Ashan 75, Arc 704
”Jon, watch out!”
“Wha—? Shi—!”
The warning came too late. The Knight’s boot swiftly kicked the boy’s feet out from under him and for a moment he was weightless, parallel with the ground. But that was quickly over too, and then all Jonathan saw was blue sky and fat clouds. He landed hard on his back and the force of the tumble knocked the wind from his chest.
He heard a few pitied groans from his friends watching on the sidelines, but all he really cared about at the moment was catching his breath. He rolled onto his side and wheezed, drawing in a deep lungful then coughing violently.
“You’re dead.” The dull edge of the Knight’s training blade pressed against the side of his neck. Jon glanced up from the dirt, red in the face but recovering. “What did I say about your feet? Move them. Don’t just stand there like a tree, or I’ll cut you down. Now get up. Try again. And don’t drop your sword this time.”
Jon was thankful that he gave him a few more moments to catch his breath, but he still tried to be quick about climbing back to his feet. He fetched the sword that had fallen out of his fingers on the way up, bracing it in the dirt for more leverage.
“Alright. Now watch me, not the swords.”
Jonathan nodded. Sweat soaked his shirt and dripped down his nose. His hands were slick. He readjusted his fingers on the leather-wrapped handle of his blade. The Knight moved. Jon tried to mirror the steps. As Ser Downing circled in close, the boy put a second hand on the handle, tipping his sword forward in a defensive stance.
His opponent struck like a snake, thrusting forward with his blade’s stabbing tip almost as if it were a rapier. Jon stumbled back, arching his belly away from the weapon, clumsily slapping at it with the flat of his sword. The Knight kept coming and the boy’s feet kept shuffling away. Another blow came down from overhead. Jon lifted his arm to meet it and the powerful swing almost knocked the weapon from his hands again. It jarred his shoulders and his elbows buckled.
“Stop bracing!” his instructor barked, striking again with a swing from the side. Jon knocked the attack away with a wild swipe. “Let your arms absorb the blows, and then push back. You’re going to lose your weapon again, and then I’ll make you fight me empty handed.”
“That wouldn’t be very fair,” the boy panted, staving off another strike from the Knight, then suddenly he felt a sharp pain across his knuckles as the man whipped around faster than he could react against and slapped him over the fingers with the face of his blade. His grip slipped, he fumbled, but managed to catch the weapon before it fell to the ground. He looked at the Knight with wide eyes, and all he got back was an arched brow.
“Life isn’t fair. If I was really trying to kill you, I wouldn’t just wait for you to pick up your sword. Not every enemy has honor or integrity. Remember that for when the fight is real.” Jonathan nodded, panting for breath, flushed from crown to throat. He had thought he was in great shape, but it seemed swinging hammers and carrying supplies all day didn’t necessarily equate to longterm energy. “Again!” the Knight ordered, and the thoughts were banished by another meeting of metal.
One break later
“Have you talked to your father yet?”
“No, I’m still trying to think of what to say,” Jon admitted, absently massaging his sore hand. Brandon made a face, but Stephan pressed the issue.
“You shouldn’t make a big deal about it. Just tell him you’re going to become a Squire. Plain and simple. Sure he’ll be pissed for a while, but as soon as you become some big war hero he won’t be able to complain.” The three of them laughed.
“Yeah, and I bet one of the noble houses can’t wait to let their daughter marry the blacksmith’s son,” Brandon chimed, and Jon punched him in the arm.
“Shit—ow!”
“Just don’t track in all the mud and coal dust like usual,” Stephan added, and Jon made a jab at him too but he danced out of the way, light on his feet as usual.
Brandon suddenly lept on and grabbed him from behind, circling his arm around his throat, bracing his hand against his head. Jon grabbed his forearm and pulled, but the other boy held fast.
“Gotta’ do better than that if you’re gonna’ be a Knight someday,” Brandon grunted. They had the advantage of already having started their official training, and every time things got rowdy they liked to show off. But Jon still had an advantage and that was his natural size and brute strength.
