Here I am at the bottom again, thought Arthur as he polished another sword. He had finished his third guard shift of the day before he was allowed to return to the barracks to get some warm food and sleep. But before he was allowed to do either Sir Luca and some of his thugs cornered him.

He knows damn well this is the armourers' job, thought Arthur bitterly as he pulled another sword off the rack. Luckily the barracks were small and under-equipped, Arthur had done plenty of busy work in his time and he was quick to have the rows of weapons gleaming. He stepped back to look at his work and nodded, everything shined. Leaving then would do nothing but aggravate Luca, who most assuredly had men watching the door. So Arthur took a seat on the cool stone ground, he would have taken to sharpening his own sword but it was still in a weapons rack at the Prince's keep. He looked out of a small window and saw the vast estate of the Weimaers, it rivalled the keep in size but was poorly protected. Only a short metal fence protected them from the rest of the city.

Not that we are going to be under siege anytime soon, but from the preparations being made by the High Prince it was hard to guess what would happen.

He recalled earlier that day when he stood guard over his new lords horses, Arthur was glad he got to see some of his comrades again, he was thrown out of the keep before he managed to speak to any of them. Some tried to apologise for not standing up for him with the High Prince but Arthur never expected them to do so, it would have accomplished nothing other than annoying Baldwyn. He learned that Tager and a few others had been sent away on some errand, the nature of it was kept a secret even from them. Then he remembered his encounter with the Lady Els.

Why does she care what I do and where I go, her fixation on me is unhealthy thought Arthur, he brushed his hand over his chest remembering the assassin who tried to kill her.

Maybe she's right, maybe the witch hunts us still thought Arthur before dismissing the thought. That woman is so desperate for adventure she would invent any excuse to find one he nodded to himself. He rested his head on the stones and closed his eyes, soon he drifted off into a light sleep.

"You coward."

Arthur dreamed of voices in his head screaming abuse at him.

"Spineless!"

"Idiot!"

"Craven!"

They were all different but sounded similar as if it were one man playing several characters.

"Deny her existence all you want but she will still kill you!"

Arthur had no feeling in this dream, his gaze was covered by inky blackness and all he could feel was a oily sensation slide up his spine. His mouth was open wide to scream in protest but no words came out and the oily feeling forced its way down his throat.

A voice whispered into his ear, "Arthur, Arthur."

A hand rocked him awake. He gasped as he opened his eyes and fell forward retching onto the ground. Goblets of saliva were spat from his open mouth.

"Arthur are you alright?" came the gentle voice.

He looked up and saw Els looking down on him, her face partly obscured by a large cloak.

"Just a bad dream," he said pushing himself to his feet.

"You dream?" Asked Els

"Only since Finepoint," said Arthur, as soon as he uttered the word 'Finepoint' he knew it was a mistake.

"Finepoint, was it after the witch scarred your chest, is she communicating with you, are they prophetic visions." Els was speaking to quickly for Arthur to hear everything she said.

"They're just dreams nothing more," said Arthur before turning to look at her, "What are you doing here."

"I told you we would talk later, so I snuck out of the main house and came to find you," said Els.

"We have nothing to talk about, I'm a guard nothing more and the more times you do this the me likely we both are to get into trouble," said Arthur.

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He pushed past her and gently opened the door, the hallway was clear and Arthur pressed through.

"Don't be so stubborn," hissed Els as she chased after him.

"I'm not being stubborn you are being blinded by your boredom," said Arthur not looking back.

"How can you not believe me, you were there Arthur, you saw the same things I did, you were touched by the witch for doves sake and yet you want to do nothing," said Els.

Arthur stopped abruptly, feeling Els bounce off his back, he glared at her as he turned. "I have done plenty in my time, seen plenty, fought plenty. I became a guardsman so I wouldn't have to do any of that again. I won't sacrifice everything I have worked for because some noble who has never struggled wants to know what real life taste like. In Finepoint you forced it on others and they died wholesale while you lived. And now you want to force it on me. Well I won't have it."

She shrunk back as Arthurs' tone became angrier. There was more he wanted to say but it would have only ended with him shouting at her, and Arthur would prefer not to raise his voice to a lady. As he stomped away he was glad to hear no footsteps follow him.

Arthur stood on his own in the training yard with a flintlock pistol in his left hand, he raised the small piece of wood and steel and pointed it at a man-shaped target. Pulling the trigger a plume of smoke rose from the firing mechanism before an ungodly bang sounded and jerked his arm back. He looked through the smoke and saw that he had missed his target. Again.

