The Duke of Cowards

By John David j Hutchison

 The tragic tale of Willem Telfair, son of a duke and of royal lineage, a boy obsessed with honor and swordsmanship. But when violence enters his life he learns that the cost of honor might be too high. 

Whispers o

• Language: English
• Publisher: John David Hutchison
• Release date: Apr 20, 2023
• ISBN: 9798218155384

Book preview

Act One

Willem Telfair

One

Honorable Duel

Quit fidgeting, Willem’s mother, Elana, scolded. The 10-year-old couldn’t help it. His tunic was the most uncomfortable thing he had ever worn. The wool made his skin itch, and his trousers were too tight. The fine leather boots were the only things he wore that were even the slightest bit comfortable.

I feel like a girl. Willem looked at his reflection in the full-length mirror. The azure tunic looked like a dress some maiden might wear. He hated everything about it.

I think you look mighty handsome, his mother said approvingly. It was obvious to Willem his mother was doting on him, but obvious as well that she meant it. People always said he resembled her more than his father. They were both fair-skinned and freckled with strawberry blonde hair.

Be still for one moment, Duchess Elana said, pinching his cheek. She brought her face close to his and ruffled her hands through his hair until satisfied with the way it lay. Willem tried not to blush, and he was glad neither his father nor any of his friends were here to see this.

I can’t believe you’re not coming. There hasn’t been a duel in ages, Willem said. The last duel in Eldrin had been two years ago between the cloth merchant Fergus and a Highland fur trader named Callum. Willem didn’t know exactly what had happened. They had gotten in a drunken fight and dueled three days later. Willem had begged to come but his mother forbade it. Just thinking about duels had Willem fantasizing about swordplay. His father had promised he would soon start training with the sword, and though he couldn’t quite wield one properly, he knew eventually he would be great.

Because I think it foolish to the extreme: two men, one of whom will be maimed or injured, Elana said, shaking her head. Before looking back at Willem, she reached over to the tray on the table and poured herself a cup of tea.

But this is about honor, Willem argued. Nothing was more important than honor. Maybe family, but even of that he wasn’t fully convinced.

Willem, I disagree so much that I didn’t want you to be permitted to even watch the duel. The duke’s word is final, however, so hurry off to your father, and I’ll see you at dinner. His mother referred to her husband as The duke whenever she was displeased with him.

Willem didn’t need to be told twice to leave.

He left his mother’s study and closed the door behind him. After a few steps he looked back at the closed door, making sure it was still shut, and began jogging through the keep palace. The duel would be out on the courtyard square. Typically, the square was used for festivals and auctions, but it also functioned as hallowed ground for honorable duels.

He raced through the wide halls and ducked between two of the palace guards. Watch out, Lem!

Willem didn’t look back to see which one said it. The guards liked him well enough and would never risk his parents’ ire by upbraiding him.

He took the stairs two at a time and, as the stairway turned, he jumped on the rail and rode it down to the floor. He nearly fell as he reached the bottom but righted himself quickly. The great hall, usually full of movement, was nigh empty in preparation for the duel. Willem stopped to straighten his tunic and passed through the wide doors that led out of the palace to the courtyard.

Crowds were already starting to gather, and Willem had to thread his way through the growing multitude to the dais where his father was waiting.

Father. Willem dipped his head in acknowledgement of the duke, who nodded back and motioned for Willem to take his seat. Duke Alfred moved his cane out of the way so Willem could sit. It must have been why the duke was so grumpy this morning: His old injuries pained him whenever the weather turned.

Neither spoke as the crowd continued to gather despite the light rain and chilly weather. Willem watched as the mass of people split and the brown-robed Vicar Fromm stepped onto the raised square. Duke Alfred took his cue, standing from his throne and raising his arm over his head -- Willem noticed a grimace on his father’s face as he shifted his weight onto his bad knee. As he stood, the chattering crowd silenced immediately.

The duke, in a resounding bellow, announced: A matter of honor will be settled today. Vicar Fromm will bless their blades as they prepare for combat.

Willem listened to his father’s words, but he was more drawn to the force of his persona. Alfred was tall, a few inches over six feet, and kept his white-blonde hair cut close, both head and beard. When the duke spoke, everyone listened. Willem wondered if he could ever be a man of his father’s caliber.

Vicar Fromm, whose muscles bulged under his robe, pointed toward where many of the duke’s personal guards were huddled around Elios.

Who’s gonna win? Willem asked.

