Dun called them together. “A heavier weapon will naturally lead you to tighten up, especially when you are swinging hard. If you don’t force yourself to breathe you will be weakened with every heartbeat. On the battlefield, it is often exhaustion that defeats rather than a lack of skill. Don’t forget that.” He fixed Aedan with a stare then turned to speak to the rest of them,
“From the reports we are getting, it looks as if your first real battle may take place long before your training is done. I guarantee that you will be frightened. You will find yourselves with tense muscles and shallow breathing. Fear makes you think little and swing like a mad logger. It will exhaust you rapidly, and on the battlefield, exhaustion is more dangerous than disarming. If you want to survive, you need to consciously resist these reactions.”
The attention in the class after this was absolute.
Once he had covered the basics of technique, Dun devoted several classes to un-teaching the bad ideas some of them had picked up during the performances of touring adventurers, as they called themselves. They were troubadours who would tell their stories and demonstrate their skills against challengers. It was clear that some of the boys had these performances in mind the way they were hopping and spinning like dancers.
Dun asked Warton to attempt a spinning swipe. As the boy pivoted, Dun moved in and stopped Warton’s arm with the wooden blade. “Never voluntarily show an opponent your back in a fight,” he said. “Spins like this might help to unleash a ripping swing, and against a poor opponent they will help you look dashing, but any decent swordsman will step in and lop off your arm as it comes around.
“The same goes for these leaping heroic slashes. When one foot leaves the ground, you are unable to change direction or resist force, which is why we step quickly and deliberately. But with two feet off the ground, you have no control whatsoever until you land and steady yourself.”
Again he demonstrated. Warton leapt into the air and swung down. Dun stepped in, parried the blow, and rammed with his shoulder. It threw Warton into a backward, stumbling recovery which ended when he toppled over a sand bag. The point was made.
Dun continued to lay a solid foundation of practical techniques suited to the mayhem of warfare rather than the controlled arenas of performance.
Once the basics had been grasped, other trainers were invited to build on Dun’s foundation and illustrate the techniques used by the surrounding nations. Many of these trainers were senior marshals who had been posted in other lands. It was during these sessions that the boys noticed the respect shown to Dun. On several occasions, he engaged in full armoured bouts against these men, and it became clear that Dun was not a trainer because he was incapable of more. They found a new respect for the demanding master whose cheery cries shattered the silence every morning.
Dun made sure that skills were not honed in isolation and earlier practices forgotten, so every lesson ended with disarming and hand to hand challenges.
The new exercises produced many aches as the muscles in backs, shoulders and freshly calloused hands – right and left, for Dun insisted they train with both – were pushed to new levels of strength. Aedan now understood why swordsmen had fingers like owl talons.
The injuries were not plentiful, but a few concussions, cracked ribs, broken fingers and strained muscles were to be expected. Anyone who received an interesting injury became the topic for the day in Mistress Gilda’s class.
Once they had gained a level of proficiency with the sword, Dun added shields, demonstrating some crafty ways of using them as weapons. He re-introduced quarterstaves and spears to the routine, progressing to more advanced techniques.
In addition, several types of bows were discussed along with a number of different methods for shooting them. The most difficult was that intended for speed, in which the archer would hold at least three and up to twelve arrows between the fingers of his string hand, and fire them in rapid succession. The technique was known as the porcupine because of the resemblance to quills. A particularly famous archer was on hand to demonstrate. The boys gaped at his rate of fire. Out in the open, he could put eight or nine arrows in the air before the first hit the ground. It was said that there were Lekran archers who could do more.
With this technique there was no reaching into a quiver for the next arrow, because they were already in his hand. Nocking only one of the arrows and pulling the string back without dropping the others was the challenge. It was a demanding method that required months of practice before anything like a success could be detected. In their cluttered, clumsy fingers, the shafts often slipped. The boys spent a lot of their time flinching and ducking as arrows misfired and whipped around their heads, while the rest of the shafts escaped to drip and drizzle around their feet. They had never seen Dun laugh with such abandon.
Peashot struggled as much as everyone else, but showed a fanatical determination. He had watched the demonstration with trembling awe, the rapid twangs of the string clearly plucking a note that resonated in his heart. The loss of the peashooter, for a time at least, was forgotten. He trained constantly, skipping classes and even practicing in his dorm, firing away against the wall until he was threatened with death and burial, in reverse order.
–––
On the academic side, the language classes were proving to be the most taxing as well as the most rewarding. Learning new words and interesting expressions was the rewarding part. The rest was worse than Dun’s circuits.
Orunean had the most muddled prepositions – you were at work, but in home and on class. Tenses were not defined by verbs, requiring constant use of adverbs of time. And then there were the idioms – and Orunean was infested with them – that crashed heedless through all rules of grammar with meanings that simply had to be memorised. Some were explainable – to buy a flecked horse meant to invest in something that was going to change, associated with the fact that grey flecks tend to diminish with time. But often the meanings were lost. Not even Giddard knew why switching gloves meant avoiding the question.
