James woke, not the slow waking, but all at once. His body snapped to wakefulness. The world was vibrant; he could smell something good. His stomach let out the loudest growl he had ever heard. He took a moment to adjust. He wasn’t in the boys' quarter at the Master’s house, nor was he in the rocking chair at Miss Silvia’s. This was something new. It was a small room, nearly a cupboard. If he reached his arms out, he could just touch either wall. Most of the room was taken up with the bed and small chest at its foot and a washbasin and stool. The walls were whitewashed plaster, chipped and cracked with age. The wooden crossbeams ran perpendicular to the room and supported the thick wooden roof. Fresh clothes had been laid out on the heat with a pair of clean, if not new, leather boots. The shirt was made of a lightweight tan material, and the pants of a thicker weave. The boots fit nearly perfectly, if not just a little big, but with the woolen socks, it was perfect.

“I hear you moving. That means you're up. Let's get started before you waste more of the morn,” came the familiar bark of Ser Edwin. “I ain’t got much, but I have some fresh eggs and some toast down here. Now get a move on, boy.”

James did as he was told, all but running down the ladder, pretending to be a set of stairs. Ser Edwin sat, one hand reading a folded note and the other holding a large metal stein. There was a plate with eggs and toast on it. James launched himself onto the stool and began devouring the food, barely pausing to breathe. Ser Edwin laughed, a hearty, rich sound, setting his stein down on the table with a heavy thunk.

“I forgot how hungry growing boys can be. Don’t worry, I’ll make do. Here, you can finish mine.”

He handed James his metal plate. As James shoveled the food into his mouth, Edwin leveled a look James had never seen. Gone was the good humor, and James got the feeling he suddenly was being weighed and measured down to his very soul. But as soon as it had come, it was gone, and the sparkle in the older man’s grey eyes had returned.

“I spoke with the Master yesterday. I told him it was about time I took a new apprentice, that I had made up my mind, and that it should be you. He fought the idea, of course, being the stubborn old crow he is. But he saw it my way sooner than later. So you’ll be staying here from now on, and I’ll be teaching you the craft. But the Master would only let you go if I promised to dust off my blade and continue your sword work. I won’t teach you like the so-called blade masters they got there. Imma teach ya real blade work, and it ain’t gonna be easy. Got it?”

James simply stared, mouth open, the toast halfway eaten, forgotten in his hand. He was simply stunned. His mind spun back up, the gears moving once more.

“Live here with you? What about Kurt? Isn’t he supposed to come home any day now?”

James both wanted and didn’t want the older boy to come back now. Kurt had been gone for nearly two years, sent off as part of the enlisted ration every town had to provide to the Emperium’s war effort in the south.

“It’s summer. If Kurt was coming back, it woulda been in the spring. He ain’t coming back.”

A look of sadness crossed the old man's face before it was gone. “Best not dwell on it, eh.”

Ser Edwin stood and took his plate to the basin with the water pump, washing and putting the plate away, moving to the door to leave. Looking over his shoulder, it was clear that breakfast was over. James inhaled the last few bites of eggs before following Ser Edwin out the door.

The small, plaster-covered home was tucked away from the forge. It was a huge building, much akin to the barns James had grown up around, but it had six sides. Three sets of double doors spaced with a wall in between. A roof built around a tall chimney with two tiers of slanted roofs.

Before James was born, the old forge had been built into the home, but a fire had claimed both forge and home.

James snapped his fingers three times, in superstition at the thought of the old smith’s ghost.

Ser Edwin didn’t go to the forge, though. He went to a small fenced area of sand. James’s shoulders tensed. It would appear that it was time for bladework. Ser Edwin grabbed a pair of worn leather gloves and bracers from where they hung on the fence. Opening the gate, his weathered face motioned for James to do the same. Two worn but well-taken-care-of practice blades leaned just inside the fence. James was surprised at the sand; it was loosely packed, not enough that you would sink into it but loose enough you’d have to watch your footing. The smells of sweat, sand and old leather brought a sense of calm to James. He knew this place even if he had never set a foot into it.

“Time to show me what those so-called Blademasters have taught you. Let's start with your basic Kata.” Ser Edwin handed James the smaller of the two blades. The warm, worn leather handle felt good in his hand. He moved the blade from hand to hand, trying to find the balance. He thought he saw a hint of approval in the older man’s eyes.

“My what?” James tilted his head to the side. The approval he thought he saw evaporated.

