PROLOGUE
The ageing warrior gave a slight groan as he raised his scabbard and sat down on the bench. His armour was not quite the fit it used to be – too much desk duty. The warmth of the open fire started to penetrate his silver plate armour sending a golden shimmer across its protective ridges.
‘Well Bolzat,’ croaked the white bearded figure across the desk, his fragile frame sinking back closer to the fire. ‘Have you come about the boy?’
‘Of course,’ fired back the old Warlord. ‘And your support will help secure my son’s training.’ Bolzat’s tone softened, ‘Come on old friend, help me secure his place?’
‘I fear I don’t have the same sway that I used to have, but, for my old shield bearer I shall try my best,’ muttered the old man. ‘Now pour an old warrior a goblet of wine, the good stuff mind, and tell me how the logistics are faring on the Northern Front. Have we enough supplies to siege or will we need to force a breach?’
Bolzat began to run through the endless lists of stores and supplies until the old man interrupted.
‘I was appointed Training Master this morning by Lord Hadrak, but then you knew that already, else you would not be warming your bones near my fire.’
Bolzat simply nodded, the slight smile on his face gave away his pretence of surprise.
‘You know he is too young, the Su-Katii tradition dictates he should be no less than eight years and be able to lift the ale barrel above his head – he is only five.’
Bolzat bellowed a laugh that echoed around the hall. ‘My boy can lift the barrel, drink the contents and then wipe the floor with any eight-year-old in every one of your puny trials.’ The old man chuckled, ‘Too much of his father in him I think? Very well, I shall grant a favour to an old friend. Bring the boy to the hall in the morning - and he will die.’