When Turgeon awoke he was being held down and his mouth was covered by his captor’s hand. They were in a small alcove, separated from the nearby hallway by a cloth drape.

  Whoever it was that had dragged him into this space must have sensed his awakening, and they whispered in his ear, “Shhhhhh! I think they’re still out there. If I take my hand away from your mouth, you can’t scream.”

  Turgeon thought he recognized that voice, and nodded furiously, or at least approximated nodding as well as he could in such close quarters and with his mouth and jaw in a viselike grip.

  When that grip was finally released, he whispered back, “Geoffry?”

  “Shhh!”

  Soft footsteps were approaching in the hallway. Turgeon and Geoffry both held their breath as whoever was out there slowly passed by their crude hiding spot.

  When it finally felt safe, Geoffry filled him in on what happened after he lost consciousness, or at least what he had witnessed.

  On his way back to the servant’s quarters from visiting his sister, Geoffry had turned a corner into this hallway just in time to witness the attack. As he described it, a monstrous creature, bipedal and with two arms like a man but… not a man, or even human really, had brutally attacked Turgeon, knocking him to the ground and preparing to further batter his prone form. Sure enough, Turgeon could feel bruises forming on his torso and thighs, in addition to the lump on the back of his head and a pounding headache that was setting in.

  Without thinking of his own safety, Geoffry had attacked the beast with a torch taken from a nearby sconce, driving it off. He’d managed to drag an unconscious Turgeon into this small cubby, where they had been hiding until Turgeon awoke. The monster could still be out there, but they both acknowledged that if it was still lurking it was bound to find them soon in this mediocre hiding spot.

  “We should get help, tell someone what happened,” his former friend implored him.

  At first, that did sound like a good idea. Two boys couldn’t deal with a monster in the castle on their own. His opinion of that plan changed quickly however when Turgeon realized the risks it might entail for him. What if this attack had something to do with his past life? It seemed unlikely, but even if it didn’t he certainly didn’t need anyone poking around into his background. The King was likely to summon the Seekers to get to the bottom of this mystery, and if they got involved they were likely to uncover much of Turgeon’s own history as well. He didn’t understand why, but the Swordmaster had warned him that knowledge was dangerous.

  “No!” he blurted out, “We can’t tell anyone about this…” of course, he realized, he would need to provide a reason to explain to Geoffry why they had to keep the attack – and the presence of a monster in the castle – a secret, “Nobody will believe our story, they’ll think we’re crazy.”

  It was a good reason, partly because it was probably true. Geoffry accepted it.

  “Ok… but, how do we know we’re safe?”

  “We don’t know, we’ll just have to keep our guard up in case it comes back. I’ll have to keep my guard up. It was after me Geoffry, and you should stay away from me.” Which shouldn’t be hard for you, he thought to himself with a hint of bitterness, “I’ll be better prepared next time, it won’t catch me by surprise.”

  “You say that, Turgeon, but it’s a monster! How can you be prepared for it?”

  “I don’t know, but I’ll figure it out. It’s my problem either way. Please just leave me to it.”

  Having rebuffed Geoffry’s offer of help, he abruptly fled the cubby as well and dashed the remainder of the way to the Swordmaster’s tower without looking back. The Swordmaster himself had not yet returned from his conference with the King, so Turgeon also avoided having to explain his prolonged absence. As soon as he was in his room he locked the door, pushed the desk chair against it and fell into a fitful sleep in his bed, haunted by dark dreams of the attack and the horror of his brief glimpse of the monster.

  *****

  When he awoke the next morning, the immediate horror of the attack had passed and a deeper concern had taken root in his mind. Why had he been attacked? Had it been random, or had he been targeted?

  Was it a coincidence that the attack had coincided with the arrival of the emissary from Klaav? The King had implied the emissary was using forbidden magic in the throne room. Clearly what had happened to him involved some sort of supernatural force, but was it a kind of magic? It certainly wasn’t any sort of magic he had ever heard of before.

  Aelfredd had always said he didn’t ‘believe in coincidences,’ but why would the emissary attack him? Perhaps he had just been a random victim of a vindictive act? What could the emissary have hoped to accomplish by doing something like that, when his stated purpose for visiting Falkaria was to forge an alliance against Summor?

  None of it made any sense, and clearly he had more questions than answers for now. This was to be his first day visiting Master Jesphat in the morning and he had already resolved to inquire more about magic, pressing for more information that could shed light on his experience, hopefully without revealing too much in turn.

  “Master Jesphat, I’d like to know more about magic,” he began his line of inquiry vaguely almost immediately after he entered the library that morning.

