Improvement

Roland inhaled sharply, then brought the base of the spear around as he exhaled with force. The blow landed across his opponent's shoulders as Roland spun, knocking the man to the ground. Before he could roll to safety, the tip of the weapon was at his throat.

Sweat poured down Roland's face. Winning a sparring match was still an incredibly unfamiliar sensation, though over the past several weeks with the Rhone he had been improving by leaps and bounds. His father's personal tutelage had gone a long way in assuring the second in line to the throne was well-prepared for battle.

As the soldier conceded defeat, Roland lowered his spear and helped the other man stand. Duncan was gradually increasing the skill of his opponents to challenge him without overwhelming him. This victory meant that Roland's next opponent would be more formidable.

It was a good way to build the soldiers' faith in him. For each one he beat, their respect for Roland grew. He just wondered how long it might be before Titania's machinations progressed. For now, both he and Duncan were left standing as revered members of the royal line.

The people loved Duncan's devoted training of his long lost son, and Roland's commitment to the rigorous program of fighting and fitness was inspiring to the people. Though he hadn't been raised among them, he was quickly winning their favor.

His early training had been primarily in private, with more people being allowed to observe as he gained skill. The increased scrutiny made him nervous at first, but as he did not really consider the Rhone his people, Roland was able to shrug it off and focus.

After all, if he could endure humiliating defeat at the hands of 16-year-old Peter in Klain, he should feel no shame in these spars against Rhone's formidable warriors. Though the basic skills were the same, each had their own style. He tried his best to learn something from each man he fought, though the information was overwhelming.

He ended each day exhausted, but still found the time to dine with Titania as she requested. Duncan joined them occasionally, but not always. Other matters often required his attention.

One of those matters was the care of the prisoners. Roland felt intensely guilty that he was well fed, trained, and growing stronger while the women and children of Finn's village suffered in the dark. He had dropped hints that if the men of the captured villages found out that their wives and children were ill cared for, they would eventually desert or revolt.

After all, they had been promised freedom if the campaign was successful. Goodwill gestures would inspire hope.

And so Duncan came around slowly to Roland's way of thinking. The captive soldiers who trained well were rewarded with messages from their families, who were brought out from The Darkness and given good food. Of course, the letters were all read and approved, but it was something.

A fire was also lit within the Darkness to give the captives relief from the oppressive silence and crippling void. It wasn't enough for them to get free and run away, but at least now they could see and talk to each other, though of course they remained tied up most of the time.

Though Roland wished he could do more, he was consoled that his influence had made those improvements to the captives' lives. It was something, at least, until he could figure out how and when to free them.

One thing that pained him deeply was that shortly after those improvements were made, there was a report of one missing, a little boy who had shed his bonds and was gone. The Rhone shrugged it off; there was no way the child got out of the Darkness, so he would wander around in that forsaken land until he died or found his way back.

It would teach a lesson to the others, they reasoned.

Roland hoped Gabriel would be all right. The boy was brave and resilient, and had long been able to untie himself to get free. The fire had bolstered his bravery. Perhaps he even took a branch as a torch when he left. There was nothing Roland could do at this point except hope that the boy found his way.

His next opponent stepped forward into the ring, and Roland retook his preparatory stance, holding one hand over and one hand under the spear's shaft. He held it loosely and waited for the signal to begin.

______________________

Splashing water from the stream on himself to get rid of the salty sweat, Roland sighed in relief. His muscles ached, but he had made it through the day undefeated. Barely. He should bear dozens of bruises by now, but Titania continually plied him with healing tea so that he could train harder and longer without suffering the ill effects of the injuries he received in the ring.

He had finally been with the Rhone long enough to be able to wander away for moments alone without arousing interest or suspicion. He sank into the water, briefly remembering the day he'd been dragged off by the wolves, soaking wet from learning to swim. He breathed deeply, pushing the memory away.

He rose from the water and shook it off, rinsing his clothes from the sweat as well. He gathered some dry branches and built a small fire, then hung his tunic over a low branch near it to dry.

Looking around, he took some food from his knapsack and ate a few bites.

Finally certain he was not being watched, he rose to his feet, stretched, and walked behind a tree. Concentrating, he snapped his fingers. A dark doorway appeared before him. First, he tossed in the dry firewood, then, a bit harder, the sack of food and a water skin. Finally, he took a burning stick from his little fire and leaned through the doorway himself.

Lighting the firewood so that Gabe might have a chance to find it in the darkness, he leaned out again. The door closed after him, and he resumed snacking and drying his clothes.

There was relatively little hope the boy would find it, but Roland wanted to do whatever he could to help. He just needed to make sure he didn't get caught doing it.

As his clothes reached a state of semi-dryness, he put them on and headed back to the camp. He was now used to the Rhone style of clothing, with the sandy-colored tunics and head coverings, though the latter was primarily worn outside the camp.

He hadn't been out with any hunting or raiding parties as of yet. He wondered if that was because of his status as a prince, or because contrary to all outward appearances, he was not yet trusted.

He was sure Titania was ultimately behind that decision. She would frame it as not endangering the heir needlessly, or having him focus on his training, or some other noble purpose, but he had to wonder what she really thought of him.

He'd not once expressed any disloyalty, apart from the one faux pas where he had nearly accused the queen to her face of throwing Brenna at him. The maiden had been orbiting him since that night, though he ignored her whenever he could politely do so. Sometimes even when it was slightly impolite.

At least she hadn't tried that perfume on him again yet, whatever it was.

He wondered if his father had been helping keep her at bay with the constant training. Women did not fight amongst the Rhone, so there was no reason for their presence at the sparring ring, except when Titania came to observe the troops.

She was the first ruling Queen in Rhone's history, her husband the king having died soon after Duncan was born. Initially she had ruled as a caretaker of the throne until he came of age, but she never relinquished her role as custodian. By then, the people were so taken with her vision of the future that they did not care that it was against tradition for her to remain in power.

All this, Roland had slowly learned through his conversations with her, with Duncan, and with the troops. He gradually pieced together the history from the bits and pieces he picked up all over.

It was grueling to play this long of a game. He wanted out, to go home, to defend Klain. Yet, he could see no way out just yet. His relationship with his father was growing, and he held some hope that he could influence him to, if not stop the war, then at least back the plan off from Klain's total destruction.

Arriving back at the camp almost dry and in time for dinner, he ran into the subject of his thoughts.

"Derek, I have some news for you!" Duncan smiled.

"Yes, sir? What is it?" Roland still had not come around to calling him 'father', but 'sir' seemed close enough to suit the older man.

"Tomorrow you will get to come with us. It's not quite a raiding party, but we will be stalking some of Klain's troops for intelligence."