Morwen tossed the fighting staff to Andy. It was early morning, and mist rose from the mountainside in the near distance.

  The staff was hefty. The dark wood was polished and sealed, but otherwise, it was just a plain staff, about five feet in length and two inches in diameter.

  “This is both the simplest and most important weapon to master,” Morwen said as she stood beside Andy and held her staff with both hands. “Copy my movements,” she said.

  Andy held his staff out in front of him, his hands gripping it about a shoulder length apart.

  Morwen shifted her grip so that one her right hand faced upward and her left hand downward on the horizontal staff.

  Andy did the same.

  “Now, bring your staff to a vertical position,” she said, rotating counterclockwise until it pointed to the sky, right hand resting above the left.

  Andy did the same.

  “Now, find the halfway point between horizontal and vertical positions, a forty-five degree angle,” she said, holding her staff diagonally across her torso.

  Andy copied her.

  “There are two basic attacks from this position,” said Morwen. “You can strike from the top.” She brought her staff downward, pushing her right hand forward and pulling her left hand back. “Or you can strike from below,” she pulled the top of the staff over her right shoulder as she pushed left arm out, bringing the staff upward in a swift motion.

  Andy copied both. He imagined an enemy in front of him, bringing his staff down on their shoulder, then up against their rib cage.

  They drilled the basic attacks for a few rounds before moving to other variations, attacking from a horizontal position, swinging the staff like a bat to achieve extra range, and using the center of the staff to deliver a powerful blow to the enemy.

  “Great,” Morwen said, “You’ve got the basics down. Let’s go over forms and drills, that’s what you will be tested on in a couple of days.”

  “What is a form?” Andy asked. “He thought he had heard of it in martial arts before, but he was never a karate guy.

  “It’s a sequence of movements designed to demonstrate your understanding of proper technique. The key, with the forms, is simultaneous precision and ease.”

  Andy nodded.

  She led him through a series of movements. Horizontal position, strike to the right followed by a jab forward, strike to the left followed by a jab forward. Diagonal position, strike from above, strike from below, jab forward. Two swings of the staff while gripping it on the end like a bat. Shove, shove, roll forward and rise into a strike from above.

  Andy mimicked her as best he could, following each movement carefully. The horizontal and diagonal positions came fairly naturally to him, as did the shoving. He had more trouble with the wide swings, and he had the most trouble rolling forward.

  He had to enter the forward roll without use of his hands to stabilize himself, since they were holding his staff. He had to be accurate, tucking his chin and making ground contact with his shoulder in the right way. He tried a few times, knocking the wind out of himself and falling onto his back both times.

  Each time, Andy rose up, slightly more frustrated than the last.

  “Take your time,” Morwen said.

  “I don’t understand why I’m not getting it,” said Andy, breathing heavily.

  “I admit,” Morwen said, “this staff form is a bit more geared toward dancers. With a level in [acrobatics] it would have been easy. But you’re a brawner, so you’re going to have to work a bit more diligently at this.”

  “Is there a version of the form without the roll?” Andy asked.

  Morwen chuckled. “No,” she said. “Part of mastering the basics of the staff is the ability to maneuver on the ground with it. It’s maneuvers like these that separate people with the [martial weapons] skill from novices.”

  She was right. Andy wanted to skip over the difficult bits, but it was precisely the difficulty of the form that made it worth learning.

  Andy tried again, and again, and again. He landed on his neck, on his back, and finally, on his side.

  “Something about the staff is just tripping me up,” he said. “I just can’t roll forward without my hands.”

  “How about this,” Morwen said. “Why don't you give it a shot without the staff. Get good at rolling without your hands first, then add the staff back in. When you have an issue like this, it’s wise to break it into its component pieces and then put those pieces back together.”

  Andy nodded in agreement, leaning his staff on the trunk of a tree.

  Without the staff to worry about, the task seemed simpler.

  Fall forward on your shoulder into a roll, and rise back to your feet.

  Andy pushed forward, tucking his chin as he dropped his shoulder to the ground. He kept his hand at his side as he ducked into a perfect roll, rising to his feet.

  “See, not so bad, right?” Morwen said.

  “I guess not,” said Andy. He drilled the roll a few more times before retrieving his staff.