They now had two foreign languages – Orunean and Fenn. The latter was considered a priority due to the current threat. Fenn, while simpler in tenses, had come with the curse of noun genders. Peashot’s frustration grew daily.
“It’s to do with an old division of labour,” Aedan said, explaining what Peashot had slept through in one of the classes. “It’s not about things being boy or girl, it’s about which gender was responsible for them. That’s all that ‘av’ and ‘el’ show you.”
“And no,” said Liru, pre-empting the obvious retort, “you cannot just leave them all off.”
Aedan resumed. “Fenn women do most of the cooking, so kitchenware is mostly female, and men look after the livestock, so the animals are mostly male. Except goats, chickens and donkeys – I’m not sure why they are different.”
“So all cattle are male, even the females?”
“Unless you specify that it’s a cow – in that case it’s female.”
“So then … females are cows! Maybe they aren’t so stupid. Ouch!”
“You did not know that cows kick?” Liru said, her face betraying not even a hint of humour.
“What bothers me more,” said Aedan, “is that the language has no plurals. I know you work them out by the context, but imagine the watchman: ‘Help help! The wall is being overrun by a soldier!’ That might not get the right response.”
“It would be better,” said Liru, “than Peashot asking a father for his youngest cow’s hand in marriage.”
Apprentices were required to learn ten new words every day and to use the growing vocabulary in practical exercises, one of which was mealtime conversation. Those found speaking Thirnish were denied the next meal. Sitting in detached silence was also forbidden.
Of those who had never before used Orunean, Vayle was learning the fastest. As he finished his midday meal, he delivered an opinion, “Ret ce lonti.” Food taste pretty.
All nodded except Peashot. He wanted to voice a
counter opinion, but lacked the vocabulary.
Hadley excused himself. “Hak ver utto,” he managed. Must go latrine.
Peashot caught the word and announced with satisfaction as he pushed his plate away, “Ret ce utto.”
The laughter was unfortunately enough to draw Matron Rosalie’s attention and Peashot was rewarded with washing-up duty.
Another subject had been introduced. In a sense it was another language. It was known as signal spotting, and dealt with the reading and interpreting of clues from body language through to unintended messages contained in people’s words. Once Giddard had covered the basics, he took the class to a judicial hearing where they silently observed the accused and took notes. On their return to the academy, Giddard asked for observations.
“Guilty!” they chimed.
“Perhaps,” he said. “But that’s not an observation. Which of the patterns we discussed were you able to detect?”
Hadley went first. “He gave too much irrelevant and untestable detail about when he arrived – sun, weather, carriages, his personal plans for the evening.”
“That is true,” said Giddard.
“And he didn’t mention seeing the ruby even though it would have been obvious to anyone.”
“Excellent point. So we have both aspects of an amended testimony – padding with the irrelevant, and excluding the relevant. The first could mean nothing, but the second is an attempt to appear ignorant of an opportunity. What else?”
“His smile was shaky.”
“Yes, Bede, but that might be the effect of nervousness. What more about his smile?”
“Well he wasn’t smiling with his eyes, only his mouth.”
“Good. That is more telling. Remember how we said that a forced smile tends to leave the skin around eyes unchanged. Eyes tell the truth more than mouths. Malik?”
“I watched facial expressions when the attention was not on him. His eyes were down, he was frowning, and his fingers were never still.”
“That is a good observation. Those unguarded expressions can betray a lot; in this case we strongly suspect guilt. Bear in mind, though, that they are much more reliable when we consider them against a baseline of the subject’s normal behaviour. Some people just have nervous eyes or busy fingers. Who do we all know who …”
“Master Wildemar!” they replied as one.
Giddard grinned and put a finger to his lips before continuing. “So don’t make final judgements using signals. None of them can send a man to prison, but they can serve to awaken suspicions and give you a warning of danger. Even in the middle of a fight.”
“Master Giddard,” Aedan said. “Can you give us an example?”
“Certainly. Did you notice when the prisoner wasn’t looking down how his eyes kept darting to a point in the Balcony above us? Under the circumstances, it could well have indicated the presence of an ally. During a treacherous negotiation, confrontation, or even physical conflict, an ally’s eyes are often sought as a kind of security. It can help you know who is backing whom. But as a more direct answer to your question, someone sneaking up behind you is often betrayed by his ally’s eyes in front of you. I must warn you, though, not to be gullible. There are some who will fake this darting of eyes to turn you around. Move so as to cover both possibilities.”
“Is it something we should be able to fake?”
“Absolutely. Even to the point of tossing a dagger to your non-existent partner – that would turn almost anyone around. In tournaments and challenges of honour it would be considered poor form, but when the fate of your nation is at stake, you need to make use of any means possible, and I guarantee that the field will be even.”
The autumn trials were approaching when they would be examined in all subjects, but there was something far more immediate, and far more compelling, something that was spreading a feverish excitement through the whole city – the countdown to the autumn festival had ended.