“You’re Kata, a series of movements to warm your body and prepare your mind.” Ser Edwin moved, the blade twirled from one hand to another, a fluid motion as it cut the air. Left, right, up,and down. Each movement controlled, coming to a clear point before turning and moving back along a different path. It was hypnotic, like a dance, each swing a step to a beat only Ser Edwin could hear. After a moment, the blade stopped just an inch from James’s face, not wavering, completely controlled. James had no words. He was not, for the first time this morning, in utter shock.

“I haven't learned something like that. That was incredible!” James raised his blade over his head, its point aimed downward in what he hoped was a mimic of Ser Edwin’s starting pose. “What’s next?”

“Blessed be the mother, what have they been teaching you over there? Show me the five basic forms, Boy.” Ser Edwin slapped the flat of James’s blade, the vibration nearly knocking the blade free.

“The what? I’m sorry, Ser Edwin, I do not know what those are.” James let the tip of his sword fall into the dirt, the slap to the back of his hand stung. Any harder and he feared his bone would’ve broken.

“Never lower your point, Boy! You’ll be dead by the time you raise it to defend. Show me a basic ready stance!” This was something James knew. He brought the blade up, not quite parallel with his body.

“Good, at least you know this much. I guess the only way for me to truly see what you have is for you to attack me.”

“What, sir? You have no armor, no padding. I don’t want to hurt you.”

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“If you manage to hit me even once, I will shave my beard. No, stop wasting time. We have work that still needs doing.”

James lunged faster than Edwin would’ve thought, the blade coming down in a clear, if not perfect, Hammering of the Nail. Edwin parried with Sun over the Hills, a move to bring the blade low to high, throwing the attacker off balance. James adjusted his feet, allowing the blade to be pushed and redirecting the tip downward once more, this time driving it towards Edwin’s exposed torso. Fish through Water. Edwin slapped the side of James’s blade with an open palm, spinning on his heel to drive the hilt into James’s stomach with Rock of the Mountain. James folded in on himself, letting loose a groan, as Ser Edwin knew all the air had been driven from the boy. Edwin took a step back and let the boy gasp for air before offering him a hand up.James took the hand and resumed his starting stance, Mountain Waits. Ser Edwin held his blade to the side, The Joker’s Bluff, and waited. The slash was a swift horizontal cut across what should've connected with Edwin's chest, but James cut only air. The return of Ser Edwin’s blade down in a wide arc nearly caught James in the shoulder, but fancy footwork, more stumbling than grace, saved him.

Crack, crack, crack, went the blades as the rhythm of swords took them both, James lost in the simple moment of block, attack, parry, counter, attack. The world was just a small circle, and for a moment, everything was right. No matter how he attacked, Ser Edwin’s blade was there. Dog Jumps the River, Crane Dances Slowly, Ser Edwin met each blow. James’s foot slipped, and Ser Edwin capitalized with a kick to James’s chest, sending him sprawling.

“Enough. You have some skill, but you lack the basics to make you great. Here, drink this.” Edwin handed James a waterskin before taking a long pull from his own. “That is where we will start. The five basic forms, Earth, Sky, Water, Fire, and Heart. Once you have mastered a form, we will add the next till you can weave them like I did in my Kata. Understand?”

“Yes, Ser Edwin.” The words came as a harsh whisper, as James had yet to get his breathing back under control.

“Good, put the blades and the equipment away in the chest over there, and meet me in the forge. It's time we got to work.” Ser Edwin pointed to a large box nestled under a table just outside the fenced area.

James hurried to comply, he still couldn’t believe his luck. The box held more training equipment as well as a swathed sword in an old lacquered sheath. The handle was covered in finely woven bands, and the hilt was square. James’s hand rested softly on the lacquer; it felt cold and smooth to the touch. He wanted to pull the blade out, but something told him that it was a bad idea to do so. Everything in the box had an air of disuse but well-loved.

“I am learning from Ser Edwin of the Blackwood, Knight of Arrowsfall. This is unreal”

James smelled the acrid smoke long before he saw the flames. As he stepped through the wide doors, pulled open to either side, a wave of heat washed over him. In the short time it had taken him to walk over, Ser Edwin had already stoked the coals, the fire roaring back to life. Sweat beaded across James’s forehead, and he had to wiped it away before taking a spot just to Ser Edwin's side. The older man gripped the large bellows beside the forge, pulling down with steady, practiced motions. With each pull, the coals brightened—orange to red, then to a brilliant yellow, nearly white.“Grab here and pull!” Ser Edwin pointed to where his hands were. “Even pulls. Count in your head: one, two, three, four—pull. One, two, three, four—release. Got it. Keep it steady so I can work.”

