The first weapon that Narm taught Caj was the ax. He did this because he claimed that it was relatively simple to use, and one of his favorites. He explained that he expected Caj to have at least a passing familiarity with most any weapon that Narm gifted him. Caj judged that based on Narms standards, that would probably mean that he would be required to be able to perform actions in his sleep. He was pleasantly surprised when Narm moved on from the ax after just three weeks. When he asked why, Narm replied,

“Because you are absolute Chaff with the thing.” At Caj’s affronted look, he sighed tiredly. “Look, Caj, you aren’t terrible with the ax, but it will never be your primary weapon, you don’t have the correct build for it. You are broad in the shoulders, and strong in the back, but that is mostly muscle rather than bone structure. You just aren’t naturally blocky.” Narm shrugged at Caj’s nonplussed look. “No one has an affinity for all weapons, if you ever have to fight with an ax, you know enough not to make an absolute fool of yourself, and maybe even enough to actually survive.” He grinned wickedly at that, earning a look from Caj that would be lethal to nearly anyone else, but simply made him cackle with laughter.

Knives proved to be absolutely horrifying to master. Where Caj’s build had been too slim for the ax, it was too bulky for the knives. Nevertheless, Narm taught him to basic proficiency. Caj found the Knives strange to learn, and they had minimal formations to learn. Whereas the ax had seven or eight basic movements that could be applied in various manners, most rather straightforward, the knives relied on lack of pattern, and a more instinctive feel for the tempo of combat. The most effective techniques normally relied on rapid stabbing motions or gradually bleeding your opponent to death. Caj was lacking in all of those areas, and it took considerably more time for Narm to train him to a point where he viewed him in a satisfactory manner.

Marci, who had been housebound since an accident with a cart had crushed her left foot a little over two years before, had taken to coming outside in the morning and evenings to watch her ‘Uncle’ and ‘cousin’ practice. She delighted in teasing Caj during his breaks, and shouting encouragement during brutal practice sessions, much to Narm’s amusement, and Caj’s chagrin. After two months with knives, Narm declared that Caj had progressed as far as he could without active sparring with multiple opponents who had different styles and weapons. Caj would never be a dagger-master, but he knew enough that with a little more practice and experience, he would be able to hold his own. It was at this point in time that both Caj’s and Marcella’s schedule shifted in a rather drastic way. Ally, or Ilandra, as she haughtily insisted on being called, left to make political connections with Count Isaac’s family in Greatriver, leaving Marci companionless. Around the same time Caj started his training with the sword.

***

It was a bright spring morning when, much to Caj’s surprise, Narm informed him that he would not be taught the sword by the old man, but rather by Lord Noblis. When Caj stuttered out a question that consisted mostly of ‘huh’ and ‘wah’, Narm answered the poorly conveyed, but still understood query.

“I won’t be teaching you for a few reasons Caj.” He leaned heavily on a cane that he had taken to carrying with him at most times, per chance his old knee injury gave him trouble. “First of all, I am getting old. I can still instruct, but you need a better sparring partner.” He held up hand to quell Caj’s protest. “I still have a better feel for combat than you do Caj, but I am an old man. I am. It is just a fact of life. I am almost seventy, and have not had an easy life. Those things make for a difficult time shrugging of training accidents. You are a young man who is coming into considerable strength. You need a better opponent.” He gave a tight-lipped smile at Caj’s thoughtful face.

“The second Item of note, is that Bietre is a considerably better swordsman than I am, and that he had access to more kinds weapons. All of which I expect you to have a passing familiarity with.” Caj groaned loudly, and Narm laughed dryly. “Ha, you’ll thank me someday when you are facing down a dual hook-swords wielding Elforian noble, and actually have an inkling of how to respond. Or when you run into an angry militia-man from the Vencheng empire who dual wields butterfly swords, and you don’t have to figure a half sword-half knife fighting style on the fly. Or when you don’t lose your head to a Falx because you miss the little detail of which side of the blade is sharpened. Or- “

“Okay, Okay, I get the point, you don’t need to continue further.” Caj replied snippily, getting a snort from Marci, who sat in the shade of the old oak just outside the mortuary. Narm just shrugged.

“You’ll thank me later.” He repeated. Caj shrugged noncommittally at that. Narm moved forward without regard for the contrary young man. “On a side note,” he turned to Marci, “Bietre has informed me that his youngest daughter, Natalia, is feeling rather lonely as her sister has been sent on a diplomatic mission to the Pewhoasil Desert, and her brother Maxim has been fostering in Edral for most of the last year. Your parents, Marci, have mentioned that they thought you could also use some company, and they would like you to become more involved in Goldstern’s political climate.”

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

This time Marci groaned in exasperation from where she sat under the old oak.

“Oh come now, Marcella, Natalia is a good girl, and I am sure you will have a great time poking fun at Caj. On our last visit, she seemed to have an unprecedented interest in him.” Marcellas eyebrows rose, and her voice descended into a sound of absolute and utter cruelty as she looked at Caj.

