Waves crashed against the cliffs below the castle in a soothing rhythm as Grim laid out his equipment. It was standard fare for a soldier. An iron set of mail and matching helmet, accompanying an axe of the same metal with a four-inch spike adorning its top. The metal was good wrought iron. Not like that cast-iron crap they made cheap tools and kitchen ware from. This iron was forged to take a beating and last. Grim had put it to the test over the years. Even now, several of the iron ringlets on the armor were burst open. He needed to get it mended sometime soon, but he somehow kept finding a reason to be in a tavern instead.
He sighed and pulled the heavy coat of iron chain over the thick padding of his gambeson. They used blunted weapons in practice, but getting hit with an iron club still felt like getting hit with an iron club no matter what you wore. Grim didn’t mind. He rather enjoyed sparring. It kept his mind off other matters and was a great escape. For a moment, the only thing in the world was your blade and your enemy’s. There was a beautiful simplicity to It, and Grim was good at it. He left the axe where it lay and pulled the helmet on over his head, keeping the visor open for the moment.
Grim turned to the practice area. It was little more than a large field of hard packed dirt along the seaward side of the castle. It directly abutted the cliff face, looking out over the Meridian Bay in the distance. All about the yard, dozens of soldiers were sparring. Their weapons clashed in the chaotic sound of battle. To the side of the field were several tables and benches where spectators could watch and make bets on the fights. They were often more filled than the yard itself, and today was no exception. Men and women from the castle staff were cheering on their chosen combatants in various duels. Money switched hands as one soldier or another ate dirt.
As Grim hefted a shield and grabbed a blunted axe from the wall, he caught sight of Edgar emerging from the barracks. Grim raised a hand in greeting to the man as he met Edgar’s eyes. Edgar nodded in his direction as he walked around the edge of the practice yard. The guardsman was already dressed in mail, a thick, round shield strapped to his arm. He looked as tired as Grim felt. Sleep did not come easily last night. Grim imagined Edgar and Billy had similar troubles.
“Morning,” Edgar greeted as he pulled a blunted axe from the rack. “You up for a bout?”
Grim nodded his assent as Edgar laid his sharpened axe on a nearby table. Together they walked onto the hard packed dirt, looking for a cleared area. They settled on a clear spot along the parapets by the cliff edge. “You look like Hell,” Grim said.
“Feel like it too. Captain Roland rolled me out of my bunk last night to question me about what happened in the tavern. Scared the piss out of me.” He rolled his shoulders as they squared off, readying their shields. “Safe to assume you had a chat with the Earl?”
Grim nodded. “We’re expecting a visit from the King’s men at some point today. If anyone asks, I was leading the squad. Less punishment for me than for Billy.”
Edgar nodded. “Thanks.”
Grim shrugged as it were of no consequence despite the nervous tingle going up his spine. He hefted his axe. “You ready?”
Edgar mirrored Grim’s shrug and rolled his eyes.
Grim chuckled then rushed Edgar, shield first. Edgar braced himself as their shields collided. He pivoted, redirecting Grim’s charge.
Grim dug his heels into the dirt, arresting his momentum. He swung his shield around, catching Edgar’s axe as he swung with his own. Edgar deftly sidestepped, Grim’s axe barely clipping his shoulder.
He cursed, ramming his shield into Grim’s.
Grim grunted, feet skidding across the dirt. Edgar got under him and had the leverage. Grim let go of his axe as he fell. He grabbed Edgar’s axe arm and dragged them both to the ground.
They landed in a tumble of flailing limbs as they punched and kicked at each other. Grim was the stronger and heavier of the two, and he eventually managed to pin the smaller man in a chokehold. Edgar growled, struggling to breathe a moment before he tapped Grim’s arm.
Grim released him and Edgar rolled away, gasping for air. Grim staggered to his feet, holding his hand out to Edgar as the man rubbed at his throat. There were marks along his neck where the links of Grim’s armor dung into his neck. Edgar took a deep breath before taking Grim’s hand and rising to his feet, “I forget what a big fucker you are until you have me in a damn choke hold.”