In spite of deep worries about the location, for the festival grounds were outside the city walls, the prince made it clear that safety would be guaranteed. Patrols would be tripled and soldiers would be posted in a wide circle around the area. The heralds delivered Burkhart’s assurances: There was no imminent danger and the celebrations would be better than ever. Aedan knew Burkhart was lying on the first count, but the glimpses he had stolen of the grounds suggested that the second part was true.
On the eve of the festival, as twilight gathered and called the birds to roost and the crickets to song, the little group of friends sat on top of the rise and surveyed the bright expanse beneath them. Green fields were ringed by stalls festooned with colourful streamers and country bunting. Labourers and stall-owners finished up their preparations and drifted to fires where music and laughter and the smell of food rose together in irresistible harmony to sweeten the breeze.
“This,” said Aedan, taking a deep breath, “is going to be a festival to remember!”
“Hurry up! How long does it take you louts to get ready?”
Peashot was hovering outside the room, alternately plucking his bow, springing in the air, and pounding the door.
For once, Hadley was not out front. He was fussing with his hair before a brass mirror – something he had taken up whenever there was a possibility of meeting the girls. But whatever air of class he contributed to the group was offset by Aedan and Peashot who invariably appeared in rumpled clothes and broom-bristle hair. Eventually everyone was ready and they rushed down the corridor and surged out of the academy.
The weeks of preparation had come to an end. Town bells rang and trumpets blared. Children ran through the streets selling ribbons – blue, green, red and white. All but the poorest and surliest bought. Each colour represented a team in which were storytellers, bards, dancers, cooks, athletes and men-at-arms. The competitions were friendly – or were intended to be – and at the closing celebration, always held on the central field, the winning team would dine with the prince. It was even whispered that the princess would be there this year.
Since throwing Warton onto his back in the class scuffle, Kian had found his dorm companions less than inviting company, so he joined Aedan’s group.
Dun had not set aside the rule about bearing arms at all times, so they had each chosen what they were most comfortable with. Aedan and Lorrimer swirled quarterstaves. Hadley and Vayle carried the iron swords – but neither was entirely confident with the mounting. Hadley used the baldric, so his was swinging about his knees and getting tangled in the legs of those who bustled alongside, while Vayle’s was strapped loosely and comfortably on his back where it could be easily drawn by almost anyone but him. Kian and Peashot had small bows slung over their backs and soft quivers of blunted arrows. Peashot also had a sling stuffed up his sleeve. Aedan had no doubt it would be put to use before the day was up.
They did feel more than a little foolish as they moved through the crowd with their painfully visible training weapons. If anything, it made them seem smaller and younger.
After falling in with the mass of people that squeezed into a tight plug at the gate and hurried away on the other side, they broke free and sprinted to the festival grounds, ducking and swerving between slower groups.
Tents, tables and stands lined grassy walkways, and in the centre of it all was the main field where the year’s most spectacular and unforgettable events would take place. Several smaller arenas and stages were scattered about where single combatants would wear each other down to the delight of spectators – both the rowdy and the swooning variety – and bards and minstrels would hold audiences in their spells and draw tears and laughter and hopefully no vegetables.
The boys wandered between the stalls and the growing throngs of people, but as they had little money and at least two meals to purchase, theirs was the lot of admiring and wishing and moving on.
The main event, the feat of arms, was what they and most others were there for. But that would only take place much later, so they ambled around behind
the tents, found a discarded barrel of spoiled apples and began their own feat of arms.
Soon another group of boys spotted the fun. Rules were set, teams chosen, and before long there was a small war of running boys, exploding apples, and a fine haze that smelled vaguely of cider. The game had reached a furious intensity when one of the festival officials detected juvenile fun and put a stop to it. Nobody ever told who crowned the man’s receding head with a particularly ripe apple.
After that they scattered, but Aedan, his blood stirred, was on the lookout. The original six of them sat down on a grassy bank that gave a fine view of the tents beneath. All but Aedan and Hadley sprawled out to bask in the sun and grin at the memory of the official’s slimy hat.
After a while Aedan broke the spell. “That could be something,” he said. “Look down there. See that bloke who’s trying to call the girl behind the tent?”
They all sat up to witness the little drama unfolding. A young man with floppy hair, wilting posture and clutching hands was stealing glances around the edge of a stall and beckoning a younger woman. His movements, Aedan thought, were as twitchy as one of those pygmy antelope’s.
The reason for the twitchiness soon became apparent. The girl’s brawny father looked protective and threatening even from this distance. He was busy setting up the shelves inside his tent, and his daughter was torn between her duty and her heart. Soon, though, the father was obliged to make a trip to collect something, and as soon as he was out of sight, the girl was moving around the tent.
The boys were moving too.
Hadley was ahead, leading them in an inconspicuous flanking path to the front of the tent. The girl and her timorous young man were behind the rear wall, the morning sun betraying them with clear-cast shadows on the taut fabric.
“Count of three,” Hadley mouthed. “One, two …”
Dawn of Wonder (The Wakening Book 1) Page 38