Whomever is more worthy. I suspect it to be Elios, the duke answered without looking over to his son. His eyes were locked on his guard, now stepping onto the dueling square. Elios was wearing a simple jerkin that showed off his muscular arms and chest. Even from here, Willem could see the wicked scar that ran down his face.

Elios was unarmed and hadn’t yet received his weapon. Willem took his father’s word for it, but the bodyguard didn’t look the part of a swordsman. His gut hung a few inches past his waistline, and though his arms and shoulders were thick with muscle, Willem thought him too fat to be a decent swordsman, let alone a legendary one.

Aneirin, on the other hand, looked like some storybook hero. He was tall and sported the red hair of a Highlander. Most of the Eldrin men-at-arms cheered for him as he stepped onto the square. Aneirin waved to his many supporters, his loose shirt hinting at the muscles beneath.

Willem watched his father, who shook his head in disapproval at the foppish duelist, but not even the duke’s disapproval put a damper on Willem’s enthusiasm.

Vicar Fromm stepped onto the dueling square followed by two knights of the Unwanted in their pale hauberks and close-faced helms. Each had a sword in his hand -- not brandishing them for combat but holding them as if they were the holiest of relics.

It had been a dreary day. Rain still drizzled down from the overcast sky, but momentarily there was a break in the cloud cover and rays of sun pierced the sky and lit up Eldrin Keep. Willem tilted his face toward the sun, reveling in the warmth.

From their vantage point, Willem couldn’t hear what the vicar was saying as he chanted quickly and pointed to the first of his knights. He took the sword from outstretched hands and bowed his head in prayer before kissing the blade. The vicar handed the sword back to the knight before doing the same with the second weapon.

Each of the combatants walked to the center of the square and took a sword. The duelists examined their swords and once satisfied, nodded to the vicar, who exited the stage. The combatants were left alone in silent anticipation.

Aneirin sauntered like he didn’t have a care in the world. His demeanor was more suited for a stroll through the forest than a duel for his life. Elios moved slowly, a grimace on his scarred face.

Willem had a gut feeling Aneirin would win; the man was just so confident. It seemed the clouds had cleared just so the sun could bless him and ensure his victory. He waved his sword in front of him in mock attacks as Elios plodded toward him.

Watch, son. You will learn something. Willem looked up at his father, whose attention was captured by the duel.

Thunder cracked above them, but slivers of sunlight still dotted the courtyard.

Aneirin stopped his outlandish waving of his sword as he stepped within Elios’ range. Whip quick, he lunged at the stocky bodyguard. Elios batted the blow aside, stepped forward, and punched Aneirin in the jaw. He followed the punch with a quick strike that grazed Aneirin’s chest.

The man-at-arms stepped away almost to the edge of the square and spit out a mouthful of blood. Elios approached him with the same slow gait as before.

Willem leaned forward until he was nearly spilling from his seat. He was no longer confident in the victor. He watched, enraptured.

Aneirin, who had lost his taunting smile, suddenly charged forward. He attacked with reckless abandon, cutting and lunging in futile attempts to penetrate Elios’ flawless guard. The flurry seemed endless, but Elios’ defense proved impenetrable.

Aneirin backed off to catch his breath, his sword starting to sag even though he held it in both hands. Elios didn’t even appear to be winded.

Elios stepped forward, more quickly than before. As he neared, Aneirin lashed out nervously. The scarred bodyguard stepped aside but didn’t riposte. Aneirin’s fatigue seemed to vanish, and he slashed his sword in quick strikes.

Elios parried Aneirin’s reinvigorated attack and lunged forward, locking his opponent in a bear hug. His arms stuck, Aneirin’s sword was useless. Elios didn’t use his. His forehead pummeled and shattered Aneirin’s perfect nose. Two more times his forehead crashed into the bloody mess. Willem had expected the final attack to feature fancy swordplay, not a brawl; was this what his father meant when he said Willem would learn something?

Aneirin’s sword fell from limp fingers and Elios released him. Before Aneirin could topple backward, Elios thrust his blade forward in a straight lunge, taking Aneirin high in the chest. His body sagged and Elios, in a vulgar display, kicked the dead man’s chest and freed his sword. Aneirin fell off the square and onto the cobblestones below.

Elios turned from the bleeding corpse and the men-at-arms gathered around their dead comrade. The duke’s guards were cheering and hollering. Elios ignored them. He walked to the center of the square and faced Willem.

