“I quit,” Neil panted, using his wooden sword as a crutch. “I mean it this time. I’m done. Find someone else to beat on.”

“Guard up.” Jackie advised, stalking forward.

She gave him enough time to collect himself before she struck again. Neil’s right arm burned from the exertion of swinging a sword, and his left was numb from the shock of repeated impacts.

With a groan, he was in his guarded position.

“Right.” She said, swinging at his right side.

Neil pivoted left, swatting the blow away as it buzzed past his head. He danced back as Jackie remained on her guard.

His sword, if it could be called that—it was a wooden thing of closer resemblance to a club, or a paddle—sent a shock of force up through his aching hand, and it was all he could do to hang on.

Jackie, for all that she was holding back, was an incredibly strong woman. Height just south of six feet, and biceps bigger than Neil’s. Blocking her head-on would be like trying to stop a bowling ball with a baseball bat.

“Good,” She nodded. “Left.”

She raised her sword for an overhead strike, and Neil brought up his buckler shield to meet it.

He was wincing before the blow even landed. A buckler shield, Neil learned, was a pitiful excuse of a protective instrument, with a suspicious resemblance to a pot lid with an iron handle bolted on.

Wood met wood with a resounding *thwack.* Neil turned into the blow—as he’d been taught—attempting to push the sword away from himself in a successful parry.

A week of practice, alas, does not a swordsman make.

Jackie stepped past his guard, put a hand on his chest, and pushed.

Before he even had time to think the words ‘no fair,’ he was on his back: with a stunning view of a cloudy sky and the wind knocked out of him.

“Ow.” He said, lying still for a moment, gathering his bearings.

Wits mostly intact, he struggled to a seated position. He wasn’t actually injured—other than a mildly bruised ego, which he was used to by this point—but it felt necessary to voice his displeasure.

“That wasn’t a left.”

“Sorry.” Jackie shrugged—not sounding all that sorry, Neil noted—as she lowered a hand down towards Neil.

He took it, and she pulled him to his feet with barely a grunt of effort.

“You know,” Neil started, as the ground stabilized beneath him. “I think you might be getting more out of this than I am.”

He forced his breathing to a more casual pace—trying not to look like he was already exhausted.

“You’re learning how to take a hit,” Jackie pointed out, with a serious face. “That’s more than I’m getting.”

Neil gave her a thin smile. He was still getting a read on her sense of humor, but he thought that might have been a joke.

“Booo!” A feminine voice with a deep affectation sounded from the edge of the training yard. “Kick him in the balls!”

Neil sighed, turning to face June.

Most of the time, he liked June. She was funny, she was smart, and she had a habit of annoying people that deserved to be annoyed.

Sometimes, though, she was just annoying.

She was sitting at the edge of the shade, where the grass perimeter of the courtyard ended and the dirt of the makeshift arena began. She propped herself up with one arm in the grass, with a long stalk of straw dangling out of the corner of her mouth, smiling mildly.

She looked like she was having entirely too much fun.

“You want next?” He asked her, gesturing to Jackie. “By all means, let’s see if you can do better.”

“No thanks,” June said, tone gone casual, angling the stalk upwards. “I’m good just watchin’.”

“I’ll take a turn.” An earnest voice manifested ex-nihilo behind Neil, sending him flinching forward.

Peter. The youngest. Seventeen years old, without any of the cynicism Neil expected in a kid his age.

Neil shouldn’t have been surprised. It wasn’t quite that Peter had a habit of sneaking up on people—though he did, frequently—it was that he was never more than twenty feet away from Jackie at any given time.

The kid stuck to her like a lost puppy.

“Pete, I’m putting a bell on you if you keep doing that, I swear to God,” Neil said in a high voice, once he’d recovered.

“Err—sorry,” The younger man said—sounding sorry—as he looked between Neil and Jackie. “Were you serious about being done, though? I could go for a turn, if that’s cool.”

“Yeah,” Neil forced his raised shoulders downwards. “Be my guest, man.”

He couldn’t tell what was up between Jackie and Peter. Ever since that first day, they’d been inseparable. Neil didn’t think it was romantic, whatever it was. He hoped it wasn’t romantic; Jackie was nearly a decade older than him.

He trudged over to June. She stood when he approached, stretching upwards like a cat.

“Have fun?” She asked, groaning slightly as her hands reached up towards the sky, saluting the sun.

“A little,” Neil admitted before frowning, “Not a lot. Where’s Anne and Thomas?”

“Anne’s probably talking to the priest guy, and Thomas is…” She bent to the side, arms still over her head, in another stretch. “In the kitchen?”

Neil sighed. Of course he was.

Anne was a mouse of a woman. Blonde, didn’t say much, and gave the impression of having a keen mind, whenever she deigned to speak. Neil couldn’t blame her for not showing up to their improvised combat practice; the woman had about as much capacity for violence as a wet sponge.

Thomas, however, he could—and did—blame for being a flakey no-show.

“Does he ever leave the kitchen?” Neil asked in a flat voice.

He didn’t have any proof, but he could swear that Thomas gained every day they were under Argus’s roof. Everyone else, conversely, hobbled around in a constant state of bone-deep soreness and voracious hunger.

