XII; Castle Estain

  The carriage rolled up a path alongside a flowing stream, and in the distance, the iron gates of Castle Estain stood tall. A tower four stories high flanked its left and right, and a cobblestone keep covered in moss and leaf stalked its backdrop.

  “So are you going to tell me, or do I have to ask?”

  I turn to Professor Riscard, on the other side of the carriage driver. “Whatever do you—”

  “—you know what I mean,” he laughed. “You snuck out of camp last night. If I wasn’t awake to see it, I’m sure the massive pick you’ve got next to you would have given it away.”

  I’m not known for subtlety. “Okay. I did.”

  “Right. Was it to talk to your bandit friends? Is that why we saw none of them in the woods?”

  “No.” I’m pretty sure they’re all dead. “It was purely to get this pick.” I tap its hammer. “And you must know, I didn’t coax Alice—”

  “—I know.”

  “Do you have to always cut me off?”

  “Be more unpredictable,” the Professor said. “It’ll serve you in all manners of life.”

  As we approached the gate, a guard in chain and helm hailed the convoy atop the battlements.. “State your business,” he yelled.

  “Prime Magi Riscard of the Tower of Sigel, here at the Duke’s request.”

  “We bid you welcome.”

  The gate creaked open and the carriage entered the courtyard. In the melee lists, a group of guards were going at it in light sparring, and on the balcony of the keep, a fat lord cheered in jubilation as he descended the steps.

  Professor Riscard leapt off the carriage and did a light bow towards the lord. “Your grace.”

  “Forget all that,” Duke Estain laughed, his topal eyes falling onto me. “One of your students, is it?”

  “That he is.”

  I climbed down and did a similar bow. “Your grace.”

  By now, nearly all the others had left the carriages. Gett was stretching, Fedwin was nowhere to be seen, and the three girls curtsied to the Duke.

  “There shall be a banquet this evening in honour of your arrival,” said the Duke. “Alderin?”

  “My liege,” replied the servant to his right, an old man in a fine green tunic.

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  “Show the pupils to their quarters, if you would. And then the tailor. I’ll not have leather worn in my hall. Riscard, might we talk a moment in private?”

  “Of course,” the Professor replied. Turning to us all, he gave a curt nod, and the two of them walked on.

  “Right this way, ladies and gentlemen,” said Alderin, leading us into the lower level of the keep.

  One by one, he showed us private quarters. The girls had one each, and we were given one to share. With four beds. No doubt Ran had been allotted a place before he was waylaid. Soon after, the girls and us were led into separate rooms, and a groomed man bid us strip as he measured us.

  Though Fedwin needed certain adjustments to be made, due to his thin stature, Gett and I were afforded clothes off the rack. Mine was a black doublet, with striped arms and checkered hosen quartered white, and his was a red shirt, thick and loose, cushioned with a grey half-cape and tight, blue pants. Furthermore, we were each given nice, slim shoes. Mine were black—there was an awful lack of colour given to me—and Gett’s were grey.

  “Lord Alderin?” I called.

  “Yes, Young Sir?”

  “Are we given leave of the castle?”

  “Of course—beyond any private abodes, naturally.”

  Nodding, Gett and I left the lower levels and emerged back in the courtyard. The guards were still going about their melee, and the driver smoked a pipe atop the carriage as his daughter leisured against his shoulder.

  “Look at you,” laughed Gett. “We’ll make a noble of you yet.”

  “Yes…” Funny how far I’ve risen.

  In the middle of the lists, a knight had appeared. In padded gambeson beneath a silver plate, his barbute’s visor was in the shape of a dragon’s eyes, and a purple feather plopped out of his head. He fenced with a guard for a few bouts, then used a round kick to cast him back to the earth, holding his sword to the guard’s throat.

  “Do you yield?” asked the knight.

  And I recognise the voice. It’s the Duke’s son. Hans. And he saw me too, and he must recognise me as well—despite the eyes—because he had removed his helmet. A head of golden hair, curled and shimmering, fell to his shoulders and teal eyes looked me up and down.

  “Good Gods. I’d thought myself rid of you.”

  I hold out my arms. “Give us a hug!”

  He barks as he steps over the rails and approaches us. Returning my hug… which, I must say, was a rather odd thing for him to do, he patted my back and stared into my eyes.

  “You’ve awakened to magic, I take it? I recall rather dreadful brown things used to occupy those sockets.”

  It’s quite odd. Very much so. Last we met, some half-a-decade ago, I could’ve sworn he hated me with a fiery passion. No, not sworn. I know it. Yes, we were far younger then, in our early teens, but it seems like he’s forgotten all about it.

  “Worry not for our past feud, old friend,” he said, glancing at Gett. “We fought together—that should be enough to warrant a friendlier greeting.”

  “Right… can everyone read my mind now, or something?”

  “We always could,” he laughed, holding a hand out to Gett. “Sir Hans de Estain, son of the Lord Duke. A pleasure.”

  “Likewise,” Gett replied. “Gett vyn Helsmith, nephew to the Grand Baron of Luchy.”

  “Splendid,” cheered Hans, looking back at the lists. “Good Gram, where’s that monstrous hammer you used to hurl about?”

  “Inside.”

  “I see.” Hans unclicked his helm from its tether and backed away. “I’m afraid I must return to my training, but we’ll see each other tonight, I’m sure. ‘Till then.”