Book 1: Chapter 14 - Training [Part 1]
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Fight the wielder, not the weapon.
- The Living Sword by Fen Vaigorus.
They made their way across the estates, passing the barracks where men were busy with their drills. The soldiers quite pointedly looked in every direction except at Seraphina as she walked by. Anatoli was much feared in Castle Sariens, and if word got around that someone was looking at his daughter with less than honorable eyes, he would no doubt do something about it.
Throughout their walk past the outside men’s training area, Eloise's face flushed a pretty pink with embarrassment. She kept her arms firmly at her sides as she scurried behind Seraphina. Seraphina noticed that Eloise stole a few glances at the young men-at-arms as they passed the barracks. She supposed that Eloise was of the age when she would be thinking about such things... but really!
Not that Seraphina could quite deny that she had perhaps glanced this way and that—to check how they did their drills, of course. Such observations would be helpful in her studies of the sword, spear, bow, and hammer. Or any of the other implements of war, really. She thought this as she touched her bottom lip with a delicate finger. That was all it was.
Finally convincing herself of the truth of the matter, they made their way to the Haql Tajriba, the indoor training grounds of a noble family. An indoor fighting pit by a fancy name, really; it looked a bit like a cross between a dojo and a Middle Eastern prayer hall. The tradition had come from the Lady Rashana of all places—the Al-Lazarian custom becoming popular among the proud Aranthian nobility as a way of setting themselves apart.
Without a son to train in the martial arts, it usually remained empty, but Seraphina had reserved it today. They would be receiving training from Armsmaster Kellan, a rather cantankerous old man. She would have liked to forego training entirely, but one of the fastest ways to gain skill was to practice under the guided eye of a trainer.
She opened the sliding doors to find an already grumpy Kellan positively fuming.
"The hour has grown late, Lady Seraphina. Daughter of the Duke or not, if you wish me to train you, then the very least you can do is turn up at the correct turn of the glass," chided the Armsmaster in a clipped voice.
Kellan Bullsort was old, but not old in the weak, wizened way of the infirm gone to seed. No, his was the age of a tough mountain oak—weathered by countless storms yet unbowed. Of average height, he stood straight of back, his muscles and bulk a bulwark displaying a strength that belied his years. Just like the bull of his family name, Seraphina thought for a moment. His face was etched with lines, deep creases carved by a lifetime of battle and the sorrow of watching men he had trained as boys fall before their time. In his grey eyes, still clear and sharp as a winter morning, lingered hints of sadness that softened the harshness of his words.
Almost in response, Eloise let out a delicate yawn, which drew a baleful glance from the Armsmaster.
Hands behind his back, he looked over the two girls with a most critical eye.
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"I told the Duke that this would do little good. Ladies of your station have guards to keep you safe. And you, milady Seraphina, have already had sufficient instruction. Still, when he heard that his darling daughter and her new lady-in-waiting wished to learn more deeply of what I could teach, he was positively overjoyed. I would like to state that the Lord Duke Anatoli was also under the influence of drink at the time, but an order is an order. I do this under protest and duress," the old man explained, his eyes narrowing.
"You will instruct us to your best ability, or I will have you whipped to within an inch of your life," stated Seraphina, her harsh words at odds with her warm smile. Eloise looked at her aghast, a hand covering her mouth in feminine shock.
"Hah, if I had a copper for every time I have received a threat, milady, I'd be as rich as the King!" Kellan snorted dismissively. "Young lady, you have certainly grown up. And... not in a good way, abusing your station like that."
"You are quite right, Armsmaster Kellan. I will have all of your men whipped instead. I will see you grow rich on their pain," replied the heiress, her smile just as sweet but her voice growing a fraction colder. "Am I asking something that is wrong? That is unexpected? An unwilling teacher makes for unwilling students."
The old man saw the deadly seriousness with which she spoke. This was not the usual spoiled brat, who was nonetheless charming in her own way, that he had been used to dealing with.
"Lady Seraphina, I have known you since you were no higher than my knee. I remind you, it is the manner of the asking," he said, his feathers very much ruffled.
The blonde girl kept her smile. "And I have known you since my father picked up a drunk broken by the rigors of war and afraid to take the field again. It is the manner of the teaching and its enthusiasm that I am speaking of, or in this case, the sad lack of it. I do not want to hear excuses about having a poor student because we are a tiny bit late in the morning. Do your best, Armsmaster, and I will do mine."
Eloise could not help but feel a dash of respect for how Seraphina was dealing with the old man.
"Correct discipline is the start of correct skill," Kellan muttered, but he should have known better than to duel words with the young lady. "I have others that are clamoring for my time. Let us begin."
He turned around, picking up two short wooden knives from the wall. Spitefully, he tossed them to the pair of waiting girls, testing their reflexes.
Eloise let out a small shriek of surprise, dropping hers to the floor, but Seraphina, although she fumbled for a bit, was able to catch her wooden blade. This earned Seraphina a small nod of approval.
The old Armsmaster's face took on a mask of professional impassivity. "Let this be a lesson: in a fight for your life, you must be prepared for anything. A strike from an assassin’s knife at close quarters is nearly impossible to react to."
Suddenly, he burst forward, drawing a small steel blade from his hip and stopping it a hair’s breadth from Seraphina’s throat. "Like so," he explained.
Seraphina did not bat an eye, though her companion, Eloise, looked quite frozen in fright. Seraphina told herself she could have reacted if she’d wanted to.
“So, how must we deal with such a situation? If we cannot react in time, what must we do?” he asked, turning his piercing gaze on the very nervous-looking Eloise.
Seraphina already knew the answer. This lesson had been taught to her both through the memories of the original Seraphina and her own experiences in her old world. A rich woman could never be too careful, after all. Still, she chose to let her lady-in-waiting respond.
She recognized what the Armsmaster was trying to do: letting the student reach their own conclusion to a given problem to make the lesson stick. In a fight for one’s life certain lessons needed to be seared into memory.
"Perhaps… we must be able to predict it? That way, we can start moving before the blade is in motion," ventured the dark-haired Eloise, her voice hesitant but thoughtful.