Wildas didn't know why he kept Coulta with him for the rest of the day despite not leaving the castle again. Maybe it was his need for someone other than his family around him, or maybe he simply enjoyed Coulta's company. The former assassin was quiet and observant, but he asked questions when he needed to and kept up conversations well enough. Somehow, Wildas felt the need to make Coulta feel at home and to offer the best form of friendship he could. Coulta seemed surprised when Wildas asked after him; how he was fairing, if he needed anything, if his guest room was comfortable. Wildas knew he would need to find his new protector a different place to stay before anyone complained about taking up a perfectly good guest room for too long, but decided it could wait until things were finally settled with Anil and Myri. Then he could worry about finding all three of them new rooms at the same time if he needed to.

Coulta seemed happy enough to sit with Wildas in his room for a time while Wildas drank yet another tea from the healers, sitting on the plush sofa. Wildas spent the time explaining what daily life in Ryal was like. Or what it would be like, once he fully recovered his strength. Coulta asked a few questions here and there, and, when the conversation eventually died, spent a few minutes looking around the room.

"You have a lot of swords," he finally commented, looking at the rack of weapons against a nearby wall.

Wildas could see how interested he was, and it made him smile. "You can look at them, if you would like. I trust you." Vow to protect notwithstanding.

Coulta got up and wandered to the rack, where he took a closer look at the twenty or so swords there. Wildas stood slowly, then joined his companion when the room didn't spin.

"Most were gifts," he explained, running a hand over a gilded hilt. "One of my distant cousins is a swordsmith. He likes making fancy ceremonial things when he's not working on actual weapons. Some came from other parts of Phelin, given to me by lords who wanted to make sure they are in the crown's good graces were anything to change politically. Only a few of these would actually be useful in combat." He picked up a very small, lightweight sword with a hilt too small for his hand. "I kept this one because it was my first, and I always had fond memories of my mother teaching me to fight when I was a boy."

"My training wasn't so enjoyable," Coulta commented. Wildas couldn't tell what the emotion in the man's voice was, and Coulta covered it by asking, "Could I hold one?"

Wildas put his childhood sword back and nodded. "Go ahead."

Coulta carefully chose one of the most decorative swords. The golden hilt was inlaid with numerous gems of all colors, and the silver blade was inscribed with a prayer. Coulta held the blade at an angle to read the glittering words.

"It's a prayer for the health and well-being of the descendants of Tryrayl, the first King of Phelin," Wildas explained.

Coulta looked up at him questioningly. "A prayer to what?"

"Raiofsi, the god of royalty. Varin didn't welcome the worship any of the gods, did he?"

Coulta shook his head and put the sword back. "Some people worshiped one called Favi."

Wildas nodded. "The goddess of peace and hope. That's understandable."

"Unfortunate," Coulta corrected, picking up a different sword and examining it. "Roane and I were expected to deal with members of the cult whenever we found them. Varin wanted them... eradicated."

Wildas shook his head sadly. Of course the bastard would make Coulta kill people who just wanted some hope in their lives. "Well, Raiofsi is the god of royalty. It's said he decided to divide the world into nations and chose the individuals he deemed most fit to rule them. He's mainly worshiped by the royal families of most countries, hoping to have blessed reigns and all that. I can show you to the castle temple one day. Brother Pelles can help you learn about the gods. I wouldn't expect you to become a devoted worshiper suddenly, but it would be helpful for you to know the basics."

Coulta took a step back to swing the sword he was holding. "It would be," he agreed. "Thank you." He switched the sword to his left hand and swung it just as easily before setting it back on the rack.

"You can fight with both hands?" Wildas asked in surprise.

Coulta gave him a puzzled look. "Of course."

"Why don't you carry two swords?" The only person Wildas had met who could fight with both hands, a captain in the Guard, usually carried two swords.

Coulta shrugged. "I never thought to. This way, I can pull a knife if I need to."

"One day I would like to spar with you. It seems like it would be interesting."

"Would I need to give you half a chance to score a hit or no?" Coulta asked with a smirk while he swung another sword.

Wildas grinned. "Is that a challenge?"

"Possibly. I wasn't exactly trained to fight honestly," Coulta pointed out, still giving him a challenging smirk.

"I suppose we'll have to test that, then," Wildas replied. "But in a few days, when I won't be risking Myri's wrath."

It actually sounded like Coulta chuckled when he said, "That's probably a good decision."