At least to the 10-year-old, it felt like Elios was staring right at him. In reality, the eye contact was meant for his father. The duke stood from his throne and raised his arm in salute. Elios returned the gesture with a bow.

The guardsman began to walk toward the waiting crowd celebrating his victory when he noticed the sword still dripping blood. He dropped it and the sword clattered onto the cobbled stones with a clang.

Murderer! A pretty woman, a baby in her arms, had pushed her way through to the front of the men-at-arms where they prepared to move Aneirin’s body for burial. She hugged the sagging body and cradled the lolling head at her chest. Between her accusatory cries, she looked down at Aneirin and pushed his disheveled hair out of his lifeless eyes.

What’s going on? Willem asked his father.

The duke stood from his throne and two of his personal guards, Edwin and Stellos, stood by to escort him back to the palace.

It seemed the duel was over a lover’s quarrel. The lady clearly favored Aneirin, the duke answered briefly. Walk with us, Willem.

Willem followed his father, who limped along with his cane, but took one glance back at the square.

The weeping lover continued her tirade while she cradled Aneirin. Elios, who finally acknowledged the screaming, turned to the woman and spit in her direction before joining his fellow guards.

Two

Swordmaster Elios

The winter snows had melted and all of Eldrin relished in spring’s burgeoning warmth. Willem had turned 11 two weeks prior, and his father had decided it was time for him to begin his training as a warrior. Today, he would meet the man his father called his professor of swords. He had tried to goad the duke for more information, but his father had remained obstinately mum on the matter.

Whenever he had the time, he’d watch the men-at-arms spar, and sometimes they would even let him wave around a practice sword, but he had never handled the real thing. Even so, Willem had no doubt he would be a natural.

I need your mind here, young Master.

Vicar Fromm was standing in front of a map of Amkerth and pointing to one of the southern Duchies.

Sorry, sir, I’ll do better, Willem said in his best contrite voice.

Willem hated studies, but Fromm was both a kind and patient tutor. More importantly, though, he was also Duchess Elana’s confidant, and if Willem slacked off his mother was sure to hear of it.

Fromm tapped his thin cane against the map.

Duchy O’Lat, Willem answered.

What do you know about O’Lat? Fromm asked. Willem felt the intensity of his tutor’s gaze as he searched for an answer.

They have the best horses in Amkerth. An O’laten stallion had sired Willem’s horse, Arrow, which was the only reason he knew that fact.

Everyone knows that. Anything else? Fromm was clearly unsatisfied.

Willem tried to remember what he had learned about O’lat. Neither of his parents had any heritage in the region and the O’laten ambassador was a stuffy elder who was as boring as he was old.

Such as the weather or the land itself, Fromm added, trying to help.

Well, Willem struggled to gather his thoughts. O’lat was the southernmost Duchy and took up about a third of Amkerth. It’s warm year-round along the coast but in the north it's cool, rains all the time and has the largest forest in Amkerth. Willem perked up suddenly. Are the trees really so enormous? Supposedly there were trees there taller than Eldrin’s towers.

The Vicar nodded. Yes, they are magnificent. I’m sure you’ll visit them someday.

That was hard for Willem to imagine. The only time he had ever left Eldrin was to take a brief trip to central Amkerth and the capital city, but he had been too young to remember. Other than that, they never left Eldrin. Willem couldn’t help but glance out the window, longing to be outside.

Run along, Fromm dismissed him with a flick of his wrist. We will continue your studies tomorrow.

***

The training grounds were located behind the barracks. The ground there didn’t receive much light, and that combined with constant foot traffic left it a ruined, muddy mess. Willem hadn’t even started his training and already his trousers and shirt were filthy. He waited on a bench trying to quiet his nerves as he wondered who his father had chosen.

He nearly jumped from his seat when he heard the barracks door crash shut and turned to see his new instructor, instantly recognizing the scarred face.

He hadn’t thought Elios very impressive when he had watched the duel from his father’s dias, but up close was a completely different story. The man had a slight gut, but it was clear most of his mass was dense muscle. He was of average height, making him a full head taller than Willem.

Elios had thick salt-and-pepper hair stained white near his temple where his scar began. The scar went down his cheek and cut a stark line through his beard, ending near his lips. He was intimidating already; the scar made him terrifying.

Young Lord. Elios looked down at him with icy eyes, like a frozen lake daring you to cross.