“Did she now?” she said, a sly smile on her lips, “Well then, perhaps this will be an interesting endeavor.” Caj tried to glare at both Narm and Marcella at once, but they just grinned evilly. He sighed ruefully.

“Really Narm? What have I done to make you hate me so? By the time the day is up, Lady Noblis will have heard every embarrassing story Marci can tell of me.”

“I will probably add a few here and there, to make up for any I don’t know.” Marci piped in helpfully, garnering a dark look from her cousin, and an amused one from her uncle. Narm patted Caj on the shoulder consolingly,

“Don’t worry Caj,” he said brightly, “By the end of the day, you will be in so much pain that you won’t even think of how far Lady Noblis’ opinion of you has fallen!”

“Reapers Scythe and Sickle but I hate this family sometimes. Sure as sure.” Narm and Marci chuckled, but otherwise ignored his outburst in favor of turning to look at the gilded carriage that was pulling up to the Mortuary Office.

“I believe,” Narm said, “That is Lord Noblis now. You two run along now, and have a good time.” He smiled as he watched them go. He couldn’t speak for Marcella. But He was reasonably confident that Caj would not be having a good time.

***

Caj’s lessons with Bietre started rather predictably. The man walked out into the courtyard behind his home, wincing from a terrible hangover, with two wooden swords in his hands. He unceremoniously chucked one at Caj, who just barely managed to grab it, fumbling with it for a moment before it finally settled in his hands. In less than two seconds after that, he was on his back, gasping for air, with a searing pain in his ankle. Caj had absolutely no idea what had happened. When he finally got his wind back, he looked up to see Bietre’s stony face, devoid of it’s usual good humor.

“Lesson one,” Bietre’s voice hissed, “Your opponent will never wait for you to be ready. Yes?” Caj took his last word to be asking for confirmation that he understood. Caj, still winded, nodded his assent. Bietre grinned maliciously. “Good.” Two seconds later, his wooden sword clacked on the cobblestone where Caj’s head had been resting only half a second ago.

Reapers Scythe and Sickle! Caj swore inwardly as he rolled to the side, Does the man have no concept of honor? Almost as if he could hear Caj’s thoughts, Bietre spoke once again.

“Lesson two: There is no honor in combat.” His weapon missed Caj by only the barest margin, leading to a tirade of curses from Caj. After a few more minutes of chasing Caj around the courtyard, he finally stopped toying with the young man and put him firmly on his arse. With his sword point at Caj’s throat, he asked yet another question. Caj was gratified that the man seemed at least slightly winded.

“Tell me, uchenik,” Bietre panted slightly, “Why have you not counterstruck?” Caj, far more winded than his instructor, looked at the lord somewhat incredulously. Did the man think he was suicidal? Perhaps touched in the head? Maybe Bietre had too much to drink last night.

“I am without… a… weapon, your lordship.” Caj replied, trying to remain as polite as possible. Bietre Snorted at his efforts.

“On this court,” he said harshly, “I am Uchitel, you are uchenik. Teacher and student. And I still have many lessons to teach you.” He grinned at Caj’s obvious worry. “Lesson three: you are never without a weapon.”

*

No one knew that Maxim Noblis was home. He had arrived in the port this morning after two years away with the Knyaz’s personal guard. The Knyaz was the crown price of Edral, and a recent graduate from their foremost military institution. One of the many benefits of being the Kynaz’s guard through the academy was that he was also allowed to train there. He wore a sabre on his left hip and a Kinjal(a sort of long slightly curved dagger) on his right, and was lethal with either of them. Maxim had inherited all of his fathers leanness, but none of his height, making his greatest assets in combat speed and fluidity rather than reach and power. He had used that speed and fluidity to sneak past his fathers guards that morning.

He now sat outside the training courtyard, watching with interest as his father chased a young auburn haired man in circles. If Maxim had to guess, he would put the young man’s age at about 16, two years younger than himself. With the boy’s height and frame he could have passed for older, but the freshness of his face was telling. The boy wasn’t aquiting himself well, but that was to be expected considering his opponent. Maxim had never seen anyone defeat his Father in a spar, although he heard that Dean Rankin, The Headsman, came close once.

All things considered, the boy was doing well enough, and Maxim could see that he had some combat training at the very least. He was making mistakes aplenty, but never the same one twice. Maxim watched for a few minutes until movement in his periphery caught his eye. He turned to see Mathilda the milk maid staring at him. He grinned slyly at the girl he hadn’t seen in nearly two years, and she grinned right back. She marched right up to him and planted a huge kiss right on his lips. He grinned through the kiss. It had been nearly two years since had a romp with Mathilda, and he was looking forward to it. Just as he was about to wrap his arms around her, she leaned back away from him and smacked him. Hard.

“I’ll show you to sleep with my older sister, you randy git!” she hissed in his face, then turned and marched away. He reached up to touch his red cheek and sighed as he watched the sway of Mathilda’s hips as she walked away.

“Well…” he said with an Edralian coloring to his words, “I suppose I deserved that.”