would not succumb to polish. He hated this place.
How had he ended up here?
The first cycle was probably bearable, but that was only because he was still learning. As an eternal resident of Triosec, he’d assumed that the Fields was where the finest of the military came to practise. Surely the Royal Guard was the pinnacle, wasn’t it?
No. It turned out that anyone worth their steel was a long distance away. If you were good, then you were sent straight to the borders. To die. It seemed madness, but such was the potent threat of the Mandari that it was the only option. It had been like that for generations.
He looked back at himself in the outrageously reflective leather of the boots he was shining. He had been working on the toe for an undefined period of time, and he suspected his thoughts had dragged. This would probably mean a beating of some sort – there was usually a beating involved. It was fair to say that he wasn’t popular.
“And your father’s okay with this?”
The accent was polished, and he jumped to immediate attention. His own ill-fitting uniform looked embarrassing compared to the fine officer’s garb arrayed about the room. It was ironic that he spent so much of his time within reach of the finery, and yet he was the lowest scum on site. But when the second man spoke, a shot of acidic spittle burned his throat.
“It was his idea. I need to earn my wings.” It was the prince.
“You’re not a Wing. You’re a colonel of the Royal Guard.”
The prince strutted before his companion, his shoulders back and his eyes focused directly ahead. There was no way the bastard would see him, even less recognise him. They’d had no contact in twenty cycles, and the dull dislike for the man was turning ever sourer. It was this man’s fault he was stuck here.
And he had his sword.
“You know what I mean. My father is an embattled war veteran. I am a raw pup. I need to taste the blood, and I need to see the horror of the Mandari war machine. How else am I to succeed as a ruler?”
They were passing him, strutting by like superior peacocks. He seethed.
“Morning Kantal. I trust you are well?”
He was, quite literally, blown dumb. But he would have to speak. Not responding would be the worst thing he could do.
“Y-y-y-es, your highness.”
“Not highness, Kantal. Colonel.” He hadn’t looked at him once, but he didn’t need to. His companion offered a glance, the look of a man who’d just picked dog-dirt off their boots, but it didn’t matter. He had been recognised by the senior man. He almost smiled.
“Back to work, Kantal.”
With the appreciation over, he reflected on the unexpected experience. It was fleeting, but thoroughly enjoyable. Not that it got him anywhere.
The two senior officers proceeded to have an extended argument while they embellished their appearance with the final immaculate touches. The prince came over and took the boots off him, complimenting him on his work. He was a clever bugger. Then he returned to his increasingly vocal companion. It was only when the junior officer’s voice was thoroughly raised that he could make out the detail.
“It’s madness! You can’t beat a mandahoi.”
The words of his past resonated. That was a path he’d once considered, wasn’t it? It was a path less chosen, but it was still a path. His mind drifted and his mouth opened mechanically. He was not in charge of his voice. “Yes you can.”
He gulped. How had he forgotten about that? But it was an impossible objective, as he’d concluded before. It made sense to forget about it. Then again, anything was better than shining stuff, wasn’t it? Maybe this was always supposed to be his path. Maybe he’d been chasing the wrong goal. He stared absently at the floor.
The two officers were obviously looking in his direction, but he kept his eyes low. He was still struggling to make sense of the trajectory he just set himself upon. He had time to take it back.
“Kantal? You’ve never argued that truth before.”
The other officer seemed to sense an injustice. “Your highness, you do not talk to this filth. He had no right to speak. This boy will be―”
“Boy? He is the same age as I am. Am I a boy, captain?”
He looked to his prince then, meeting the intense gaze. The captain spluttered. Why was it that their fates were seemingly entwined? Not that he was complaining. But was this a path he could really follow?
“You’ve never made that bold claim before, Kantal. Why would you say that now?”
Because he was an idiot – that was why. You couldn’t beat a mandahoi. It was a universal truth. True enough, mandahoi died like any other, and in the complex front of a battle, Father Fortune was ruthless with his judgement. But beat a mandahoi, one on one? Never.
