingdom of Massi in the process.  Even now it was hard to believe that the old King finally agreed, and that he, Arsinol Deutzani, would soon be “father” to the High King and then, in time, grandfather to the future High King. It mattered not to either of them that Audra who was now fourteen was nearly thirty years junior to her betrothed. She would be queen of the land, and that was indeed a fair trade for happiness. Arsinol turned his attention back to Navarra who was sipping wine and eyeing one of the men on the ground as he slowly came around.

              “Let your spies find the boy then, and if they do I will crush all hope in the Massi people,” the Executioner said with a smile, “meanwhile I will begin to hunt the Weapons Master who helped him escape, this Afton Sath. He will be worth hunting, and killing.”

              Arsinol had only a minor interest in catching the former Massi Weapons Master, who was an old man and would not live long in any case. But it was true that the man could become a rally point for the people and thus a threat, however slight.

              “You hunt your Weapons Master then,” the King muttered. “You will be free until I return from the marriage festivities. But when my spies find the boy…who is alive… you will come and finish the job.”

              Navarra smiled, rising from his chair “But of course M’lord,” he answered and left the room without being dismissed.

V

“It’s your quarter, so the final decision belongs to you,” Tar Amon told Kostek early the next morning. The day was starting off near perfect, not a cloud in the sky, warm but with a nice westerly breeze blowing in from the sea. Mornings were by far the best time of the day, Amon thought to himself as his colleague wrestled with the problem before them.

              “But you agree that it is a good idea?” Kostek asked looking for help.

              Amon shrugged. “Good for the boy, certainly. He will need all the help he can get if he is to survive. Good for your students may be another matter.”

              “How so?”

              “Gwaynn is at least fifteen, and while he’s sure to have had some training he will be no better than another first year, probably worse. Tam has only been here three months and she may have already surpassed him in skill,” Amon asserted. “Will practicing with someone so beneath their skill level truly improve your other students, or will it just distract them?”

              “Yes, but remember he has been trained by Afton Sath,” Kostek argued, knowing that the old Massi Weapons Master was seriously considered for Tar rank upon his graduation.

              “Hmm, yes. In his time, Master Sath was certainly the best of the families Weapons Masters,” Amon answered. “But remember he is now well passed his prime.”