by Billy Wong
After finishing a lesson on the events that would lead to Ostuh's founding, Milo announced, "It's time for lunch. Eat in the mess hall behind the double doors to the left of where you got your uniforms, but when break is over report to room 108 on the other side of the building instead of back here. Professor Grace will be instructing you for a time." Rupert wondered if that might be the woman they had seen with Milo, but couldn't be sure.
He waited until the rest of the students had left, then followed while the professor gazed questioningly after him. At the cafeteria he picked up a tray with bread and soup, then looked around for a place to sit. The huge room was shared with several other classes and probably grades, a good thing as it facilitated him not spending more time near his classmates. Spotting a long table occupied solely by a group of shy seeming girls who talked quietly among themselves, he sat on the end farthest from them. They glanced in his direction, but turned back to each other without saying anything. He ate his meal in peace, finishing quickly, and waited for the end of break to be called.
After lunch, they headed to the designated room to find the woman who had accompanied Milo, who confirmed herself to be Professor Grace. She taught classes in theoretical and applied sciences less energetically that Milo had, reciting prepared lessons while asking for little input from the students and then quizzing them to see how much knowledge they retained. Rupert didn't think this would be as conducive to absorbing information as Milo's approach, which her dissatisfied expression while grading their quizzes appeared to support. Maybe she was burned out by her job and lost her passion for it, but then he had no clue if this had always been her style. He would admittedly have liked to have someone to discuss these ideas with, but eh. There'd undoubtedly be group projects in his future which required interaction anyway, he needn't be so impatient as to seek it out.
Following Professor Grace's classes, she informed them physical education and defense training would be next. The latter, and the reportedly increased rigor of the former, had certainly been implemented in light of the recent revelations about Ostuh's lack of battle readiness. Being a land of learning and scientific advancement, they had long relied on more warlike allies for their defense, but the death of their Premier at the hands of enemies and ensuing terror a few years ago had taught them they needed to be more prepared in their own right. Thus their military was being expanded under the guidance of great Aerilea which headed the alliance of five nations, and physical training given more emphasis in schools to prepare bright young minds for potential service. Rupert didn't mind it, given he had his share of prior training and shouldn't find much challenge in a course designed for all manner of students. If anything he ought to take care not to look too impressive, to evade unnecessary attention.
In the rainy courtyard she brought the class to, Grace introduced a beefy mustached man as Coach Jarvis. "Nice to meetcha, little rascals!" he greeted them in a gruff voice.
The young noble who argued with Charlene, whose name had been revealed to be Quinton, asked, "Can't we cancel gym class if the weather's like this, or at least move it inside?" Several boys and girls, some possibly newfound friends standing close to him, nodded their agreement.
"You think our enemies will cancel their invasion over a little rain?" Jarvis barked. "Stand firm, if you are indeed young men of Ostuh!"
"Some of us here are women too," a girl near Charlene pointed out.
"Then do you not aspire to be strong women like Saint General Julianna and Queen Becca of Severil? Do not resign yourself to be weak for being the fairer sex! Stand firm, and defend Ostuh from its invaders like true patriots!"
"There is no invasion happening at the moment," somebody muttered behind Rupert. The coach did seem a tad overzealous, but that might be a desirable trait for pushing young nobility and others not accustomed to testing their limits.
Jarvis pointed at the ground. "For your first test, you all will drop and give me fifty as fast as you can! Let's see which of you is even fit to train for real, and who has the unenviable need to be treated with baby gloves."
"Fifty what?" a girl asked.
"Pushups! What else?" In response, she paled.
A soft, rapid voice reached Rupert' ears. "Twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four..." He looked to see Peggy lowering her chest towards the earth and raising it back up fast. Not half a minute later, she shoved herself straight to her feet, brushed mud off her palms and wiped more of it from the ends of her pigtails. "Done." His jaw dropped. He would have doubted most girls' ability to even complete fifty full pushups without a break, but she did it quicker than most fit men could without batting an eye. Maybe her small size helped make her body weight easier to handle, and carrying that massive pack did allude to more than typical strength, but still...
Jarvis blinked at her. "I didn't tell you to start yet. But you passed with flying colors."
A skinny boy spoke in a voice soft with awe. "How is she so strong? She's much stronger than she looks."
"She likely has a lot of practice moving heavy loads," another replied, alluding to her pack.
The coach gestured for them to settle down, and the rest of them took the pushup test a handful at a time. Some of the least athletic couldn't make it to fifteen let alone fifty, and most of those who did the full set struggled through the last few. Jarvis might have gone a bit overboard considering it wasn't the school's mission to mold everyone into physical specimens, but there were those seasoned athletes who did it with ease. None beat Peggy's speed though, despite her barely looking like she'd put effort into it. Charlene notched an impressive time of her own, but while she might be a well to do girl, it wasn't too surprising knowing her family's warrior history. That, and the size of her chest might shorten the distance to the ground...
