by Guy Antibes
Boxster was waiting for him as he dismounted and tied the horse on the hitching rail for the next participant.
“Average,” Boxster said. “Is that a typical performance?”
Trevor nodded. “It is. I almost got the third target, but I was too rushed.”
“Just like everyone else,” the sergeant said. “We can improve on that.”
“Impossible,” Trevor said. “I’ve made hundreds of runs, and all I’ve been able to do is get two accurate shots off. If I hit the third target, it’s been through sheer luck.”
Boxster watched two soldiers do worse than Trevor. “Remember this morning?”
“I can’t use my opponents moves in this case,” Trevor said.
“No, but you can use a different technique to improve the flow of your movements.”
Trevor thought for a moment. “Forms. You have a form for mounted archery?”
Boxster nodded with a smile. “I do. I suppose you want to learn it?”
“I’m here to learn and improve,” Trevor said.
“Then put your equipment on the table, and let’s go to the archery range. I want to assess your archery ability unmounted.”
Trevor showed Boxster that he was much better than average if unmounted.
“May I?” the sergeant asked.
Trevor gave him the bow and stepped aside. Boxster scored at least as well as Trevor.
“I wanted you to know that I’m not without ability,” Boxster said.
“Why aren’t you an officer?” Trevor said. “You are better than anyone in the field.”
Boxster laughed. “I have my reasons. I am at the pinnacle of where I want to be,” he said.
“You don’t have any ambition? You have the ability.”
“I have other ambitions.” Boxster handed the bow back to Trevor. “I’m sure my instruction won’t improve your archery very much, but I will teach you what I know. At your level, being a little better might save your life. Stand facing the target and pretend you have a bow in one hand and have it drawn ready to shoot.”
Trevor did as Boxster said.
“Think about the path of the arrow before you shoot.”
“I always do that. It is the key to my accuracy.”
“Picture its flight through the air. Think of gravity, the wind, the distance, the resistance of the target in relation to the arrow’s point. Think of how the fletching guides the arrow.”
“You mean more intensely? I do most of that.”
“Then do all of it, sir,” Boxster said with a tiny smile. “The form for archery involves both mental and physical simulation of shooting the arrow.”
“And for mounted archery, you are imagining riding a horse?”
The sergeant smiled a real one this time. “That is how you do it, but it looks ridiculous in public because you need to include the horse’s movement. So it is something better done in your room along with your calisthenics.”
Trevor added the strength of the pull of the bow and the dampness of the string if it had been misty or raining. He set the conditions in his head and then drew the imaginary bow and let the arrow fly. Trevor pictured the arrow’s flight to the target.
Boxster had Trevor go through his thinking.
“I didn’t believe that you did as much thinking as you do,” Boxster said, “and I didn’t expect you to be this trainable.”
“Princes aren’t trainable?”
“As a rule,” Boxster said, “but, there are exceptions.”
“And for mounted archery, what do I do differently other than imagine riding a horse?” Trevor asked.
“The secret is in how fluid your movements are after you let loose the first arrow. The action to retrieve and nock the second arrow takes hours of practice, most of which will be in your room, but you must also spend more time in the arena doing it for real. It is all about creating a state where you are shooting without conscious thought, and your actions are fluid so you can speed things up.”
Trevor found himself excited about the new way of practicing. He wanted an edge, and it appeared that Boxster would provide it.
“Another flight? Shall we make a wager?” Boxster asked.
Trevor looked askance at Boxster. “I suppose, but you will have to give me points. I’d say you are a little better than me.”
Even with the points that Boxster gave Trevor, the sergeant won, but barely.
Chapter Four
~
“A nother week to go before the tournament,” Brother Yvan said to Trevor as he joined him for lunch. “Your master sergeant is still giving you all his attention?”
“Do you know why?”
Brother Yvan nodded. “I do. You need seasoning, and Desolation Boxster has a bit too much for drilling soldiers most of the day. I checked up on him. He is a volunteer from outside Presidon. The man ranked high enough in his tests to be an officer, a captain or higher, but officers do not come from the outside, and commissions are not for foreigners. He said he didn’t need to be an officer, but he wanted to be in the army. His experience wouldn’t endear him to normal soldiers, so he was offered a noncommissioned post. He spent a week running a squad, but he ran them ragged. There were complaints.”
“So, they stuck him with me,” Trevor said.
“I’d say you two make a good partnership. When you go out on your first expedition, Boxster can run the squads, something he is better suited for than having soldiers directly under his command.”
Trevor bit his lip. “A nursemaid. He admitted it.”
“I doubt if he did, my Prince,” Yvan said, “but he knows things you don’t. Spend your hours wisely with him. He won’t be at your side very long, I’d guess.”
Trevor found himself descending into petulance, and he put a stop to that before he opened his mouth again. “He is better than me in almost every aspect. I don’t think any other officer could take it.”
“Another reason for you to be together. You like to learn military things, and I am sure Boxster likes to teach. You have always been a willing student. My only true worry is that you will become one-dimensional, all army. Try to learn things from sources other than your romance novels and military texts. Learn to identify birds and trees and be able to discern what is edible or not out in the wild.”
