know how to get hold of me.’
‘That’s good, just leave it on the table,’ his mother said from the kitchen. She popped her head through the open doorway. ‘I haven’t been to the market yet, but there’s some bread and salt beef if you want a sandwich.’
‘That’s all right, mother,’ Bryn said. ‘I’ve already eaten.’
‘You’re eating right?’ she asked. ‘With all that training you’ll need to make sure you do now that you can’t just call into the dining hall at the Academy.’
Bryn smiled at her concern. ‘I can’t really stay any longer I’m afraid, but I’ll try to call in more frequently now that I’m settled and have a regular routine. I’ll let you know when my next duel is.’
----
B ryn felt unsettled as he walked home. Guilt at not having visited more often was one part of it, as was the fact that he had not told them in advance about his duel. Being home had reminded Bryn of how much he had wanted his father to see him in the arena. The apartment seemed empty without him. He had died suddenly, when Bryn was away across the Middle Sea taking part in the Competition in Humberland. His father was long buried by the time he got home. Their trips to watch the duels had been a regular, and favourite, part of Bryn’s youth. His father had at least seen him graduate from the Academy. That was something. The look of pride on his face would never leave Bryn.
That was not the main cause of his unsettled feeling, however. The missing clock bothered him. His mother had very obviously been lying when she said it was being repaired. They must have been very hard pressed if they had been forced to sell it. Clocks were expensive, and good ones were difficult to come by. He would replace it though, with something even better.
The fact that there was little food in the house also concerned him. His mother always kept the pantry well stocked; too well stocked if anything. Now that only the two of them were there, it was understandable that there would be less. Bryn himself had eaten nearly as much as all three of the women of his family when he had lived there, so his absence was one possible explanation. He could not explain it all away so easily though, and the feeling in his gut would not go away. He wasn’t in a position to help yet, but that would change. He would make sure of that.
----
A mero had thought long and hard about what he could do to survive the next few months of duelling against skilled, experienced opponents. He was already training at the limit of what his body could endure, so increasing his workload was not an option. In any event, quantity did not mean quality and extra hours were of no use if his body was too fatigued to train effectively. It occurred to him that he should drop out of the arena for a few months, but that would be counter-productive; in order to improve, he needed the fitness and sharpness that only came with fighting regular competitive duels.
An idea had lurked in the back of his head for several days. It had not been one that he was willing to give attention to initially, but as he circled his problem over and over and continually failed to find an answer, the idea solidified and became more tempting.
There were people in Ostenheim who could help with problems; unwanted pregnancies, injuries and illnesses. Practitioners of magic still lived in the city. It was illegal, and they were few, but they could be found when needed. None were as powerful as the mages of old; the city’s Intelligenciers saw to that. Amero had heard gossip of duellists seeking out magical aid when he was at the Academy. They were always scurrilous rumours, never naming names or saying what benefit they sought or whether they received any.
He did not like the idea of letting one of these backstreet magic practitioners anywhere near him, but he wondered what they could offer. There was risk involved, and not just the potential of some feckless sorcerer blowing him up or turning
‘That’s good, just leave it on the table,’ his mother said from the kitchen. She popped her head through the open doorway. ‘I haven’t been to the market yet, but there’s some bread and salt beef if you want a sandwich.’
‘That’s all right, mother,’ Bryn said. ‘I’ve already eaten.’
‘You’re eating right?’ she asked. ‘With all that training you’ll need to make sure you do now that you can’t just call into the dining hall at the Academy.’
Bryn smiled at her concern. ‘I can’t really stay any longer I’m afraid, but I’ll try to call in more frequently now that I’m settled and have a regular routine. I’ll let you know when my next duel is.’
----
B ryn felt unsettled as he walked home. Guilt at not having visited more often was one part of it, as was the fact that he had not told them in advance about his duel. Being home had reminded Bryn of how much he had wanted his father to see him in the arena. The apartment seemed empty without him. He had died suddenly, when Bryn was away across the Middle Sea taking part in the Competition in Humberland. His father was long buried by the time he got home. Their trips to watch the duels had been a regular, and favourite, part of Bryn’s youth. His father had at least seen him graduate from the Academy. That was something. The look of pride on his face would never leave Bryn.
That was not the main cause of his unsettled feeling, however. The missing clock bothered him. His mother had very obviously been lying when she said it was being repaired. They must have been very hard pressed if they had been forced to sell it. Clocks were expensive, and good ones were difficult to come by. He would replace it though, with something even better.
The fact that there was little food in the house also concerned him. His mother always kept the pantry well stocked; too well stocked if anything. Now that only the two of them were there, it was understandable that there would be less. Bryn himself had eaten nearly as much as all three of the women of his family when he had lived there, so his absence was one possible explanation. He could not explain it all away so easily though, and the feeling in his gut would not go away. He wasn’t in a position to help yet, but that would change. He would make sure of that.
----
A mero had thought long and hard about what he could do to survive the next few months of duelling against skilled, experienced opponents. He was already training at the limit of what his body could endure, so increasing his workload was not an option. In any event, quantity did not mean quality and extra hours were of no use if his body was too fatigued to train effectively. It occurred to him that he should drop out of the arena for a few months, but that would be counter-productive; in order to improve, he needed the fitness and sharpness that only came with fighting regular competitive duels.
An idea had lurked in the back of his head for several days. It had not been one that he was willing to give attention to initially, but as he circled his problem over and over and continually failed to find an answer, the idea solidified and became more tempting.
There were people in Ostenheim who could help with problems; unwanted pregnancies, injuries and illnesses. Practitioners of magic still lived in the city. It was illegal, and they were few, but they could be found when needed. None were as powerful as the mages of old; the city’s Intelligenciers saw to that. Amero had heard gossip of duellists seeking out magical aid when he was at the Academy. They were always scurrilous rumours, never naming names or saying what benefit they sought or whether they received any.
He did not like the idea of letting one of these backstreet magic practitioners anywhere near him, but he wondered what they could offer. There was risk involved, and not just the potential of some feckless sorcerer blowing him up or turning
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