He was a head taller than his companions, and already built like a stone wall. While Stephan jeered and egged them on from the side, Jonathan bent his knees, coming down more to his friend’s level. He bucked up then, tipping forward, throwing the lighter boy onto his back.
“Aw—no man—c’mon no fa—!” Throwing his head down, Jon tossed the boy up and over. He did a little somersault before landing flat on his back in the dirt with a loud grunt.
“Life isn’t fair,” the blond said, voice serious but with a smile on his face. Ser Downing’s words from earlier.
“Aye, screw you ya’ big freak.” Brandon grinned back and held up a hand. Jon clasped his forearm firmly, hoisting him back to his feet. “Aw man... My new shirt got ripped.” He stretched the fabric out to examine the thin tear up the side.
“Hope you can sew,” Stephan laughed.
“Eh? That’s women’s work!”
“Don’t let a woman hear you say that,” Jonathan advised with a quirk of his brow. His mother had warned him about senseless statements like that. A man was more liable to be smacked than anything. Or maybe if a Squire of the sex in question was in earshot—stabbed. Jon grinned at his friend, who seemed rather despaired now. “Come on, we’ll figure it out while we eat.”
Half a break later
Stephan and Jonathan learned against the stone wall out of the sun, watching Brandon train with a relatively young Knight with fuzzy brown hair.
“You really want my opinion?”
“Mhm,” Jon mumbled.
“You’re slow and you overthink things. I think all that muscle is weighing and dumbing you down.” The boy raised an eyebrow. “Okay, kidding! But I do think you need to work on your agility. You tire out way too fast. How are you supposed to protect your flank if you can’t keep up with what’s going on around you? I could run circles around you and then just stab you in the liver.” Stephan jabbed him hard in the side, making Jon jerk.
“Dammit—quit that!”
“Well, am I wrong?” The blond glowered at him. “Uh huh. Of course I’m not. But I bet since you’re gonna’ quit working for your father that you’ll trim up pretty quick. Then maybe you won’t be such a big slow ass, huffing and puffing after just a few bits of sparring.”
Jon thumped him swiftly in the thigh, making the smaller boy double over.
“Venora’s perky tits! You big bastard, your fist is like a fuckin’ hammer,” he groaned, rubbing the spot Jon had hit. It would likely bruise. Jon laughed quietly, patting Stephan roughly on the back.
“I think I’ll take the advantage of strength for now. I’m sure you’re right, but maybe I should just let the cards fall where they may.”
“You’re gonna’ do whatever you want anyway,” Stephan grumbled with one lost forlorn stroke of the thigh. “I should tell the ladies in town that I got hit in a fight with a bunch of bandits... And of course that I won. That’ll make’em go nuts.” The thought seemed to perk him up considerably.
“If you want I can give you a black eye too. It’d complete the picture.”
“Don’t even think about messing up this face. This is gonna’ be my ticket to nobility. Can’t sweep the beautiful daughter of a Baron off her feet with a smashed face.”
“You’re full of shit.”
“Nah, I’m just confident.”
Jonathan snorted.
“Whatever you say.”
“Balls!” Stephan suddenly exclaimed. “Did you just see that?”
“What?”
Stephan pointed over toward Brandon, whom Jon had in fact not been paying attention to for a few bits. Their friend was sprawled out in the dirt, unmoving. The Knight he’d been sparring with was stooped over him saying something as the two of them ran up to investigate.
“What just happened?” Jonathan asked.
“I knocked him out cold. Caught him in the side of the face with an elbow. He dropped like a rock. Should probably go to the infirmary.” They both nodded. A small crowd was starting to gather, curious of the little spectacle.
“Poor bastard,” Stephan sympathized as Jon scooped him up. With one arm behind his shoulders and the other behind his knees, he stood and lifted Brandon’s limp body, then threw him over his shoulder. “I always wanted my very own pack horse,” his friend teased and the young blond gestured rudely with his free hand.
“Oh, well that’s very crude. You wound me sir.” Stephan grinned. “C’mon, let’s get him taken care of before he dies on us somehow. It’d be his rotten luck.”
