Part 3

(leander insert? Spiral 1 45)

(date ref: september 8th vol 1)

ARMAND

The prince spent the intervening time wandering the nearby halls, wanting to keep his muscles warmed up. He felt filled with a kind of superior smirk, and infused with a rush of life. Armand anticipated the imminent challenge greatly, savouring the wait like a fine wine.

Eventually it was time. He felt a moments trepidation as he stood before the solid imposing doors – had he bitten off more than he could chew? There was no delay however, for the doors swung open - the northern barbarians, dutiful as ever. A cheer went up for their prince – obviously the drinking had already begun. He strode in, waving jauntily for him today the drinking would have to wait a short while. Glancing around he noticed several scabbards – two knights, a young lord, Sir Ethelridge (Armand shot him an amused glance), and a shaking thrall. He had probably borrowed the sword, and was hoping to earn his freedom, or a place in the army. There was no specific rule against slaves carrying arms, but a valid reason was needed.

A circle formed around the prince

"what's the prize?" the young lord called out

"If you can beat him we'll think of something" the queen said, then Louie gruffly added

"You can go first"

The cocky lad stepped forward. Armand recognised the lad, he was roughly similar in age to himself, but unlike the prince this noble had learned swordplay in earnest. Armand had seen him swaggering ungainly about with his sword, trying to impress the girls, Armand had always felt him to be half the man he was. With a sneer of contempt the prince advanced on his first opponent. He vaguely remembered that his foe had once broken his sword arm, falling from a high tree when they were all young – before they knew of their adult roles.

Knowing how to hurt the lord, Armand beat harshly on his opponents defence. Each blow sending jarring vibrations down the youths sword, jarring the old injury. Armand saw resignation enter the lord's eyes as the old pain returned, and he grinned. He beat the feebly attacking sword aside, and touched his point to the nobles heart.

His next two challengers fell just as easily, the thrall found the nerve to step forward, but had little skill, the prince made a note to give him some reward for his courage – not too bigger boon though, it would not do to have the slave population taking up arms. Then, finally, Sir Ethelridge stepped forward

"back for more?" the prince asked quietly

"Stand fast my lord" the seasoned warrior spat back, obviously determined to regain some of his lost pride. There was a resigned fury in the knights attack, he was by far stronger than the prince. Changing tactics Armand backed away, encouraging the warrior in to wasteful thrusts and longer lunges. Soon he began to tire. Using some ploys learned from his mother the day before, he gained ground. A series of lightning fast feints left Ethelridge reeling and confused. Again the princes steel was at his throat.

For a moment Armand found himself without opponent, he paused, glad to catch his breath, someone passed a chalice of laudanum to the prince, which he gladly drank

"will anyone else challenge me?" he inquired. For a moment no one moved, then an isle opened up from the doors of the Great Hall.

Aria was walking towards him. He whistled. At a respectful distance the warrioress stopped and bowed. "your highness. If I may, I wish to challenge you"

Armand considered her proposition very seriously. She was a large woman, but small next to Ktarth – the prince was glad that it was not he who had challenged him. The fearsome reputation of the barbarians was well deserved perhaps they had decided she was a fairer fight.

"I said open challenge, and open it is. I will not refuse merely because I may well lose. Let us play" he said finally

she nodded and dropped to her fighting stance, one slightly different to the Carthian way of fighting. They began slowly, each testing the other for any weakness. Armand recognised right away that it would be a very close match. Really it would not matter if he lost, the fact that he had fought at all would be respected. Not many could honestly say they would have willingly fought the barbarian. Bets were being laid all around the room, he could hear the jingle of coins.

Aria had found a slight weakness in his defence, and he narrowly avoided her blade. As he fought her he felt his skills improving, found new reserves of energy, a renewed spurt of speed. Her face registered shock as his blade moved ever faster. They grimly battled, far longer than any of his previous bouts.

Finally, the barbarian began to tire, absently he wondered why he himself still felt strong. But now finally, with the upper hand though Armand was enjoying himself. Puzzlement came over her face as she realised she was losing. With an authoritative parry her sword was sent flying from her hand. The princes sword continued its full-force flight, straight at her throat. Involuntarily she cried out. He halted the sword as it touched the skin of her neck. As he watched a tiny trickle of blood ran out from beneath the steel.

