Rilan had attempted to hit Landry, at his request, while he took up a defensive stance. He rushed at the squire, swinging like a mad man. Rilan was unable to meet any of his hits, as Landry swung his stick back and forth, parrying each of the strikes.
“Two hands; make sure you use two hands,” Landry told Rilan before whacking his stick from his hands, sending it flying. “See?”
“I’m missing a damn finger! Using two hands isn’t exactly all that easy for me!” Rilan jested.
At one-point, old man Hemish overheard the quarrelling. Thinking it was some sort of brawl, he rushed over to see what was happening, only to realise the boys were training.
“What on earth are you lads doing?” he said.
“Just running through some drills. Teaching them proper sword fighting,” Landry responded.
Hemish scoffed. “With sticks? All you’re gonna teach them with sticks is how to be die quicker! Get your swords out, lads.”
Rilan recalled being told by Tomas that he had spoken to Hemish on the journey and had learned that he had spent his time before the invasion training youth recruits.
As such, Rilan became rather eager to learn from someone with a lifetime of experience when he offered to help. Hemish sounded thrilled to be teaching someone again.
Tomas and Rilan did as Hemish had said, drawing their longswords out.
“First thing you need to perfect is your grip,” Hemish explained, holding out his hand to the boys so that they could see how he held the grip. They attempted to mimic his finger positions. “Good. Two hands are always better than one with a longsword.”
Rilan saw Landry raise an eyebrow at him with a smile. Rilan pulled a silly face back at him, but did as the old man said, gripping the sword with both hands despite the shooting pain he felt emanating from his injured finger.
“Now, feel the weight of the sword in your arms as you take up your stance.”
Hemish held his sword out as he changed into defensive stance, head high, leg back, back straight, arms out. Ready to take anything on.
“Practicing your stances is very important, as the squire was showing you. But using sticks will not work to make your muscles strong! Muscles are where all the power comes from!”
Hemish changed directions while in defensive stance, as if readying to parry an upper strike, and then a lower strike in quick succession.
Tomas and Rilan mirrored his moves, feeling the ache of the longswords’ weights in their bodies as they did so.
“Very good,” Hemish said. “Exercising your muscles is the first component of sword fighting. Nine times out of ten, the weaker man is killed first in a fight. So, you need to be the stronger man!”
The boys had practiced for another hour before dropping to the ground exhausted. Everything was throbbing.
“That means you are getting better!” Landry had laughed, tossing a pebble at them.
“So, what happened?” Tomas asked, pulling Rilan back into the present as they walked through the dark towards the clearing. The flaming torch made the trees around them glow and cast long, otherworldly shadows.
“Nothing. Just couldn’t sleep,” Rilan lied.
Tomas huffed. “When are you going to start being honest with me more, Rilan?”
Rilan sealed his mouth firmly shut like a vice.
“I treat you as a brother. You have always looked out for me. Whenever someone pestered me, or my father… But I’m not a kid anymore, I can help. I want to help. You and I promised to look out for one another when we left home, and that’s what I intend to do.”
Rilan shook his head, but he knew Tomas spoke the truth. “Everything has gone to shit ever since we left home. I can feel something brewing, like a coming storm. There are crazy things happening all around us. I cannot put my finger on what it is, but… I’m afraid, Tomas.”
Rilan glanced up at the bleeding star in the clear sky. For some reason, it sent chills down his arms.
“I had another nightmare, alright? This one was different… worse. More vivid, more violent. It bothered me.”
Tomas patted Rilan’s shoulder. “Let’s practice here.” He stuck the torch into the dirt beside them and took up his newly learned defensive stance.
The two began to spar, being careful not to nick each other with their sharp blades. They practiced their stances, using their footwork to test their balance, their posture, and their positioning, as they had been taught.
“Old man Hemish was right,” Tomas said as he struck Rilan’s sword. “My arms are aching. Using real swords is giving me a real work out.”
“You need a good work out- we gotta turn those chicken wings into mutton chops!” Rilan parried another strike, before bringing his sword around from above, resting it gently on Tomas’s shoulder. “Dead.”
Tomas rolled his eyes with a smile, before ducking under the sword and rushing Rilan. The tip of Tomas’s blade met Rilan’s belly. He grimaced and froze, not wanting to risk moving lest he be cut.
“Dead!” Tomas said.
The pair practiced for another fifteen minutes until their arms and legs were aching once again. Rilan pushed back his sweaty hair, letting the cool night breeze kiss his forehead.
Tomas looked like he had something on his mind and eventually chose to speak. “That girl, Hila, at the tavern in Winterglade. She had heard the stories about the Magisters too. Just like the ones we heard back home,” Tomas said.
“Aye,” Rilan said.
Tomas scrunched his face up as he scratched his ear. “I still don’t know what to expect.”
Rilan shrugged. “None of us do. Not ‘til we get up there.”
“Should we be