  “Now, just do the same thing. The staff will remain horizontal at your waist, you just roll over it. You can forget it’s there.”

  Andy nodded. He kept his hands at his side, but this time, each hand held onto the fighting staff. Then, he did what he had just done repeatedly: he fell headfirst into the ground, tucking his chin and making contact on his shoulder, rolling forward and rising to his feet. He finished with an overhead attack.

  “Perfect!” Morwen said. “Well done!”

  Andy smiled. It seemed almost insignificant compared to some of his other recent achievements, but mastering a roll that he found difficult without any prior [acrobatics] training was still something to be proud of. He had accomplished it in a matter of minutes through simple persistence and repetition.

  He consolidated his forms, practicing the entire sequence a few times under Morwen’s supervision. She corrected his posture and positioning here and there, but after another hour or so, he was able to execute the whole thing almost flawlessly.

  “Let’s go through the drills now, and we might be able to finish before lunch.”

  The drills were fairly straightforward. Morwen stood opposite him, using her own staff to launch attacks from above and below on both sides, as well as jabs. In each case, Andy used his staff defensively to deflect her blows.

  “Very good,” said Morwen. “Now you take the offensive, copy the same sequence of attacks I delivered.”

  Andy did the same, launching a series of attacks and jabs on either side, and Morwen deflected them with her staff.

  The whole process went smoothly.

  “You’re a natural,” Morwen said, wiping the sweat off her brow. The mid-morning sunlight had just begun to paint the mountain a brilliant gold, burning off the mist. “And we’re done by lunch, just like I thought.”

  ***

  Andy stoked the fire under the stew bubbling in the den, as he had done four times a day since beginning his training. Morwen and he both had a bowl.

  “I’ve got an Enchanter visiting tomorrow,” Morwen said. “He’s going to add some enhancements to the room upstairs. Once he’s done, we can discuss your questions about the Order of the behemoth, about the nobility, Cresthaven politics, whatever you want.”

  “Great,” Andy said. But he was curious. “What sort of enhancement?”

  “Did Pliny take you to the alcove at the top of the training cliffs?” Morwen asked.

  Andy nodded affirmatively.

  “And did he point out the sigil on the ceiling?”

  Andy nodded again.

  “That kind of enhancement.”

  “Interesting,” said Andy. “You think the ratfolk can hear all the way in here?”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  “Oh, it’s not the ratfolk I’m worried about,” said Morwen. “They’re here to send a message, and sure, they collect information and report back to the nobles, but they’re small fries.”

  “How do you mean?” Andy said. “I’ve seen them hanging around quite often, sometimes more than one, peering in on everything we do in the yard.”

  “Exactly,” said Morwen, “you’ve seen them. The spies I’m really worried about probably don’t keep tabs on us twenty-four hours per day. Their time is too valuable. But you would never know it if they were watching you.”

  “Huh,” Andy said.

  “This soup is excellent by the way,” Morwen said. “Did you do something to it?”

  “Salt,” said Andy.

  Morwen raised her eyebrows, taking another bite and chewing heartily.

  As they continued eating their bowls of stew, footsteps resounded up the spiral staircase. Noel appeared.

  “Noel, you’re awake!” said Morwen. “After a long and undisturbed rest, I hope.”

  Noel yawned, stretched and smiled. “Got any coffee?”

  “I’ll be happy to get you some,” Andy said, rising to his feet and retrieving the coffee pot. He scooped some grounds into it and placed it on the small grate in the fireplace.

  Noel plopped down on an armchair, yawning again.

  “They really got their money’s worth out of you, didn’t they?” Morwen said.

  “They sure did,” Noel said. “Speaking of… did the delivery arrive this morning?”

  “No,” Morwen said. “I didn’t see anything.”

  “Hmmm,” said Noel. “Well, they said this evening, so it’s probably got a little while left to go before it gets here. Who knows what kind of wagons they had to hire to deliver all the shares to the right folks.”

  “Wagons, huh?” Morwen asked. “It’s that much?”

  “Indeed,” said Noel. “I was surprised myself at the size of the horde.”

  As the coffee reached a boil, Andy poured a mug and handed it to Noel.

  “Thank you, dear boy,” Noel said, sipping on the cup. “Ah… I never sleep in like this anymore, rising after lunch. It’s kind of nice, even though I wouldn’t want to do it every day.”

