the Global Grappling Tournament in the summer, an event where the best warriors in the world competed for honor and, more important for Sicarius, could learn from those better than themselves.
“Men, attention!” someone called from a ring near the doorway.
Everyone stopped in place and stood straight, heels smacking together as Commander of the Armies Hollowcrest strode into the gymnasium.
“At ease,” he said.
As soon as Hollowcrest wasn’t looking in their direction, the soldiers snatched their gear and disappeared. Sicarius, doubting the Commander of the Armies had come to throw sandbags around, folded his towel, set it on a bench beside his shirt, which was also folded, and clasped his hands behind his back to wait.
Hollowcrest stopped before Sicarius. “I told you to relax.”
“Yes, sir.”
A tight smile of approval creased Hollowcrest’s face. They both knew this was what he’d meant by the order. He would not have been pleased if he’d found Sicarius anywhere else.
“There’s a new adjudicator in the northeastern city-state,” Hollowcrest said. “He’s trying to start a desert-wide trade embargo against us. The emperor wants him eliminated. You’ll leave in the morning.”
“Yes, sir.” Sicarius picked up his shirt. “And this evening?”
“Do a round of the Barracks. Colonel Bratnuvic took over security last month. His work seems adequate.” Hollowcrest lifted a shoulder. “But I suspect your experience has given you expertise in such matters. Let me know if you find any weaknesses.”
“Yes, sir.”
Sicarius ghosted through the corridors of the Barracks, questioning guards and noting the state of each entrance. He entered the extensive dungeons, and memories of childhood training sessions flitted through his mind as he passed walls full of torture implements. Prisoners strung from shackles cringed when they noticed him, but he did nothing more than register their presence as he checked hidden exits, ensuring they were not accessible from the outside.
Before going outdoors to continue his inspection, Sicarius stopped in the kitchen. Spoons scraped and pans clattered as two-dozen men and women prepared the evening meal. A few noticed him as he entered, and they quickly looked away. Scents of complex, spiced dishes brushed his nose, but he chose unseasoned fish and roasted vegetables, then retreated to a remote table. He put his back to the corner and watched the busy area while he ate.
Halfway through his meal, a familiar figure scampered into the kitchen. The boy darted behind the apron of a heavyset woman and peered back the way he had come.
“Prince Sespian.” The woman put down a spoon and planted her hands on her hips. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be with your tutor?”
The boy offered her a shy smile. “I’m hiding from him.”
“But why?”
He looked up at her with imploring brown eyes. “He’s boring. I don’t care about armies and history and war and all that stuff.”
The woman’s eyebrows drew down, but the corners of her mouth twitched.
“Can I stay here?” Sespian asked. “Please?”
She picked him up and plopped him onto a nearby table. “Do you want old Dana to get in trouble for hiding a fugitive?”
The boy’s gentle eyes widened, and he shook his head.
She clucked her tongue. “You can sit there while we work, but when your tutor finds you in here, no more running, yes?”
After a pause, Sespian nodded. As soon as the cook turned her back, he plucked two spoons out of a ceramic utensil holder, flipped them around, and began tapping out a rhythm on the tabletop. The boy had dexterous fingers. He’d do well at blade lessons when he grew older. Or perhaps not. His list of “boring” suggested he had little interest in martial matters. Sicarius sometimes wondered what he might have found interesting as a boy, if he’d been allowed the freedom to choose his areas of study.
“Where’d you learn that?” Dana asked him,
“Men, attention!” someone called from a ring near the doorway.
Everyone stopped in place and stood straight, heels smacking together as Commander of the Armies Hollowcrest strode into the gymnasium.
“At ease,” he said.
As soon as Hollowcrest wasn’t looking in their direction, the soldiers snatched their gear and disappeared. Sicarius, doubting the Commander of the Armies had come to throw sandbags around, folded his towel, set it on a bench beside his shirt, which was also folded, and clasped his hands behind his back to wait.
Hollowcrest stopped before Sicarius. “I told you to relax.”
“Yes, sir.”
A tight smile of approval creased Hollowcrest’s face. They both knew this was what he’d meant by the order. He would not have been pleased if he’d found Sicarius anywhere else.
“There’s a new adjudicator in the northeastern city-state,” Hollowcrest said. “He’s trying to start a desert-wide trade embargo against us. The emperor wants him eliminated. You’ll leave in the morning.”
“Yes, sir.” Sicarius picked up his shirt. “And this evening?”
“Do a round of the Barracks. Colonel Bratnuvic took over security last month. His work seems adequate.” Hollowcrest lifted a shoulder. “But I suspect your experience has given you expertise in such matters. Let me know if you find any weaknesses.”
“Yes, sir.”
Sicarius ghosted through the corridors of the Barracks, questioning guards and noting the state of each entrance. He entered the extensive dungeons, and memories of childhood training sessions flitted through his mind as he passed walls full of torture implements. Prisoners strung from shackles cringed when they noticed him, but he did nothing more than register their presence as he checked hidden exits, ensuring they were not accessible from the outside.
Before going outdoors to continue his inspection, Sicarius stopped in the kitchen. Spoons scraped and pans clattered as two-dozen men and women prepared the evening meal. A few noticed him as he entered, and they quickly looked away. Scents of complex, spiced dishes brushed his nose, but he chose unseasoned fish and roasted vegetables, then retreated to a remote table. He put his back to the corner and watched the busy area while he ate.
Halfway through his meal, a familiar figure scampered into the kitchen. The boy darted behind the apron of a heavyset woman and peered back the way he had come.
“Prince Sespian.” The woman put down a spoon and planted her hands on her hips. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be with your tutor?”
The boy offered her a shy smile. “I’m hiding from him.”
“But why?”
He looked up at her with imploring brown eyes. “He’s boring. I don’t care about armies and history and war and all that stuff.”
The woman’s eyebrows drew down, but the corners of her mouth twitched.
“Can I stay here?” Sespian asked. “Please?”
She picked him up and plopped him onto a nearby table. “Do you want old Dana to get in trouble for hiding a fugitive?”
The boy’s gentle eyes widened, and he shook his head.
She clucked her tongue. “You can sit there while we work, but when your tutor finds you in here, no more running, yes?”
After a pause, Sespian nodded. As soon as the cook turned her back, he plucked two spoons out of a ceramic utensil holder, flipped them around, and began tapping out a rhythm on the tabletop. The boy had dexterous fingers. He’d do well at blade lessons when he grew older. Or perhaps not. His list of “boring” suggested he had little interest in martial matters. Sicarius sometimes wondered what he might have found interesting as a boy, if he’d been allowed the freedom to choose his areas of study.
“Where’d you learn that?” Dana asked him,
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