  The Librarian did not seem surprised by this statement, and he set down the book he was reading and awaited Turgeon’s questions with a patient and placid look on his face.

  This reaction put Turgeon a bit off guard, “You’re not mad?”

  “You’re a curious boy, and magic is … well, magic. It is only natural for you to be curious about it. What would you like to know?”

  “There are more kinds of magic than the two you told me about, smoke and powder, aren’t there?”

  “Of course there are, I told you those were the two most common kinds of magic.”

  That was true, he had been careful to use that qualifier in their previous discussion. It was Turgeon’s fault he had missed it.

  “You’ve had two questions now, let me ask one of you: what has sparked this renewed curiosity?”

  This time he had a good answer prepared for that question. “You were in the throne room yesterday and heard the King as well as I did. He accused the emissary, the prince, of using magic, but it didn’t seem like he was using powder or smoke magic. The way the King reacted it seemed like it was something… else, more … evil and reviled. I thought maybe a different kind of magic I don’t yet know about.”

  By the time Turgeon concluded his explanation, Jesphat was leaning back in his chair with his hands steepled before him, his typical posture of contemplation. He paused a long while before addressing the question implicit in the boy’s statement.

  “Yes, we – the King and I – do believe Prince Gyuszki was employing the most powerful and dangerous branch of magic, skag magic. Skag magic is the province of necromancers and those who dabble with the undead, but it is also the source of all powerful healing magic. More than any other branch or fuel, the skag is truly what they call a double-edged sword. Though it must be said, I’ve always hated that colloquialism. It makes no sense, nearly all swords in Atenla have both a true and false edge. Sure, some rare curved swords I’ve seen sailors bring from other lands are single edged, but it’s definitely not common. The saying really should be ‘a sword without a hilt…,’ but I see I have lost you with my digression. What were we discussing? Oh yes, Skag magic. Death and life, all in one dangerous package.”

  “And why do you believe Prince Gyuszki was using skag magic?”

  “Oh, well, he wasn’t actively using it in the sense that he was casting in the throne room, not skag magic at least. I’m fairly certain he did use a bit of powder magic here and there. To amplify his voice, push on the doors and what not. Although he is, without a doubt, practicing skag necromancy.”

  For some reason Master Jesphat was unusually loquacious today, and Turgeon was determined to take advantage of it as much as he could.

  “Why do you say that? What is necromancy?”

  “Necromancy is the side of skag magic dealing with death – and undeath. Skag magic involves manipulating life force, which can be done for good or ill, a two sided coin. Perhaps that’s a better metaphor entirely… Necromancy is the ‘for ill’ side of that coin, and it can be used to drain the life force of an enemy or to animate a corpse. The Prince’s ‘attendant’ is one such animated corpse.”

  An animated corpse. The possibilities swam in Turgeon’s mind. Was that what attacked him the night before? Perhaps, but the monster that attacked him was nothing like the Prince’s attendant.

  “How can you tell? That the attendant is an… animated corpse?”

  “There are many signs, with experience one learns what to look for.”

  “You mean you’ve seen animated corpses before? What, like they’re just around the city?”

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  At that Master Jesphat chuckled a little, appreciating the brevity Turgeon brought to such a ghoulish topic. “Of course not, boy. Recall that magic is outlawed in Falkaria, precisely because of the dangers of skag magic and necromancy. Such a thing would not be tolerated in Falkaria, which is why the Prince can not be allowed to keep that thing in the city, or the castle for that matter. You forget, however, that I am an old man, and have lived a long life. I’ve traveled beyond Falkaria’s border and seen much in my day, including an animated corpse or two.”

  “Tell me more about the fuel corruption, what does it do to a magic user, Master?” Maybe adding the honorific to the question would improve the Librarian’s disposition and make him more inclined to share his knowledge.

  “It varies, depending on the fuel in question. But that’s enough of this grotesquery for today, we must continue our study of the noble houses of Klaav.”

  Turgeon groaned. His appeal to the master’s vanity had not succeeded. Studies with the Librarian of late had become more focused and more boring in tandem. At least he had training to look forward to that afternoon, and meeting the master’s other student, whoever that was. Perhaps the son of a guard, or noble. Hopefully not Y’grathen…

  *****

  It was a bright, sunny day, and the corridor he walked that afternoon to the tower felt like a completely different place than the dim hall where he had been attacked the day before.

  Ahead of him in the hallway a lone figure was walking in the same direction, but not as quickly as he was – despite the tedium of the lesson, he had become absorbed in it and lost track of time in the library, missed lunch and was now in jeopardy of being late. From prior experience he knew the Swordmaster would not tolerate tardiness and was rushing to the tower in the hope of avoiding punishment. As he approached he realized it was a girl ahead of him, but she was dressed as a boy in a loose tunic and leggings.

