[center][h2]Skadan Castle, Training Grounds[/h2][/center][hr]
Once she had verified that her charge was tucked in safe and sound for the night, Gundiberga had gone to the training yard, passing the time by hurling her throwing knives at straw training dummies. Her aim was impeccable, as always, so she had taken to trying for more and more obscure spots, like the buttons on its shirt. The king’s shouting still cut through the air, his fury cackling like thunder in the cold, bleak night sky. While some people found it hard to sleep through, the blonde warrior believed the king's booming hatred for God to be reassuring most of the time.

Still, it was hard to sleep through such a thing, especially when all the king's magic ever made her want to do was slaughter the religious. For the next knife she imagined the dummy was a priest and the corners of her mouth quirked up into a wide, snarling sort of grin as the weapon flew through the air and imbedded itself right where the left eye should have been.

“Good throw”, a voice remarked from the shadows at the yard’s edge, followed by a knife that flew past her, plunging into the dummy’s coarse simulacrum of a pair of legs. A large dark stain broke away from the penumbra, gradually taking shape as a human figure as it moved into the torchlight. Its features were half-obscured in the leaping, inconstant light, but the glinting of a blade under its cloak gave away its identity clearly enough. Even in Skadania, only one person went about with an unsheathed knife all day long.

Ratechi stopped at a brief distance from her and squinted in the dummies’ direction. “Pity we don’t have enough proper targets in here, but the elder wouldn’t stand us wasting people like this. And the king, either.” He made as if to throw a glance at the greater tower, but his left eye remained half-closed and fixated on his interlocutor.

“Hm,” the blonde hummed in agreement, admiring the other’s perfect aim before she turned to face the man with a blade for an arm. The weapon in question seemed to take on an ominous glow in the low light of the moon, but was still mostly obscured by the guard’s cloak. “Hello Ratechi,” Gundiberga greeted, tilting her head up to meet the stare of the eye that was still on her. “Strange to see you out and about without the king’s soothsayer. To what do I owe this honor?” 

The Farigai nodded and gestured with his one hand by way of salutation. “It’s he that sends me on this errand, so we're not far in intent.” He turned back to face the woman as he spoke. “I, and we all, know that your devotion and hatred of the Enemy are exemplary,” he continued, “And we know also that Dalgiserius trusts you and your charge greatly in his scheme for Udos. It wouldn't be my place to question our king, but it's my duty -” he fingered the Locust-head effigy hanging on his chest “- to make sure his trust is not misplaced.” His arm-blade flashed as he twitched it under its draping. “Can the King of all Lamperts rely on you, Gundiberga?”

She returned the question with a blank look at first, a neat crease forming between her brows as she drew them together. Her ink black eyes drifted to Locust-head at the center of him, then shifted to the sword-arm shuddering beneath his onyx mantle, before they finally settled on his face again. Gudiberga moved her head in a slow, deliberate, owl-like tilt as her pale lips quirked up into a deranged and toothy grin. “Always,” the blonde answered, the wild look that was so common to the warrior back in her eyes once again. “I am at the king’s full disposal. He may always depend on me to carry out his commands diligently.”

“Good.” Ratechi nodded, his stump coming to rest. “Then what I say shouldn't be any trouble. We don't doubt your good will, but the king’s ward…” His eyes narrowed again, either in focus or disgust. “She may be too feeble to carry the fate of us all on her shoulders. We will follow to ensure she doesn't stray from the path our liege set for her. If she tries to hide anything, or if we must intervene,” he raised his blade into view, pointing it at the shieldmaiden, “we’d like to know we can count on you to do what's necessary.”

At this bit of news Gundiberga frowned deeply. “The little fox is loyal,” she stated in a tone that was starting to sound frustrated. “...and not as weak as she first appears.” The shield maiden couldn't really blame Ratechi for the assumption as Antonia was too skinny and gangly for her own good, but in the three years she'd been under Gundiberga's guard the girl had been nothing but faithful to their king. Plus the princess's archery skills were getting quite impressive and had surpassed the blonde’s long ago.

Of course, Antonia was still shit at hand-to-hand combat and she had never once bashed a skull in, but with Gundiberga as her tutor it was only a matter of time.

“But if she strays, I’ll gut her myself,” she finished, her tone never wavering. “I do not abide by traitors.”

“I think the king would prefer her alive.” The blade was lowered, but the man’s gaze and words were still laden with a shade of distaste. “Certain of it, in fact. Whatever happens, do not be rash. Nor too quick to trust in the faith of a witch-spawn.” Ratechi spat over his right shoulder in superstitious haste before continuing. “Your fox has unclean blood in her veins. But I’m glad to hear you’ll keep it in check.” What passed for his left arm disappeared under his cloak once more. Without its gleam, his figure grew all the more similar to a shapeless mass of shadow. “She must not know, of course. Let her never be aware that she’s being watched for a misstep on this journey, not by us, not by you.”

“So it shall be,” Gundiberga nodded abruptly, crossing over to the training dummy and pulling the daggers from it's straw body. She came back to Ratechi and extended a sinewy arm, holding his knife out towards him hilt first. “I’ll wait for your people to find me and report on what I know once we’re inside Udos. The princess will stay the course or we’ll bring her back to our king together.”

The proffered knife was swallowed by the blackness with but a slight tug to mark its passing. “We will see to all in its due time.” Ratechi began to withdraw towards the denser dim of the walls. When he became little more than a rustle amid distant cries and a half-guessed movement, he paused. “Until then, be well. God is dead.” And, with nary a sound more, he was gone.[hr][right][sub]Collaboration with Narcotic Dollie and [@Oraculum][/sub][/right]