Wildas had made sure to leave the door open to forestall any more of the rumors his aunt had informed him were spreading, so he wasn't surprised when Rohan suddenly walked into the room without warning. The Prince-General nodded to Coulta, who returned the nod almost as if they were both equal comrades in arms. Rohan was showing Coulta a lot more respect than Wildas had expected already.

"Shelton thought I should tell you that Mother has been asking after you," Rohan said to Wildas. "He suggested you go visit her, if you're feeling up to it."

Wildas nodded. "I should, anyway. I've seen everyone else. She's just so busy training."

"This evening she'll be available, though."

"I'll see her then," Wildas assured him.

Rohan stepped away and motioned to him. Coulta seemed to take the hint and kept testing swords while Wildas stepped away with his brother.

"You know people are talking, don't you?" Rohan asked quietly.

"Aunt Lita said something about gossip, and I figured what she meant," Wildas replied. "I honestly don't really care."

Rohan raised a brow. "Oh?"

"That's not what I meant," Wildas hissed. "I just don't care what people say. Maybe it's better for people to think I've found my spouses."

Rohan continued to give him a skeptical look. "Do you plan to ask them?"

Wildas glared at him. "If you speak of this again, you will regret it."

Rohan snorted. "I thought as much."

Wildas didn't know what that was supposed to mean, but Rohan gave him the smallest of bows and left the room with a smirk before Wildas could ask. Shaking his head, Wildas turned back to Coulta, who put away the sword he was examining to look up at Wildas questioningly.

Wildas waved a hand. "Him being annoying, as usual."

"So, being your brother?"

Wildas thought over what Rohan had said, and, while the younger prince was clearly trying to get a rise out of Wildas, there was also an underlying honesty to his words. Not that Wildas wanted to admit that. "Yes, I suppose he was," he relented.

Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

----------------------------------------

Second King Shelton quietly entered the castle temple after breakfast the following morning. The cavernous room was lit by countless candles and the rich scent of burning incense filled the air. Of the two dozen private prayer alcoves, seven appeared to be closed already. At the front of the room, Brother Pelles was placing the morning offering on the altar before the life-sized statues of the Great God and Goddess. The candles at the base of the smaller statues of the lesser gods and goddesses were already lit.

Shelton approached the altar and knelt respectfully before the statues to offer a silent prayer to the gods. When he stood again, Brother Pelles was watching him with a thoughtful expression.

"For someone who claims never to have visions of his own," the priest commented, "you have a remarkable ability to appear just when I've had one of importance."

Shelton smiled slightly. He'd only come because two of his most trustworthy spies had gone silent. He didn't like the idea of spying on his own people, but keeping abreast of political changes was always important. It was the best way to keep the peace. "What can you tell me?"

Brother Pelles led him to his own personal chamber off the temple. Shelton took a seat on the wooden chair beside the hearth while the priest sat on the only other available place; the bed. Brother Pelles didn't offer him anything, and Shelton didn't mind. This was how their working relationship had been since they had first met upon their respective appointments.

"You were wrong about the rebel lord's strength," Brother Pelles began. "As you are now aware. He has more support than you could have guessed. Soon your spies will begin to report his actions. He will take control of the holds around us."

Shelton felt a cold trickle of dread pass its way through his body.

"War will soon be upon us."

----------------------------------------

Wildas had given Coulta several books of history to read when he had expressed interest in the country's past beyond the story of Caolan, and he was studying one of them late the next morning when a knock came on his door. Opening it, he found a member of the Royal Guard standing in the hallway.

"I've been told to escort you to the sparring field," the man explained.

Coulta was a little confused, but pulled on his sword belt and followed the man without question.

"The Crown Prince and Prince-General Rohan arranged for you to have some practice," the man explained as they walked, despite Coulta's lack of questions. "The best swordmaster in all Phelin is waiting to test you."

The man seemed a little too amused for Coulta's taste. Apparently, this was to be some sort of joke. At least to the Guardsman.

When they arrived at the sand arena near the barracks, Coulta was convinced that there really was a joke going on. In the arena was only one person, a woman dressed in fighting leathers and wearing a sword belt. She was dressed as any male soldier he had seen, but her face was clearly feminine.

"The best swordmistress in Phelin, I should have said," Coulta's escort corrected with a grin. "Go on, she's been waiting."

There was a small group of people watching from outside the arena, and among them Coulta spotted Wildas, who gave him what seemed like an encouraging smile. Rohan entered the arena and stood beside Coulta and the woman. Coulta did notice that the woman had the appearance of someone who could handle a weapon, despite her sex.

"There are only two rules for this fight," Rohan explained. "Don't kill your opponent, and the fight is over when the first person drops their weapon. And, it's not a rule, but try not to cause any serious injuries. Neither of you are using blunted blades." He gave Coulta a pointed look, and Coulta nodded.