  Eventually he was close enough to realize that it was the Princess, Suzette. This surprised him for two reasons. First, he had never seen her wearing anything other than a fine gown; and second, he had never seen her without Brigitta. His first reaction was to brace for an ambush: surely his tormentor was hiding in an alcove to jump out and accost him as he passed, or around the next corner.

  Passing the Princess in the hallway was a challenging proposition. What was the proper protocol for something like this? He could hardly bow and address her while they were both moving, and he couldn’t afford the time it would take either. He lingered a few paces behind her for an awkward period of time before she stopped and turned to face him so abruptly he almost ran into her.

  Hands on her hips, she addressed him, “You’re Turgeon, yes?”

  He nodded in response.

  “It feels as though you’re following me.”

  It was a statement, not a question, and he wasn’t sure how to respond. It was clear she was expecting a response though.

  “I’m going back to the Swordmaster’s tower for my afternoon lesson, your highness.”

  She raised a questioning eyebrow at that. “I thought your lessons were in the morning?”

  How did she know that? He was surprised she even remembered his name.

  “The Swordmaster said I’m ready to train with his other student, beginning today.”

  The Princess groaned. “Well, I can’t have you following me the whole way, so you will just have to escort me to the tower as you are going there anyway. Brigitta has fallen ill and it appears I am in need of an escort anyway.”

  “Pardon, your highness, where am I to escort you? You see, I’m already running late for my lesson and the Swordmaster is not forgiving when it comes to tardiness…”

  He trailed off at the exasperated look on her face. “He is not, all the more reason that we should get moving. To the tower, Turgeon,” she turned back in the direction she had been walking and gestured for Turgeon to follow her.

  His confusion must have been apparent, because she felt the need to further explain the situation to him.

  “Turgeon, I am the Swordmaster’s other student.”

  Now his shock must have been obvious.

  “Don’t look so surprised, every member of the royal family is taught the Fiorian Arts. It’s far more surprising that the Swordmaster has chosen to pass the Arts on to you.”

  That actually did make sense. Why wouldn’t daughters of the royal household also be taught these martial arts? In Falkaria tradition dictated that the throne could only pass to a male heir, but that was no reason to not teach a princess how to defend herself. Princess Suzette would likely become Queen someday anyway: with no male heirs in the royal line, the throne was expected to be passed to her despite the traditions of Falkarian primogeniture.

  They walked the rest of the way in silence, arriving at the salle for their lessons without a moment to spare.

  “Ah, I see you and Suzette have already become acquainted,” the Swordmaster greeted them on arrival. “Good, that will save us some time.”

  Turgeon’s surprise at the Swordmaster addressing the Princess so informally must have been apparent – he was going to have to work on that. If he was going to be spending his days and evenings with Dukes and Princesses it wouldn’t do for his every thought to be written on his face.

  “In my salle my title of Swordmaster is the only title that matters. Here, like you, she is simply Suzette, a fellow student of the art. Suzette understands this as well.”

  She made his point by bowing to the Swordmaster and acknowledging his statement with a simple, “Yes, master.”

  “Turgeon is nearly ready to begin learning the dagger plays, but first you must be comfortable working together. He is already proficient with the grappling plays and sequence, we will begin with working through the grappling plays together.”

  The grappling sequence, and the grappling plays requiring ‘no space’ for proper execution. With the Princess. His resolution to be more opaque was immediately broken as his face became deeply flushed at the thought.

  Of course, the Princess noticed and laughed aloud at his discomfort.

  “Come, Turgeon, I promise this won’t be pleasant. I’ll teach you how to use force multipliers to take down someone larger than you,” she beckoned to him to begin training.

  Her aggression was raw, barely tamed. When she executed a throw, her clear intent and knowledge of leverage and force multipliers – stacking multiple compliance techniques to achieve a greater effect – resulted in Turgeon feeling as though he had been driven into the ground each time.

  Every single time she drove him into the ground the throw was followed with simulated strikes targeting a range of vulnerable points. Eye gouges, throat punches, elbow strikes to the collarbone and groin kicks pulled just short that would’ve left him maimed and likely whimpering. The Princess would be a formidable opponent in a real fight.

  Each time he was thrown the aching pain in his bruises also reminded him of the attack the day before, and of his own inability to defend himself against it.

  His resolve hardened then, and he took a cue from the Princess’ own focus. From now on he would execute every move with intent, deliver every strike with precision and develop the necessary skill in this art to defend himself from the next attack, should it come.