“Sorry colonel.”
“It’s highness to you―”
“Shut up captain. What do you have to say, Kantal?”
But the truth was he had nothing to say. It may have been the wistful dream of his childhood, but it was not a path he could tread. He didn’t know the way. It was a fleeting scrap of madness, that was what it was. It was boredom playing mischief. He looked about the room and took in the fine stonework; the oiled wood; the polished metal. So much polish. And such a nice weapon staring back at him from the prince’s side. He had an idea.
“They die like the rest of us. Give a practised man a Mandari edge, and with the Father in his court, he may just succeed. They are fast, but they are human.”
The captain clearly disagreed. He spat. “Pah. Mandari steel is second rate. They are freakish ghouls who have sold their souls. The Stranger touches them. That’s what makes them so potent. It’s like fighting a ghost.”
The prince stood, and smoothly removed the steel from its home. She was beautiful. He lusted upon the thing his hands had made. The folding caused the blade to reflect glorious patterns, like she was burning. It was seductive.
“Offer your fine Delfinian steel, captain.”
The captain ticked his gaze between the two men, evidently at a loss as to whether his commander’s order was genuine. Eventually he stood and swept out a length of dull grey steel whilst offering that same dog-dirt look. As the petty officer spoke, it was a struggle not to snigger.
“It is Gorfinian.”
The prince nodded, then swept his own weapon back, and then pushed it forward almost lazily. The Gorfinian steel – some of the finest metal in the world – was split clean in half. The prince smirked.
“This is Mandari steel, captain. But more than that, it was Delfinian made. And by him.” The hand rose and pointed in his direction. The captain chewed his lip.
“Sorry sir.” He was clearly at a loss for what was going on, but the destruction of his fine steel was worse. In all honesty, the fact that it had sheared like it did suggested it was a fake, but he was not about to ruin the prince’s exhibition.
“Mandari steel is not the finest because it has the purest raw materials. It doesn’t. It is the finest because it is infused with a love of perfection. It is infused with the gift of time, and time, captain, is the ultimate scarce resource.”
A part of him wanted to believe that he’d read that somewhere before, but he knew he hadn’t. It was beautiful.
And time was a scarce resource. And he was wasting his time here. That was surely why he’d made the impossible claim.
“Sir. Let me come with you.”
He didn’t even know where ‘where’ was, but anything was better than this infuriating stagnation. He’d enjoyed showing Beef up again, but that had been one exhibition almost a year back. It was not a reason to stay.
“Yes, I think you should. You seem to be wasted here.”
Yes! His relationship with the prince was ever confounding, but it seemed to yield unexpected results. Presumably the prince got something out of it too?
He gulped. Perhaps that was still to come.
&nb
sp; “Come, Kantal. Let’s see if we can equip you for the future.”
Five | 12yrs ago
Here was not where he expected ‘where’ to be. His breath caught, and there was a rhythmic rumbling sound in his ears. That was a new sensation for him, and he pondered its source. He thought it was nerves, but it could also have been excitement. It was certainly madness.
It was a plain old street, oddly familiar, though not forged of pleasant memories. Citizens bustled past, not noticing him. Ignoring him even. Just like the old days. Nothing seemed to change, but he had. He was sure of it.
It was a warm afternoon, the late season, and there was to be one final push against the enemy. But before that push, he needed to be here. At least, that’s what the prince decreed. He wasn’t so sure.
The building looked noticeably finer than when he’d fled it three years ago. They had spent the earnings well, and a congregation of military folk evidenced the flourishing business. He spotted familiar faces amongst the punters, and a jet of cold went through him. He quite literally had no idea how this would play out.
“Joss!”
He turned to the screech, and found his mother near-hanging from an open ground floor window. Her lined old face was edged with what looked like a combination of joy and fear. It occurred to him that he understood so little of her that he couldn’t place the basis for either emotion. He reached with his right hand and brushed her outstretched palm, his nerves tingling at the touch. She smiled. He was her little girl, and he had returned. He wanted to scowl at his
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