He was lucky Magenta hadn’t asked any more questions.

The gates to the centre of Bluddrayl, locally referred to as the inner core of the town, stood open wide, as they had all Victus’ life. Still, he paused before passing through, to school his face and gather his focus. His blood was coursing through him a mile a minute.

But he had been careful. He had nothing to worry about.

Probably.

Victus reached out a steadying hand and touched the intricate wrought iron detailing. The gate cooled under his palm, as though the warmth gathered there from the morning’s sun was working into his skin. He knew this to be the result of the spellwork that fortified the core’s defences. Though he had no innate magic of his own, he had been joined to the spellwork when he was inducted as a Bluddrayl warrior, to defend the town as part of the group more formally known as the Gwerr. Every member of the Gwerr was joined so.

The eight noble families depicted around Bluddrayl’s town seal no longer ruled over its people; instead there was a council of eight independently elected officials. What were once their sprawling estates now functioned as the town’s civic properties, including the hospital, the council chambers and courthouse, and the Gwerr’s barracks. Most of the once-noble families had stayed — those who had supported the transition to an elected council — moving to more modest homes in the town’s outer sprawl, where all of Bluddrayl’s sizeable populace resided.

And Victus’ duty was to that populace.

His very life he had sworn in service to the council and the people of Bluddrayl. But his heart…

He shook his head. There was no reason to feel conflicted, he told himself. She was not a distraction. He wouldn’t let her be.

He withdrew his hand from the gate and stood straight and to attention. Looking out across the grounds beyond, there was no sight of her — and why should there be? — unless — was that a huddle of ladies moving between buildings? — yes, it definitely was —

Anyway, it didn’t matter. He would report to the Gwerr taskmaster for his afternoon’s allotment of duties.

As he crossed the grass, heedless of the crisscrossing paths intended for foot traffic, he decided there was no reason he should not break out into a jog. To keep fit. Get to his duties all the faster. Use up the excess energy and surplus blood supply that was unsettling him. In fact, a run would do even better.

‘Victus! Just the man I was looking for all morning.’

Victus faltered in his stride and almost tripped.

He hadn’t taken any notice of the man and his group of warriors-in-training who were performing their drills on the grounds. Victus had almost shot right past them. Reluctantly, he circled back at a more sedate pace, as his fellow member of the Gwerr crossed toward him.

Samuel lowered his voice for only the two of them to hear. ‘Where were you? You’re lucky you’re an Ironblade.’ He winked. His tone was half-laughing. Victus knew Samuel well enough. He was familiar with the way he swaggered in his walk, less boast and more stocky strength. He was familiar with his exceptional patience as he trained the would-be warriors. He was familiar enough with Samuel that he’d say he liked him, and Samuel had always seemed to like him too. But the comment still crawled over Victus’ skin like an insect. He rubbed at his neck and tried weakly to smile back.

Samuel raised his voice again, in order to carry across the open grounds, as he said, ‘The apprentice warriors have been itching for a real fight.’ He shrugged self-deprecatingly, like he was not enough of a challenge.

Victus’ eyes itched to look back over his shoulder to where he had seen the group of ladies walking. But he didn’t. He took a deep breath and reminded himself to focus on his duties with the Gwerr.

Grimly, he held out his hand for a wooden training sword, which Samuel supplied from his own scabbard. As Victus marched past him toward the apprentices, Samuel turned and proclaimed to them, his arms half-raised, ‘You have your challenger! The goal is to disarm him.’

Victus strode with purpose and with a fighter’s even balance in his measured gait.

He didn’t hesitate to strike first. He had knocked the sword from the nearest apprentice’s hand before the apprentice had even realised the contest had begun.

Victus heard Samuel bark out a laugh from somewhere behind him.

‘Well, do you wait for your enemy to declare the battle begun before you even ready yourself?’ Victus asked.

This should have been enough warning for the second apprentice, who at least had a chance to raise her own sword before it was knocked from her hand.

‘Two to nothing!’ Samuel called out with glee.

Finally, the remaining four apprentices responded. Wordlessly, they were able to first form a tighter group formation, before advancing toward Victus while they expanded their circle — ideally to close around him, Victus knew, but he intended to make such a manoeuvre more difficult for them.

Though they had not spoken, it was evident from their shared glances that more of the group looked toward one particular apprentice to gauge their movements, and Victus selected her as his next target — not the nearest apprentice, who he spun away from, but the girl with a flop of short brown curls that fell around her eyes, a look of determination and steady focus on her face.

The spin momentarily stalled the group’s encircle manoeuvre, but Victus’ target was ready to face him as he stopped before her. He watched her eyes and drew his sword back — then thrust forward with a well-placed kick in her chest, advantaged by his height and relative flexibility. The shock in her face told him that no one had yet trained her — probably any of them — in how to transition between hand-to-hand and weaponry combat. He almost felt sorry for her as he realised.

