The White Shadow

15. Everybody is Hiding Something

"I don't think you should. You're not nearly healed yet."

Firmin just shook his head in response to Tris's concern.

"At least wait until you can properly take a run around the duke's estate," Tris complained.

"Challenge accepted," said Firmin.

"I didn't mean that," said Tris.

"Don't be foolish, lad," Gethin grumbled. "I agree, it is always important to push oneself—especially with you. But in this case, do remember that I said Tris's warning was not an invalid one. Just because you miraculously survived what you did does not mean to press your luck. Particularly take in consideration how tiring the run would be."

"Yeah, at the very least listen to your trainer," Tris said.

"You are rarely annoyed, Tris," said Firmin. "But I suppose if the time ever were to come, it is now."

"And you're not yourself, Firmin. You weren't ever since the white shadow nearly took your life."

"You have no idea what was going on."

"I don't because you don't tell me!"

"Boys, now's not the time," said Gethin.

Tris sighed. "Just ask yourself why you are doing this, and if it is worth it, considering the potential consequences."

"I don't know," said Firmin. "But perhaps I grow sick of waiting. And if the consequences, like you say, end with me in bed, then I see no difference. Bring it on, Gethin."

Gethin sighed. He grabbed his weapons—Firmin could not believe it—two short staffs

"Really?" Firmin shook his head. "You can do better, can you not, Gethin? Or are you afraid now that I am confident?"

Gethin growled. Tris shook his head and sighed.

His trainer tossed aside the staffs and took out his mace.

"You cannot be serious about this," Tris said. Firmin himself couldn't deny the surprise that rushed through his veins at that moment. But not of fear. He was ready.

"At least wear armor or some protection." Tris walked away and came back with a worn gambeson.

"Just put this on, please."

Firmin scoffed. "Fine."

As soon as they finished buckling on the light armor, Firmin lunged at Gethin.

The man jumped aside. Barely managed to block the next attack. But Firmin's next attempt hit—striking Gethin's arm, thankfully protected by a vambrace.

Finally a better match. A better day. The fight dragged on.

The sweat rolled down into Firmin's eyes and mouth as they continued. His lungs burned. He was tiring, but may he be struck down before he'd ever be seen backing out. Never again a coward.

"You are holding back!" Firmin yelled. His wounds stung worse with each movement. His arms flailed around but he wouldn't let himself stop. Who would that make him?

Gethin pulled up his weapon at a very awkward angle. The thought that he might beat him flitted through Firmin's mind, and he instantly seized his chance.

He threw himself forward—perhaps a bit much—before he realized the trap. He missed, flying forward. He could feel his wound ripping from the stretch and winced.