Rudiger had to hand it to Captain DeSeloön and his men. They built a good fire. It wasn’t particularly large, but it was very hot and helped to keep away the cold air of evening—and anything that did that was good, as far as he was concerned.

They were camped just off the road north of Quorge. They hadn’t made it far this first day. A wheel on the wagon had come loose, and they had to stop early. Captain DeSeloön had apologised profusely to Felitïa, and Felitïa had insisted that apologies were not necessary. It had been an amusing exchange to watch: DeSeloön embarrassed because of what he felt was a show of ineptitude in him and his men, and Felitïa embarrassed because she didn’t want to be waited upon like royalty.

Rudiger was only just starting to come to terms with the fact that they were headed to Arnor City to mix with royalty. Although he had known the truth about Felitïa’s identity for a while now, until yesterday, the implications of it hadn’t really sunk in. She was someone he travelled with. A friend. But being in Lord Belone’s palace had made him realise how much he wasn’t a part of that world, how out of place he felt, and how much Felitïa and Zandrue—especially Zandrue—just seemed to fit right in.

He had spent most of the dinner in silence. He joined in conversations where he could, but so many of them focused on fashions and what people were saying was fashionable in Arnor City. Or they were about who was marrying whom and what family unions these would cause. Or various other topics that he had no knowledge of, no idea what to say.

Meleng and Jorvan had looked as uncomfortable as he felt. Felitïa had remained mostly quiet, but when she did speak up, she had always seemed to know what to say. And then there was Zandrue, who was pretty much the life of the party. A party he couldn’t be part of.

He was glad to now be away from the palace. It was a long trip to Arnor City. They had to go all the way back to Porthaven and then by ship the rest of the way. It meant there were a couple months at least before he had to worry about noble life again. Rudiger was comfortable travelling. It fit him. He’d been doing it for so long now, it was hard to think of staying in one place for too long.

It was going to be a different sort of journey now though. They had to pretend to be merchants—well, some of them did. Felitïa, in particular. She looked a lot different now. She needed to look well-off, so gone was her usual travelling cloak. Currently, she wore a brocaded silk blouse and a heavy green travelling skirt. To keep out the cold, she had a thick cloak lined with fox fur. But there were a lot more clothes stashed away in a large chest on the wagon. DeSeloön’s men had spent the night before they left scouring the whole city for clothes of the right style and fit. As best Rudiger could tell, only her boots remained of her original clothes. All the rest had been deemed not suitable for her disguise.

Zandrue and Meleng were also playing the roles of merchants, but they got to do it with their own clothes. Since they were to be subordinate to Felitïa, they didn’t need to be decked out quite so well. Corvinian was Felitïa’s ward, while Rudiger got to play at being just one of the mercenaries. Explaining Jorvan’s presence was the hard part. Just being an Isyar would draw attention—and more besides. Unfortunately, there was nothing that could be done about that. Jorvan had to play the role of an Isyar merchant who had temporarily joined with Felitïa for mutual benefit.

Rudiger glanced over to where Borisin and the other horses were gathered. Corvinian was there brushing him, and the stallion was clearly enjoying every moment of it. If the boy wasn’t careful, he’d soon find himself grooming Borisin as a full-time job—Borisin would see to that! Of course, it might keep Borisin’s complaints to a minimum and it would give Corvinian something to do, so it wasn’t necessarily a bad idea.

Borisin, who had apparently had enough brushing for now, moved away from Corvinian and walked round to Zandrue’s mare, Lucinda. There was a swagger in his walk that Rudiger knew all too well. “Hey!” Rudiger called out to the stallion. “Don’t get any ideas!”

I’m just being friendly, Borisin replied.

Sam and Hang looked up from the wagon, where they were still trying to repair the wheel, and gave him odd looks. “What did we do?” Hang asked.

Rudiger nearly laughed. “Not you! My horse!”

The two soldiers looked over at Borisin, looked back at each other, and shrugged. They then set back to work. There hadn’t been much opportunity yet to get to know DeSeloön’s men, but from what little Rudiger had seen, they seemed competent. Bowman Sergeant Sam Tarson was a broad, muscular Eloorin. The wagon belonged to him, so he was their driver. According to DeSeloön, he was the best archer in the kingdom. Corporal Alhang Merrin—Hang for short—was a tall Folith with dark hair.

“That’s what you get when you mix stallions and mares,” Sergenat Greminy Siltons, who was sitting beside Rudiger, said. Greminy was a slightly older Eloorin, his dark hair starting to sprout just a few traces of grey.

