The salle was empty except for a single Herald, an old, gray-haired man, slightly twisted and with swollen, arthritic joints. He sat on a bench with some of the padded armor over his legs, a threaded leather needle in his hand, and looked up as they entered.

“Jadus,” he acknowledged. “That’s the new one?”

“Weaponsmaster Dethor,” Jadus nodded. “This is Herald-trainee Alberich, Chosen of Kantor.”

“Kantor, hmm? Sensible lad, that one; can’t see him making a mistake. Well, Jadus, what did you have in mind besides the usual?” The Weaponsmaster stood up, and Alberich winced inwardly. The man was in pain—hiding it, but clear enough to Alberich’s eyes. He’d seen this before, in men who’d fought too many fights. The joints would only take so much damage; too much, and as the years set in and the pains of old age crept on, all the places that had been abused would suddenly become doubly painful, swelling until it hurt to move even a little.

“Since he was a Captain of the Karsite light cavalry, I did have a notion about him. Test him, and we’ll both see if I’m right,” was the enigmatic reply. “Isn’t Kimel about? He’s usually here this time of day.”

Instead of answering directly, the old man barked, “Kimel! Need your arm out here!”

Alberich expected another Herald, but instead what appeared from a door at the back of the room was a man in a midnight-blue uniform, similar to the Heralds’ in cut, but trimmed in silver. “I was about to go back to the barracks, Weaponsmaster,” the man said. “Unless you’ve found someone to bout with me after all?”

The old man jerked his chin at Alberich. “Don’t know. Need this one tested. Jadus seems to think—Well, just arm up, and we’ll see.”

The man glanced at Alberich, then did a double-take, eyes widening. Alberich braced himself for a negative reaction, but the man showed nothing. “Interesting to see which rumor is true, sir,” was all the man said, and motioned to Alberich. “If you would suit up and—”

“Standard sword and shield, first,” the Weaponsmaster directed, and put his mending aside, his eyes narrowed and attentive in a lean, lined, hard face. Alberich might look just like him one day. He hoped he would not have the swollen joints to match…

He pushed that thought aside and selected leather practice armor and a wooden sword. There was more of the former to choose from than he’d thought; evidently, this man Kimel wasn’t the only adult coming out here to practice. The wooden swords and shields were much of a muchness, nothing to choose among them except for weight, and Alberich picked ones that were the most comfortable for him.

Then he walked warily to the center of the room to face his opponent.