Coulta's opponent raised her sword to salute the Prince-General, and Coulta copied the movement. Rohan gave them a nod and left the arena to join the small crowd.

"Have at it," he declared.

The first thing Coulta noticed was that his opponent was quick – so quick that he had barely ended his salute to Rohan before he had to block a sword thrust. He managed to do so, barely, then spun away to make an attack of his own that was easily blocked. So Wildas meant what he said when he explained that women had to be just as good as men to make it into the army. He had never expected that fighting a female soldier would be so difficult. He had much to relearn about the world.

"Don't be afraid to fight with all your tricks!" he heard one of the princes call out.

A grim smile came to Coulta's lips. If they wanted a show, he would give them one. He threw every trick he knew at the soldier, who somehow managed to evade or block most of the moves. He did manage to put a slice in the woman's leather shoulder guard – after he had gotten a hard whack on the back from the flat of her blade.

They were both sweating and panting by the time he managed to trip up his foe with a well-placed foot. The soldier went down face-first, sprawled in the arena dirt with her sword several inches away.

"That's a win for the guest!" Wildas yelled, from the other side of the fence.

Only then did Coulta look up to where the princes had been watching. Several others were gathered there as well, including Myri, and a few well-dressed teens who were likely other princes and princesses, along with some men and women in the red uniform of the Royal Guard and gray garb of the regular army.

Coulta suddenly felt very self-conscious and sheathed his sword before helping his opponent up from the ground. She spat arena dirt but gave him a smile, and the got a good look at her for the first time. Her chestnut hair had a few strands of gray in it and her face was somewhat lined with age, but her eyes were bright as she looked at him and offered him her hand.

"Good fight," she told him as they shook.

Coulta nodded. "You, as well."

Wildas was smiling when he joined them. "I told you she was one of the best warriors in the Guard. Coulta, meet Queen Yvona."

Even more startled, Coulta took a step back to bow to her. "It's an honor to fight you, Your Highness," he said to her, hoping his voice didn't betray how shocked he was. He'd just sent a queen into the dirt. It suddenly occurred to him just how rude that was.

She smiled. "It is an honor to fight you, my son's protector." Her eyes moved past him, then returned to his when she grasped his shoulder. "Welcome to Ryal," she said before stepping away.

Looking behind him, Coulta saw Second King Shelton approaching and bowed to him. The sorcerer smiled. "Have you ever had a practice magic duel?" he asked.

Coulta shook his head. "I've barely used my magic for fighting before the night I left Arren. I knew no other people there with magic, either."

Shelton nodded. "Would you like to try your magic in a duel against me? We'll test your skills and see if there is anything I can do to help you master them."

"I don't know what I can control," Coulta admitted with unease. "Is that wise?"

The older man smiled. "Of course not, but what other way is there?"

Coulta relented with a nod. "What do I do?"

"The rules of a magic duel are just as simple as a sword duel," Shelton explained, his voice loud enough for the crowd around them to hear. "We can throw whatever magic we want at each other, but we cannot seriously injure or kill each other. Minor injuries are expected, but anything serious is not. We are testing your magic. Just do what feels the most useful to attack or defend."

He took his place at the other end of the arena and nodded to Coulta, who nodded back. Almost immediately a streak of violet light was coming straight at Coulta. Raising one hand, Coulta hoped to brush it aside like he would an insect, but the light hardly faltered. Coulta had just enough time to put his other hand in front of his chest and imagine a large shield in his mind before the light hit him. The violet light split into a hundred tiny sparks and vanished against the black-and-silver wall of light Coulta had produced.

Coulta didn't even have time to be relieved about stopping the attack before the sensation of heavy wind pushed his legs out from under him.

"Be alert for more than one attack coming at once," Shelton advised as Coulta climbed to his feet. "And think quickly. A real fight will not be slow, nor will someone fighting you to the death consider sending one attack at a time."

Coulta nodded and braced for another attack. How was he supposed to fight back when he didn't know if he could keep any of his attacks from killing the other man?

The sand in front him shifted and he saw something moving toward him beneath the surface. Coulta's first thought was to jump away from it, but instead he dropped to a crouch and shoved his hands into the sand. The movement abruptly went back in the opposite direction. Directly in front of Shelton's feet the ground erupted, pelting Shelton with grains of sand as something shot up into the air.