Grim bent over to retrieve his abandoned axe and rested it along his shoulder. “Didn’t stop you from knocking me on my ass.”
Edgar shrugged then banged his axe against his shield. He made a slow approach toward Grim, coming in at a slight angle to his right. Grim waited for Edgar’s approach, legs bent and ready to spring. When he was almost in range, Grim rushed forward. He rammed the edge of his shield towards Edgar’s face. Edgar ducked, striking forward with his axe.
Grim swatted it away with his own, leaping to the side as Edgar rushed with his shield. They squared off once more, pacing in a circle. Grim could feel the sweat along his brow cooling in the frosty air. He released a deep breath, fog spilling from his helmet.
He charged forward with a heavy overhead blow. Edgar caught it on his shield, staggering beneath the force. Grim caught Edgar’s return strike on his shield as he bulled forward.
Grim’s eyes widened as he realized Edgar caught the lip of his shield with his axe head. He lurched forward uncontrollably as Edgar pulled.
Edgar slammed his shield into Grim’s side, sending him tumbling.
Shit.
Grim hit the ground and rolled to the side, narrowly missing a stomping boot. He struck out with his axe as he scrambled away. A swing and a miss. Grim’s head rang like a gong as Edgar’s axe slammed into the side of his helmet.
Grim flopped against the dirt, vaguely aware of cheers coming from the stands along the practice field. Stars swam in his vision as he slowly remembered who he was. He let out a groan as he sat up. Edgar stood over him, a smug expression on his face. He reached out to Grim and Grim took his hand, staggering as he found his feet.
“Fuckin hell,” Grim said, pulling off his helmet, “You trying to crack my head open?” Grim’s eyebrows rose when he saw the dent in the iron. “Not bad.”
Edgar chuckled. “Thought you weren’t getting back up for a moment.”
Grim shook his head, pulling the helmet back on his head. “Me too, but I can still see straight. Up for another?”
Edgar nodded, readying his shield. They fought through several more bouts over the course of the morning. Grim mentally tallied the welts he gained along his shoulders, but he was giving as good as he got until the last bout.
The ground cooled Grim’s back through his sweat stained armor while he held the back of his thigh. He grimaced at the shoots of pain running through his leg. Edgar ignored him, leaning against the battlements overlooking the sea. The man breathed heavily after their final bout. Grim took the brunt of the beating in that round, only able to land a single blow. His pained grimace turned into a crude smile of satisfaction as Edgar rolled one of his shoulders, wincing in pain.
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Grim grumbled as he forced himself to his feet. He staggered over to the parapets next to the soldier. “Think I had enough.” Grim said.
Edgar nodded in agreement “Any idea when they’re going to come for us?”
It took Grim a moment to realize he was talking about the Venarans. Grim shrugged, wondering the same thing himself.
He flexed his leg as he leaned across the parapets and was rewarded with fresh pain. “Divines man, you hit like bear.”
“And you hit like my mother,” Edgar answered.
“Gee thanks.”
“That was high praise.”
Grim rolled his eyes and let out a sigh as he took off his helmet. His sweaty hair steamed in the cold air and damn did it feel good. Edgar did the same, running a gloved hand through his dark hair. Edgar spoke in a low voice, “I thought about running last night and taking refuge beyond the wall. Just in case.”
Grim’s eyebrows raised at the admission. “What changed your mind?”
Edgar released a breath, watching as the frosted air dissipated. “Figured you and the Earl would do right by me and Billy. Only other option would be joining the Sons.” He shook his head, the distaste plain on his face.
Grim turned towards the sea, slumping against the stone parapet and looking down at the cliffs far below as waves crashed against the stony edifice. A gentle breeze drifted over them, cooling his body as it steamed in the chill air. Edgar leaned against the stone next to him, looking over the bay.
