Auqui. Why did Magnifico have to reference the boy in this blasted tale of his? Laughter and joy exploded around him as the tiny crew of the Gleaming Endeavor clapped and cheered while the hunchback bard wove his saga of heroism and glory, but Gabriel was already slipping away into the shadows. Surely there was some place on this boat where he could hide himself away from the accusing whispers that even now burned in his ears…

Five Weeks Ago

One could not reach Whitehall Tower without intentionally seeking it out.

Situated in a fairly remote part of Wallace lands, it was nestled just inside the borders, where the mountains of the north ended and the Great Desert loomed. Politically, it was very likely a part of Tacitus territory, or perhaps even Ginnrel, but neither cared to claim it due to the difficulty required in traveling there. Decades earlier, a knight flush with gold had decided to erect a mighty fortress in this far distant location, no matter that his closest friends and allies alike urged him otherwise. Stonemasons, dwarven and human alike, gladly accepted his coin and construction of the castle began atop a rocky hill that was just short of being a small mountain. When the knight’s coin rand dry, only the bare essentials had been erected, which turned out to be the keep itself. There was no wall to stop besiegers, but in truth, the location itself held no strategic value whatsoever so such defensive fortifications were unnecessary.

The knight died penniless and alone – it was nigh on a year after his passing before anyone ventured to that lonely hall and learned of his death – and the Tower passed back into the hands of lords of Wallace. Four times in the last score of years it had been bequeathed upon knights, but all of them passed without heirs (or, in one instance, squandered their inheritance so thoroughly that the Lord was forced to strip him of his rank), and in that time, it became synonymous with loss.

Gabriel Auditore, knight-errant in the service of Lord Wallace, was the latest to be called its master.

When Malcolm gifted it to him, the lord did so knowing full well that it was exactly the kind of place Gabriel longed for. Difficult to find and far from the comforts of civilization, it would allow him to focus entirely upon his art, to deepen his mastery of the sword without having to concern himself with unexpected travelers or guests. There was game enough in the surrounding environs to live off and Lord Wallace believed his new knight wise enough to stock plentiful stores to keep from starving. Having witnessed Gabriel’s capability with a blade – indeed, he had learned a few things himself from the young blademaster – Malcolm even considered the possibility that, some day, would-be swordsmen might come to Whitehall Tower seeking personal instruction from a true master. The name itself seemed a good omen and if truthful, he would have admitted to enjoying the thought of dragon-marked warriors sworn to the service of his land.

What he had not factored was Auqui.

*

His entire body ached as he led Cometes up the rocky road leading to Whitehall, but Gabriel tried very hard to ignore the discomfort.

The air was crisp this early in the year, and he suddenly regretted turning down Rainald’s offer to stay for one more day. His old friend had been disappointed and perhaps a trifle confused, but Gabriel quickly diverted the big man’s attention by asking a leading question about the Northman’s encounter with the witches. Hildra had given her husband a strange look – it was equal parts amusement, disbelief, frustration and anger – and the two promptly fell to arguing in their native tongue which sounded like so much gibberish to him, thus allowing Gabriel to make good his escape and set off before noon. He hated lying to Rainald, but he had no plans to discuss Auqui and the Northman had never learned when to let things go.

So he fled. It was, he mused darkly, the thing he was most capable of doing.

With each step that brought him closer to Whitehall, the heavier the weight upon his shoulders seemed to be. Cometes nudged his trailing hand a few times and he patted his old friend affectionately. This was no place for an animal like him. There were few places for him to run or stretch his legs and, if it did not make him feel sick inside at the very thought, Gabriel would have turned the charger out to pasture years ago. The elves had once agreed to take the Cometes in, saying that he was clearly of elvish stock, and the day was soon coming where the horse simply could not live the life Gabriel asked of him.

They crested a slight hill and he paused, staring bleakly at Whitehall Tower as it squatted on that hilltop. Nothing had changed in the seven years since he’d left. A tiny part of him had almost wished the whole thing had crumbled away into dust – he’d be far happier camping atop its ruins than facing the memories waiting inside – but he was never so lucky. Even the limp cloth standard atop the tower itself still twisted in the wind, though harsh weather had stripped it threadbare and robbed it of color. Shaking his head, he glanced at Cometes.

“We could not be so fortunate, could we?” he asked wryly. The charger glanced at him, then at the tower, and finally at the long, uneven road that led to the hilltop before heavily blowing out his breath. Gabriel smiled. “I know,” he said softly.

They reached the almost-fortress several hours before dusk, though the surrounding peaks caused the sky to darken much quicker than normal. There was no snow on the ground even this close to winter, for which he was relieved, but still, the temperature was far from comfortable. After seeing to Cometes – the charger gave him a foul look once he was done and snapped Gabriel with his tail – he paced around the empty living quarters with a lantern. Echoes of the past chased him through each of the rooms – here, he’d admonished Auqui for slacking off with his lessons, there he’d had Kira for the first time, and over there … over there, Auqui had tried very, very hard to kill him. That was the breaking point, though he did not know it at the time. Instead, he’d foolishly believed that Auqui was simply being a child when he should have been a man.

He spent the hours before the sun completely vanished from the sky cleaning up the debris that was his home. Much of it was animal waste – in his absence, it seemed that more than a few of the local creatures had used Whitehall as nests or warrens – but there was also quite a bit of old detritus from before things fell apart that needed to be discarded. He only had a few weeks of supplies, but then, he’d never intended to stay long this time. By the time he was done, Gabriel was filthy and even more exhausted than before, but he knew sleep would not come easily, not here, not while the ghosts of his past continued to lurk in the shadows.

