“Yes.”
“Good. That’s a reasonable foundation to build on. We might get started on the first two new ones this afternoon. Once you’ve learned those I’ll start teaching you the finer points of fighting: how to size up an opponent, his strengths and weaknesses, and how to exploit those weaknesses to defeat him. That also relies heavily on awareness, and attention to detail, which we will drill on constantly.”
“And after that?”
“A few other things. The ability to move quietly, for one. How to manipulate your opponents, how to predict their next moves. Some battle strategy, maybe. Depends how long we spend on the other stuff to some extent. We’ll see how you’re doing at the end of the year.”
“One year? To learn all of this?”
“Did you hope to learn it sooner?”
“No,” Relam said, aghast. “I expected it to take far longer. I know Master D’Arnlo’s students for instance study for a minimum of three years, usually four.”
“But he is not devoting all his time to a single student,” Oreius pointed out. “And he is not spending every waking hour on that single student, trying to make sure that individual succeeds and is prepared for what lies ahead. He would rather spread his influence over a wider range and take longer to train the students as a group, and train them worse I might add. They’ll be doing quite a bit of group drill, which is mindless and pointless, and won’t even touch on most of the things I teach you, which will keep you alive and give you advantages in every aspect of your life, not just the battlefield.”
“Such as?” Relam asked around a mouthful of meat and cheese.
“The awareness drills will help you perform better against all adversaries, be it in negotiations, in battles, or in court,” Oreius explained. “That’s just one example, of course. There are many others I could use.”
“But you wanted to emphasize the importance of awareness?” Relam guessed.
“Precisely. You may do very well when we come to the part about understanding your enemy,” the old man added thoughtfully, nibbling at his half of the cheese.
“You’re not my enemy,” Relam pointed out.
“No, but you are beginning to understand me. And while I am not your adversary, I will often be your opponent, especially when we are sparring. Understand Relam, that you will lose the vast majority of our bouts. Nearly all of them, in fact. Even in those moments when I am driving you beyond your limits, I am not your enemy. I am your best friend because each one of our training sessions could very well save your life one day.” The old warrior leaned forward and stared at Relam, his blue eyes boring into the prince.
“Is that abundantly clear, Relam?”
Relam nodded slowly, realizing that Oreius had used his name for the first time. Maybe he was getting used to having a student finally? Or was he starting to connect with Relam, to regard him as someone worth his time.
“Yes, Oreius. I understand perfectly.”
“Good,” the old warrior said, nodding. “Make sure you remember this conversation when you are frustrated or upset during your training. Every word of it was the truth. Now,” the old warrior continued briskly. “Let’s get back to work, boy! There’s daylight wasting and you have a lot to learn.”
Oreius whisked away the plates and returned them to the kitchen, then strode outside before Relam had even risen from his chair. Relam rose resolutely and followed, suspecting that the afternoon was going to be just as challenging as the morning had been.
Chapter 27
“Right,” Oreius said, moving to the center of the glade and clapping his hands together. “Practice patterns. Before we get started on anything new, I want to see how well you know the old stuff. That way I know where to focus my teachings as we go forward. Make sense?”
“Yes,” Relam said, drawing his sword.
“Good. Get started.”
Relam took up a ready stance and took a deep, calming breath, closing his eyes as he inhaled, opening them as he exhaled. He focused on the glittering blade held vertically in front of him, and began the first sequence. Side cut, overhand, backhand, thrust, slash.
“Faster,” Oreius barked.
Relam increased his pace, flowing from one blow to the next, meticulously striking exactly where he was supposed to.
“Faster!” Oreius said again. “Good grief, boy, did Tar let you practice that slowly?”
“Master Agath always said that precision was more important than speed,” Relam grunted.
“So it is,” Oreius agreed. “But having both is even more important.”
Relam nodded. “Probably, yes.”
“No, no probably about it,” Oreius countered. “You can have all the precision you want and move at the speed of a snail. There’s only one result in that contest.”
“I lose?”
“You’ll be dead!” Oreius snapped. “Now, come on! Faster! Like your life depends on it. There’s a wild northern raider facing you, intent on separating you from your head and plundering a village.”
Relam made no comment, merely increased his pace so that his sword was a glittering arc of steel, never stopping in one place, always on the move, striking and withdrawing before an opponent had any hope of retaliating. Even in his fiercest bouts with Cevet he had not fought so hard or so quickly.
“Hmm,” Oreius muttered, walking around Relam, analyzing his work from all angles. “Pattern two!”
Relam switched instantly. Thrust, thrust, overhand, backhand, side cut-
“Pick it up, boy!”
There was no time for thought anymore. Relam flowed from stance to stance, struck and withdrew, performing the patterns Tar had drilled into him with an instinct and speed born of hours of repetition and painstaking care. His sword was positively humming in his hands as he slashed and cut and thrust.
“Third!”
The young prince hesitated for the barest moment between patterns, then made