Sir. Willem looked away from Elios and didn’t dare address him by his name. Unbidden, the memory of the duel forced its way to his mind’s eye. Elios had been so calm as he had ended Aneirin’s life.

Your father and I go way back. His father, your grandfather, asked me to be Fred’s sparring partner. Willem had only ever heard his mother refer to the duke as Fred. I was a few years his senior and your dear old granddad thought that I could harden up little Freddy. If hearing Fred made Willem uncomfortable, Freddy made him blanche.

And the duke wants you to do the same with me?

Yes, your father wants the same. He had a great trainer and became great in turn. We both expect the same for you.

Sir, Willem said, nodding his head.

Now let’s teach you how to kill. I hope you’re not as slow of a learner as your dad.

Elios waited for Willem in the muddy pit with his hands on his hips. Willem walked over to his new trainer, each step slow and unsure. He stopped in the middle of the mud a few feet in front of Elios and struggled to look him in the eye.

Step forward, Elios said.

Willem hesitated momentarily before taking a step forward.

Again.

Willem did so, this time a bit surer of himself. But before his foot plopped down, Elios kicked out his instep and sent Willem splashing into the mud. He pushed himself up onto his hands and knees and spit out a mouthful of wet earth.

What the hell! Willem yelped.

His remark was met with the smooth sound of steel being unsheathed. Willem felt the sword’s cool touch on the back of his neck.

"Sorry, little man, you’re dead.

Willem twisted his neck to see his new tutor with a wide grin. Get your ass up and let’s try this again. You’ll never touch a sword until you learn to walk.

***

Willem left the training session bruised, exhausted, and in surprisingly high spirits. Willem had assumed that his martial studies would be centered around the sword, the longsword in particular. It was the weapon carried by soldiers and nobility alike.

To his surprise, today’s lesson had been focused on walking. Elios had shown him a method of walking with his knees bent and his center of gravity low to the ground. From that position, Elios had him walk the box, which entailed moving in a square without ever letting his feet cross. Occasionally, Elios would try to push or trip him, usually leaving Willem sprawled in the mud.

When Willem asked when they would start using the sword, Elios shrugged and said, Gotta walk before you can run.

***

Willem opened the wide door that led to the basement of the palace. Coming down here always felt like entering a dungeon.

Don’t dawdle, young Lord, his chambermaid, Rosalina, scolded him from ahead. He didn’t know why his mother insisted she accompany him to the bath house. He was more than old enough to take care of this on his own.

Your mother expects you at dinner in an hour, so don’t take too long.

I know, Rosalina. Thanks though, Willem said as he followed after her. Rosalina had been with him as long as he could remember, and though she could be overbearing, Willem knew it came from a place of kindness and he didn’t let it annoy him too much.

They continued down the winding hallway that led to the subterranean chambers and the final doorway that opened to the baths.

Willem was struck by the wall of steam and almost instantly started sweating. He undressed quickly, discarding his soiled clothing, and lowered himself into the steaming waters.

He heard Rosalina clear her throat, and he turned toward her. Young Lord, I will take these and leave you a fresh set. Remember you have an hour. When these go out your time will be up. Rosalina pointed toward the candelabra she had set on one of the smooth shelves lining the walls of the spring.

The waters enveloped Willem and loosened his aching muscles. After relaxing for a few minutes, he reluctantly stepped out of the waters and took a small bar of soap from shelves stocked with towels, soaps, and perfumes.

This bath chamber was officially for the duke and his family, but many of the veteran members of the palace staff and more than one of his bodyguards were known to visit as well. The springs also supplied a second bath that was open to the public outside of the palace. Willem had never been there.

The ancient springs weren’t simply luxury - they were the reason Eldrin had been founded. There had always been a settlement near the bubbling pools, and as it grew, it eventually became the largest city in northern Amkerth and had been the seat of the Duchy since Willem’s distant ancestor was anointed the first duke of Eldrin.

Willem finished bathing and checked the candelabra, finding that each of the thin candles was close to burning out. He must have drifted off to sleep without realizing it. The warm waters could have quite the sedative effect.

He dried himself quickly - neither of his parents would tolerate tardiness - and changed into the fresh set of clothes Rosalina had set out for him. The trousers were a loose fit and the shirt was a silk with sleeves that went down to his wrists. He thought silk was effeminate, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as formal clothes he had worn to the duel.

***

Elios mentioned you did well today, the duke said between bites of pork, each saturating his beard with more mushroom gravy.

