“Arbiter,” he forced a smile. “A pleasant surprise.” Questions flooded his thoughts as he bowed his head, then gestured towards Alistair. “This is Alistair Orlein, future Lord of Bareon.” He then turned to Alistair. “This is Arbiter Kaien, from the Kingdom of Calador. He arrived here yesterday.”

  Alistair’s eyes widened for a split second. His lips parted in surprise, but he quickly turned that into a polite smile. “An honour, Arbiter.”

  “Likewise.” The Arbiter’s gaze lingered on the young Orlein only for a moment before he turned it back to Midhir. “You seem refreshed, highness. Let us spar.”

  This was a request he could refuse – not without offending the Arbiter. “It would be an honour, Arbiter.” He removed his cloak, and let it fall to the ground before walking to the centre of the courtyard, marked by the sigil carved into the ground – a bird, its wings aflame. He pushed aside the thoughts crowding his mind, and unsheathed the blade as the Arbiter took his place about half a dozen steps apart.

  “This isn’t a weapon of strength,” the Caladorian spoke, his eyes half closed, his own weapon also drawn. “It is a weapon of speed and wit.” He opened his eyes fully, his gaze focusing on Midhir. “On your mark, highness.”

  Midhir clenched his jaw. The Abiter’s stance was low, and the man exuded confidence with every motion he made. “Alistair, please be our judge.”

  The young Orlein nodded as he stepped back and to the side, where he could clearly see them both. He waited for a moment before raising his hand. “Begin!”

  Arbiter Kaien raised his sword over his right shoulder, its sharp edge facing the sky, and its tip facing Midhir. His knees were ever so slightly bent, his grip steady.

  A moment passed in charged silence before the Arbiter lunged forward. Midhir raised his own blade to counter. The sound of metal clashing against metal echoed in the courtyard as a small crowd began to gather, standing by the edges. Murmurs and whispers barely reached his ears, threatening to distract him.

  His heart raced as the Arbiter’s relentless strikes forced him to step back continuously. Sweat rolled down his chin, and his arms ached from the effort it took to defend. He sought an opportunity to strike, to try and land a single hit – to force him to step back once. That opportunity didn’t come.

  Their clash ended with Midhir facing the sharp edge of the Arbiter’s blade. “It was a duel well fought.” The Arbiter said with a cheerful smile as he sheathed his blade. “You learn fast, Highness.”

  Midhir couldn’t help but scoff at the thought. “I was like a child who held a sword for the first time.” He shook his head as he also sheathed his blade. He hadn’t landed a single hit, hadn’t forced the Arbiter to defend himself properly once. With a sigh, he wiped the sweat off his face. He was exhausted already.

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  “You learn, Highness. It takes time.” The Arbiter raised his gaze towards the sky. “If you excuse me, I must be on my way. Let us spar again soon.”

  “Of course.” He stepped aside as the Arbiter walked away, into the keep. As the doors closed behind him and the crowd that had gathered scattered, he let out a sigh and shook his head.

  “It wasn’t so bad.” Alistair commented with a half-smile. “Not many could stand their ground against an Arbiter for quite so long. Especially using a weapon they’re unfamiliar with.”

  “It showed me how much I’m lacking.” He took a deep breath and unsheathed the weapon once more. The light, well balanced blade was comfortable in his hands, though the unusual curve of the weapon often threw him off, causing his strikes to lose their balance, and not strike true. He needed to train more, he needed to get used to the weapon, make it a part of himself, an extension of his mind as Alistair’s spear was a part of the young Orlein.

  * * *

  Three days passed in the blink of an eye, though the four Solus students used what little time they had to prepare the best they could. Arwen finally chose one of the crystal staves with the help of Willow and Alistair, while Willow spent most of her time by her father’s bedside, praying to the sun and the daughter that he would wake up.

  Midhir spent most of his time sparring. Arbiter Kaien joined him sometimes, though most of the time his sparring partner was Alistair, or one of the many members of the Imperial Guard. Day by day, he grew more familiar with his new weapon, though mastery was still many years away.

  They gathered at the gates of the Vermillion Keep on the dawn of the fourth day. The guardsmen prepared their horses, while carriages were assigned to the groups of students and staff of Solus Military Academy. Scouts rode out ahead of them as they finished their preparations.

  Midhir helped Arwen and Willow load their belongings into the back of their carriage, then lifted his own luggage. While they all would have preferred to travel lighter, several sets of new uniforms had been prepared for them, as an audience with the Emperor was likely, and one needed to prepare such.

  With a grunt, he pushed his own luggage into the compartment in the back of the carriage, then turned around, only to come face to face with Ilya.

  “I made it in time,” she said with a tired smile. Her eyes were bloodshot and had dark circles around them. Her hair was a mess, her clothes wrinkled and creased, as if she had slept in them.

  “When did you last sleep?!” Midhir exclaimed. Ilya never walked around looking like this.

  “Not important,” she chuckled, then stepped closer and hugged him. “Promise me you’ll be careful.” She whispered. “Don’t get into fights you can’t win.”

  “I know, I’ll be careful. I’ll be fine.”

  “Be careful with Father too.” She added with a much lower, and much deeper voice. “You can’t waver, not once.”

  “I know, Ilya.” He knew perfectly well. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”

  She stepped back, then smiled. “Don’t make me come get you, ok?”

  He couldn’t help but laugh. If he was ever in such a situation, she would truly just drop everything and come. He knew that – he had always known that. “Alright, alright.” He said with a chuckle. “I’ll see you soon, sister. You be careful too. Take care of mom.”

  The convoy soon set off, passing through the city just as the sun began to rise. They silently watched as the city was soon behind them, and only the overgrowth was visible from the windows of the carriage.

  Their week-long journey to Derwen Hold had begun. The Northern Wall awaited them.