  “What are you going to do with your treasure when it arrives?” Andy asked.

  “Oh… you know, I hadn’t thought of it,” Noel said. “I suppose I could probably purchase a cottage for my mother to stay in. Her home is in need of so much repair… I’d like her to live her later years somewhere really nice…”

  “That’s mighty noble of you,” Morwen said. “Not going to spend it on yourself?”

  “I don’t think I need anything,” said Noel. “I’ve got friends… I fill my days with exciting adventures. I have clothes. I suppose I could buy a horse, but then I’d have to feed it and take care of it… No, I think I am just fine the way I am.” He stared up at the ceiling reflectively, holding his hands gently around his mug. “Should be here tonight, though,” he said.

  Andy wondered how often Noel did private jobs, and how much they typically paid. Back at the Dawnspring Cottage, Lilly had mentioned that the Fighter class could be lucrative, but Noel had mentioned that his mother was not living in the best of conditions, so clearly he wasn’t rich. But there could be many reasons for his humble means.

  Noel struck Andy as someone who valued simplicity over almost anything else. He didn’t want to be tied down with obligations and things he had to maintain. He also seemed both absent-minded and not particularly money-savvy. Perhaps he had taken up the life of a Fighter for sheer love of it. Andy wondered these things, but didn’t bother his weary comrade with his questions.

  Hopefully, Noel would get his payout soon enough.

  The rest of the day was quiet. Andy practiced a bit more with his staff after lunch, and he took another long, hot bath before getting a nap.

  He awoke in the afternoon, expecting to see the treasure he had heard so much about, but it hadn’t come.

  He spent some more time seasoning the stew, chopping more wood, and stretching a bit. Dinner came. Pliny was away, so there was no grillmaster in residence. They all ate more stew.

  Still, Noel’s treasure didn’t arrive.

  ***

  Neroth ducked through the marble arch into the office of the Supreme Minister, two Domestic Guards stepping to the side to allow his entrance. Despite the opulent, high ceilings of the Ministry Palace, the doorway into the Supreme Minister’s office was always just a bit too low for him when he was dressed in his full gear.

  He was getting old, nearly seventy, but thanks to the magic of the court Warlocks, Neroth had access to treatments that increased his longevity. Despite the balding crown of his head, he was as strong as ever. And he needed that strength as Captain of the Domestic Guard. Every day, a new battle… ridding Cresthaven of criminals and enemies within.

  In contrast to Neroth, Supreme Minister Caines Crotias, who was pushing 120 years of age, was fading. If he were a Lich, the Supreme Minister could live indefinitely, but short of that, no amount of wizardry could grant a mortal eternal life.

  But in Neroth’s experience with the Minister, everlasting life didn’t fit Crotias’ personality. For a Supreme Minister, he was surprisingly down to earth. His mental faculties and physical capacities, while still passable, weren’t what they were even a couple of years ago, and he knew that. He had been convening with his inner circle on his plans to pass the throne to Sethor, his son. His long rule was coming to a close, and he wanted to live the remainder of his years in peace.

  “You called for me?” Neroth said, standing tall in his black reflective armor. He stood just inside the office door across from Caines, who sat behind a desk, and Sethor, who stared out an elaborate window looking down over Cresthaven with his back turned to Neroth and Caines.

  “Yes, yes,” Caines Crotias said, shuffling through some papers before looking up at him, smiling warmly. Despite the deep wrinkles, his countenance was bright and kind. “Do you have results on the report I requested? Some of my court Warlocks are anxious for an update later this afternoon and I wanted to throw them a bone.”

  After receiving the results of a {divination} from a Warlock in his court, the Supreme Minister had called on Neroth to deliver a special report on the sudden appearance of the Visitor. Neroth contracted with a ratfolk spy network for basic intelligence gathering, and, of course, to let the Visitor know he was being watched.

  Neroth nodded. “Of course, your excellency. Our intelligence indicates that the new Visitor has taken up residence at Morwen’s Grove,” he said, bowing his head in deference to Crotias.

  “Ah,” Crotias said, looking up at the ceiling in thought. “That’s associated with the Behemoth, no? Is this Visitor showing interest in the Order, then?”