“Ah, Borisin’s well behaved,” Rudiger replied. As he said it, Borisin sauntered up behind him, sticking his snout between Rudiger and Greminy.

“Is he now?” the solider said, staring into the horse’s eyes. “You really should hobble him with the others.”

“You wanna try?” Rudiger asked with a laugh.

Go ahead, Borisin said. Just try.

Greminy continued staring into Borisin’s eyes for a few moments before backing down. “No, that’s all right.”

Borisin snorted in his face and returned to the other horses. Corvinian slipped in to sit beside Rudiger.

“Don’t worry,” Rudiger said. “He won’t wander off.”

“That’s quite a horse you have there, Rudiger,” Captain DeSeloön commented.

Zandrue laughed. “You don’t know the half of it!”

“Maybe so,” DeSeloön said, “but he’s still a good-looking horse.”

“That’s rich, coming from a Cloëggan! I’m surprised you even know what a horse is!” Private Stavan Orcan was the loudest of DeSeloön’s men, a joker through and through. He could be a bit less than tactful with his choice of words, but apparently he didn’t mean anything bad by them.

“We Cloëggans actually know about both land and sea,” DeSeloön responded with a grin. “Unlike you mainlanders, who only know the land.”

Stavan laughed. “At least you can’t drown on land!”

“No, but you can slip and break your neck,” DeSeloön said.

“I thought your name sounded Cloëggan,” Zandrue said. “It’s unusual for a Cloëggan to join the army, isn’t it?”

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“Uncommon,” DeSeloön agreed. “We Cloëggans are born and bred sailors through and through. We love the sea. Or we’re supposed to, at any rate. Truth be told, I was never much of a sailor. Much to my father’s chagrin. So I left Cloëg to come to the mainland and join the army. It’s been a much more rewarding experience for me.”

“Are you gonna do some practice fighting?” Corvinian piped up. “You said you would!”

DeSeloön smiled. “Yes, we did say that, didn’t we? Well, Rudiger, are you game?”

Rudiger shrugged. “I suppose.” Corvinian bounced about excitedly.

DeSeloön nodded approvingly. “Good. You should make good sport for my men, I wager.”

“The bigger they are…” Stavan said with a grin.

“Corporal Merrin!” DeSeloön called. Hang looked up from the work on the wagon. “Get over here. Let Tarson finish that alone. Sergeant, Private.”

Stavan and Greminy jumped to their feet and snapped to attention. Stavan’s joking grin and stance had vanished to be replaced by rapt seriousness. A moment later, Hang was by their side.

Zandrue stood up, too. “Mind if I join in? I could use the practice.”

Stavan almost broke a grin in response, but he quickly regained his composure.

“Why not?” DeSeloön said. “Right! We’ll use that section of flat ground over there. The snow is fresh, so watch your footing. We’ll be using real weapons. Hit with the flat of your sword or hold off just before the blow would connect. Naturally, if you are the one who would have been hit, you should acknowledge it. Be careful everyone. I don’t want to see any wounds more serious than bruises.”

As they moved away from the camp, Stavan slipped up beside Zandrue. “You might get a few bruises.”

She grinned back at him. “So might you.”

Captain DeSeloön had definitely chosen his men well. They began with one-on-one pairings. Rudiger came out on top in most of these, but it wasn’t easy. Hang fought much the way Rudiger did: a combination of brute strength and skill. His blows were heavy and came from several different directions. They both held their place, refusing to give ground to the other. In the end, Rudiger proved a little bit stronger and a little bit more skilled. Hang did leave him tired out for his match against Stavan, however. The thin Eloorin was nowhere near a match for Rudiger in strength, but he made up for it with a speed and agility that Rudiger could barely keep up with. Armed with a much lighter sword than Slay, he danced around Rudiger, making wisecracks the whole while, forcing Rudiger to circle repeatedly and tire himself out more. In the end, Rudiger managed to get the upper hand, but it was more by luck than anything else. Stavan momentarily lost his balance on some ice, and Rudiger hit him with the broadside of Slay. Winded, the Eloorin had to concede that he’d be quite dead in a real fight.

“Bruise number one!” Zandrue called as Stavan stumbled off the field.

After that, Rudiger gratefully took a break while Zandrue faced off against Greminy Siltons. Greminy was a precise, technical fighter. Definitely very skilled. Zandrue was more imaginative, however, finding non-standard ways to counter attacks that no doubt took Greminy by surprise. She did a good job holding her own against him—for a little while, at least. Greminy soon had her subdued. He complimented her, offered her a couple of pointers, and then they went at it again. Once again, Greminy won the match, but Zandrue lasted just a little bit longer this time.

