“We’re pairing off today,” Wilkes announced. “Practice fights. We’ll use drill swords, not real weapons. A touch on your body and you’re done, bout’s over. No flailing around like some of you tend to do. We don’t want broken bones. Any questions?”
“Sir, there’s an odd number of us,” Genal pointed out, politely concerned.
Wilkes nodded. “So there is. We’ll rotate partners over the morning. I’ll spar with each of you at some point. Pair off, odd man come to me.”
The cadets scooped drill swords from a pile off to one side and quickly found partners. The drill swords were weighted wooden replicas, the same length and weight as a real sword, but with no cutting edge. Hern’s normal sparring partner, a seventeen-year-old cadet called Feris, shuffled up to Wilkes reluctantly. Khollo and Sermas paired off and waited for Wilkes’ signal.
“Begin,” Wilkes called.
Sermas attacked first as usual. Khollo deflected the blow with his slanted shield, hoping to catch the younger boy overbalancing. No such luck though. Sermas pulled his blade back and tried for a quick thrust, which Khollo dodged. There was a brief opening and Khollo flicked his blade forward, aiming for Sermas’ right hip. But the other cadet twisted his blade down and deflected Khollo’s practice sword. An instant later, Sermas’ drill sword slapped against Khollo’s helmet, setting his ears ringing.
“Sorry,” Sermas said, wincing as Khollo stumbled. “I didn’t think I hit you that hard.”
“Never mind,” Khollo said. “Let’s go again.”
Over the next hour, Khollo fought Sermas in five increasingly painful practice fights. And lost every one of them. After the fifth, Wilkes marched up, gesturing to Sermas.
“You, here. Let’s see what you’re capable of. Genal, take over with the street rat.”
Khollo whirled around. Genal was stalking towards Khollo, drill sword held loosely in his right hand. “With pleasure, sir,” the muscular youth replied.
This could be ugly, Khollo thought, backing up slowly. What would Janis do here?
The obvious answer came to Khollo quickly. Janis would win.
Khollo smiled grimly to himself. He knew he couldn’t beat Genal in a straight fight. But maybe he could trick him or confuse him. Use some of that ingenuity Janis had always praised him for.
Genal attacked, his drill sword shooting towards Khollo in a looping overhead cut. Khollo slid forward at ground level, diving and rolling, sweeping Genal’s feet from under him. The bigger boy crashed to the ground. Khollo regained his feet and struck down at Genal, but the other cadet parried and struck back, sending Khollo reeling. Genal got to his feet and shoved Khollo, knocking him to the ground.
“Think you’re funny do you?” he asked, leaning in menacingly.
Khollo kicked the inside of Genal’s knee in reply. The joint buckled and Genal howled, hunching over. Khollo kicked him in the jaw next and stood shakily.
Genal spat out a glob of blood and glared at Khollo. “You’ll pay,” he growled. “I’ll kill you, street rat.”
“Come and try it,” Khollo challenged.
Genal roared and ran forward, striking at Khollo furiously. Khollo deflected one blow, but the second was on him too quick to parry. Instead, Khollo dropped flat, crushed Genal’s right foot with his drill sword and rolled away.
Genal knelt, swearing, and Khollo attacked, slamming the flat of his blade into Genal’s helmet, knocking it off. Genal’s head lolled limply as he lay there, stunned. Khollo kicked Genal’s sword away and stood over him, glaring down at his enemy.
“Looks like you won’t be killing this street rat after all.”
Khollo was about to punch Genal in the nose when a sharp voice intruded on their disagreement. “What in the blazes do you two think you’re doing?”
Khollo reluctantly turned away from Genal and came to attention as Wilkes stormed over. “Sparring, sir,” he said innocently. Genal struggled to his feet beside Khollo, looking for his sword.
Wilkes’ face was livid with anger. “We are not barbarians here, cadet! We fight with weapons. We don’t roll around in the dirt punching and kicking!”
“I thought the goal above all was to win,” Khollo said coolly.
“The goal is to train you to win with real weapons!” Wilkes shouted.
“But if the only way to win is to – ”
Wilkes seized Khollo by the arm and dragged him close until their faces were mere centimeters apart. “I won’t argue with you, street rat,” he growled. “I am your superior. You will follow my orders immediately and without question. I have enough to do, what with running the fortress while Lord Kurkan is away and all, without having to nanny his squire. Is that absolutely clear?”
Khollo was tempted to strike Wilkes as well, but knew that such an action would only result in the beating of a lifetime, so he held his temper and gave a short, jerky nod in reply.
“The correct response is ‘Yes, sir’,” Wilkes growled.
“Yes . . . sir,” Khollo spat with as much contempt as he could muster.
Wilkes thrust him away forcefully. “Go to the barracks. And stay there. You’ve wasted enough of my time for today.”
Khollo spun and stalked back to the barracks, noticing Genal’s satisfied smirk. Sermas tried to catch his eye, but Khollo ignored his friend.
When he reached the barracks, Khollo stripped off his gear and washed off, pulling clean breeches from a drawer under his bunk. His sweat-stained clothes and gear he hung on a peg to air. He lay back on his bunk, bare chested, staring up at the underside of Sermas’ bed.
He had most of the day ahead of him still, and he’d been thrown out of class by Wilkes. Janis was gone, hunting vertaga with Ondus. There was nothing he could do, no one to talk to.
Khollo frowned and sat up. That wasn’t entirely true. There was something he could do. He
