Tipping the Scales

7

The recruits tracked back to the Field of Judgement to begin combat training, which consisted of wooden blades and simple manoeuvres. The drills were tedious to Lukas, who had practiced similar exercises endlessly in his youth. Today the same drills were draining him. The wooden sword felt heavy in his hand, his arms exhausted. His reactions were still quick, but his body lagged behind the sharpness of his mind. He cursed his condition each time he failed to avoid weak strikes from his opponent. Despite his laboured form, Lukas found himself bored and wishing for it to be over.

There was a stark divide amongst the group; those that, like Lukas, found the act of swinging a wooden sword around a mind-numbing chore; and those that flailed their weapons with the skill and precision of a new-born baby. It wasn't until the duel exercises started that the former half managed to find some entertainment in their training. Recruits were paired up at random and were to practice the moves they had just learnt in a combat situation.

Lukas' opponent looked pleased to have been given the late starter as his first adversary. Though the confident ease in the boy's expression was wiped away with a quick thrust to his shoulder.

"Oi," the boy rubbed his shoulder, "you're supposed to practice the basic manoeuvres."

"Oh right," Lukas said, disturbed by a pain in his own shoulder.

Angered by Lukas' attitude, the boy lashed out. He swung wildly; only indistinct similarities could compare it to the simple strike they had practised. It was easy to avoid, and Lukas returned with his own swing, executed perfectly, the way they had been taught. This time the boy was stunned, taken completely off guard.

"Keep your swings under control," Lukas advised, "and don't overcommit. It leaves you open to a counter-attack."

The boy frowned but didn't complain, instead he swung again, this time with more restraint. Unable to side-step, Lukas deflected the blow into the ground. The exchanges went on for a few more minutes, ending similarly with the other boy grumbling or rubbing a forming bruise, until they were told to rotate partners.

For the next hour, Lukas toyed with many of his partners, most of whom had never held a sword before being conscripted. Each time he offered words of advice for the boy's flaws and openings, though most either ignored him or simply seemed not to care about improving. Lukas felt growing pains as the afternoon went on, his body still recovering from malnutrition. He thought himself lucky to be conducting such laborious exercises against inexperienced opponents. Had he been sparring with Tobias, the old man wouldn't have held back despite his exhaustion, instead turning it into a lesson on how to fight when on your last legs.

'Last rotation' was called when a boy crashed into him, sending them both sprawling. The collision had knocked the wind out of Lukas, taking him a few moments to climb back to his feet. He looked over at who had sent the poor boy flying.

Walking towards him, was the dark featured boy, stretching out the very arm that had sent his adversary tumbling away. Lukas regarded him carefully, but couldn't help feeling excited about his opponent's calmness. He sensed something was different about this one. "Are we to fight next?"

His eagerness was met with a cold, unchanging expression; his question, met simply with a grunt.

Lukas dropped the friendly demeanour, raising his sword and setting his stance. "Come at me."

The boy stepped forward and swung at a seemingly impossible speed for someone of his size. Lukas reacted equally fast, bringing his sword up to block the incoming strike. This was a mistake. The blow punched through his block, smashing into his waist and knocking him off balance. Lukas dropped a knee to steady himself, wincing from the dull pain which was sure to form yet another bruise on his hip.