The lesson was good, Willem said as he sipped at his watered wine. Master Elios is an interesting teacher.

His father laughed, spitting out bits of meat. Elana shook her head at her husband’s lack of manners.

Yes, son, interesting is a good way to phrase it. The man is a jackass and a bully. Willem had never heard his father speak of anyone like that, but though the words were insults, it was clear the duke had great affection for Elios.

I liked him, but it certainly wasn’t what I expected. I thought we’d at least work with practice blades. Willem subconsciously switched grips on his table knife, as if it was a weapon.

Gotta walk before you can run, the duke said.

He told you that, too? Willem asked, incredulous.

Yep. He was a young soldier then, and I’m not sure why my father thought it appropriate for him to be my teacher. However, the King was right. Elios was the best choice. Duke Alfred sipped at his wine. He fought at my side in skirmishes and battles, championing Eldrin once or twice as well. I remember the day he took that axe to the face. I’d never seen him so angry.

Willem had stopped eating, paying rapt attention to his father.

It was in the last Highland rebellion, before your mother sued for peace. Alfred reached over and put his hand on Elana’s. He looked at her and smiled before continuing his story. Elios always complained about wearing his helm, but it sure as shit saved his life that day.

Alfred, Elana interrupted.

Sorry, Alfred apologized facetiously. Your mother here was on the wrong side of that war and can get a little irritable.

You’re talking about killing my brother. Of course, I get irritable, Elana responded without hesitation.

Sorry, love, may I continue? Alfred asked. Elana rolled her eyes but didn’t protest further.

I want to hear about Elios, Willem added. He had never been privy to such interesting details about a battle.

The duke grinned and Elana sighed. Fine, she said, worn down by both husband and son.

"It was a bloody day, Willem. This was before our shaky alliance with the mountain clans. They sought to push us out of Eldrin and take it for themselves. After days of posturing and failed negotiations, the soldiers of Eldrin met the Highland warriors at Felton’s Pass.

We were losing men at least as fast as them. Say what you will about the Highlanders, but they fight as well as any and their men are as large as the mountains they inhabit. Tellnor, I think that was his name. He glanced at Elana, who nodded "Well, he was a giant if there ever was one. We had finally started to get the better of them when Tellnor began cleaving through our men like they were nothing but children. He fought and fought until he stood alone atop a small hill.

"This was my task. I knew my older brother would be king, but I had been given Eldrin and the responsibilities that came with it. I started a headlong rush toward Tellnor, but Elios got there first.

"Elios moved with a deceptive quickness, ducking away from Tellnor’s axe and lunging forward with his sword. Tellnor, who was faster than someone that huge had any right to be, turned away from the lunge, escaping with a shallow cut on his upper arm.

I made a dire mistake, watching Elios face the giant champion. As both duke and son of the King, the price on my head was high. Killing me would end the battle, and my father would have paid a hefty ransom if they took me hostage.

As usual, your father was doing something stupid, Duchess Elana interrupted, and he is lucky to be alive.

The duke sighed before taking a drink. Your mother is right, of course. In pitched battle, it is indeed foolhardy to get distracted. I got my collar smashed by a savage’s hatchet. The duke pulled down the collar of his shirt to reveal a hairless blotch high on his chest. The damn shoulder still aches all through the winter, and don’t even get me talking about my busted knee.

Willem’s mother looked like she was going to speak, but the duke raised his hand. "I’m almost done, then you can point out all the mistakes I’ve ever made. Even with my wounds, I fought my way through the remaining Highlanders toward Elios and Tellnor.

The day was ours, but Tellnor refused to quit. He had honor, I’ll grant him that.

Hells, Fred, you’re making it seem like this duel lasted an eternity. Elios could have killed him twice in the time you’ve been talking.

Willem couldn’t help but notice that his father looked genuinely irritated, but the expression was brief and quickly covered with a smile.

Let him finish, Willem pleaded, eager for the finale.

Elios ducked away from the axe again and again without being able to counter. Suddenly, he slipped on the loose shale of the hilltop and Tellnor pressed his advantage, charging his shoulder into Elios and sending him toppling. His axe came down hard directly for Elios’s head. The duke slammed his hand onto the table, spilling wine all over the polished surface.

"I thought he was dead then and there. Elios had raised his sword and blocked the haft of the axe, but it hadn’t been enough to stop the full force of those winged blades. The axe cleaved through his helm and smashed his face, but somehow the blow had been stifled enough. Elios pulled a dagger from a sheath at his side and drove it into Tellnor’s thigh.

