The next three days passed uneventfully. Gwen practiced the poses in the morning, focusing on embodying the Beohur each of them represented. Willem’s pose flowed like the wind, until the kick at the end, which struck quickly like lightning. Kendra’s pose was flexible and receptive, using the enemy’s own energy to its advantage. It felt like Gwen had unlocked the secrets of Irina’s fighting style, and indeed, the captain had fewer and fewer adjustments to make.

What was more, fighting this way made Gwen feel more like herself than she had since the Herald gave her the ember. Sure, she didn’t have to care about fighting like she did now, but she had cared about the Beohur. She spent as much time as she could learning about them: their history, their magic, their role in creating and caring for Ascangen and its inhabitants. This fighting style let Gwen merge the devout she was before with the fighter she was now, weaving seemingly disparate threads into the tapestry of her self.

In the afternoons, after her usual lunch and nap with Irina, Gwen would stretch and then spar with Frederick. They always started off feeling even, but the moment Gwen started to push him using the basic poses, he would pull out the variations and land the three hits he needed to win.

By and large Gwen was fine with that. Losing was frustrating, but she lost by less and less every fight. On their fourth fight--three days before the caravan was to leave--she scored a hit on Frederick after forcing him to use the variations. He still won with three hits to her two, but Gwen felt that victory was finally within reach.

So, of course, that was the last time she fought him. At the end of the day, Irina gave Gwen a note that said, Bring your staff tomorrow. When Gwen did so, the captain took out a quarterstaff of her own and showed Gwen how to add the weapon into the poses she’d already learned. Usually, this just meant doing the pose while holding the staff, striking or blocking with it instead of her arms. For many of the poses that focused more on kicking, Irina had Gwen strike with the staff and her foot at the same time, though some used the staff to block and others relied on it for balance.

Gwen practiced with the quarterstaff for a day and a half. The afternoon and evening before the caravan left, everyone had off, and the guards went out for food and drink, though thankfully nowhere near Gwen’s inn.

It seemed like this was a long-standing tradition, because when the five of them entered the spacious tavern, the barkeep turned toward the kitchen and shouted, “One tureen!” Then she started pouring ales.

“Mead for the new kid, please,” Frederick said as they passed. Irina tossed a small coin purse onto the bar.

It was the middle of the afternoon, with the sun just touching Ascangen’s trunk, so the tavern wasn’t too crowded or noisy. Frederick led the way to a round table in the far corner with plenty of room for everyone. As soon as they were seated, the barkeep brought over a large tureen of fish soup along with a bowl for everyone. It smelled so tasty even with the lid on that Gwen’s mouth started watering.

Once the barkeep dropped off the drinks, the other two guards introduced themselves. Erik was long and skinny, with white hair that made it impossible to tell his age. He felt young to Gwen, though, because of his few wrinkles and his readiness to laugh at all of Frederick’s jokes. Bo was average height and heavyset, boasting almost as much paunch as he had muscle. He had more of a stoic demeanor, though he didn’t feel cold or standoffish--Gwen just didn’t see him smile or laugh the entire night.

The soup tasted as delicious as it smelled, and Gwen devoured two bowls. Everyone else seemed just as hungry, and the barkeep refilled the tureen twice before the night was up. After so much exhausting training, Gwen’s stomach felt like Dorothea’s neverending flagon, able to hold infinite amounts of whatever was put into it.. Gwen wondered if that enchantment still worked, or had it vomited up a flood of mead when the Beohur died? Was all of Selador awash in the stuff? The thought almost put Gwen off of her dinner until she realized the Elvar were around to clean everything up and care for the bodies. All the Beohur had probably been given appropriately honorable funerals. Knowing that made Gwen feel comfortable enough to eat and drink her fill.

“Hey, Fred,” Erik said once everyone’s bellies were full, “remember the bat incident?” He winked at Gwen, like he was doing her a favor.

Fred’s cheeks reddened. It was the first time Gwen had seen him anywhere close to flustered. “I, er...I don’t...”

Irina signed something. Gwen only caught the first few words, but that was all she needed: Yes, “Fred,” remember...?

“What’s the bat incident?” Gwen asked, loading her voice with as much innocence as she could. Given Erik’s demeanor, it sounded like a funny story, albeit a possibly embarrassing one for Frederick.

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“Fine,” Frederick said, throwing up his hands. “Fine. We were making a trade run to Borredun a few branches up. This was maybe eight years ago. In the middle of the night, a group of bandits ambushes us, and we run away. They give chase, but we lose them by going around a turn and into a cave. We had just enough time to hide the wagons before the bandits rode past.”