James pulled and tried to keep the same rhythm as Ser Edwin, but after only a few minutes, his arms and back were burning from the effort. His clothes were drenched in sweat, and his head was beginning to spin. Ser Edwin pulled the glowing metal from the fire, quickly moving to the center of three anvils.

Clang, clang, clang. The hammer fell and rose, with each strike, the block of metal moved. Slowing, it grew longer and longer. The rhythm beat with James’s heart. Clang, clang, clang. He slowed, pulling the bellows, and watched—strike, rise, strike. The metal soon cooled, the bright color fading to a deeper and deeper red. Ser Edwin brought it back to the fire, then. To James’s surprise, the metal had nearly doubled in length.

“Keep pulling, boy!” Ser Edwin barked. “Don’t let the coals cool.” Before he disappeared outside. Every muscle James had was protesting the work as the older man returned, the water skins from earlier now filled. He handed one to James, taking over the bellows work and pointing towards the double doors. “Go duck your head in the barrel outside, and down all that water before you come back.”

James hurried outside, his body rejoicing in the reprieve. Sure enough, there was a barrel of water just outside. James didn’t hesitate and ducked his head down to his shoulders into the barrel. The water was cool but not cold, just enough to wash away most of the heat that had baked into him. He could smell it all—the heat, the water, the sweat. This was perfect.

“I never dreamed I would be here. After grandad died the Master took me in like he did.”

“Boy! Get in here. Ain’t take you that long to drink?” The shout brought James back to the moment. He downed the water skin and set it beside the barrel with the others. James didn’t have much time to think after that. His world had shrunk in a moment to a set of bellows, a fire, and the rhythmic beat of a hammer. Before he knew it, Ser Edwin had called a stop to it, banking the coals and setting down the large hammer. It was time for the afternoon meal. A surprise to James, because even at the Master’s, meals were only in the morning and evening. The meal was more water, some bread, and a thick, hard cheese that tasted tart and made James’s eyes water. Ser Edwin laughed, a loud, deep barrel of a laugh.

“Never had cheese from the Wylds have you? It’ll grow on you.” The older man slapped at his knee and carved another thick slice for himself. “I get it from the trader who comes through every season. Cost me some of my best knives for it, worth every cent, I say.”

“I don’t think I like it,” was all James could say, but he finished every bite.

“I need you to take the shoes we just made down to the Master’s place, I’m sure you know the way. But don’t linger too long. We still gots lots of work to do, got it?” Ser Edwin slapped the back of James’s head and brought the boy’s attention back to the older man. “Where you go just now?”

“Nothing, just thinking about the others back at the Masters. They might not like that I’m here with you now.” James’s eyes sank down towards the ground. He was sure they’d all have heard about him by now. “They might not be my friends anymore.”

“None of that,” another slap to the back of the head. “That boy Max saved your life, you owe it to him. If ya two aren’t as thick as thieves, boy, I don't know anyone who is. Now git!”

The road into town was worn, and the oaks on either side grew to form a canopy that let just the right amount of light in. The dust of the hard pack earth, and the rich smell of the bark of these ancient trees, was peaceful. Dust motes danced in the light beams, the pack of horseshoes slung over his back, jingled softly. He heard the village before he saw it, the sound of people talking, the ring of the river and bell, the sounds of different animals; it all made James smile. In a way, he was home.

Oakwood’s main building, the tall, imposing mansion of the Master, came into view first, its third and fourth floors clearly visible over the top of the stonewall. Next was the front gate, open, so that all could pass through the only road in or out as it ran through the whole town. There were not many people on the road at this time. James headed straight for the Master’s mansion, a knot formed in his stomach as he knew most of the kids there would be jealous of him. Still, he couldn’t believe he had been given his opportunity, something he didn’t even dare dream about before today. The Master’s mansion sat squarely at the center of town. A gaudy thing of all black and purple and silver littered rooftops, staring down menacingly at all who approached the iron fence that wrapped his property. The laughter of the children that live there could be heard, as James approached. A single older gentleman stood at the gates.

“Good day, young James, it seems that you have returned to us. Already cast out from Sir Edwin’s service? Oh, be it that you wish to return to the Master’s service already.” The man standing watch was not much older than James, and always acted superior, but now that he had been given a uniform and title, it had gone straight to his head.

“I’m just here to drop off the horseshoes,” James went to hand the sack to the older boy, but the older boy turned it away. He pointed inside the gates.

“No, the master wants you to come see him personally. I was told that if you show up, I should send you to his study. You know he doesn’t like losing his toys.”

The knot inside his stomach grew. There was one thing in this world that James was afraid of: it was the Master.