“Sure. I saw him in the library the other day,” Her head tilted to the side—an odd look considering her already contorted position. “And coming out of Argus’s office today.”

“Great.” He muttered.

Now he could at least hope that Thomas was doing something useful with himself. He doubted it, though. It’s not that he knew the guy all that well—only a week, now—but something about him just rubbed Neil the wrong way.

“Well, if you see him, try to get him to come down,” He said, rubbing at the knot—or was that a bruise?—in his back. “In the meantime, I’ll be drilling with Hanson’s guys.”

He glanced over at Jackie and Peter, who were occupied in their own conversation, rather than fighting.

June was touching her toes, now, long dark hair tumbling forward, spilling across the grass. She popped upwards, to a normal standing position, nearly whipping Neil with her hair.

“Can I watch you get beat up?” She asked, brown eyes wide and innocent.

“What?” Neil frowned at her. “No. Go watch Pete get beat up.” ‘What?’

June rolled her eyes. “Pete doesn't get beat up. Jackie can’t throw him around like she does with you.”

“That’s— Jackie doesn’t—” Neil shook his head, growing flustered. “No! Stay here. Practice. Learn how to defend yourself. Like them.” He gestured to Jackie and Pete, getting in their guarding stances.

“What, ‘cause Argus told us we have to?” June snorted.

“Because we’re reasonable people in an objectively unreasonable world, and because we’re surrounded by crazy dudes with swords!” Neil hissed, waving a hand to the castle proper. “Also, yes, a little bit because Argus told us we have to.”

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

As far as Neil could tell, the old man was the fantasy world equivalent of a high-school guidance counselor—or a caseworker for potential dragon-slayers. So, as tempted as Neil was to ignore Argus’s advice, it’s not like anyone else was watching out for him. For them.

“I’ve only got two things to say to that.” The young woman said in a dry voice.

“One,” she raised a single-digit-bearing hand. “I don’t trust that guy. I get that he’s taking care of us, but until one of these ‘gods’ comes down and tells me otherwise, personally, I’m holding him responsible for us being here in the first place.”

Neil raised his eyebrows at the girl, surprised.

“Two,” she brought the hand behind her back and pulled out a knife. “I can defend myself just fine, thanks.”

“Woah!” Neil instinctively took a step back, raising both hands to ward away the knife. “The hell did that come from?”

The knife—or dagger, Neil supposed—was six inches of gleaming, double-edged steel. It had no guard or ornamentation, and the handle was wrapped in cream-colored cloth.

Neil wasn’t an expert, but he was fairly sure that it was a weapon made to be used, not practiced with. More than he’d ever done without close supervision.

He glanced down at his practice sword and shield lying in the dirt, barely worthy of qualifying as a paddle and a potlid.

“Nowhere.” June said, casually flipping it with a flick of her wrist, and catching it by the blade.

Neil knew better by then than to try to tell her to put it away, and so resisted the urge.

“Did you raid Hanson’s armory?” He asked, flatly.

“First of all…” she flicked her wrist again; sunlight caught against the spinning blade, shimmering off of it like water.

She caught it by the blade once again and pointed the handle at Neil.

“It’s Argus’s armory, and Argus is perfectly happy with us rifling through his stuff. Hanson’s just the guy who gets paid to babysit the guards. Second of all…”

She flipped it again; the handle was back in her palm and the pointy end pointed at Neil before he could blink.

“…No, I didn’t get this from the armory,” She said, putting the knife away behind her back. “I found it.”

‘Where?’ Neil almost asked, before he thought better of it. She didn’t want to tell him, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“Right,” Neil frowned. “Just… be careful with that, okay?”

“Sure, mom,” She rolled her eyes. “Are we going somewhere, or what?”

“I’m going to the city wall. Hanson said I could join up for the noon drills.” He shrugged.

“They’re doing just fine without drills.” June nodded past Neil, to Jackie and Peter.

They danced around each other in a slow circle, two bodies caught in each other's orbit. Jackie’s eyes were sharp on Peter, her expression serious.

Not like when she practiced with Neil.

“Those two…” He said, watching them with eyebrows raised, “…are superhuman freaks of nature.”

He turned back to June. “For a beginner swordsman, I’m incredibly average.”

“Bad, you mean?” June tilted her head to the side.

“Better than Anne and Thomas.” Neil countered.

“Bad, you mean.” She confirmed, raising an eyebrow at him.

Ribbing aside, June had a point. Peter and Jackie were scary good for how new they were to sword-fighting. Possibly good enough to beat someone who knew what they were doing. Certainly good enough to beat Neil.

He hoped it was a supernatural advantage. One of the perks of Hero-dom, maybe. Regardless, he was starting to feel mildly resentful of how easily either one of them could pick him apart.

His record, to date, was three successful counters against Jackie, and seven against Peter.

That was four days ago.

The problem was—they were getting better faster than he was. He’d be lucky to last five seconds against either one, now.

Still, he was getting better.

Slowly.