Coulta was stunned to see what appeared to be a very small dragon made of violet light spread its wings and soar toward him. Raising both hands, Coulta focused on the dragon, surrounding it with black-and-silver light that stopped the illusion in midair. At that moment he saw another movement in the sand, much larger this time. Still crouching, Coulta stuck his hands back into the sand and sent out more energy than before.

The sand erupted in the center of the arena and another, larger, violet dragon emerged surrounded in black-and-silver light. It took Coulta a moment to realize that his light was actually another dragon locked in battle with the violet one. Both were the same size and identical except for the color. Shelton's was solid violet while Coulta's was black with glowing silver markings like vines all over its scales. Coulta recognized those marks and quickly glanced at his own skin, thankful to find that his natural appearance was still obscured.

He glanced at Shelton and saw the the other sorcerer staring in awe at the two battling dragons. Raising a hand, Shelton uttered a single word and his dragon vanished. Coulta sent his flying toward the other end of the arena with a thought, but it was vanquished by a wall of violet light that it dissolved against.

Shelton motioned Coulta to his feet and Coulta obeyed, though he didn't bother to wipe the sand from his hands. He had only just stood when a ball of violet fire sped past him close enough to burn the shoulder of his black shirt. The shirt didn't catch, but a charred hole the width of his finger revealed red skin. Apparently Shelton meant it when he said minor injuries were expected.

He looked away from his shoulder just in time to put up a hand and stop another ball of fire, his hand surrounded by black tendrils of magical protection he hadn't even thought of. He hurled the ball back at Shelton, only mildly surprised to see that the violet was mixed with black as it flew across the arena. Shelton blocked it easily, then sent the arena sand swirling in a storm of wind straight for Coulta.

It surrounded him, making it impossible to see what was coming, and he couldn't figure out how to clear it away. A wave of energy slammed into him, knocking him over onto his back. The sand dropped from the air and Coulta managed to keep it from covering him. As he turned to push himself to his feet, he realized how completely exhausted he was. The duel with Yvona had tired him enough after so much time without practice. Now, using his magic so much when he had scarcely used it before was draining what energy he had left. And his shoulder ached. Clearly, mage fire really did burn human skin like real fire.

He weakly pushed up into a crouch, but was too afraid of fainting to stand yet.

"You haven't used this much before, have you?" Shelton questioned, still in position.

Coulta shook his head. "No," he replied hoarsely, finally forcing himself to his feet.

"We don't need to continue," Shelton told him, voice serious. "You are not used to wielding so much power in so short a span of time. You already have impressive control, but you need to build your strength for channeling the power."

Coulta knew he needed to believe him. Shelton surely knew what he was talking about if he was as powerful as everyone said he was. "I yield," he declared with a nod, before sinking back to the sand to sit.

Shelton came over and crouched beside him. "By the gods, I have never seen anything like you," he said quietly. "No one I have ever used that dragon spell with has been able to completely counter it like that. It's a spell I created myself. I don't understand how you knew it."

"I didn't use a spell," Coulta tried to explain. "I just thought about fighting back your power, and let the magic do what it would."

Shelton shook his head. "Not even a single word of power?"

"I don't know what you mean," Coulta stated, "so I guess not. Unless I can use words without thinking. Most of the time I just think of what I want to do and the magic does it."

Wildas suddenly knelt down beside them and handed Coulta a cup filled with water. Coulta took it with a word of thanks, and drained it in seconds.

"Did you learn anything?" Wildas asked, looking at Shelton.

"Only that I have met the greatest mystery of my lifetime," Shelton replied, still looking only at Coulta. "I have an associate who has made a study of curse magic. She should be returning to Ryal in the next few days. When she does, I'd like you to meet her."

Coulta nodded. "I'm as much a mystery to myself as to you. I would like answers."

Shelton patted his unburned shoulder. "We'll find some. And you should see the healers about your arm. I didn't mean to nick you with that ball."

"It's all right," Coulta assured him.

"I think we could have regular duels," Shelton added. "It would help you increase your strength. I'm sure many of the soldiers and Guardsmen would be happy to spar with you anytime, as well."

Coulta nodded. "I would like that. Both of those."

Shelton smiled. "Meet me here every third morning and we can work before Wildas needs you."

Coulta agreed, and after Shelton left, allowed Wildas help him stand, a little embarrassed that the Crown Prince was helping him.

"Let's get you to Myri," Wildas suggested. "Then maybe you should have a bath."

Coulta forced a smile and was glad to know he could walk unaided. "I can't be keeping you company if I smell, I take it."

Wildas grinned. "Can't have me looking bad," he said, though it seemed like he was mostly teasing.

"Of course not," Coulta replied, smiling easier.