Frederick took a long sip from his mug.

“What we didn’t, uh, realize was that the cave was home to a flock of bats. They were out hunting, and they must have come back while we were asleep. We posted watch, but no one lit a fire so the bandits wouldn’t see us.

“Anyhow, the bats shat all over the wagons without us noticing. It would have been fine, right? We’ve had to scrub them down before. No problem. Except that early next morning, when my watch comes around and I’m sure the bandits are gone, I get the bright idea to wake everyone up with a hot breakfast. Something to lift spirits after being stuck in this gloomy cave all night.”

Frederick took a deep breath. “I get the firewood all set up. I put flint to steel, but, er...well, the spark went sideways. Happens all the time. Usually isn’t enough to set anything on fire unless it’s soaked in oil. But this time, I was just a hair too close to the wagons, and...”

“They went up in flame!” Erik cut in. “Leif would have loved it. I woke up to shouting and horses screaming and the worst heat I’d ever felt. Everyone was scrambling around, trying to save their belongings and our goods and put out the fire. Luckily we’d just found a river the day before, so we had enough water. No one was hurt and we barely lost any goods. We still had to finish the rest of the trip with wagons that were black on the outside!”

Gwen snorted. “I had no idea bat guano was flammable!”

“Neither did he,” Erik said, tilting his head toward Frederick.

Frederick buried his head in his hands. “Do you live to embarrass me?” he muttered.

“Come again?” Erik asked.

“I said I think you live to embarrass me.”

“Sorry, I can’t quite hear you,” Erik said, putting a hand to his ear. Gwen couldn’t help but snicker.

“I asked if you--oh, I get it.” Frederick shook his head, but Gwen spotted the ghost of a smile haunting his lips. “Say, Erik, I have a question for you. When was the last time you beat me in a spar?”

Erik rolled his eyes. “When was the last time anyone beat you in a spar? Other than our illustrious captain, I mean.”

“Earlier this week, actually,” Gwen said, puffing out her chest.

“Truly?” Bo asked, leaning forward. “Frederick is the best fighter among us three.”

“I was going easy on her,” Frederick said. “She hadn’t learned the variations yet, so I only used the base poses.” He gave Gwen a proud smile. “But yes, she got me three to zero, and she’s only gotten better since. I keep having to push myself so she doesn’t embarrass me again.”

“Give me a few more days,” Gwen said, sticking out her tongue.

“Ooh, those are fighting words!” Erik said. “Are you going to take that?”

Frederick leaned back and laced his fingers behind his head. “I’m not worried. We haven’t even sparred with weapons yet. Her dinky little staff is no match for a broadsword.”

Gwen considered pulling out the staff just to prove him wrong, but the tavern had filled up by now, so she decided not to make a scene. She’d settle for catching him off guard later. “I bet you’d slice a quarterstaff in two if it got in the way of your broadsword.” Gwen and Irina shared a glance. The corner of Irina’s mouth twitched.

“Of course!” Frederick said. “Normal wood doesn’t stand a chance! You have more options in close quarters, though. Plus you have an easier time not killing people.”

“Always helpful,” Bo said.

Erik shrugged. “Some people are better off killed. Not many, but if bandits are going to go around killing people, killing them first’s not a bad idea.”

Irina signed something. Gwen caught the words don’t and kill, but everything else was a blur.

“Yes, Mom,” Erik said. “I know the rules. No killing if we can avoid it.”

The table fell into an awkward silence until Frederick said, “How about some dessert, eh?” He pointed to Irina. “I saw a spice cake on the way in...”

Irina grinned and nodded. Gwen made a mental note that the captain was partial to spice cake.

So they ordered cake. Rather, they ordered a cake. Gwen thought the waiter Frederick waved over would bring them each a slice, but no, he brought out the entire thing. Not that Gwen was complaining; it was as delectable as the rest of the meal had been. Everyone fell upon it eagerly, except for Bo, who ordered a coffee and spent dessert sipping that instead.

Once they were done eating and drinking and making merry, Irina left a few coins on the bar for a tip and the five guards headed out into the cool night air. Gwen felt her head slowly begin to clear.

“Come here, come, come,” Frederick said, beckoning everyone into a huddle. Gwen could smell the alcohol on their breaths.

“Tomorrow,” he said, “the real work begins. Everyone stay alert, stay calm, and listen to Irina, and we’ll be alright. Do you have anything to say, Captain?”

Irina signed, and Bo translated for Gwen: “I have faith in all of you. Sleep well, don’t forget to stretch, and for the love of Celia, take a bath. It might be your last for a while.”