  *****

  By the evening, he was battered and exhausted, but starving. He made his way gingerly to the dining hall, looking forward to catching up with Daelrud but still somewhat intimidated by the new knowledge that Daelrud was the Duke of Ko.

  He was pleasantly surprised to find that the Duke was still seated at their small table in the back of the room. The room itself had been returned to its normal state, albeit much more clean than it had been before. Tables had been returned to the walls, reducing the hall’s capacity once again to fit the needs of the small court in residence.

  Apparently it had been decided that the emissary from Klaav and his retinue would not be welcomed for a feast in the castle any time soon.

  “Where were you last night?” Daelrud asked as soon as Turgeon had seated himself. He hadn’t expected the question and didn’t have a great excuse prepared. With so much going on, the fact that he had been absent from dinner the previous evening while recovering from the attack hadn’t even occurred to him.

  “I… I was tired,” was the best he could come up with, “I went to bed early.” It was a poor lie, but his friend bought it. Or, he at least pretended to accept it out of politeness.

  “Ah, yes, I suppose it was an eventful day!” Daelrud seemed positively cheerful, an unusual attitude for him.

  “You don’t know the half of it,” he muttered to himself under his breath.

  “What’s that?”

  “Oh, nothing, just… it was a lot, yesterday. The emissary and all that,” he waved his hands vaguely.

  “Yes, the emissary. The King called a war council this morning as well. It was… interesting.”

  “How so? He can’t seriously be considering joining Klaav to make war on Summor? Can he?”

  “Well… the king must listen to his Dukes, and Y’grathen represented his father in council yesterday. The House of Fjaarl has always advocated for war with Summor, and has a known affinity for their Klaaven neighbors.”

  “If the King must listen to his Dukes, that includes you too though, right? Do you advocate for war with Summor?”

  “Ko is closer to Summor than the rest of Falkaria, but that also means we understand better than most what Summorians want. While generally a peaceful people, their new Queen, Isolde, has worked them into a ferver of hatred for Klaavens and Falkarians alike. This conflict has been brewing for generations, but it has been at a low boil with Isolde on the throne of Summor.

  “The people of Ko are by and large peaceful. We want nothing more than to tend our crops and herds and raise our children in peace. But we also understand that if our enemy seeks war instead of peace, sometimes we must go to war to defend those crops, our herds and our children’s birthright.”

  His speech was so … mature. It wasn’t that Daelrud had been immature in their previous interactions, but to hear him talking of children’s birthrights made it sound like he already had his own children to think of.

  “And who is that enemy, Duke Ko?” Y’grathen had been listening to their discussion and chose this moment to interject. “Is Ko’s enemy Summor, like the rest of Falkaria? Or is Falkaria your true enemy?”

  “Ko has been part of Falkaria since my great-grandfather was Duke. We all know he chose to side with Falkaria over Summor, Ko was not conquered and forced to join Falkaria. If Falkaria should choose to make war on Summor, the levies will turn out for the King. Similarly, and in the name of a unified Falkaria, I am going to choose to ignore the insult in your words.”

  “What choice do you have, Daelrud? Do you really think you could challenge me to a duel to defend your hurt pride? I’d crush you.”

  Of course, the Thoth twins had arrived to support their idol, Ted (or was it Ed? Turgeon couldn’t tell the difference) chimed in with his opinion, “You’d destroy him, Y’grath’, e’s just a weakling farmer. E’d probably show up to the dual with a pitchfork.”

  They all thought that was hilarious and burst out laughing. Turgeon felt bad for his friend, who was sitting very still, but he could see the anger roiling beneath the calm veneer.

  “He could choose a champion!” Turgeon waded into the fray, “I am the Swordmaster’s apprentice and he could choose me to fight in his place.”

  That was even more hilarious to them. “Sure, but if he picks you as his champion, I’ll have to ask the Princess to be my champion. How d’you think that would go for you serving boy?”

  Now it was Turgeon’s turn to seethe with fury and a large dose of embarrassment. Of course he knew the princess, who had been training longer than he had by far, would win a duel between them with ease.

  Clearly seeing his friend’s distress, Daelrud leapt to the rescue and suggested it was time to leave, “Turgeon, we really must be going now, it is time for that appointment we discussed.”

  Y’grathen was obviously suspicious of this, but that was fine with Turgeon, and Daelrud too apparently. They parted ways for the evening shortly after leaving the dining hall. Turgeon made his way back to the Swordmaster’s tower, on alert for an undead monster the whole way, but the night was otherwise uneventful.