They watched the glittering waves in the bay below and the dozens of passing ships for a long moment in silence. The sun was high in the sky. Dozens of fishing boats were pulling in the morning’s haul while foreign merchants sailed from all corners of the Meridian Bay.
The dockyards themselves, buzzed with activity. From these heights, Grim could see the thousands of people passing through the city like ants crawling through a maze. Ships vomited their cargo onto the piers. Crates from Tara, filled with silks, spices, wine, honey, jewels and a thousand other things most people in Bleakridge could only dream of. The city was the heart that pumped the lifeblood of trade between the two empires, its port cutting the travel time between the two capitals nearly in half.
“Ever wonder what it’d look like on fire?” Edgar asked.
Grim blinked in surprise. “What?”
“You don’t think we’re headed in that direction?” Edgar asked. “The writing’s on the walls. Literally. You need only walk around the Outwalls to see it. Greencloaks disappearing while more and more Sons get their wings.”
Grim frowned at the phrase ‘get their wings’ thinking of the men nailed to the cross, their shattered shoulders twisting them into a mockery of a bird. “I think both are getting their just desserts. I’d rather they not use my city as their pyre though.”
“Fire burns whoever touches it.”
“Including women and children,” Grim retorted.
Edgar didn’t answer for a long moment as he pulled a flask from a pocket. Grim listened with interest as the soldier unlatched the lid and took a long draw. “To hell with that,” he said, “Want a drink?”
Grim nodded, grabbing the offered flask and taking a long draw of the burning liquid. Whiskey. Good stuff too. Grim exhaled after swallowing, feeling the burn warm his breath and belly. He passed it back to Edgar who took another drink. “Why serve the Earl?” Grim asked.
Edgar hesitated, the flask held before his lips. He sighed, lowering the drink. “Lots of reasons,” Edgar said. He paused, seeming to collect his thoughts for a moment. “You can only stand by and watch for so long. I'm sure you've seen a lot of death."
“Yeah, we live in Bleakridge.”
Edgar snorted humorlessly and spat over the ramparts into the sea below. “Ever had somebody you love taken from you?” he asked, passing the flask.
Grim paused, the metal rim almost touching his lips. “Not for a long time,” he whispered.
Edgar nodded. “The way I see it, when you do, you have two options. You lose yourself to hatred for whoever did the killing. Or, you take a step back and try to stop the same from happening to others. That’s why I joined the guard.” Edgar let out a slow sigh. “What we’ve got down there is a cesspit of hate, death and money. Me- I just do my best.”
“Being the Earl’s man is the best there is?” Grim asked. “That’s hardly hope inspiring.”
“The best the likes of us got, bastard.”
Grim could hardly argue with that. They stood that way for a long moment as the sun continued to rise. Grim shook his head. “Thanks for the drink.”
“Any time,” Edgar answered.
Grim gave the bay a final look before he rose from his perch and turned. He blinked in surprise when he saw his sister, Ilyena, walking towards him across the practice field. Well- his half-sister. She had jet black hair much like their father had when he was younger, and they shared the same gray eyes. Her skin was several shades darker than Grim’s, betraying the southern heritage of her mother. It was almost enough to make her look southern. Almost.
The guardsmen in the yard were doing their best not to make eyes at her as she strode purposefully toward Grim. They were doing a poor job, but Ilyena didn’t seem to notice or care. Whatever drove her to come to the yard must’ve been important. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her this side of the castle.
“I have a feeling that I have to meet with some Venarans soon,” Grim muttered, glancing toward Edgar.
Edgar took a final drink from his flask before tucking it into his jacket. “Good luck,” he said.
Grim nodded and walked toward his sister, meeting her near the middle of the yard. She didn’t break stride, turning on her heel as she reached him and pushing him faster toward the keep proper. “What did you do?” she whispered through clenched teeth, “The Venaran Marshal is here looking for you.”