How can such a small thing be so hard to use, thought Arthur as he started the tiresome process of reloading the weapon.

The other guardsmen had moved on to do mounted practice with their flintlocks but Arthur had been ordered to stay behind. He was struggling to master the new weapon.

"What was wrong with swords and bows," he said aloud as he pushed the iron ball down the barrel.

"They aren't modern," came a brooding voice from behind him.

Arthur recognised the voice immediately and snapped into a salute. "Lord Weimaer," he said standing at attention.

The well dressed lord pulled the pistol form his hands and pointed it toward the straw filled clothing. He blew its head off in one clean shot. "You stiffen up when you pull the trigger that's why you can't hit anything, the pistol won't explode in your hand" said Weimaer.

"So you say my lord but I've seen just that happen plenty in the field," said Arthur.

"Then it is a good thing I don't buy cheap firearms and subpar gunpowder, try again."

Arthur loaded another shot into the pistol and held it loosely in his hand. He pulled the trigger quickly and kept his shoulders loose.

"Better" said Weimaer peering over his shoulder.

The target had a small hole in its stomach.

"I wanted to talk to you again Arthur I have many questions," he continued as Arthur put his pistol down on a nearby table. "You were close to the High Prince Godwyn, it was on his word alone that you were allowed into the Prince's guard is that correct."

"Yes it is Lord," said Arthur.

"Why did he, he would have known the trouble it would have caused him. What made you worth the trouble?"

"Strength at arms," said Arthur.

"Details please, I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to know exactly what happened," said Weimaer with annoyance.

"I defeated four of the prince's men," said Arthur.

"Well that is impressive but hardly worthy of a place at the Prince's side, Sir Luca could beat 4 of the Prince's guards in single combat," said Weimaer.

"I fought them all at the same time, they didn't land a single blow on me, Lord" said Arthur.

Lord Weimaer looked him in the eye, Arthur expected him to look surprised or angry that he would dare lie. That day was one Arthur would never forget, the confused faces as he agreed to Godwyn absurd test, the horror on Tager's face when he smashed through his best guardsmen. The most stark memory he had was the High Prince laughing, as his men lay red in the face with embarrassment and pain as he laughed. After that Arthur had been Godwyn's top man and when he needed his son protected, he alone was given the task.

"Very impressive," said Weimaer. "Were you close to Godwyn?"

"Yes."

"And his children."

"Yes."

"Good, I need you to tell me everything you know about Baldwyn, what kind of man he is, his strengths, his weaknesses, his blind spots" said Weimaer.

"And why do you want all of this information my Lord," asked Arthur.

The lord stopped his frantic questions to stare at Arthur, his pale green eyes boring into Arthur. "That isn't any of your concern, but if you lie to me I will know and you will suffer."

Hours later Arthur was sat in a narrow stone room on a table facing Lord Weimaer and a wiry man with a large leather-bound book set in front of him. They interrogated him for hours asking him question after question.

How many lords did Godwyn introduce to Baldwyn, and which lords specifically, has Baldwyn ever gotten into any trouble that the Prince's guard covered up? Dull question with dull answers thought Arthur as he rattled off his responses. Godwyn had little love for his first son, but he knew the law, his title, and all his holdings would be passed to Baldwyn alone. He had worked the frail boy half to death with constant lectures, lessons, and sermons.

"Everything a High Prince needs," Arthur remembered him saying whenever his methods were questioned.

"Why are you asking me all this," said Arthur.

Lord Weimaer gave him a sideways glance, "I simply want to know if Baldwyn is suited to lead the principality through the dangerous waters the kingdom finds itself in."

"So that's why you asked about the loyalty his men feel for him," asked Arthur.

Lord Weimaer turned to face him with a straight face but dangerous eyes. "And if I wanted more for our land, more than Baldwyn could provide, would you step up to defend him," asked Weimaer.

Arthur rolled his shoulders and shrugged, "My oath was to his father, the High Prince saw fit to cast me from the Princes guard, there is no love lost between us."

Lord Weimaer nodded, "Good, I expect such a capable warrior such as you will be an asset. Thank you for your time Arthur you may return to your training". He stood and swung the door open snapping his fingers for his weaselly scribe to follow.

Arthur sunk back into his chair. That's it then, all bridges burned. Baldwyn will have my head if he hears about this. He pushed himself to his feet and marched quickly out of the small room which felt and awful lot like a tomb.