Judd enjoyed a hearty breakfast the following morning of porridge and stewed fruit. Then he retrieved his sword from his pack and tried to find a secluded place to practice. This was harder than he thought it would be as the children of the farmers, those not old enough to work and those playing hooky, followed him everywhere. It didn’t seem to matter where he went. There was always a group of children around him, asking questions, wanting to hold the sword and getting far too close for comfort to a dangerous weapon.
Judd eventually began to run, hoping to outpace them but they were as dogged as hunting hounds. Judd ducked around buildings and jumped over hedges but his victory came when he vaulted a fence and the children stayed on the other side. Immediately aware that they were not following him, he looked around but could see no bull or other animal he ought to be afraid of.
Knowing he couldn’t shirk his audience entirely but relieved they were out of the reach of his sword, Judd tried to recall the moves he had been trained in during his two week stint in Astaril before being sent out. There he had practiced on a dummy and to his relief, there was a scarecrow in the field. Judd approached it and performed fighting stance one. The children beyond the fence made appropriate awestruck noises which made Judd feel self conscious. He compensated for this by vigorously going through the motions, striking the scarecrow several times, knowing he was repeating himself but unable to remember all the fighting stances he’d been drilled in.
Still, that was what the training session with Sir Alaykin’s sword master was for. He would receive instruction that would refine his style.
Judd did his best to clutch at his sword which was quite heavy and tried to do an impressive move from his daydreams which involved two great diagonal slashes across his foe, creating an X in the middle and he would drive his sword through where the two lines met. Only problem was he lost control of his sword mid swing and lopped the poor scarecrow’s head off.
The children applauded this mortal blow. Judd puffed, wishing he was being praised for something he intended when a crotchety voice barked angrily at him.
“What in Maul are you doing to my scarecrow!”
Judd spun around to see an elderly man striding towards him, waving his cane, a farming hat crammed hard on his head but unable to shade the fearsome look in his eyes.
“Your scarecrow…sir, I am so sorry!” Judd gulped and dropped his sword, scooping up the scarecrow’s head and attempting to perch it back on the body of the decapitated field sentry.
“Give it here!” He barked, snatching the head away. “What are you looking at?” He bellowed. Judd turned to see the children scattering as fast as cockroaches when exposed to the light. “Next person to cross my fence feels my cane,” he eyed Judd with a watery yet strangely dangerous gaze, “no matter how big they are.”
“Sir, you are absolutely right…I should not have trespassed.” Judd blurted as he retrieved his sword. “I was just looking for a place to practice without injuring any children inadvertently and I…” He stopped when he realised the man was not listening to him, muttering under his breath as he inspected the damage.
“I’m going to have to replace the whole damn spine of this thing…” The old man grouched and glared at Judd. “What do you think you are doing, swinging that thing around? You’re a little old to be playing make believe, especially with someone else’s sword.”
Judd chuckled. “This is actually my sword. I’m Judd LaMogre, a knight in training…” The man made an uninterested noise as he yanked weeds out of his field. “I’m off to the keep this morning. Sir Alaykin’s sword master is going to give me some pointers…”
“You’d better hope he’s using a padded blade because the only point you’re going to get is one straight through the chest.” The old man looked up. “Dalain is not known to be kind to rookies.”
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Judd swallowed. “Well, I hope I’m not entirely a novice at sword fighting. I have killed an ogre and several goblins…”
“On purpose?”
“How could it have been otherwise?”
“They’re not particularly smart monsters. They probably fell on your sword by accident.”
Judd cringed, recalling his defeat of the ogre. “Well…possibly…but that’s why I need the instruction and why I wanted to practice first.” He sighed when he realised he was lamenting his woes to a man who was clearly not interested in hearing them. “Again, I apologise for trespassing.”
He went to the fence and clambered over it. As he began to walk away, he thought he heard the old man say, “You’re going to die.”
Judd shivered and put some speed into his stride.
Aalis was reluctant to enter any fort or go anywhere too populated for fear of being judged a witch so Verne offered to accompany Judd to the gates of Fort Bastil. He was a relatively quiet sort but hardly shy or retiring. It helped that he was exceptionally good at something. Sure he said he was aiming for Judd’s head and missed the first time they’d met but Judd had seen him make some impressive shots with his bow and arrow. Yet Verne gave very little away about himself, his raggedly cut black hair tied somewhat back with the bandana around his forehead. His bright blue eyes observed everything and Judd wondered if he was constantly picking out targets and judging whether or not he could hit them.
Despite there being no moat around Fort Bastil, there was a standard drawbridge that could seal up the gates to the lower bailey in case of attack. Given the typical safety of northern forts, it was a little excessive but it did boast a grandeur that had been lacking from Fort Faine. As Judd crossed the lower bailey he realised Verne was no longer beside him and turned to see the young archer gazing at horse, shackled to one side of the gates. Its head was lowered and it seemed less tired as it was bored.
“Verne?” Judd called, going back to him, guessing at what he was looking at. “Drawbridges, while very grand, are monstrously heavy. Some forts have gears and a pulley system so that they can be drawn up just by the turn of a wheel. It’s really quite fascinating.”
“Fort Bastil does not seem to lack finance…so why rely on the horse?” Verne asked.
“Horses,” Judd corrected, pointing to where another horse was shackled on the other side, “the drawbridge is too difficult to raise or lower with just one horse. And it’s because of Fort Bastil’s prosperity that they use horses. They’re a lot more expensive over time than installing gears, cogs and pulleys.”
He was wracking his brains to work out what was so interesting when Verne turned and continued to stride across the lower bailey. It was only after applying to the guards to gain admittance to the upper bailey that Verne said softly, “Imagine your whole life constantly walking yet never going anywhere.”
Judd wanted to query this but was interrupted by Dalain approaching him.
“LaMogre! Come,” he slapped him on the shoulder, causing him to stumble, “let’s get this over with.”
“Sure…I mean, yes sir!” Judd hastened to keep up as Dalain, a well built man possibly ten years older than himself and at least half a head taller, fitted with tailored armour that shifted perfectly with his stride. His head was shaved closely around the sides with the bulk of hair on top, so long it was braided at the back of his skull and in a brown so dark it looked black. “I just want to say how grateful I am to you for your instruction.”
Dalain said nothing to this, leading Judd to a fighting ring.
“This is where I train Sir Alaykin’s soldiers to become the best of all Astaril’s forces,” he announced, leaping into the ring with familiar ease, “and that is only after they have completed rigorous training in the lower bailey. To have someone like yourself in this ring is an honour you have not earned.”
Judd knew if he tried to vault the top rope of the ring he would trip over his own feet so he slid his body between the two ropes then undid all his caution by snagging his foot. He kicked himself free, trying to regain some dignity.
“Though I am not insensible to the honour of this instruction, I have completed two weeks of training in Astaril.” Judd explained.
“We shall see how much you learned.” Dalain drew his sword from its sheath, an impressively long and detailed weapon which he gripped the hilt of with one hand and swung it around several times in a manner Judd had often dreamed he would be capable of. “Come along, I do not have all day.”
“Yes sir.” Judd drew his sword out, trying to mimic Dalain’s grasp yet he did not seem to have the same control that Dalain possessed, his sword as still as a statue. Judd’s wavered about so he gripped the handle with two hands.
“Hold your sword properly.”
Judd could only assume Dalain meant as he was doing so he attempted to mimic his single handed grasp. He felt like a small child trying to use a fishing rod that was too long, having hooked a fish that was too large for his size.
“Don’t we need shields?” He asked, already feeling the muscles in his arm tremble.
“I don’t.” Dalain chuckled and advanced on him.