Pain had a voice, and it was laughing at him.
After his so-called training Soren staggered down the torchlit corridor, each step sending fresh waves of agony through his trembling legs.
The stone walls seemed to pulse and sway in the flickering light, or perhaps that was just his vision failing him after six hours under Kaelor's merciless instruction.
Today, the swordmaster had introduced a new torment, forcing him to grip red-hot sword hilts until his palms blistered and wept.
'One more step,' he told himself. 'Just one more.'
It became his mantra as he dragged himself forward, away from the training yard and the watchful eyes that seemed to follow his every movement these days.
His burned palms throbbed in time with his heartbeat, the raw flesh screaming with each involuntary flex of his fingers.
He kept his back straight through sheer force of will, refusing to hunch or limp even with no one there to witness it. Pride was all he had left.