“I’m leaving,” Neil raised his hands in exasperation. “If you’re coming, bring something to practice with. And no one’s getting beaten up.”

“Ugh—fine, have fun ‘getting drilled,’ or whatever,” She rolled her eyes. “I’ll leave the sword-swinging to you sweaty try-hard types.”

“Thank you.” Neil said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

He picked up his fallen sword and buckler.

“You know…” She hesitated, a look of uncertainty crossing her face. “It’s been a week since we got here.”

Neil gave a last glance at the pair fighting in the dirt courtyard. They were trading light blows in a steady, *thwacking,* staccato. Jackie was leading their little dance, saying something to Peter that Neil couldn’t quite hear, but Peter was hanging on to every word.

“It has,” He agreed, before frowning. “I think the weeks here are ten days long, though. Weird, right?”

“Like seven was any better?” She smiled weakly. “It’s just… this was our first week. The first of… many, supposedly. Then there’s gonna be another one, and another one, and… do you really think we’re gonna be here forever?”

Neil hesitated to look at June. In the short time that he’d known her, he hadn’t known her to be vulnerable. It was, if he was being honest with himself, one of the reasons he liked her.

“I don’t think… anything,” Neil said, slowly. “On the one hand, I’m the kind of guy that tries to live in the moment, because if I don’t…”

He gestured wordlessly and shrugged. “But on the other hand, we’re in a fantasy land with gods and magic. Argus says going home is impossible, but… so is being in a fantasy land with gods and magic.”

He risked a look at June and saw that she was frowning. “What about you?”

“I don’t know,” She said, eyes gone distant, like she was looking at something far away. “You don’t have a hand that just wants to be angry and bitter and just a little bit sad?”

“Oh, I drown all my bad thoughts with alcohol.” Neil smiled in a vain attempt to diffuse the sudden tension.

From the vacant way she was looking at him, he wasn't doing a very good job.

He winced. “Err—I mean, I drown out the bad thoughts with healthy coping mechanisms, like exercise, journaling, and meditation?”

June shook her head, vacant-look abating as she pursed her lips at him. “Healthy coping mechanisms? Like getting drilled by a group of older, foreign men?”

Neil smiled widely. “You already made that joke, dude.”

She raised her chin at him defiantly, eyes storming once again. “Who’s joking, dude?”

“Does one of you two ‘dudes’ wanna spar with us?” A sudden voice came into being to Neil’s immediate right, sending Neil flinching away.

“No thanks, Pete.” June said, smiling but otherwise unaffected by his unexpected appearance.

…Unless she did expect him, and just didn’t bother warning Neil about it. Neil was suspicious, and June was entirely too amused.

Still, Neil always found it easy to play the part of the fool, and if that’s what was required to cut the tension, he would happily oblige.

“What did I say about doing that!” Neil said—still reeling—glaring at the kid.

“Sorry,” Peter said, wincing. “Jackie thinks we should double up on her, give her a challenge. You in, Neil?”

Neil looked at June and decided that the twinkle in her eye was far too mischievous to be allowed to bear fruit.

“I think the French call that an—”

“No thank you!” Neil said loudly, interrupting her. “But thank you. But still—no thank you.”

Pete blinked at him, looking taken aback. “You sure?”

“Yes.”

Neil glanced sidelong at June, quirking an eyebrow at him.

He sighed.

“It’s… time for me to get drilled.” He said, with a straight face, looking back up at Peter.

June chortled, but Peter just looked confused. He frowned at Neil, then at June, opening his mouth, then closing it—like he was about to say something but thought better of it.

“Alright, man. Have… fun?”

Neil sighed again as Peter turned and left.

“I can’t help but feel like you might have missed the opportunity of a lifetime, there.” June said, in a high, considering voice.

Neil was just glad she was back to normal.

“I’m leaving,” he informed her, with a tired look on his face. “For real this time.”

He turned away, hesitated, winced, and turned back—in that order.

“If you… want to talk to me about the serious stuff… you can. You know where I am, and… if you feel shitty about… this,” he gestured around the courtyard. “You’re not alone. Okay?”

She shrugged noncommittally at him, looked away, and otherwise said nothing.

“Right,” He said, straightening. “Leaving now.”

…

…

Neil never was very good at comforting people, he reflected, walking to the city’s edge.

And, for a reason that eluded him, he couldn’t stop thinking about Amelia all the way to the wall.

Thoughts about her came entirely unbidden, as they often did.

What was she up to now, he wondered? Whatever it was, she’d hopefully recovered from his disappearance. Unless he left a body behind. Argus was woefully unclear about whether the process that brought them here left a corpse in its wake, and he doubted Amelia would be able to brush it off with her usual attitude.

And there was nothing he could do to make her feel better. Was that irony—he wondered, frowning—or just a cruel symmetry?

A measure of relief came when he heard a familiar voice shouting at the far end of the city.

“Aye, ye wee maggots! If ye can’t rin th’ city dyke in twintie minutes, yoo’re nae better tae me than dog shite! Go ye wee gobbies, go!”

Hanson had his flaws, but he was better than anyone else Neil knew at getting him out of his head.

He smiled grimly. There was work to be done.