Luminous

67 - Training

Torches were left to die as morning light returned. Zier heard the dawn shift guards scurrying about, preparing for departure. Horses whinnied and huffed as they were saddled and loaded, then settled for the peace offering of fodder and soothing brushes. Maids chattered as they distributed breakfast.

The smell of reheated stew wafted over. Zier cut straight to the last part of his daily drill. He circled the pell with swift sidesteps, his blunted practice sword swinging fluidly through its dance. Iron door. Thrust. Strike. Withdraw. Lady's Guard. Thrust. Strike. Withdraw. Window Guard. Thrust. Strike—

Approaching footsteps broke his concentration. His sword rebounded from the pell, and the flow stopped. He spun around and found himself face-to-face with one Simon Amplevale and one Christopher Merilith.

"Morning, cousin." Simon tossed Zier a bread roll and a smirk. Far behind him, Zier saw yeomen and maids milling around the pot over the bonfire, ladling leftover pottage into their bowls.

"Same to you, cousin." He slotted his sword into the ring on his belt, then dabbed at his damp forehead with his sleeve, wincing as he caught a whiff of his sweaty underarm. "I need a wash. When do we set off?"

"Don't ask me. You decide." Simon shrugged, thrusting the papers nestled in the crook of his arm over to Zier. Zier gave them a quick sight-over. A map. An itinerary. A leather-bound journal he recognized as Coris's.

"What's all this?"

"Coris isn't feeling well. He wants you to lead the entourage in his place." Christopher said with a sigh, fed up with Simon's antics. Zier blinked, then swore feverishly.

"Why me?" He protested. "I'm the spare. You're the heirs. You do it!" 

He ushered the odious paperwork to Simon. Simon pushed them back.

"No deal. Donghead's orders."

Oh. So he's well enough to give orders.

Seething, Zier looked to Christopher. He seemed sympathetic, but ultimately shook his head. The papers weighed on his shivering arms like stone slabs. Zier edged closer to his friends, back bent and eyes pleading.

"Please. You know I can't do this." He jerked his head in the direction of Coris's tent, hissing, "This is his stuff."

"Well, better study up, then." Simon shrugged, still deadpan, "Without your wise leadership, we're sure to lose our way and starve to death in this sandy void. No pressure." 

He gave Zier a ceremonial shoulder pat and encouraging smile, then turned on his heel and strode away, a bounce in every second step.

"Oi, Simon!"

Zier's yell of displeasure trailed away into a whine. As the silence of dawn descended over him, Zier sank to his haunches, head bowed in despair. As if he had taken pity on his pathetic state, Christopher sighed and murmured his advice before traipsing away,

"If I were you, I would first consult Sir Jarl."

Zier perked up. His eyes followed Christopher's gravel-crunching footsteps as he walked off, then roamed the clearing for the marshal. He found Sir Jarl standing beside a boulder not far from Coris's tent, receiving reports from a yeoman. Stashing his bread in his trouser pocket, he picked himself up, uprooted the pell, then sprinted over.

The yeoman noticed him first. He paused mid-speech, eyes wide. Sir Jarl turned around. He nodded at the yeoman, who hurried away to continue his duties, then dedicated his full attention to Zier.