He did not sleep well.
This was not unusual — he had not slept particularly well since Gor, and had long since stopped expecting to — but the rain had kept on through the night and by the time the pre-dawn bell rang through the Red House he was already sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed, watching the grey light come in through the window and settle across the floor.
He picked up the practice spear from against the wall, turned it over once in his hands, and set it back down.
Today he would use Gungnir.
He retrieved it from the Mark — the familiar weight arriving in his palm, that constant slow shifting of balance along the shaft that he had spent months learning to read rather than resist. The pale arm that held it caught what little light existed in the room. He flexed the fingers. They worked, as they always did.
He wrapped the spear in cloth and tucked it under his arm, and went to find Arthur and Jacob.
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