Despite the chill breeze, he took a seat in the center of the wide training circle, hugging his cloak tight, and wondered where he went wrong.

Morning found him in the same spot, though this time, he was stripped to the waist, barefoot and holding his father’s sword in one hand. Sunlight glittered off the speckled bands of color that were the two dragon-marks crawling up his forearms, though Gabriel was so accustomed to them now that he barely noticed. He walked through the first cycle of swordforms at half speed, reminding his muscles of what he wished of them. Once he was done, he would increase the pace and repeat the cycle, and then do so again. On good mornings, he would add a fourth or even a fifth cycle.

“Why are you holding me back?” Auqui’s voice chased him from the past. Gabriel frowned. Parting the Silk became Ribbon in the Air.

“You are holding yourself back, Student,” Gabriel murmured along with his memory self. It had been a common argument in those days – the boy was insistent that there was some secret technique Gabriel was not teaching him and seemed incapable of grasping that the truth was simply rooted in his lack of patience. Repetition and practice were what was needed, but Auqui did not want to wait. “You hear my instructions but you do not listen to them.” River of Light flowed into The Rose Unfolds. That was always a tricky transition.

“What does that even mean?” Anger was in Auqui’s so clear voice, anger and frustration. He was having difficulty moving to the next level of sword-mastery, which was understandable. Few swordsmen ever managed to do so – it had taken Gabriel nearly five years to pass that threshold himself – and, no matter that he was better with a blade than most men in Caithness, the boy wanted more. Patience was something he simply refused to comprehend. That was not the whole of it, of course. There was Kira and Auqui’s infatuation with her, despite the fact that she was nearly twice his age and warming Gabriel’s bed, and though Gabriel did not know it at the time, there were also Zabka’s treacherous whispers. “You speak to me in riddles when you should be teaching me!” Auqui snarled when Gabriel tried to urge patience again. The boy had attacked then, in fury, and without even trying to explain himself. They’d dueled numerous times before, though never before had one of them been intentionally trying to harm the other.

Watered Silk met Bundling Straw. Without realizing it, Gabriel refought the battle with his erstwhile apprentice, his feet automatically falling into the same places they had so very long ago. The Branch in the Storm knocked aside The Lion Springs. Auqui had been quick, quicker than any man with a sword that Gabriel had encountered in a decade and had he not realized his student was trying very hard to kill him, he would have been much pleased with the boy’s progress. Willow Embracing the Breeze met a flawless Black Pebbles on Snow. Gabriel recalled the anger that flickered across the void of cool serenity he’d floated in and, to his continuing shame, he remembered going on the offensive, intent on showing this boy how much he still had to learn. Rain in High Wind sent Auqui stumbling backward, Ribbon in the Air nearly killed him, and Snow in High Wind left bloody tears across his chest. The boy rallied – he attacked with a perfect sequence of The Wood Grouse Dances to River of Light, but as always, his impatience led him to ruin, and Gabriel slid away before countering with Soft Rain at Sunset. Blood splashed and Auqui screamed out in surprise and pain. He fell, dropping his sword as his hands automatically went to the vicious cut upon his face. Even then, Gabriel knew the boy would carry that scar to the end of his days.

“You are not ready, boy,” he’d hissed angrily.

“You are not ready,” he repeated in a hushed whisper, seven years later.

But there was no one there to listen.

Gabriel drew a deep breath, held it for a long moment, then exhaled slowly. He returned to the initial ready stance and began anew.

*

For three days, he labored alone, alternating between hours with the sword, practicing each sword form until his muscles ached, and returning his house to something vaguely resembling order. He raked out the small stable – for which Cometes gave him a powerful snort and a tail flick that was just shy of an actual attack – swept out all of the rooms, and even patched the roofs of all three buildings, a task he frankly loathed no matter how necessary it was.

Rainald found him there, on the third day, sweating and frustrated and aching at the strange physical contortions that had been necessary to reach certain spots on the roof. The big Northerner led his ugly horse into the courtyard and had just finished removing the saddle by the time Gabriel managed to climb down from the roof.

“You look miserable, my friend,” Rainald said with his booming laugh. He offered a skin of wine and Gabriel accepted it gratefully.

“I did not know you were coming,” he remarked once he’d slaked his thirst. Rainald grinned.

“You’ve seen my home,” the Northerner said, “so I thought I would do the same.” He glanced around. “Rather remote, is it not?” he asked with a frown.

“It suits me,” Gabriel replied simply, though they both knew that was a lie. He would not be able to stay here for very long. The wanderlust would kick in once more.

“You missed a runner from Wallace when you left,” Rainald said. He fumbled through his saddlebags for a folded parchment bearing the seal of Wallace and handed it over without bothering to look at it. Frowning, Gabriel studied it for a moment before glancing up. “Lord Malcolm’s wife calls for us,” the Northerner said. “I told the messenger boy that I would track you down and bring you with me.”

“You are confident of your skills, old friend,” Gabriel said with a wry smile as he tore open the parchment and scanned the contents. So, Malcolm needed help again. Was there no end to his foolery?

“You dance well enough, but one mighty blow …” Rainald make a noise as he drew his thumb across his neck. Gabriel shook his head and folded the missive up once more.

“To Wallace it is,” he murmured. It was just as well – the ghosts here were far from silent.