The Highlander reeled back but maintained the grip on his axe. Elios, his face nearly split in two, stabbed Tellnor through his eye, killing him where he stood.

Willem had felt instant respect for Elios, and seeing his father’s view toward his new tutor only increased it. He remembered watching Elios’ duel with Aneirin and now felt foolish thinking the latter ever had a chance at victory.

Yes, yes. What a riveting tale, Elana said facetiously, especially the 60th time you’ve heard it.

It was the first time for the boy, and I’m sure he loved it, the duke said, winking at his son.

The doors to the kitchen swung open and the corpulent chef, Vanlan, burst through, a steaming pie in each hand.

You said you didn’t want a large dessert, so I only made two, Vanlan said. His head was shaved, and his face was hairless, except for his bushy eyebrows. He reminded Willem of an oversized baby.

Van, aren’t you a doll. Elana stood and took one of the pies. As she slid the knife through the crust, the sweet aroma of honey and baked apples filled the air.

The meal was good, maybe even perfect, but Willem’s mind wasn’t on dessert. The only thing he could think of was becoming a swordsman. He attacked the food with renewed vigor, thinking of Elios. He would learn everything the scarred warrior had to teach.

Three

Family Dread

Again, Elios repeated. Willem’s ears were still ringing from Viktor’s last attack. It had been two years since Willem started his apprenticeship with Elios, and Willem knew he was growing, but he still felt like a child. Today was one of his most dreaded days; they used armor, and Viktor was encouraged to flaunt his size. The helm and padded armor protected Willem from injury, but it still left him bruised and aching. His sparring partner was only a year older, but he was nearly a head taller and thick of shoulder and waist.

Willem took a deep breath and raised his sword, readying himself for Viktor’s attack. As usual, he swung two-handed. Willem predicted this and avoided the attack completely, stepping past Viktor while slicing his sword across his opponent’s thigh. In a real fight, the move would have maimed or killed him.

Better, Elios nodded at him. Willem sighed underneath his helmet. Elios rarely complimented him, and when he did, he made sure Viktor was in earshot, goading him to fight twice as hard. Viktor took the same grip, waited for Elios’ signal, then charged forward. Before Willem could respond, Viktor batted his sword aside and barreled into him, knocking him onto his back and the wind from his lungs.

Willem rolled onto his stomach, trying to catch his breath before climbing onto his knees. No matter how much he practiced, he couldn’t get the better of Viktor’s brute strength.

Good work, Viktor, Elios said.

Viktor extended a hand and helped drag Willem to his feet. See you tomorrow, he said, leaving Willem with their instructor. Willem left his practice sword in the mud and skulked off. He fell heavily onto the bench outside the barracks.

What is it? You’re slower than usual, Elios teased as he walked over to Willem.

Today Willem felt like the boy he was, but fiercely longed to be the man he would become. My mother’s family is coming to visit with the Highland Delegation. Willem looked down, not sure why the impending visit bothered him so much.

His father was a legend; Willem, however, was still a few years from majority and only half-grown - no beard on his face, no man’s muscles under his cotton shirt. My cousin will be coming to swear his obeisance to Father. He’s only a mite older than me but already has a fearsome reputation.

You’re just nervous, son, but you don’t need to be. Yeah, your cousin Gregor will probably beat you up a bit out here but think about it from his point of view. You must face him, but he has to come face-to-face with his father’s killer.

As the words sunk in, Willem couldn’t help but feel like his dread about the visit was petty. He was nervous to meet Gregor, but he couldn’t imagine what his cousin must be feeling kneeling to a sworn enemy and being forced to face the man who killed his father. Elios was nearing 40, but he was still the meanest man in 400 miles.

You’re right. I never considered it, he said, feeling foolish but slightly reassured.

I usually am. Work the bar before you go back inside. Elios slapped him hard between the shoulders. Willem groaned and walked around the corner of the barracks to the back wall that was separated from the keep’s wall by 20 feet or so.

Bolted into the wall was an iron bar about seven feet from the ground. There had previously been training grounds back here, but they were moved indoors when the barracks expanded. The bar was the only remnant.

Willem jumped up to it, barely gripping the cool iron without slipping. He pulled himself up until his chest was touching the bar, and then lowered himself until his arms were extended. He managed three more before letting go.

It’s better than when you started, Elios said, shrugging.

It was true. It took him months before