  “It appears so,” said Neroth. “He’s been training in [athletics] and [combat], and, if I may say, he is making very rapid progress.”

  “As is usual with Visitors. Hmmm. Well, the Order, you know, is a pain in my backside at times, and goodness knows many Wizards and Warlocks in my court hate them, but if you govern fairly they usually leave you alone. Perhaps it's not such a bad thing.”

  Sethor turned around, scowling. He was about forty years old, but with neither hard labor nor battle experience, he looked quite a bit younger. “You cannot be serious,” he said, glaring at his father.

  “I am, indeed.”

  “If the Order of the Behemoth gains strength, then they will threaten our power once again.”

  Caines leaned back in his chair and stroke his chin, looking at Sethor. “My son, your political thought is… indelicate.”

  Neroth stood still. He could tell an argument might break out at any moment, and he wanted no part of it. Sethor was liable to lash out, and even though Neroth was among the most senior officials, that didn’t necessarily protect him. Only last year, there was a rumor that one of the senators in the House of Law had been defenestrated from Sethor’s office following a quarrel.

  “Listen, old man,” Sethor said. “You live in the past. The people of Cresthaven are tired of footing the bill for the opulent services afforded to every beggar on our coast.”

  Sethor was right, there had been increasing grumblings from the people – well, the land-owning gentry, at least – that they were paying too much in taxes and that the education, medicine, and food services offered by the Supreme Ministry were wasteful. A growing number of influential people wanted to crack down on, as they called it, wasteful spending.

  “You don’t understand, Sethor,” Caines said. “It is simply a matter of good policy. As long as the lower class can lead dignified lives, we will have no issue with the Order, and there will be no cause for revolution. As you can see, under my rule, the Order has become the weakest it has ever been since its inception. That’s because we’ve largely eliminated the root cause for revolution.”

  “With our Domestic Guard, we could crush any revolutionaries who dared–”

  “My dear boy,” Caines interrupted, becoming terse. “When you take the throne, the power will be yours. But I hope, for your sake and for the sake of the kingdom, that you surround yourself with advisers who possess more political prowess than you are exhibiting right now.”

  Neroth diverted his eyes to the floor as Neroth’s face turned beet red.

  “In any case,” Sethor said through gritted teeth, “I would encourage you to dissuade this Visitor from affiliation with the Order. Either that or have him eliminated.”

  Caines exhaled, his face dropping in weariness. “My child… sometimes it is better to starve a movement of attention. Prohibition and violence serve only to increase fascination.”

  Sethor grunted and turned back around, contemplating the city below.

  “Will that be all?” Neroth asked.

  “Yes, I believe so,” Caines said with a cordial smile and a nod.

  Neroth bowed and turned to leave, the guards parting once again for his exit.

  “Ah, one more thing,” Caines said.

  “Yes, my lord?” Neroth said, pausing at the door.

  “I’ve decided to hold an arena event for your upcoming birthday.”

  “Why… that is very kind, your excellency.” Neroth bowed. Caines had always been a kind ruler and leader, but Neroth hadn’t expected this gift. “Thank you.”

  “It’ll give the people some diversion, and if you’d like, you can schedule a few classical combat matches. Those are always hits with the nobility. You’ve been a good Captain of the Guard and, well, I’m running out of time to put on shows for my people.”

  “I could think of no better way to celebrate my seventieth year,” Neroth said, his chest swelling up with pride.

  “Very good,” said Caines, nodding toward Neroth with a smile.

  Neroth bowed and exited. An arena event dedicated to him, held in his honor? That was something he had dreamed about since he was a young lad.

  He had made it. He was a great man.

  But as Neroth made his way back to the headquarters of the Domestic Guard, his mind quickly wandered back to the trouble on the horizon: Caines Crotias was unconcerned with a Visitor joining the Order of the Behemoth, and under Caines’ rule, he might not have a problem.

  He had enjoyed a relatively quiet last decade of domestic security, largely thanks to Caines Crotias’ decisions. As unpopular as he was with the gentry, Neroth had to admit… The policies of Caines Crotias had led to an unprecedented age of stability. But with Sethor’s rule on the horizon, a robust Order of the Behemoth could make Neroth’s life difficult.

  He’d have to deal with the Visitor somehow.