It was not a good week. Ivo could hardly recall one day from the next as he collapsed into the bed beside Adrianne, who was lying sprawled out with her own exhaustion. With great effort, he reached out and ran his hand down her bare leg refraining from squeezing her sore muscles. The pair shared their failures and triumphs from their third week of training.
Ivo quickly understood why the Dark Knight was Darren’s ideal mentor. He was relentless, never softening his skills for Ivo. His body ached from cuts and bruises where he was pommeled and struck with the Knights blade. He offered few words of encouragement, save for when Ivo would get back up, and all he offered then was “good.” Followed by “Now do better.”
Adrianne sighed as she turned her head toward Ivo, “he still hasn’t said anything to you?”
“You mean, have I drawn blood yet? No.” Ivo closed his eyes, focusing on her skin beneath his fingertips instead of letting his weakness cloud his mind. With her, he didn’t feel like a failure. As long as she was at his side, he would keep fighting. She was training just as hard as he, and he wasn’t going to let her go to the summoning without him. They would transcend together. He let the hope lull him to sleep despite his stomach grumbling, he would eat after he rested.
It took two more weeks before Ivo was able to even get close to touching his mentor with a blade, and that was simply a few threads on his cape. Nonetheless, it impressed the Knight. He instructed Ivo to sit, handed him a canteen, sat beside him, and removed his helm. For being called the Dark Knight, everything about his face was the opposite, thin straw-colored hair was sweaty and short, his eyes nearly gray but a trace of light green in them, and his skin had a tone that would be golden if he were to bathe in the sun, but he had clearly not basked in it for some time. His skin was smooth, save for a scar that ran in one solid white line across his face, long since healed.
“I will say you do not give up, but you will never be victorious the way you are.”
“And what way is that?” Ivo would be happy to have so many words strung together by his mentor if they didn’t come with a jab at the end.
“You are not angry enough. I chose you because I saw the fire in you, the anger when you were losing. It shielded you did it not?”
Ivo took another swig from the canteen to think back to the labyrinth. He did not have the desire to summon the runes, they didn’t respond the way they were meant to in the sword, and that’s why Adrianne was able to stop his blade. But there was the one moment the sword deflected. The runes were meant to charge through, not to stand fast.
“What were you thinking during that time? When your friend was mightier than you, and the girl you love took you to the ground despite your attempts to get the upper hand?”
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“I felt…” Ivo looked at his mentor, whose gaze held no judgment. His eyes were soft and vulnerable, Ivo’s parents never coached him through his weaknesses like this, it was always praise on his strengths. That was the way of their people. To have this guidance from a Glorious Knight who has never known defeat and was rumored to be the most vicious in battle was not what Ivo anticipated when the blade was driven into his body. “Small. Like Darren always says, I am, and I felt like I was an unworthy partner for Adrianne.”
“You are small, and you are worthy. I have tried to push you, but you do no get angry with me.”
“I trust you to guide me.”
“Do you trust your purpose and our people?”
“I have no reason to not to.”
The Knight pulled back his sleeve and turned his wrist back and forth, examining the burn left from the time he once was bonded to someone. “You shouldn't trust those who will so easily forget you if you do not bring them honor.”
The fallen are not discussed. Ivo vaguely remembered an uncle from his childhood but knew he was not to ask what had happened to him. Stories his father shared of his youth stopped, and the name was never mentioned. The absence never discussed. What would he do if it were Adrianne? The thought never occurred to him, they were encouraged to never think of failure, to only aim for victory.
“What is your name?” Ivo asked.
The Knight laughed and pulled his helm back over his head. “You do not get to ask me questions until you draw blood.” Standing, the Knight held his blade at the ready, “You have two more weeks, then I will consider you a failure and release you from my branding.”
“Y-you can’t do that!” Ivo struggled to his feet, bringing his shield up to deflect the blow incoming from the Knight.
“I can. And I will.”
The Knight kicked the shield that had yet to be secured, causing Ivo to stumble back and drop it. When his mentor’s blade cut through the air, Ivo brought his own up fury pouring from his palm and danced up the blade in a gust that lightened the blow and allowed him to block the blade. His own knocking back and slicing across his lip. He now knew how his mentor got his scar. Blood ran into his mouth he spit it out, trying to relieve the metallic taste on his tongue.
“What? Don’t want to be forgotten?” The Knights laugh muffled through his helm as he stepped back and rested his blade on his shoulder. “Leave your sword with me. Go home to your pretty wife and make love to her with what energy you have left. We will leave tomorrow and not come back until you are ready. Whether that is in time for the summoning or not is up to you.”
“I will not leave my sword with you. It is my family’s, and I will have no protection.” Ivo tightened his grip on his sword; he was told not to trust and wouldn’t fail this test.
“Very well. But your shield is mine. I won it today, you are more than enough with your blade.”
Ivo left the shield behind in the training arena. His hand never left his hilt, and his eyes searched the wrists of all the villagers on the way home. None bore the bonding burn, at least none that were exposed. He wondered how many were hidden, and suddenly his village became a mystery to him when he had never questioned it before.