“Afraid your friends will gossip?” Grim asked.
“No, I’m afraid they’ll hang you, you dolt. This hardly seems like a social call.”
A slight frown broke Grim’s calm facade. “I watched some Sons kill some Venarans. Would’ve been my head if I intervened.”
A slow breath escaped Ilyena’s lungs as they lapsed into silence, crossing the edge of the practice yard. A moment later, she spoke, “You remember the proper way to greet and address the Marshal, right?”
Grim shrugged. “Bow and thank him for the privilege of licking his boots, then apologize for the offense of my presence. Piece of cake.”
“You’re an ass,” she whispered as they walked through the large double doors leading into the Keep.
Grim nodded in agreement as they walked through the halls illuminated by torchlight. The corridors were long and twisting, some ending abruptly. It was all designed to confuse invaders, but Grim had memorized the layout long ago.
She grabbed him by the arm, stopping him in his tracks. She looked at him intently, her gray eyes meeting his green. “Please, play nice. For me. I don’t want to be an only child.”
Grim was quiet for a long moment, a tingle of fear running up his spine. His sister was usually unflappable and certainly not one prone to begging. A group of maids passed them, carefully not looking in their direction as they carted dirty linens. “Fine, I’ll play nice, but only because you asked so nicely.”
She shook her head, leading them deeper into the castle toward one of the stairwells where they ascended to the fifth floor. They passed countless servants. Grim usually tried to make a point of greeting the ones he knew but found it difficult to focus on anything except the upcoming confrontation.
They were heading toward his father’s private chambers. Whatever was to be discussed, the Venaran’s did not wish it public. Grim wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing or bad. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly as they reached the heavy wooden door. Ilyena rapped it lightly.
“Come in,” came a muffled voice from the other side.
Ilyena paused, shooting Grim a meaningful look, then opened the door, striding into the warm light from the hearth. Grim followed in her wake, noting the half-dozen Venaran soldiers crowded into the far corners of the room, their eyes boring into him. He fought the urge to swallow as he laid his eyes on the Marshal. An older man- mayhaps a decade older than his own father with a slight paunch and a face that was likely once considered almost handsome.
The man sat in the same chair Grim had occupied last night, next to the Earl. Both watched him.
Grim came to a halt before them, hesitating before burying his pride and falling into a stiff bow. “Your grace,” he managed.
As he rose, he met the Marshal’s eyes. The man’s expression revealed nothing, but Grim caught him fingering the hilt of the sword at his waist. The man rose to his feet, barely coming up to Grim’s shoulder. Grim looked down on him, privately pleased he could.
“Arrest him,” The Marshal said.
Grim blinked in surprise by the abruptness, then stumbled as two of the soldiers grabbed his arms. Grim struggled in their grasp, not sure why he bothered as they forced his arms behind his back and clasped them in iron manacles.
“Can I-” Grim’s words were cut off by gloved fist crashing into the side of his face. Grim spat blood, his ears ringing as he realized he was now on his knees.
He supposed he couldn’t.
As they dragged him to his feet, he swayed unsteadily. Ilyena held her hands over her mouth, a horrified expression written across her face. Their father watched impassively.
The Marshal looked toward the Earl. “Thorne, I’ll keep you appraised of his progress. See to it that the other does not disappear in the meantime. My men will be back for him. And the old one, I trust you understand his orders?”
The Earl nodded, his eyes not leaving Grim. “Do your duty, son.”
Grim blinked, a frown creasing his lips. He couldn’t remember the last time his father called him ‘son’. The brand along his neck itched, reminding Grim that while he had a father, his father had no son. Was that a way of saying goodbye?
Grim said nothing in response.
“Take him to the pens,” The Marshal said with a wave, “The Earl and I have more to discuss today.”
Grim stumbled as he was yanked toward the door. Grim caught his sister’s eyes as the door shut behind him. She looked afraid.