“Cold?” Glebol laughed heartily. “If you’re cold, it means you’re not working hard enough. Repeat the exercise from the beginning!”

I got back in line, obeying his command. My opponent for the day, Gasiy, the son of a minor eastern Lord, did the same. I glanced around, taking advantage of the momentary respite. The last night’s snow was trampled into the mud. There was no one outside in this cold except us: steam rose from the two rows of bare-chested boys.

I turned away and focused on the training sword — a thick iron rod wrapped in sackcloth and felt. I made a downward strike, then an upward slash to the left shoulder, then from the shoulder sideways, slicing through the air in front of me with a powerful horizontal sweep. Each blow hit my opponent’s sword, shaking my hand.

“Distance!” Glebol’s booming voice sounded. “Always watch the distance! A Paladin’s aura usually extends twenty paces in all directions. Many of you may think that’s a lot, but it’s not. Even in a tight formation, it’ll only inspire about eighty frontline soldiers. You’ll quickly realize how little twenty paces is in a forest fight or in case the formation breaks.”

I stepped back and repeated the ridiculous exercise. Save for the weight of the sword, it differed little from the exercises that my father and Flime had drilled into my head all those years ago.

I stepped forward, switching to the defensive.

“If the Keepers are merciful, you’ll become a Paladin.”

I stepped back and took a different stance. The blows were aimed lower, at the torso.

“But you all dream of becoming a Great Paladin of the Sword, don’t you? Of receiving all the gifts.” Glebol paused, bursting into loud laughter. “Except those who look at life soberly and don’t expect undeserved things. A Grand Paladin is fifty generations of pure blood.”

A few steps to the left, someone cursed. Glebol never missed an opportunity to bring up his favorite topic. It might be an order from Suav or another training tradition of the Forge, but I was almost convinced that he enjoyed reminding us over and over again that a botched initiation was often the result of watered-down blood, that one of our ancestors married from or into a weak bloodline. Or worse — betrayal. And after all that, he’d talk our ears off about how great the Forge was for strengthening our blood.

I stepped forward. Gasiy missed my thrust and failed to return his sword after a block. The felt-covered tip hit his ribs with a dull, barely audible sound, throwing him backward. I retreated immediately. Gasiy gasped in the snow, trying to catch his breath. When he did, he shot me a venomous glare. I raised my sword in a defensive stance and stepped forward, giving him a chance to attack.

Gasiy struggled to his feet, clutched his ribs, raised his sword, and prepared for a downward thrust.

“Great Paladins are the foundation of the entire formation. Only their aura can shield soldiers from arrows and strengthen their armor. Keep your men within forty paces of a Grand Paladin at all times. While in the Forge, those who fall in battle will rejoin you in the morning. I don’t need to tell you that in real life people don’t come back from the dead.”

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I managed to block all of Gasiy’s blows, even though he was panting and striking with all his might. Disappointed, he stepped back. I did the same. Another five stances and five changes of sides under Glebol’s lecture about the tricks that could kill our men. Boring.

At last, I stepped back and shouted simultaneously with Gasiy:

“Done!”

Dozens of shouts echoed around us. We felt the frost cool our bodies, but we had to wait until everyone was done to leave the field. Only then could we run six laps around the courtyard.

Glebol surveyed us, sweaty and exhausted. He had been standing in one place, dressed only in silken robes, unaffected by the cold.

“Dismissed,” he announced briefly.

The boys hurried to the dormitory, but I looked up. The sky was already dark, but dinner wouldn’t be in another hour. I might as well spend it in the library instead of fighting for a spot in the washroom. I needed to go over the Dinada battle plans once again.

But I failed to make it to the library. Gasiy emerged from the snow-covered bushes and blocked my way. I stopped and listened to the silence of the courtyard.

“Picking a place for your grave?” he sneered.

Looking down at the training swords in his hands, I asked calmly:

“Don’t you think this is foolish?”

“What exactly? That I was the only one who missed a hit today?”

“Bad luck...” I replied quietly. That was all I could say.

“Bad luck, my ass!” Gasiy cried out in indignation. “You switched stances too quickly! You weren’t following the footwork!”

“If that’ll help you sleep tonight...”

Gasiy threw the training sword at me. I barely caught it by the handle, when he stepped forward and sliced through the air with a swift blow. I slid back, cursing the Nameless One for making me train with this fool today. Half a year had passed, but some still hadn’t curbed their self-esteem. Gasiy wasn’t Treido, nor Adalio, nor even Hasok. And this wasn’t a training session for me to control myself and meet his strike with a block.

I extended the sword forward and down, grasping the hilt with both hands below the waist, the point facing Gasiy’s face. He took a wide step and lunged recklessly at me, aiming at my head. I blocked his sword, making it whistle over my head, and took a quick step forward and to the left. My sword plunged into his skull, knocking him onto the snow. For a moment, I froze in my stance, clutching the weapon to my shoulder. Then, with a curse, I threw it on the path and crawled through the bushes after Gasiy. Even though the tip was covered with felt and I fought with half of my strength, a hit to the head could always lead to serious injury.

Fortunately, Gasiy was alive. He even tried to mumble something, but he couldn’t get up. After half an hour, when even rubbing snow on him didn’t help, I cursed.

With Gasiy on my back, I made my way to the dormitory.

Gasiy was dragged to the healer, and I was sent to Glebol for fighting without permission. From there, I was sent to the courtyard to run until morning.

The sun had already set and the frost was thickening. I could try to make a snow pit for the night, but for that, I’d need a skin or a warm coat. I wasn’t strong enough to just fall asleep on the snow.

The guards wouldn’t let me into their barracks. But I wouldn’t go there, as it was unworthy of a lord’s son, even if he was only from a Minor House.

So I’d have to keep warm by running sparingly and waving the damned training sword around. May Gasiy forget his own name forever!

I didn’t know how loud I was, but at about midnight, as I was running past the dormitory, the doors opened and Gasiy appeared.

One of the shadows that had been gliding around me turned to him and hissed.

“Haa-a-as-ss-s-s...”

I stopped. Gasiy descended the stairs in silence, scorching me with his gaze, and muttered:

“What are you staring at? Let’s run.”

I ran off with a big grin on my face.