Ignoring the wound she backed away, bowed and collected her sword. Without a word she sheathed it and returned to her post. Suddenly the tension broken there was much cursing, and passing of coins, the court had bet heavily on that bout.

"and so" Armand cordially said " the legacy of Louie, my father, the king, lives on!" he raised his weapon to the king, and bowed. The court erupted in cheers.

Stood there, in the centre of the Great Hall, Armand was suddenly faint. Spots of exhaustion swam on front of his vision. Unwilling to show weakness now he hurried from the hall, swaying slightly on his feet, he felt worse with every step. Struggling to keep on his feet he went onwards to his rooms, fighting oblivion with every step. He was sweating now, cramps seized every muscle, and as the doors to his rooms came into view he collapsed, totally exhausted.

(date ref: september 13th)

KTARTH AND ARIA

Aria had been unsure how the prince would react to her challenge, he was not the boy they had seen grow up, and the new man had many unquantifiable aspects. Also such an event had not previously taken place, it had been unclear to the barbarians weather it was appropriate for her to step forward.

The prince, she noticed had carefully considered her request he knew that her people were masters of the sword, showing that he was not all bravado and superciliousness, he was aware of his own abilities and not driven purely by egotism. Of course, the prince had reasoned that it was better to fight and lose, than to back away from the fight.

Aria mulled, at first she had the advantage, the prince well on the defence. It had seemed though, that as he fought her he had learned from her. She felt her own unique moves being used against her. Then from nowhere, he had found a reserve of energy and focus from out of nowhere, still breathing easily he seemed to anticipate her moves, then superhumanly he had disarmed her.

Thoughtfully she touched the still throbbing welt on her throat.

Ktarth entered the little room, saw Aria sat staring at the fire. She looked up upon his entrance, and forced a smile

"What did you make of it?" he asked, obviously referring to the fight

"Very curious – no good will come of it" she sounded very pessimistic

"My. Being beaten brings out the worst in you these days!" Ktarth knew that in her frame of mind, even gentle teasing was a dangerous thing to do, but had decided to risk it.

"Hmmm" she had not noticed " he seems possessed of more than he was before. The strength behind his sword was more than I would have expected, perhaps more than he expected. It is not normal that he could have fought off several men then still defeat me, he has no real experience"

"So we are led to believe. They say that insanity gives great strength"

"There is something strange about that sword. I doubt it came from the armoury – I know it's contents intimately" Ktarth did not doubt that, even for one of their tribe Aria had always been overly fascinated by killing implements

"It was moving too quickly for me to get a good look at it. All in good time I suppose," he said conclusively

"Good time?"

(date ref: september 15th spiral 1 45)

LOUIE

For the king of Carthia, the next few days involved endless meetings. The Lords and Generals had itchy feet. Paranoid and somewhat panicked they had become convinced that Surrendia wanted war. Louie had his doubts, but it was a threat he could not safely ignore. One day the Surrendians would attack again, it would be prudent to be prepared. Pouring over maps and statistics sheets they steadily drew up defensive – and attack – plans. The stronghold itself would never be in danger, but no one was ready to give up their extensive and lucrative estates on the continent. Carthia's main defence was the massive mountain range, it effectively cut Surrendia off from Carthia. there was only one way 'The Way' through the mountains. A low valley led through its tortuous peaks. Indeed it had been there that the original battles had taken place. The Way put any attacking army at a disadvantage, there could be no element of surprise, and with the army bottle necked within its walls the cavalry would be useless, and their own rear troops would – and had – meant that retreat was impossible. Surrendia had fallen thusly in the Great War, trapped within the Way, Louie's army had cut down their leaders then sat back and watched the rabbled army desperately try to escape.

The prince, seemingly back to his old habits, took no interest in the battle plans – nobody minded, he could be too 'surprising' these days. The veterans were glad to get on with what they did best with out new fangled ideas.

