After leaving the main hall following the evening meal, Skye again thought of the battle as he made his way back to his sleeping quarters. The war with the Kurites had drawn out over the past several generations. Within that time, there were periods of relative peace. From the archives, he knew the fighting had intensified within the past two years.

The Kurites were considered a magical race. His people were attempting to conquer them so their heathen magic could be eradicated. For the Pyrannis believed they were an evil race, with magic permeating everything they did. Only the God and Goddess knew what they did to gain their magical abilities. Trainers reiterated to young trainees that Pyranni troops were responsible for bringing their religion to the Kurites.

When he was a young child and still lived with his mother and father, his nurse had frightened him with stories of the Kurites and their cats. Now he knew some of the stories weren’t true. But other stories about the curse of transforming into a golden-eyed fiend were true to some extent. Returning warriors often regaled them with tales of the men and women they fought. Shaking his head at the thought of fighting these same golden-eyed people, Skye felt a small shiver course through his body before he could control himself.

He cursed under his breath at his own fear of the golden-eyed Kurites. Tales abounded to the fact they died as easily as the next man. He could not be so weak as to jump at shadows. The next morning would see him as a fully-fledged warrior.

Reaching his room, he opened the door to find two of his friends taking up residence in his room and on his bed.

Gruffly, he said, “What is this?”

Thanel, a short, stocky man, raised his eyebrows. “This is our only night off and you are questioning us? Hurry and change. The three of us are meeting Dane at the dock.”

Giving a silent greeting to Timosy, he sauntered over to the clothes-closet and pulled out clothes. Timosy was by far the quietest of their group. When he first came to train, the older trainees had bullied him until Skye and Dane befriended him. He’d been a small boy who grew to stand taller than Dane and Skye. Timosy also proved adept in sword fighting. Even with his height, he had a fluid style that was stunning to watch. With a wave of his hand, his friends vacated the room in front of him.

Trailing behind his two friends, Skye listened to their banter. He was glad the four of them were assigned to the same troop. He disliked the idea of not knowing the other men or their fighting abilities. He trusted his friends to watch his back in battle.

He could only hope Mikal had someone like his friends to protect him.

Thinking back to how Dane, Timosy, and he had first met Thanel, a burst of laughter escaped. When they looked back at him in curiosity, he said, “I was remembering the first time we had the pleasure of meeting Thanel.”

Timosy hit Thanel on the arm, and in a deep voice that belied his thin stature, he said, “I remember. We got in trouble for playing a prank on our history tutor that first year.”

Rubbing his arm where Timosy punched him, Thanel chuckled. “I refused to scrub the floor again when told I missed a spot. So, instead of only scrubbing the hallway, I scrubbed all the pots and pans for a week. I still shudder at the state of my hands. What with weapons practice during the day and washing pots at night, I mourned my skin the entire week.”

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With a short guffaw, Timosy said with glee, “But the three of us made it worth your while down in the dungeons of pots and pans.”

They had passed the time by developing other pranks for later use. Each night, the pranks became more creative and extravagant. Because Dane was the recognized master prankster, he had carried out those same pranks during their years as trainees.

They continued to toss out stories as they made their way to the dock. Coming to a crossroad, they turned right toward one of the alehouses they frequented on their rare nights off. The place was of low quality with its dilapidated walls and windows in dire need of washing. But they had found the food decent and the ale cheap. What was more, the establishment’s owner kept strict rules on the premises. The alehouse’s reputation had spread. Over the years people from all classes came here to enjoy the food and company.

The gambling was their main reason for returning to the establishment. Skye waved his friends on when they tried to pull him into a chair at one of the tables. He instead strolled over to look out a grungy window, feeling a bit melancholy. He knew he should be enjoying himself, but his restlessness had increased throughout the day, leaving his mind in turmoil.

Through the cobwebs and dirt, he could barely make out the people walking the street. They were mere shadows, silhouettes traversing the dark. He was pulled out of his reverie when he felt a presence behind him. It was never a good idea down by the docks to be caught unaware. Tensing, Skye fingered the knife hidden beneath his loose shirt. As he turned around, Dane’s familiar stature came into view.

Leaning back against the window, he waited for Dane to break the silence. It was a lengthy wait. When Skye crossed his arms over his chest, his friend finally murmured, “I overheard earlier this week King Ragnar is sending out another battalion of soldiers in three days’ time.”

Skye had long ago lost his surprise at Dane’s ability to gather information. Information only higher officials would or should know reached his friend’s ears.

Not knowing which direction the conversation was heading, Skye shrugged and said, “It makes sense. Kureto will not expect a retaliatory force so soon after our defeat.”

With a quick but casual glance toward Skye, Dane narrowed his eyes. “You think our troop will be one of them?”

“It’s possible. At present, we are prepared to fight at any time with our training. However, we’ve not met our commanding officer. The tradition is to keep newly graduated trainees as their own fighting regiment without integrating them into a more experienced fighting force. If this is the case, then we could leave in a few days.”

He shifted position on the wall to more fully face Dane before continuing, “If we merge into a larger fighting force, then at least two to three weeks of training will take place before any officers think to march us into battle. If I was the commanding officer, I’d refuse to take a group of warriors unaccustomed to fighting together into battle. They’d first receive training until their fighting tactics were seamless. Even if the Kurites were not experienced fighters, our defeat would be a guarantee.” He looked at Dane with half-lidded eyes. “And we both know they are.”

While listening to Skye’s answer and nodding in agreement, his friend cased the smoky room, shifting his gaze from the door, to each table, then back to the door. At last Dane settled in on the pile of coins in front of their two friends.

Following Dane’s gaze, Skye shook his head at their large winnings so early into the night. “Now, if the Goddess favored me, she’d let me win like they do every time they play. And yet, I always leave here with leaner pockets.”

Chuckling, Dane threw a companionable arm around his shoulders. “The problem with you, my friend, is that you are too honest. Honesty begets nothing in the game of Skulls.”

Pulling him toward a table in the back corner of the room, Dane exclaimed, “Why don’t we sit down and drink some of this establishment’s fine ale.”

Grinning at the innuendo about his earlier predicament, he replied in good humor, “Oh, I’ll be a good friend and buy you a couple quarts.” Seeing his friend’s eyes light up, he held up a finger and decreed, “In repayment, you have to forget this morning’s little adventure.”

Groaning at the condition, Dane leaned back and relented. “You drive a hard bargain,” he sighed, “but it is free ale.”