Relam parried the latest blow from Oreius then spun and brought his blade up. Just in time to deflect a blow from a wooden practice sword.
“Halt!” Oreius shouted, lowering his sword.
Narin grinned at Relam, then yanked on his wooden practice sword. Unfortunately, Relam’s steel sword had bitten deep into the wood. It took the two combatants some time to separate the weapons, finally wrenching them apart with a coordinated heave. Relam stumbled down the hill a pace or two, then righted himself and sheathed his sword.
“This is terribly balanced,” Narin observed curiously, waving the practice sword. “I’m disappointed, Oreius.”
“It’s a drill sword,” Oreius grunted. “I didn’t need it to be balanced, I needed it to be relatively harmless.”
“Which I would say you accomplished,” Narin agreed. “I can barely swing this thing properly.”
“Thank you for your assistance, Narin,” Oreius grunted. “You can go back to whatever you were doing now.”
Narin gave a mock salute, then trudged back up to the house. Relam watched him go, then turned abruptly to Oreius, folding his arms across his chest.
“Did I pass?” he asked the old man bluntly.
Oreius looked at him evenly. “Well, you were aware that Narin was creeping up on you, I’ll give you that. And you knew there was a bench behind you somewhere, but not how far. You could have tripped over it as you were speaking.”
“That would have been embarrassing,” Relam admitted.
“Yes,” Oreius agreed. “So I would call this a partial success. You were aware of things very close to you, but your sense over a wider range was sadly lacking.”
“I wasn’t exactly prepared,” Relam protested, gesturing angrily to the bench.
“Being ready for anything is critical,” Oreius countered. “If you were ambushed, your attackers would hardly let up because you told them it wasn’t fair.”
“That’s not what I said,” Relam replied, sticking his chin out belligerently.
“That’s basically what you said,” Oreius growled. “And trust me, after this many years of teaching I’ve heard every version of ‘it’s not fair’ that exists. Now, I want you to try again. This time, keep up a constant stream of words describing what you sense around you. What you see, hear, feel, and smell.”
“What about taste?” Relam asked, grinning.
“If you taste something, by all means tell me, but that sense is not very useful for a situation such as battle. Now, let’s try this again.”
“You’re pulling your blows in case I don’t block, right?” Relam asked as he hefted his sword.
Oreius raised an eyebrow. “Absolutely not. I’m one of those bandits you cleared out of the woods last year, intent on defending my rightfully stolen loot from you. Now, let’s GET ON WITH IT!”
As he roared the last words, Oreius ran forward, striking left right and center. For the first three blows, Relam thought of nothing but blocking Oreius’ questing blade.
“What do you sense?” Oreius demanded as he struck again. “You’re failing badly right now, boy.”
“Trees everywhere,” Relam gasped. “Patterns of light and shadow. The mist swirling around us, making it harder to see. Grass underfoot, yielding, with the threat of tangles to trip us up as we fight.”
“Better,” Oreius shouted. “Keep going.”
“A ship,” Relam continued. “Moving downriver, a waving man on the bow. There are guards marching along the River Road; you can hear their armor clanking in rhythm. There are ox carts and horse carts - one ox cart headed south, and a pair of horse carts heading north. The blacksmith has started up again, and I can still hear the splashing fountain.”
Relam parried yet another blow from the sword master, locking his blade with Oreius and shoving against him. Oreius did not yield under the increased pressure but stood rock steady, watching Relam carefully.
“I sense birds above, moving from branch to branch, feathered shadows in the mist,” Relam panted. “I smell the flowers of the garden. I feel the mist collecting on my arms and body. I sense the bench, three meters behind me-”
“Two, actually,” Oreius interrupted.
“What?”
Oreius attacked in a blinding series of slashes and thrusts, driving Relam backwards quickly. Relam parried twice, then something caught him from the back at knee level, and he sat down hard on the rough surface of the stone bench.
“Two meters,” Oreius said again with a slight smile. “Not three.”
Relam sighed. “Point taken.”
“That was better,” the sword master continued. “We will spend the rest of the morning on this drill, and hopefully you can advance to halfway competent by then.”
“Where would I be on that scale right now?” Relam asked curiously as he got to his feet.
“I don’t really think you want to know,” Oreius replied, grinning wolfishly. “Ready?”
Relam nodded, then attacked without any further warning. Oreius parried, smiling fiercely.
“Good!” he cried. “Excellent instinct. Take the fight to me, boy, attack! But keep your awareness. What do you sense? Let’s hear it now.”
Relam began listing what he heard, saw, and felt, as fast as he could, this time including analysis of what he saw from Oreius as well. All the while, he kept attacking the old man, switching fluidly between practice patterns, connecting them with bits of improvisation. He wasn’t flawless, and he knew that Oreius would easily handle such an attack normally, but he felt he was doing better.
“You’re slowing down!” Oreius shouted. “Keep it up, boy. Be aware of everything.”
Relam stepped forward, his foot sliding through the grass. Oreius backed away and Relam took another step. As he tried to bring his right foot forward again, it snagged on something hidden in the grass. With a yelp, Relam fell face first, holding his sword out to the side. He looked back and groaned as he saw a rope noose tied around his ankle.
“I didn’t sense that,” Relam muttered, reaching back to untie
