The development couldn't have been more alarming even if it tried, and not only because even a boy barely nine suspected it. Fedrahn had cultivated him that way.

Still, it was hard to even picture a suitable cause for this new development. Fedrahn had been taught to be as cautious as possible. For that matter therefore, it was infeasible for Garin to win.

"If you win, even so much as a single match, they might get suspicious. They'll stick you with a master, and then you'd have to stay here. And when I am ready to leave in a few years, I'd be forced to leave you behind."

If Garin appeared incompetent to the higher echelons, they'd have no issue sending him as an escort for the scribe, at which point he'd go rogue once he left the island. Fedrahn didn't think that even with his talents Garin was like to survive being the subject of a huge man hunt by dancers, but with Alaric's protection, he just might.

Fedrahn only thought of Garin like the tool he was. An extra bonus on top of the information he'd now managed to fillet away. He was going to be his ticket into Alaric's graces.

He'd left his family behind, given up on non self induced pleasures of the flesh, put himself at risk, all for the man. It had occurred to him that he was training Garin in a way similar to how Alaric had him, yet he didn't consider Garin anything more than disposable.

When Alaric had found him, he'd been on the verge of quitting the army, after years of ambition had only allowed him one promotion and no glory. Alaric had showed him the corruption of that organization. He was indeed a good soldier, the man had convinced him, but his employers didn't value him well.

Why not be a soldier for the a man trying to make a difference. Alaric had had to work to earn his trust, but Fedrahn had been in a bad place. He needed hope. Hope that he hadn't wasted years of his life. Hope that his sacrifices had had meaning. Later Alaric had taught him about how to read people, to know how they were feeling and manipulate them to get what you want.

He'd briefly considered the idea that maybe he too had been used, but then Alaric was being friendly and inviting him to a drink. Alaric had set him up with his wife, made him a scribe and high ranking officer in the Thessalian army, given him his dream back. He didn't want to believe that had been for nothing yet again. He could never believe that.

Only, now that he'd spent years with Garin, yet considered him nothing more than a disposable tool, a gnawing suspicion was starting to take shape in the back of his mind.

*****

Arch master Daye and the healer, also some kind of arch master sat with Fedrahn when they saw him at the exhibition match. Because of Garin's uniqueness, even when he'd been cleared to dance he'd been asked to continuously get to the treatment table. The healer had been a common face to him and Fedrahn over the past few years.

The two men sat each on either side of Fedrahn, staring down at the dueling circle where two boys were going at it faster than Fedrahn could keep track of.

He did notice once what looked like an upper cut, only when the hit landed it was on an unprotected kidney. Still the injured boy recovered faster than was humanly possible and the others follow up kick landed on flexed fore arms.

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"Garin only managed to attend one training session?" Daye asked Fedrahn.

The scribe frowned. They'd seen each other constantly over the years, but they were not what he'd call close. Not by any sense of the word, at least.

"Yes," he replied with a shrug.

"It's strange. They didn't announce the matches this year. They normally announce them before hand."

This time the arch master didn't seem to be talking to him, so Fedrahn tried to tune him out. Years of instinct though, had him coking an ear instead. Here was a bit of information on the event. Fedrahn had also found it strange at least.

"You're one of the arch masters. If anyone should know anything, its you."

Daye turned to answer him, but then his eyes fell on something in the distance and widened. Fedrahn looked in the direction too, and he saw the wooden board put in a position that all settled around the bleachers could see well.

The words were blurred to him, but light dancers were attuned enough to the light to see from such a distance.

"Only two fights are left. And I don't see Odo, famed for his strength and Nordard, the fastest and most technically gifted of the fighters."

"So what?" Fedrahn asked, but his mind was already whirring.

If only two fights were left, and two of the strongest advanced level practitioners were yet to fight, then there was a chance Garin would fight one of them. That wasn't an issue at all. Garin was going to lose.

What was an issue though, was if the setting had been plotted. He couldn't rule it out.

"If he fights one of those two and wins, then he'd have to fight the next one in the next round," Daye continued thinking out loud to himself.

Fedrahn snorted. "Garin is a good strong dancer, no doubt. But he has just jumped into a whole new class with people who've been training for years. There is no way he can keep up with the strongest dancer, given how physically negligible he is. Even the fastest dancer? They must both be at least fifteen. There is no way Garin wins."

He hoped it was true. He'd told the boy not to, but who knew what would happen during the fight. And he did have history with the Odo boy.

The next fight was announced and a one Nordard was called to take centre stage.

The fight was as intriguing as it was one sided. Fedrahn knew Garin had been holding back for years, but he doubted he could beat the Nordard boy even if he went all out. A few arch masters shook their heads in appreciation, taking note of the boy for an apprenticeship. He had reached the pinnacle of what they did at the advanced stage, it seemed.

An uproar went up just as the fight was concluding. A man in a bright white robe, sashed with blue and red scuffs from his left shoulder to his hip, and with highly decorated rock belts moved at the front of a procession of master dancers.

Fedrahn had never seen him before, but as his robe was that much more impressive than what he'd seen even with the arch masters, he postulated that the man must indeed be very important.

"The friar?!" Daye said in shock and evident alarm. "What is going on here? He didn't come for Nordard's fight. He came to see the boy. But for what? What's the point of this transparent charade?"

When Garin stepped onto the mat, Fedrahn saw that he'd noticed the friar, who smiled genially down at the two combatants, one a towering monolith and the other a gnat.

Then Fedrahn saw Garin's eyes rove the crowd, until they alighted where he was. He was staring a question at him, of course, and Fedrahn felt compelled to reply with a brief nod of encouragement.

Some how the old man's smile didn't seem benevolent to Fedrahn. He hoped he was just imagining things though, and prayed to all the gods he knew that the boy would be safe.

It was unlikely Garin would get too injured from an official event like this, but Fedrahn had a healthy dose of paranoia. Then he slapped himself as the combatants were told to engage.

Even if he'd known exactly what the friar intended to gain from this whole charade, what could he do about it? This was an island of warriors, and the friar was the strongest one of them all. Even both the arch masters next to him looked nothing so much as helpless.

The boys exchanged a few prodding blows, both yet to engage their dance states. Garin showed off his flexibility, but he made sure to look like he was reeling from every exchange of blows. Fedrahn was proud of how he'd taught the boy, but now he was getting scared.

Not only for the boy, but for himself as well. He was showing concern for the boy. Something was very wrong with his head that day.

'Never get too involved with a target, Fed,' Alaric would always say. 'That is the cause of most mistakes in our line of work.'

Just then both combatants started to get serious, both taking stances from the induction dance to get the real battle started. Garin didn't need it, Fedrahn knew, but he had to pretend otherwise.

The older boy struck first, not applying any skill so much as throwing himself at his still prone opponent with super human speed.