Free Dead Stars - Part Two (The Emaneska Series) by Ben Galley Page B

and got to his feet. The training squad were still going. The men were shirtless, the women almost, and the Written only just covering their backs with open tunics. They jumped and sprawled, jumped and sprawled, all to the barking of the sergeant. Farden moved to join the squad again, but Tyrfing put his hand on his nephew’s chest. ‘Not today. You’re done.’
    ‘I’m done when I can’t stand,’ Farden snapped. He looked down at his feet and then back to his uncle. ‘And it looks like I’m standing.’
    ‘What’s got into you today? You seem…’ Tyrfing began, but then trailed off. Now that he had asked the question, he understood. The bottle from the day before. The still-receding effects of the nevermar. The fight to come. He couldn’t blame him.
    Farden began to unbutton his shirt. ‘Why aren’t you joining in, hmm, old man?’
    Tyrfing gave him an acidic glance. ‘Those days are long behind me.’
    ‘Surely you can just shapeshift into a stronger, younger body.’
    Tyrfing shook his head, and as he did so, his beard turned a darker shade of grey, the wrinkles faded from his face, and his eyes began to sparkle. He looked as Farden remembered him. ‘Like this?’ he asked. ‘Why pretend? Shapeshifting is like painting an old wall. You can make it look better, but it’s still the same old wall underneath,’ he smiled, fading back to his old self. He coughed then, and turned away to cough at the sea. There was a persistence in his uncle’s coughing that concerned him. Farden frowned, and left him to it.
    Stubborn as always, the mage joined the end of the squad, to the sound of a few titters from nearby sailors. He glared at them and then began to jump and sprawl with the others. He barely made it to a half-dozen before his body told him no, and promptly gave him cramp in both legs to make its point. He held himself off the floor, and grit his teeth against the pain. Damn that nevermar .
    A hand patted him on the shoulder. Farden looked up to find Gossfring standing over him, open-shirted, scarred, and smiling. The young white-haired mage from the day before stood behind him, expressionless and vacant. ‘Perhaps it’s time for some sword practice, Farden. I remember you as quite the bladesman,’ he suggested. ‘Perhaps you can show Inwick here some moves she don’t know.’
    Farden wiped away a river of sweat from his face. The offer was an escape route, and as much as it stung Farden to take it, he did. He shakily pushed himself to standing and left the squad to its exercises, following the others to the forecastle. Loki was there with Whiskers, sitting on the steps and listening to Ilios snore. The god was twiddling his tiny flute around his finger.
    ‘Here to provide some percussion?’ chimed the god. He was quickly discovering his dislike for the sea, mainly due to where he had chosen to sit. Occasionally, an ambitious wave would spray over the bow, soaking both him and the rat. Loki would grunt and wipe the sea-water from his face, muttering darkly under his breath. Whiskers didn’t seem to mind.
    ‘Swords?’ Loki asked, at the sight of the training blades in Gossfring’s hands. A sweaty Farden nodded.
    ‘You seen Farden swing a sword before, lad?’ asked Gossfring in a loud voice. He swung his training blade experimentally, testing its weight. The dull blade hummed around him. It was quieter at the prow of the ship. Most of the sailors were aft, watching the training, high above in the sails, or asleep, rocking back and forth in their hammocks below.
    Loki didn’t try to hide his displeasure at being called lad . ‘I haven’t had the pleasure,’ he icily replied. ‘Though my good friend Heimdall did tell me a rather bloody tale of Farden and a young Albion noble, a young noble who rather foolishly decided it would be wise to challenge him to a duel. Am I telling it right? Over a seat, of all things, wasn’t it Farden? At a certain Duke’s table?’
    ‘That’s enough, Loki,’