THE SLASH OF HIS PARTNER'S SWORD went over his head as Marsil dodged the blow. The swipe was aimed for his head but the young vampire Prince was nimble on his feet. His partner-in-spar was the Lord Commander's squire, Seth Petyr. From his unsubtle thrusts and slashes, Marsil knew the man could hold his own in battle.
They had been locked in their combat for little over an hour, dancing on the castle's training grounds. Since Marsil had left his room hardened for Esabel, he was fiercer in his sword approach to the man before him. Even though the clash of the sparring swords was loud enough in his ears, Esabel's whispered words were louder. He couldn't get her damn sultry voice out of his head.
JUST A TASTE...
He was enraged she made him so hot and he poured all the unfulfilled lust on the valet before him.
Seth swiped again with his sword, this time for his right arm. Marsil lifted his weapon and parried the blow. The force behind it was minimal and the sword fenced off.
Before Seth could blink, he crouched low, sending his leg in a semi-circular swipe. Seth's legs caved from under him at the force and he let out a surprised gasp as he landed to the earth on his back. Marsil lifted from his crouched position and pushed his sword to the man bested under him. The blade's tip brushed his throat, dangerously caressing his skin but not nicking it deep enough to draw blood.
Seth let go of his weapon in his fallen position and lifted up his hands in yield. Marsil withdrew his sword from the squire's neck and with a smooth and swift flourish, lowered it back into his scabbard.
He leaned over and held out his hand to his fallen comrade. Seth grabbed it and he pulled him up.
"I still can't believe you have only trained a moon, Your Grace," Seth said to Marsil once fully on his feet. "You fight like an expert swordsman."
"Thank you, Seth..." the Prince replied. "...and please, it's Marsil not Your Grace. I only have such skill because I was trained by the finest swordsman there is, the Lord Commander."
At this, both men lifted their eyes up to a short wooden tower where the man in question, Latchlon Pierran stood with his brother, Arlon, watching the men duel.
"Again!" Latchlon growled from his place one storey above. "This time make use of other weapons!"
The Lord Commander had fully adopted the duties of training Marsil into a swordsman. While he did not necessarily like the boy, his brother did, and his brother was the King, so the matter was settled.
Marsil had become a Prince and now had authority over him. The one thing Latchlon admired was valor and Marsil had proven himself on the sands against the Titan. So the Lord Commander had now dedicated himself to training Marsil himself.
He knew the boy had gifts, that much was a given. What he didn't understand was why Arlon would accept the boy into his royal household.
A son of winter as a Prince of summer...
It was like piercing the heart with a fiery stoke. Never once had any King throughout the summerlands history adopted a ward let alone the very child of their northern rivals, Valkalon. Latchlon just hoped his brother knew what he was doing—for both their sakes. And the kingdom's.
His thoughts focused once more on the young men below and he watched as Marsil walked to the weapons holdfast stationed to the left side of the sparring grounds. At his order, Marsil picked up a spear. Light in weight, quick as a streal, and with a point sharper than a porcupine's quills. A good choice, Latchlon mused. Spears were good in the hands of a skilled warrior. Seth, on the other hand went with two gilded twin axes. They were short but carried brutal force. Latchlon couldn't wait to see them spar with their new weapons.
"Begin!" he thundered from the ledge.
Marsil moved at the strike of his words. He covered the small distance between him and Seth with feet fast as a fox's. At the last moment, he jumped into the air, sending the spear forward. The attack was aerial and swift. Seth could not hope to dodge such a brilliant blow so he blocked with his axes. Their weapons met and the jarring clash of metal sent him staggering to his knees.
Latchlon growled from on high at his squire's loss. He heard Arlon chuckle from beside him. The king was clearly loving the fact that Marsil was besting his squire.
"This is funny to you?" Latchlon rumbled to his brother. Arlon's grin only spread wider and he turned, smirking to the Lord Commander.
"Yes it is. Shouldn't it be?" Arlon smirked again. "Marsil has sent your squire to the floor six times now without the poor valet gaining any advantage. It's fucking hilarious. You have trained the boy for what ... three years? and my son didn't even know of a sword two moons ago..." Arlon trailed off, laughing to himself.
"Laugh all you want," his brother replied with a frown. "We both know it's because your son is a vampire. He is stronger and way faster than Seth."
The king met his glare with a teasing smile.
"And we both know you want Seth to win because you are fucking him!"
"What!" Latchlon spinned fully to face him.
"What?" Arlon went on. "Please, I know you tumble with your squire. I'm your brother and you have that glow right now watching him."
Arlon turned back to the fighting men, leaving the Lord Commander gawping with an open mouth. "...besides, Seth isn't meant for battle. He is meant to be with you, by your side. You torture him with trying to make a warrior out of him."
"I only seek to ensure he can defend himself!" Latchlon fired back.
The two brothers went on with their playfully heated conversation. Down below, on the training grounds, the Prince and the Squire were also having a moment of theirs, talking between thrusts and parries of weapons.
"Your Grace, might I speak freely?" Seth asked.
"As long as you do not address me so formally," Marsil replied, sending his spear to Seth's abdomen. The man was quick and dodged the silver head.
"Alright, Marsil," Seth began. "Why do you wear the silver mask?" The Prince abruptly stilled at his words and only then was Seth able to score a blow. The axehead struck Marsil's silver chainmail, glancing off the iron rings.
"I mean you are still as mysterious as the gladiator from the arena, Silverheel, only now the helmet hides only your face. I can see your pale hair but apart from that nothing more. Do you wish people to only know you as the Legend of Silverheel? You are a Prince and when the crown goes to—"
"I do not want the crown!" Marsil fired and Seth immediately fell silent under the Prince's words, going utterly still.
"I'm sorry, Your Grace. I did not wish to..."
"That's enough for today," Latchlon spoke from above. His words were clear in command and both men moved to the armoury to relieve their weapons.
Marsil lowered his spear back to the holdfast and silently walked away. He noticed Seth still mumbling apologies from behind but other thoughts filled his mind.
Powerful raging thoughts...
The Lord Commander's Squire was right. He was now a Prince. Should anything happen to the king... Yes. He was illegitimate, not an actual son of the king but still...
Marsil increased his pace. He noticed he was becoming too attached to the royal family. A family that wasn't his; not biologically and certainly not physically. Infact, not in anyway.
His skin was pale. Theirs was creamy. He drank blood. They fed on cheese and vegetables. He had the strength of a hundred men. The men he knew, he could lift up by their throats, including the Lord Commander. He had white eyes. They had anything but.
Marsil couldn't help but think of what Gryther had said. About his bloodline. His ancestry. Who were his real family? he wondered. Where were they? Were they alive? Did they abandon him? Were they humans like everyone else, or something more like him? Did he have brothers? Sisters?
Marsil ascended the stone steps up to his bedchamber with a concluded mind. The only man who could help him solve all the mystery surrounding his life was the only man who actually looked like him.
The wanted Wytcher, Gryther the Whyte.
Marsil entered his room with a single purpose. To find the Icelander sorcerer.