Paul dodged to the side and struck at his assailant’s wrists, turning the blade away as it flashed past his body. Though unarmed, he was able to move fast enough to evade and to disarm. In a moment’s decision, he saw the dagger sheath and jumped to one side, drawing their dagger and with one foot entangled with theirs, throwing his opponent to the floor. The sword hand came up to make an attack, but he pulled out his leg and kicked at it, sending the blade clattering across the floor as he pressed the knife to his throat. “Give up yet, old man?”

“You’ve gotten better, but you still show restraint,” said Mr. Moon as he took the proffered hand and stood up. Nearby, two more pairings of teenage trainees grappled with each other as Mr. Moon bent to pick up his weapon. “If you hesitate, you will die.”

The doors opened to reveal the prince with his son in tow, come to watch the training. Paul’s face lit at the sight of his friend and hoped he would be able to stay and train today; it had been awhile since the young prince had had a good ass-beating. Alan Moon approached the prince and exchanged a few words quietly while the young prince picked up a training sword and gave it a few test swings before he approached Paul.

The first swing came high, leveled at Paul’s head and he expertly ducked down, then dodged to the side as he anticipated the next strike. His hands at his sides, he kept dodging and teasing his friend. Clearly frustrated that he always lost, the ferocity of the attack left holes open in his defenses which Paul exploited presently. A downward strike left the young prince off balance and Paul sprang upon him.

The sword flew across the room as Paul landed blow after blow, beating his ribcage and abdomen before he hit him in the face. The final blow knocked the young prince off his feet and onto the floorboards, where he lay for a moment, dazed and panting.

He took Paul’s hand as he offered assistance and stood with a smile on his face. “Thanks for that,” he said, “I needed to be put in my place.”

“Paul,” Mr. Moon called and Paul looked his way immediately. Any hesitation was dealt with harshly; all five of the students were rigidly disciplined in every facet of life. “You will take archery today with your Prince.” Paul snapped into action and girded himself with his short dagger and took up his bow from where it stood against the wall, stringing it with practiced ease and slinging the arrow-laden river over his shoulder.

“We will make use of my private range today,” the prince said as Paul strode up to him, “I would like to have a word with you in private.”

As they walked the couple miles between the classroom and the prince’s archery range, the pair spoke lightly. Paul related his training progress and academics as the prince asked him about them, and shyly told him that he had no romantic prospects. Even if he had had any free time, Paul doubted he would mingle among those his age; he was much more mature than other fourteen-year-olds he had met. They talked thus for some time, as de facto father and son. Though Paul fully knew that he would never hold the throne and spent nearly all of his time studying and training, he still looked at the prince as his father; he had never known his actual father.

“Your skills have grown greatly,” the prince said as they arrived at the range, “and you’re now old enough to take the burden I must lay on you.”

“Yes?”

“You are to be the chief among the rangers. Alan has told me of your fighting prowess and survival skills, and I would like for you to accompany me on a trade deal with York.”

“As your-“

“Bodyguard, yes. Hit target three.”

Paul drew and fired an arrow that flew straight and true, impacting near the center of the bullseye with a thump.

“Good. We will leave the day after tomorrow. In addition to being able to see your skill for myself, I want to show little force. We are not trying to intimidate then into a deal.”

“How should I be armed?” Paul asked.

“Just as you are now. I already have your wardrobe prepared.”

Paul, before he knew it, found himself astride a horse, escorting the prince north to York through the Appalachian woods. The roads were in fair repair as traders frequented the passage, but nevertheless, Paul kept his short horse bow strung and ready should they encounter and highwaymen. A long, straight dagger hung at his hip and his quiver hung from the saddle where he could draw arrows quickly.

His mentor had suggested the short bow instead of the longbow for ease of mounted archery; it is better to be maneuverable on a horse. The prince carried only his customary short blade.

As they neared their first resting point, Paul spotted a sizeable game fowl and brought it down with an arrow, then dressed it to eat as they stopped and made camp. From the folds of his cloak, he produced a small box of salt and other spices to flavor the bird as he cooked it over the fire. They relished the meal as darkness took over the land and eventually turned in.

“I expect there will be some trouble when we reach York,” the prince shared as he lay with his back to the smoldering fire with Paul sitting watch. “I don’t know what yet, but I have a strong feeling about it.”

“But York has long been our ally,” Paul suggested, “there will be nothing to fear.”

“Thank you for reassuring me, but I still cannot shake the feeling.”

“Get some rest, sir.”

“Aye.” With that, the prince began snoring. Having grown up alongside young James, the prince’s son, Paul was always astounded at the rapidity with which the Humboldt men could fall asleep.

Paul let him. He did not wake him to take over the watch, but let him sleep through until morning. Paul had training in sleep deprivation anyway; he could last until tomorrow night.