When Rupert' turn came, he lowered himself down and banged out his fifty at a steady pace. "Good," Jarvis commented, "though I can tell you aren't giving your all."
He winced at the curious looks directed towards him, and tried to salvage his nondescript image with a shrug. "I gave it plenty, I'm just not overdramatic about showing fatigue."
Thankfully, the coach seemed to accept it. "You don't seem one to be overdramatic about much. Good for you, a steady heart does a man well in difficult times."
After all had been tested, the coach gave out their scores. Each possible letter grade seemed to cover a fairly broad spectrum, as both he and Peggy managed to qualify for a prestigious A. He discovered Jarvis to be a little more generous than expected, as even many who failed to do fifty pushups received decent marks. He had set the bar high, but judged none too harshly. The lowest grade he gave was a D, reserved for those who couldn't come close to half the requested reps.
"Not bad overall!" he told the class to conclude. "Some of your bodies are quite honed while others could use more work, but with your youthful vigor I'm sure we'll see good progress as the year continues. Pushups aren't the sole measure of fitness of course, so I'll be putting you through more tests over the next week, but for now take a break and then we'll start defense class by evaluating your combat proficiency."
Rupert swallowed. This worried him more than tests of athleticism, since he would risk having brash would-be warriors challenge him if he looked too good, yet it might be difficult to hold back without it being noticeable depending on the nature of the test. Hopefully he would be asked to demonstrate his ability against a not overly experienced or proud classmate, who wouldn't go too hard and he could just have a casual spar with.
After a ten minute rest, Jarvis began picking students to pair up with wooden swords. So he'd be teaching them to fight too? He looked rough enough, but Rupert wondered as to the specifics of his background. "I don't have any training," one girl shortly protested, looking nervous as she eyed the tall boy she had been set against.
"Doesn't matter, I still want to see what natural talents you have. Besides—do you have training, boy?"
He shook his head. "No, sir."
"I f
igured as much. There shouldn't be a problem then."
"But he's much bigger..." the girl mumbled. In response, Jarvis waved dismissively. By now the rain had stopped, though mud still splashed around their feet as they circled hesitantly. The boy finally struck at the girl, but missed by far as he attempted it from too far out. He tried to close the distance, still fell short again and again as she stepped back from his telegraphed swipes. Gaining a modicum of courage, she went on the offense, yet her slashes at his body hit only air as she dared not get too near his amateurishly outstretched blade. It was a bit awful to watch them both fail miserably with their attacks, neither mustering the courage to engage in earnest. Finally the boy tired of the stalemate and gathered himself to rush forward. His wildly swung weapon passed over her head, his momentum putting them too close for her to retaliate effectively with hers. Lips parted in fright as they stood inches apart, she kneed him between the legs. He doubled over and crumpled with a whimper, dropping his sword to grab his crotch. She stared in horror at what she had done in the heat of the moment, then ran back into the mass of students while her opponent lay curled in a fetal ball.
Charlene sighed. "I'm not sure forcing untrained, unprepared people to fight makes for the best introduction."
"I can see where he's coming from," Peggy said. "Often one's potential shows through when pushed."
The noble girl looked at her in surprise, perhaps not expecting her response due to not obviously being a warrior. Peggy didn't carry a visible weapon—but maybe one was hidden inside that pack? "Still, I didn't see much 'potential' on display just now."
They watched more clumsy matches between inexperienced fighters, some of whom probably never held a sword before. One boy battered down his female opponent's guard with brute force and knocked her to the ground crying with a fist, and two others ended their duel panting with hands on their knees after an abundance of ineffectual flailing. The quality of the spars improved however as more skilled combatants matched up. Different styles were showcased as some fought patiently, focused on evading and parrying while they waited for a good opening, some were more aggressive and sought to overwhelm with high-paced pressure, and others fell in between with a balance between offense and defense.
Eventually Charlene was called to face a well-groomed boy who wore a smirk across his angular features. "Judging from your confidence," she said, "you must be well trained."
"Of course! I've been taught since childhood by the best swordmasters of the great city of Windham." He drew his sword back, pointed at her. "Sorry to be cruel towards a lady, but you stand no chance against me."
She shrugged. "I hope the coach knew what he was doing when he paired us together." They closed smoothly, exchanging graceful cuts, thrusts, parries and ripostes that seemed unbefitting of their crude wooden swords. The boy's arrogant expression faded swiftly as he realized his foe at least a match for him. He swung high at her head and she rolled under into his leg, bowling him over. As he landed on his back, Rupert saw she had closed her own legs around his. She twisted the trapped limb. An instant later he cried his submission, grimacing in anguish.
"That was not a sword fighting move," Jarvis said as she released him and stood up.
"A warrior does what she can to win," she replied with head solemnly bowed. "Besides, the previous students used enough hand to hand techniques that he should have prepared himself for them."
"Fair enough. Still, I would've expected a member of the proud Lyonesse family to want to show more of their honorable sword skills."
