After what seemed like an eternity, the man known as Logan broke eye contact from Cameron, turning to his father, his face taking on a more relaxed and friendly expression.

“Lord Pellyn, been a while. How have you been?” The man’s voice was grizzled and deep. Like war drums echoing across a field before a battle, he bled confidence and bravery with every syllable. He crossed the room, ignoring the dignitaries and approached the now standing King. They clasped wrists in a loud clap before Augustus pulled him into a hug. “I have missed you my friend.” He said. It’s been far too long since you were last planet-side.”

“My apologies, Lord Pellyn. Free-space keeps me busy. Luckily Markus had a contact in The Fleet that got a message to me. I’ll be sure to leave my captains code with you when I leave this time. Should be easier to communicate when I get the calls directly instead of secondhand.”

“I told you. Call me Augustus. You’ve earned it. And are you sure I can’t convince you to stick around? I’m sure we can find some use of your services.”

The man smiled and shook his head. “I doubt you could afford me, Augustus. Consider this service pro-bono, a gift to the new Seneschal. Speaking of..” He turned, his cold steel eyes meeting Cameron’s. The man examined him, sizing him up in his mind, speaking to Augustus while maintaining eye contact with Cameron. “Color me unimpressed.”

“I could say the same.” Cameron retorted, finally finding his voice. “Just who the hell are you, anyway?”

The man ignored Cameron's question, his eyes looking past the boy, slowly rising to look at the wall behind him. Cameron turned to see what he was gazing at only to find an old mural, faded into the cracks of the walls. It depicted a battlefield. Bodies of men and mech strewn across the landscape battered, bruised, and broken. Standing in the center was a lone man, faceless, holding a golden sword high to the heavens. Behind him, stood his A.R.M.S. unit, towering above all others. Its helm matched the height of the mountains in the background as it too held a golden blade aloft; The first Seneschal of Ketris.

“Since the time of the second breaking,” Logan began, walking towards the mural and running his fingertips across the cracked stone.

“A Seneschal has stood for Ketris. A bulwark to protect the planet from all threats both domestic,” His eyes cut to two male ambassadors, “and off-world.”

Darwin was the first to speak, sputtering in the way politicians do when put into an awkward conversation.

“M-My Lord,” he began as he stood, face slightly flushed. “I can assure you that his majesty, Prince Lo’Dain has nothing but the most noble intentions in his solidarity with Ketris and queen Miranda.”

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

“Indeed,” Lendrick chimed in, jowls flapping as he spoke. “Though there have been some… tensions in our history, such is politics. It is in everyone’s best interest that we move past such petty grievances of our forebears and rule the system together, as originally ordained by the Mother Planet.”

Logan’s lips formed into a knowing smile as he walked back towards the table, standing next to Cameron with his arms clasped behind him.

“My apologies, gentlemen. I’m no dignitary, only a mere soldier. Old habits die hard as do old biases. It’s not my place to comment on the policies and alliances of a planet I’m no longer a citizen of. Besides…” He reached and clamped a hand on Cameron’s shoulder, causing the young scion to wince slightly. “I’m not here for you. I’m here for him.”

“This is Logan Rake.” Augustus Pellyn’s voice rang out, drawing the attention from everyone in the room. He was still standing, sweeping his arm in a grand gesture towards the man’s direction. “He was once the Captain of the Guard for the forces here in the capital. The man has protected the Pellyn family and the nation of Ketris until about ten years ago when he requested to leave planet side to go find his fortune in free-space. I requested his presence here to make sure my son is trained as well as he possibly can, to take on the role of Seneschal.

“Lucky me,” Cameron muttered sarcastically under his breath. He reached up to pry the man’s fingers off of him, but it was useless. The hand may as well have been welded on to him the way it refused to budge from any of his attempts to extricate himself.

“Lucky you indeed.” Logan replied, finally releasing his grip, looking down at him. “Now get up.”

“What for?”

Logan didn’t answer. He simply gave a bow to the table, before turning and walking to the outside veranda with a confident stride.

“Hey, I’m talking to you!” Cameron, exclaimed as he stood up, taking a few steps to follow Logan before stopping out of curious frustration. “Where are we going?”

Logan stopped, his head tilted almost imperceptibly to the side as he called to him. “Outside… for an assessment.”

A few moments later, Cameron stood inside the red clay ring of the royal dueling ground. On one arm, a heavy wooden buckler was lashed tightly to his wrists. An iron sword hung limp in his left hand. He felt his fingers flexing and relaxing nervously as he looked out to where Logan stood, about five meters opposite him.

“Well, you got the look down.” Logan said as he twirled a mace effortlessly in his right hand while stamping a heavy tower shield into the dirt with his left.

“Let’s see if you know how to use 'em.”

It hadn’t taken much convincing on Logan’s part for Augustus to agree to an impromptu exhibition. He and the other dignitaries stood off to the side watching, waiting, and judging Cameron from the very moment he took the field.

“Ya know, this doesn’t exactly seem fair.” Cameron said, beginning the slow dance of circling logan. He scanned the man for points of weakness, or openings to attack as he continued to complain.

“A veteran merc facing off against some snot-nosed prince who’s barely won a tournament. I’m a little outclassed here, wouldn’t you say?”

“Since when has war ever been fair?” Logan retorted, turning his shield in time with Cameron’s movements. His body was tense and tight like a coiled spring, ready to explode forth at any moment, yet his face showed the same calm, dispassionate demeanor as he had when first walking into the throne room.

“Fair,” Cameron said. “But when has war ever only comprised two fighters?”

Logan chuckled softly as he spoke, “Kid… When it comes to killing,” he lowered his center of gravity, the spring coiling tighter. “The only war that matters is the one you survive.”