(date ref spiral 1 47)

ARMAND

To the castles population as a whole, Armand had vanished, presumably retreating to his rooms. It was unusual, the prince had always been a prominent figure of the castles social life. His recent – increased – temperamentality, as well as his added dangerousness had made the courtiers jumpy, so his absence was accepted without question.

The truth was that Armand had been more active than ever before, albeit in secret. Now that his plans were formed, there was little left but waiting. Driven by a thirst for power and there by knowledge, he roamed the secret ways. Learning the castles secrets as he went – and ruining many expensive garments in the process.

The duel had taken a lot out of the prince, he was a slightly built youth anyway, and most of his energy had been mental, and artificial. Leander had stumbles across the unconscious prince by accident. Armand dazed by fatigue had collapsed outside his rooms, and been unable to continue – too weak to even call for help. The prince remembered Painton's ashen, and panicky concern, and Leander's quiet methodical care only dimly, but enough to appreciate it.

Events were not moving fast enough for Armand, threads of power were within his reach, but not in his actual grasp. Somehow the stage was not yet set. To the prince the very castle waited with him. It took a full day for Armand to recover his strength enough to notice how much his muscles ached. The open challenge had probably been, in retrospect a bit ostentatious even for him, but after all that was his style – all or nothing. Peeling back his bed covers he was nauseated by the myriad of blade shaped bruises scattered over his body. While fighting he had felt no sword blows, now though he was definitely paying the price. Grimacing he rose, and swore, hoping grimly that his opponents were in as much pain as he was. Negligently as ever the prince slouched unclothed in his chair. Thoughtfully someone had left him a bottle of laudanum on the table. Half a numbing bottle later he felt much improved. Painton and d the boy arrived, and transformed Armand from a tired and disheveled boy, to a stately prince, then they left.

It was then that Armand took to the passages. He spared no though for the expensive clothing he was about to ruin – it was doubtful that Armand knew what money meant in real terms. He stared at the walls of his bedchambers. Surely an entrance would be concealed here somewhere – for safety's sake as an escape route. He discounted the external wall for obvious reasons. Then by logic or intuition he began testing the wall by his bed, inch by inch. He had hunted for what seemed like an eternity, but at last a small hatch – just large enough for a man to crawl through popped open. Unwilling to grope through the dark again he fetched a taper from the wall and edged through the hatch. The space continued as a slightly higher crawlway, which then opened out into a fairly large room. It looked as if at one time this secret place had been in constant use, its space was furnished and filled with 'things'. Armand wondered if there were whole districts on the 'wrong' side of the Stronghold, towns hidden, practically inaccessible, but right there, amidst the used parts of the castle. Right under their feet. Armand shuddered. Surely ghosts would walk those areas. The prince was not a superstitious person by nature, but many old buildings seemed to take on their own 'unlife' if left undisturbed too long, like in the maze. The prince shook his head to dispel these damning thoughts, they could do no good. These passages were crucial to his plans, he could not afford to become spooked. There were far to many oddities in this room than Armand wanted to wade through at that moment, he sought a different goal.

It took much longer to find his way onwards than it had the previous time, his aching muscles did not help matters. At one point the prince even returned to the hatchway to check that he could exit the passageways, and was not trapped. It seemed that the room was specifically hidden from the secret ways as it was from the right side. Eventually the way onwards revealed itself to be a featureless wall/doorway leading to a cavity inside one of the support walls for the castle. Armand had always been told that their thickness was to hold the weight of the mountain, but this space clearly belied that assumption. At almost familiar intervals there were junctions leading off, no doubt leading to the walls between suites of rooms, no doubt there would be spy holes there.

The part of the castle in which Armand initially wandered was too boring for spy games. He roamed onward, unafraid now of getting lost – he could re-enter the castle anywhere, he could not be challenged, and if he were discovered somewhere unlikely he was confident of making a cover story to explain away his presence. In the more active part of the castle, spy holes were more evident, almost everywhere, even in the main corridors. They were astonishing in their abundance, from his viewpoint each one was a beam of light. They were a testament to the fact that the thralls assigned to cleaning the castle did a poor job, how they had not noticed them was beyond Armand.