Charlene shrugged again. "Grappling isn't dishonorable. Besides, in this changing world I'd rather be versatile than a figurehead of traditional ways." Not such a simple girl for all her pure appearance, this one.
A couple of boys helped her opponent limp back to the sidelines, and the battles went on. Rupert anticipated another impressive showing from Peggy, as she seemed to share that sense of being more than meets the eye with Charlene. When she took her place opposite a tall girl with broad shoulders and thick arms, the easy bounce of her footwork indicated she indeed wasn't new to this. But instead of going hard, the two enjoyed what looked to be a light spar with neither pressing an advantage for long. Had they already become friends, and mutually avoided showing up the other? Though they clearly didn't fight at full speed, good timing and precision were evident in their movements as they traded and defended against blows. After some minutes of uneventful action, Jarvis called for a halt.
"Already letting them stop?" the tanned scientist's son asked. "You had most of us go until a winner was decided or both were exhausted."
"That might take a while for those two, and our time is not without limit. Besides, they've already demonstrated their skill sufficiently."
"Thank you for the compliment," Peggy said as she and the other girl left the center. "The sword's not my preferred weapon, so I'm glad my abilities were adequate to please you." While more subtle about it than Charlene, she wasn't without her own brand of bluster either. What weapon did she favor, then? Rupert imagined in passing it might be a heavier one with her strength... but then, it couldn't be that heavy considering her minuscule size.
A few more duels passed, during one of which Quinton defeated his rival with a deft counter kick that disarmed him in mid thrust, and Rupert realized he would be one of the last to go. Why save him for so long no doubt knowing of his background, and who would he face? It made him anxious to think about the coach's motives. Finally he heard his name and stepped forward. Jarvis said another name he didn't remember among his classmates—"Pat!"—and he frowned in confusion.
A young man entered the courtyard from a different door than they had. He didn't look special at first glance from afar, of similar age to the students, slightly below average height but stockily built. When he stepped closer though, Rupert saw he had quite a lot of faded scars on his face and arms... scars which warned him this might be a more hardened warrior than one would expect given his youth.
"Who is this?" he asked. "He isn't in our class."
Jarvis smiled. "Your class has an odd number of members. Since I wouldn't want to unfairly make anyone fight twice, I called in a student from another class to fill in against you."
Rupert accepted a wooden blade and readied himself as the boy took a fighting stance. He hoped Pat would settle for an easygoing spar like Peggy had with the strapping girl, but from his serious gaze, he doubted he would be so fortunate.
Chapter 2
"Like that fiery pipsqueak of yours," the scarred boy said, "a sword's not my preferred weapon. But I'll do my best not to disappoint you."
Rupert started. "Of mine? Peggy has nothing to do with me."
"Of your class, I mean. Anyway, you must have some credentials if you're the one I was asked to test specifically."
"Not really."
"Maybe not in the grand scheme of things. But for a student at least."
He tried to keep his face neutral. "Not really." And though the faculty surely had some idea, he really didn't want them to see his "credentials" firsthand.
"Do your best to keep up, then!" Pat darted at him, wooden blade whooshing at his neck. Darn, this kid was fast. Strong too for his size, he found out when their weapons thudded together, vibrating from the clash.
He shoved the smaller boy back. "You seem like you enjoy a fight too much."
Pat grinned. "I won't deny it. I love the thrill I get from a good challenge!"
"You should take it more seriously. A battle with steel in hand is no joke."
"But aren't we just practicing with sticks? Besides, I probably know that better than you. I've fought in more than my share of life and death struggles before."
Life and death... Rupert didn't like the sound of that. His classmates sensed it too, chatter dying down as they felt the aura of danger around this boy. Age aside, he couldn't seem to belong less in a school uniform. Pat came in light on his feet with a tempest of blows from many angles, forcing him to shift his wea
pon rapidly to ward them even as he backpedaled. He couldn't let this go on, because even if he stayed defensive, just being able to hold up against such fluid offense would reveal more about him than he desired. Already whispers rose at the skill they displayed. How should he stop this though, when he probably wasn't good enough to defeat Pat quickly?
Maybe if he feinted being in trouble, he could get him to overcommit and find an opportunity to end the match in a seemingly flukish way. He wasn't sure how convincing that would be since he would still have to look capable enough to land the deciding move, but didn't see a better option. He backed away more hastily while blocking and parrying a hair slower so that Pat's strikes came closer to touching him. Pushed almost to the edge of the rapt audience, he circled out to the side and then tripped as his ankles crossed each other. He stumbled away, waiting for Pat to try and take advantage. Should he swing the sword in a sloppy fashion, or maybe use a wrestling takedown to get on top of and pin his smaller opponent? Better see what form Pat's attack took first.
Instead of pursuing, Pat watched bemusedly as he windmilled for balance. After a few seconds that had the crowd gawking in confusion, he stopped his reeling retreat and righted himself. "Sorry, I've seen that kind of tactic a few too many times to easily fall for it." Did Pat have to say that? "It could practically be called a favorite of one of my friends."