Icy wind whipped Feren's hair into his face as he stood across from his opponent, wrapped fists raised in defense.
The male across from him sported a similar stance, a line of red on his cheekbone marking the center of what looked would become a flourishing bruise.
"I thought you said you'd go easy on me."
A hint of a smile tugged at Feren's lip. He pushed forward on light feet and reached a hand out to hit the male – Parron. He'd learned his name the other night.
Parron twisted away once within striking distance, toe dragging in the snow in an artful way, so that Feren's momentum would take him forward.
"Well done, Parron," said Toni from the sidelines.
"Good," Feren agreed. "Now make something useful out of the same movement." Without giving Parron a chance to think about what he meant, Feren lunged torward him again.
Parron stuck out his arm, but Feren couldn't tell if it was meant to catch his balance or swing to hit him. Either way, Feren knocked it away and sent the palm of his hand into the soft part of Parron's side. He yelped in surprise more than pain. Without slowing, however, Parron kicked one foot in between Feren's legs and used his momentum to try to twist him sideways. Not interested in falling, Feren grabbed a hold of his fist and twisted with Parron, ending the motion with their thighs locked and noses dangerously close to colliding. Parron's steamy breath caused condensation on Feren's cheek as he panted. When Feren released his wrist, the boy fell back into the snow.
The five other males on the sidelines chuckled.
They all turned in unison to the clattering of metal not three paces away. Nertín stood there, a now-empty roll of linen in his hand. There were weapons on the ground. Plenty of them.
"As promised," Nertín said.
Feren lagged behind as the others, a small group of six, carefully trodded toward the pile on the ground. They looked at the swords as if they were snakes ready to strike.
Feren turned to Nertín. "These are Elvish blades."
"Yes," Amelia's brother said, watching the others pick through the metal. "We have stores of them from when they maintained their forges in the east."
Starlight glinted off a long, thin silver blade in Toni's hand. Feren frowned. "They are not finished."
"I thought it would be wise to bring those which have yet to be sharpened," Nertín replied. "Just in case."
The crack of a smile was the first hint Feren had ever seen into Nertín's humor.
They looked toward a boy who lifted two swords from the pile, testing one in each hand as if he knew how to feel for the balance. He then dropped the unwanted blade gracelessly to the snow. The one he kept was swung around by the wrist as if the hilt itself were double-jointed.
Feren walked back to his place in their circle of trampled snow. This was the third morning they had all snuck out to the edge of Remalda to spar. As requested, Feren attempted to show them what he had learned in the ways of combat. It was awkward at first; he'd never been an instructor or critic of swordplay, but he had learned a lot over his years of watching Andrew and his tutors, and he'd learned even more thrown to the wolves in his time alone.
But why this had to be a secret, or at least quiet from Abett, when Feren was fairly certain Abett had been the one to threaten "militaristic action" in the first place was beyond him.
Feren unsheathed his own long blade. He hadn't honed it in weeks, though it was still much sharper than these blades that looked as though their smiths had been interrupted just before their final steps of production. Feren was confident, however, that he would be able to withhold any his own blows that might threaten opponents with its sharp edge.
