“Rest,” Relam replied ruefully, rubbing his upper left arm. “Oreius worked me pretty hard yesterday.”
“As he should,” his father replied, grinning. “Otherwise he wouldn’t be much of a master.”
Relam rolled his eyes. “Right. Let me know if you need anything.”
“Will do.”
Relam retreated to his room and shut the door again, crossing to his desk. He sat down and pulled out the dragon carving, studying it critically. The shape of the dragon had long since been finished. More recently, Relam had been working on the detail work, carving scale patterns into the wood to give it a rougher texture, more like how a dragon would actually feel. If there was such a thing as an actual dragon. Wooden scales covered the dragon’s legs, neck, and tail, as well as part of the back. With a contented sigh, Relam picked up the tiny carving knife and began painstakingly etching lines into the wood, adding scale after scale. The work was simple, slow, and repetitive, a good way to calm himself on empty weekends.
At noon, Relam set the carving aside and went out to join his father for lunch. They dined on massive sandwiches, more meat than bread, and ignored the vegetables that had been set in a prominent position. After the satisfying repast, his father returned to work and Relam returned to his carving, adding still more scales to the miniature beast.
The rest of the day passed in a similar manner, and the second day of the weekend was no more eventful than the first. Nothing remotely interesting or exciting happened, and there were no visitors to the royal suite, leaving Relam totally to his own devices. Having nothing to do quickly got old, and Relam found that he was quite glad when the first day of the new week came around and he had to rise early to go to training.
The morning was still cold, and Relam’s breath steamed as he moved quickly along the River Road to Oreius’ house. He wondered if the old man had an indoor space they could use for training, rather than freezing outside, or if Oreius had even ventured from his house that morning.
Relam rounded the corner of the sword master’s house, shedding his guards along the way. Amazingly, Oreius was sitting on the stone bench, even though it had to be freezing, maybe even slick with ice.
“Good morning,” the sword master called without turning around. “Enjoying the change of weather?”
Relam shivered and looked around. The once beautiful garden had been blasted badly by the frost, faded petals littering the ground, twisted wiry branches extending every which way. The enormous shade trees had shed their leaves, carpeting the glade and creating a red and gold island in the river.
“About as much as your plants are,” Relam said finally.
Oreius chuckled. “Not very much then.” He stood and turned around. “They will grow back in the spring. They always do. And there is no time more beautiful and full of life. But in order for that to happen, winter has to come first, to give them a chance for a new beginning.”
Relam nodded, stomping his feet against the ground to keep them warm. Or, at least, less cold.
“You’ve never been north,” Oreius muttered. “The winters are far worse there.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” Relam replied thickly. “What are we doing today?”
“Today marks the beginning of the next phase of your training,” Oreius announced. “First, we will start the day by sparring. You will use what you have learned of battlefield awareness and fighting skill to try to defeat me. You have reached the point where we must move past theory and gain experience. In order to accelerate this process, I will fight using many different styles.”
“Different styles?”
“Yes,” Oreius said, nodding. “There are many different ways to fight, boy. You should know that by now. Some fighters are aggressive, charging in. Some prefer to defend, let the attacker wear themselves out needlessly. Some,” Oreius added, eyes twinkling mischievously, “Prefer trickery.”
“I think I know which of those categories you fall into,” Relam muttered, thinking back to the snares the old man had placed all over the garden during one of their sessions.
Oreius nodded. “Guilty as charged,” he replied gruffly. “There are other things besides strategy, though. Choice of weapons, technique, strength, skill, and speed - you must use your skills to understand your opponent, how he fights, what his weaknesses are, and his strengths. Some people believe that knowing weaknesses is most important. I disagree. Knowing your opponent’s strengths is just as critical to success. If you know his strengths you know which attacks will be particularly difficult to counter, what he will fall back on if hard-pressed.” Oreius turned and looked back at Relam. “Such knowledge is the difference between life and death in a battle between highly skilled warriors and masters.”
Relam nodded gravely. “I understand.”
“Good,” Oreius said, drawing his sword. “Then let’s put you to the test!”
The master leapt forward aggressively, blade flashing as he slashed left and right. Relam dodged around Oreius, drawing his own sword and preparing to defend himself. As he focused on the master’s blade, he realized something was different. This was not the straight-bladed, double-edged sword that Oreius normally fought with. This sword was single-edged and slightly curved, the hilt studded with jewels and chased with silver wire.
Oreius followed Relam’s gaze and nodded. “Good, you noticed,” he said smiling. “But how will you use that knowledge?” The master ran forward again, slashing and hacking. “And how well can you think on the move?” he grunted.
Relam parried desperately, giving ground rapidly, cursing his slow mind and the numbing cold. The single-edged blade was light and quick, made for slashing.
But not for thrusting.