“Shall I learn to heal?”
Brother Yvan smiled. “Of course. I can help you get started with that. I’ve already taught all you need to know about Dryden, blessed be his name.”
Trevor nodded. “Magic?” He raised his eyebrows and grinned.
“I’m sorry, Trevor. That is beyond your abilities.”
“I can learn about magic, can’t I?”
“I wouldn’t put it at the top of your priorities, but it wouldn’t hurt to understand magic better than your father does. He is, as you know, antagonistic when it comes to such things. Presidon would be stronger if he would only change his mind and allow magicians into the country and his army.
“Presidon isn’t the only country that prohibits magic, is it?”
“Dorwick is almost a copy of Presidon,” Brother Yvan said. “On the other side of the country, Viksar is the opposite. Magicians rule them, and that brings its own weaknesses. We have veered into a discussion that would be highly discouraged by your father. I can give you a basic book on magic and one on plant identification and healing. That should be enough to start.”
“Are you still trying to improve me?” Trevor asked.
“Left to your own devices, you would instantly return to your romance novels and become the laughingstock of the officer corps,” Brother Yvan said with a smile.
“I know. Even Renny knows that.”
“He would,” Yvan said.
“By the way, how is Owen’s application to the university in Ginster?”
Brother Yvan sighed. “The king wasn’t pleased when I told him. Owen was not happy when the king told him.”
“Is anyone happy?” Trevor asked.
“Your mother
and Lilith, I suppose. You should be happy you are out of the castle.”
It was Trevor’s turn to sigh. “I was basically out of the castle before, but I suppose now I’m truly out.”
Brother Yvan nodded. “You truly are. Everyone is relieved you aren’t around, even Renny. They all recognize that if you wanted to fight your way to the throne, you would have a good chance of succeeding, and that scares them. I’d rather see you here, anyway. You have the chance to get out of Tarviston and see all of Presidon and possibly beyond. The life of an officer can be somewhat unpredictable, and I think you need some unpredictability in your life. I know I do, but don’t tell anyone.” Yvan put a finger to his lips.
“Life in the army was unpredictable for Win’s father and not in a good way,” Trevor said.
“There are dangers in every position.”
“Not for the castle cleric.”
“My neck is as exposed as anyone’s,” Brother Yvan said.
Officers began to leave the mess.
“You have to go?” Brother Yvan asked.
“Another session with Sergeant Boxster. We are going over techniques to use at the mounted melee.”
“The primary technique is not to get killed. The secondary technique is not to get too badly injured,” the cleric said, standing. “I’ll leave you to it and visit again before the tournament.”
Trevor said his goodbyes before stepping to the stables to find Win, who would help him with his armor. He walked nextdoor into the armory and found Win buffing a few of the latest scratches off his armor. It was a hopeless cause, but Win said he enjoyed making the armor look better.
Wooden racks lined both sides of the large hall, displaying each officer’s armor. Trevor looked around. The armory was part of the barracks, which consisted of quite a few connected buildings. Trevor never knew how many until he had accepted his commission.
“I’m about done, and here you are ready to put more dents into my work of love and devotion,” Win said.
“There is a ‘sir’ after that. We are in public, Win.”
His friend put his hand to his chest and gave it a pound, the soldier’s basic salute. The officers touched their brow.
“I’m ready,” Trevor said.
Win buckled and cinched up everything, after which Trevor made a few knee bends and twisted his torso. Nothing seemed to be binding.
“What weapon will you work on today?”
“Mace or hammer, I’ll have them all tied to my horse in the tourney,” Trevor said.
“I don’t see much point when a sword is heavier than either when they are all made out of wood,” Win said.
“It is a contest with rules. Whoever performs the best under the constraint of the rules wins. I intend to win, Win.” Trevor said grinning.
His squire shrugged. “Let’s go.”
Trevor walked by Win’s side. The clanking sound was exceeded by the creaking of the leather straps. That meant Win had done an excellent job of encasing Trevor in his metal shell. He stepped outside and waited for his horse to be brought from the stables.
Since none of the officers’ personal horses were allowed in the barracks area, mounts were assigned on a random basis. Trevor was pleased he had a horse he had used before. The animal was good in every way, something that wasn’t the case every time.
Sergeant Boxster rode in from the arena decked out in leather armor, including a leather helmet with a simple design of ridges crowned with strips of metal. Trevor had seen the same design often enough. He leaned down.
“Are you ready, Lieutenant Arcwin, sir?” Boxster said.
“I am. I see you are ahead of me.”
Boxster grinned. “For now, sir.” He looked at Win and then back at Trevor. “I’ll be in the arena.” He turned the horse around and returned the way he arrived.
“He looks competent dressed in soft armor,” Win said. “That is the same kind of leather protection I’ll get whenever the army gets around to issuing me a set. I’ve always liked the design of that helmet.”
“You’ll get one soon enough. Have you been working with Boxster?”