But she managed to bring up her sword and strike his shin even as she stumbled to the ground, her grip on her sword’s hilt firm and unaltered.

Fortunately for her, her fellows had quickly closed in on Victus, now almost a semi-circle formation; the momentum of his strike should have given them an opening to counterstrike, but they gave him just enough time to draw back and away.

One of them called out a command word — Victus thought it was ‘eagle’ but he wasn’t sure — and Victus smiled. He remembered first learning the command drills, too; in truth, none of his training was so long ago. After almost five years of single-minded focus, he had been able to join as a relatively young member of the Gwerr. And now your devotion is not so singular.

Unfortunately for the would-be warriors, that meant Victus could guess at their coming feint.

Two rapid movements unhanded two more of them — running through one to get to the other, crashing their fists with his sword in close quarters — and then they were out of formation again. If anything, he was sure they fought worse, more apprehensively, together than they would have alone.

Once the unhanded apprentices had gotten out of the way, he faced the two remaining: the curly brunette again, and one other. So much for felling the fiercest first. He added a false stumble to give the latter’s strike a chance, and though it made contact with his fist, it wasn’t strong enough to unhand him the way Victus had his fellows.

Then the other lunged forward and rained down attack after attack on Victus, powerful, fast, so that he had no opening that would not have made him vulnerable; but her fellow remaining apprentice was more hindrance than help, and as he moved to strike forward himself, collided a well-placed strike with the other’s, so that both bounced off each other, giving Victus an opportunity. It made sense to strike the curly brunette now. She was clearly the bigger threat.

But for his honour.

So he shifted to the left in order to place the other between him and the brunette. The boy’s strike brought him so close that Victus could reach out to grab it right out of his hands (When did you get so old that you started to think of young men as boys?). So he did.

Leaving only her and he, at last, circling each other.

There was a shift in the mood. Everything slowed. The other students watched closely, fretfully — jealously. Victus could sense their mix of moods just as he could sense his adversary’s. She was barely winded from her earlier barrage. She gave off waves of calm. As if she had nothing to prove to him or anyone else watching on. So different from how he had been as a student, with everything to desperately prove.

A thought occurred to Victus:

She could lose this fight and not care.

Had Victus ever felt that way as an apprentice?

Did he ever now?

Failure was not an option.

Success was the bare minimum.

Victus felt an unexpected rage well in him but knew better than to quash it down. The trick was to let his mind think and feel but to remain as palpably present as possible. The rage swelled his muscles. Flushed his face and he snarled a ragged breath — enough of measuring up and waiting for her to strike first — he lunged in —

— and so did she.

He over-reached and side-stepped as her blow glanced against him; though his faux-blade met only air, his fist struck her side — pivoting his strategy, he pushed his weight into her. She let the force spin her, lowered her stance and, holding her sword with both hands, sliced the wooden blade along his waist until the very tip snaked off him and glanced his knuckles.

The contact smarted something fierce. He flexed his one-handed grip on his sword and brought it around again — as did she hers — and with her speed and positioning she was able to get her swing in first. Victus tracked her sword’s movement and aborted his own strike to catch the wooden blade in his free hand, then pulled it in close while he thrusted his own sword straight out and into her belly.

She gasped.

And let go of her sword.

Oops. That will leave a bruise.

Victus turned to look at Samuel with a cringe. He saw the flash of shock in Samuel’s eyes before the man quickly abolished it.

Unsure what to do next, Victus passed Samuel both of the two swords he now held. ‘Sorry.’

Samuel laughed gently. ‘Not at all. They should learn what it is for someone not to go easy on them every now and then. If I had expected anything different, I would not have sought you out.’ But Victus had seen the look that had crossed Samuel’s face.

Samuel turned to the group. ‘Now you have seen how the son of a great warrior does it.’

Victus continued to watch Samuel’s expression closely. The first time was one thing — but a second time — Victus did not know the man to be conniving. He was probably being too sensitive. Samuel couldn’t know how close his words shaved to bone.

‘To be fair, if they had been real swords, I could have been slit across the torso and lost a hand instead.’ Victus looked to the apprentice with curls whom he had bested last.

She met his gaze from where she was seated on the ground. She held a lotus position as she recovered her breath. She did not hide her need for recovery, nor did she seem to have the impulse to make excuses in hindsight. She was seated with unstated assuredness, regardless of the outcome. She still seemed to not care that she had lost. ‘And if you wore armour and a reinforced glove, it might have been the same.’

Victus nodded in appreciation. She nodded back, then lifted one arm to carefully stretch out her side. He had the sudden thought that, if their roles had been reversed, she would not have spared a thought for anyone’s honour, as he had; she’d have simply fought hard and well. She was neither cocky nor apathetic. She just was. Victus was surprised by the jealousy this stirred in him. You’re probably projecting onto her, he told himself. Just like with Samuel. Get your head on straight.

And though he dearly wanted to, he knew exactly what he was about to excuse himself to do next, where he was about to go, still hoping to find Ancita.