After a few more matches between DeSeloön’s men, Rudiger was up against DeSeloön himself. He remembered something his father had once told him. “You’ll always have an advantage, Rudiger. You’re strong. Stronger than virtually everyone else out there. And strength is always an advantage. It won’t guarantee you victory. But put two people of equal skill together, and the stronger will win every time. You have the strength. Get yourself the skill and you’ll be unbeatable.” Rudiger had always kept that advice in mind, and had trained hard. But it seemed he had a ways to go yet. He had the strength advantage over DeSeloön, but not the skill. The fight had barely begun, and Rudiger found himself on his back in the snow, Slay lying several feet away. He hadn’t even seen the attack coming.

DeSeloön held out his hand and helped Rudiger to his feet. “You’d be deadly with a lighter, faster sword, Rudiger. Ever consider it?”

“Too many sentimental feelings attached to Slay, I’m afraid,” Rudiger replied.

DeSeloön reached down and picked up the great two-handed sword, groaning slightly from the effort. He gazed over the blade, turning it over to get a look at both sides. “A very nice sword, indeed.” He handed it back to Rudiger. “But gods, it’s heavy!”

Rudiger laughed.

After that, they worked in larger groups, making plans for various formations and strategies, in case they were attacked along the road. Zandrue was the first to bow out from exhaustion. Stavan laughed at her as she returned to the fire, but his expression said that he was impressed with her performance. Not long after, the rest of them decided to call it an evening as well.

Zandrue came over to Rudiger. “That was fun. We should do this more often.”

Rudiger nodded. “Yeah, we should. You’re pretty good.”

She looped her arms around his waist and gazed up at him. “Oh! A compliment!”

“When have I not given you compliments?” He laughed.

Zandrue shrugged. “Ah, it was just something to say.” She pressed herself closer to him. Her touch sent shivers down his spine. His cheeks burned, so he pulled away.

Zandrue sighed. “What, you made of stone or something?”

“No, it’s just…” How could he tell her he was embarrassed by all the other people there, potentially watching them?

“Rudiger! Rudiger!” Corvinian bounded up to him, sliding the last few feet through the snow.

Zandrue sighed again and backed away.

“That was awesome!” the boy said. “You were great! Although it was kind of funny when Captain DeSeloön knocked you over! Hang’s been showing me how to hold a sword! Isn’t that great?”

Rudiger didn’t think it was, but he nodded anyway. He looked back at Zandrue, only to discover that she was wandering off.

“Hang doesn’t think I’m too young to learn how to use a sword!”

“Shouldn’t you be in bed by now?” Rudiger asked.

Corvinian shrugged. “Nah, I’m not sleepy.”

“I think you’d better get some sleep anyway.” He gave Corvinian a gentle push in the right direction. The boy groaned and headed back to the camp.

Rudiger looked back after Zandrue. She was readying her sleeping blankets by the fire next to Felitïa. He was about to head over there when he spotted DeSeloön approaching him.

“Rudiger, a word. This Volg you encountered. What can you tell me about him?”

“Very big,” Rudiger replied. “Strong. But his magic was probably the most dangerous aspect of him. I never really got close enough to fight him. Jorvan took him down.”

DeSeloön nodded thoughtfully.

“You believe us then?” Rudiger said.

“Why shouldn’t I?”

Rudiger shrugged. “Lord Belone didn’t seem to. The Isyar ambassador said our story is impossible. Most people don’t even believe in Volgs these days.”

“Are you a devout man, Rudiger?” DeSeloön asked.

“I don’t know, somewhat. My mother always wanted me to become a priest, but I was never quite that devout.”

DeSeloön smiled. “I am a devout man, Rudiger. The church says Volgs are real. Therefore, I believe in them. While I would normally consider it unlikely that Volgs would be wandering around Arnor, I have seen nothing to suggest that you and your friends are liars or mad. Therefore, I must conclude that you really are being chased by Volgs and Darkers. And I mean to keep the Princess safe until we reach Arnor City. Go get some rest. You’re on last watch. I need to have a word with Drago about a few things.”

“Good night, sir.” Finding himself a reasonably warm spot by the fire, Rudiger laid out his sleeping blanket and prepared to lie down. One last glance around the camp showed that most everyone else was either asleep already, or was getting ready to sleep. Captain DeSeloön and Meleng were chatting quietly. Sam was seated on the now-fixed wagon, his unstrung bow beside him—he had first watch.

Rudiger lay down and closed his eyes. Sleep quickly overtook him.