“A few times,” Win said. “He is scary good, Trevor. Almost as good as you.”
Trevor smiled. Win would always say Trevor is better.
“Help me get mounted.”
Win brought the wide, wheeled stool that officers used to mount their horses. Trevor sat up on the horse and adjusted his melee weapons. He wished he rode one of the chargers used for jousting, but his superior officer in the camps, Captain Houseman, had reminded him a few days previous that he would not be jousting, King Henry’s orders. Trevor’s freedom in the army was limited, at least for now.
Boxster had worked with him on jousting and taught him jousting forms. The lessons were not forgotten; neither was the practice where Trevor had done almost as well as Boxster did. The sergeant admitted that jousting wasn’t his strength, but Trevor thought that Boxster would easily win the jousting contest if he entered. He still beat Trevor every time they sparred with swords, metal and wooden.
The arena dirt was chopped up from the previous melee practice. Four other pairs were at it when Trevor rode over to Boxster. “Are you ready?”
The sergeant laughed. “I am, sir. We will go over hammer and mace during today’s practice. They are useless in the mounted melee, but certainly not without merit in the field. You are big enough and strong enough for either.”
“What have you to teach me?” Trevor asked.
“Weak points and ways to cheat, sir.”
Trevor knew better than to contradict Boxster and protest that he wouldn’t stoop to cheating. To the other officers, Trevor found, there wasn’t such a thing as cheating. Maybe in a match between nobles or exhibition matches between officers, but not in the field where the genteel rules that nobles used were totally ignored.
They went through basic moves at first, and then Boxster showed Trevor tricks he hadn’t seen before.
“Pay close attention. I’ll only go over these once,” the sergeant said. “Some of your competitors are in this arena, and we wouldn’t want them to know more than what is good for them.”
“Will you be participating in the tournament?” Trevor asked.
Boxster gave Trevor a grin before he said, “I’ll be jousting. Consider that I’ll be doing it for both of us.”
“I wish I could say better you than me, but that would be lying.”
“Cheating is good, but lying never is,” Boxster said, “unless you have to, to survive. I have.” Boxster gave Trevor a curt nod. “You will likely do the same someday, prince or not.”
“I’ll always be a prince,” Trevor said.
Boxster barked out a laugh. “During battle, no one will care who you are. The only thing they will pay attention to is the edge of your sword.”
Trevor had heard the same sentiment expressed a bit differently from all his previous masters. He supposed it had to be a significant point of view. Some would call it a cruel thought, but the more he knew Boxster, the more knew that the man was drilling pragmatism into his skull. Some days it had a harder time fitting in.
They pranced around the arena for a full hour.
“That is enough for the horses,” Boxster said. “Those fools over there are punishing their mounts.”
Trevor looked at the horses, all lathered up from their exertions, and nodded to his master sergeant and personal trainer. “Another lesson?”
“Have a horse drop with exhaustion when you are sitting on her, and you’ll understand.”
Trevor didn’t think he needed that to comprehend the point, but he would remember as he would all the other nuggets that Boxster threw his way.
~
Surprisingly, Trevor was invited to the family dinner the night before the tournament was to begin. He wore his black dress uniform with the green piping, but eschewed the black leather arm guards that some officers affected.
“You look impressive,” Wynn said, feeling Trevor’s b
icep. “You have put on more muscle. I didn’t think that was possible. If you weren’t my brother…”
“What would you do?” Renny said after he sneaked behind her.
Wynn blushed and joined Lilith on the other side of the table. Owen and Bering muttered secretively behind King Henry’s chair. Wynn and Renny were the only ones who bothered to speak to him.
“It will be a chilly dinner,” Renny said. “Ever since the university rejected Owen, he hasn’t spoken to me. Brother Yvan has just sent in my application.”
“You will get in without a problem,” Trevor said.
“That is something I worry about from time to time. The minimum age is seventeen, and that means I’ll be roaming the halls of Tarviston castle for a year waiting for the assassins.” Renny grinned at Trevor, but Trevor didn’t think such a fear was all that far-fetched, observing how Owen looked at them both.
“The king has arrived,” the guard announced. Everyone scurried to their appropriate place.
Queen Hyra entered first, followed by King Henry. Their relationship hadn’t improved since Trevor’s last family dinner. If anything, things were chillier.
Everyone waited while the king ate. He held his discussion during his eating, which was unusual, but he asked the same inane questions.
“Trevor, how is military life?”
“I’m in training, Father. I have yet to go out and do something militarily. I have an excellent teacher, my master sergeant.”
“Boxster? I believe that is his name. Sorryn says he is an unusual man with a mysterious past. Have you any light to shed on his background?”
“No, Father. He is as proficient or better than I am in every weapon category. I’m learning a lot from him by taking advantage of his experience.”
“There is more to soldiering than swinging a sword, Trevor,” his father said, the sternness of his voice softened just a little. “See if he can teach you some of that.”
Trevor was about to confirm that Boxster was giving him all kinds of advice, but that would open Trevor up to more questioning. “I will, Father.”