The sun was peeking over the surrounding hills painting the sky a beautiful deep orange and lazily spreading its warmth into the sparring yard.

‘In real combat, you won’t politely take turns trading attack and defense forms as we did yesterday,’ master Tyler said to the two boys stood before him.

This wasn’t news to Jonan for Fynn saw him stifle a yawn and surreptitiously position himself out of the master’s shadow to better bask in the dawn sun.

He, on the other hand, had no need for further warmth as he still had a slight sheen of sweat from the exercises that Sentor had him do prior to this meeting.

He had felt surprisingly fresh when awoken well before sunrise this morning, ready for whatever was thrown his way. He credited this to Sentor’s suggestion last night that he forego practicing his father’s techniques, which were still extremely draining and painful to him, and instead use the recovery meditation. The soothsayer had advised that given the strenuous activities he had undergone it would help speed up his recovery, healing and enhance the quality of his sleep.

The exercises this morning had differed to yesterday only in that they now incorporated the vale-step-singlehanded sword forms. He hadn’t grumbled either, instead choosing to push himself hard, earning a rare approving look from his master.

With an eye on him, the soothsayer had spent the time preparing his medicines as he usually did but also cooking up a hearty breakfast of sausages, eggs, and tea, the smell of which drove Fynn on. And once given the go-ahead he had wolfed it down finding himself starving thanks to the very sudden and dramatic increase in calorie-burning activities of late.

If there was one thing that had certainly improved since the events that led to him here, it was the quantity and quality of the meals he was getting. The soothsayer loved his food and was never stingy in that regard. Fynn hadn’t realised how much he had been missing out on with his previous staple of dry bread and bland, watered-down potato and carrot stew. Now each meal was rich, varied and enhanced with the soothsayer’s endless supply of exotic herbs and spices. Just for that reason alone, he was determined not to fail his new master.

Master Tyler’s voice nudged him out of his reflection. ‘When you have successfully parried an attack using any of the defense forms that we went through yesterday, you will, as long as you think and act quick enough, be in a position of strength. That’s because at that precise moment you can switch defense into attack using a riposte. It is here that the single-handed sword form really comes into its own, provided you have the skill and more importantly enough of this,’ he jabbed a thick forefinger into the side of his bald head bringing a chuckle from Jonan. ‘There are far too many possible ripostes and variations of them to be able to teach in one session, however as a general rule, in the vale-step-singlehanded sword style, for each defense form there are at least three standard ripostes and it is these that I will teach you today, the rest and their variations you will have to learn as you go. Remember, the more skilled, experienced and intelligent a fighter, the more varied and creative the ripostes will be, so it would be a folly to think that it is even possible to learn absolutely everything. Added to this is the increased opportunity for riposte feints, the effectiveness of which will again largely depend on the level of skill, speed, experience, and intelligence of the swordsperson. I will also briefly go through how you can counter the ripostes should you be on the receiving end which can be done either by disengaging quickly enough or by using the appropriate defense form of which you are hopefully still familiar.’

Just thinking of how difficult things would get when all these ripostes, feints and variations were included in the exercises, already caused Fynn’s heart to beat a little faster. Jonan’s unconcerned expression also didn’t help his anxiety.

They began with a warm-up that Fynn certainly didn’t need, but as it delayed the inevitable just a little, he didn’t mind it so much. Following that, master Tyler had Fynn, with Jonan’s help, repeat yesterday exercises to show that he still had a good understanding of all the attack and defense forms. Having demonstrated that they were indeed firmly embedded in his head and body and feeling a little more confident after a satisfied nod from the large man, they began to go through all the main ripostes.

Fynn soon found his sharp mind and exceptional memory tested to its absolute limit, however, as he had noted previously, his recently enhanced levels of concentration were enough to ensure that he was able to absorb and retain the information at a startling speed. On one occasion he caught the large master inadvertently display a slightly stunned expression when he was able to flawlessly execute various ripostes at command, having only been shown them once. Jonan too seemed surprised by the speed at which he learned, though this only came through in a slight frown. As he settled into the learning, all sorts of possibilities for feints and adjustments to the standard ripostes came to mind and it was all he could do, sometimes, not attempt them now. However, willing himself to stay disciplined, he committed himself to learn as much and as quickly as he could.

The sun was all too soon much higher in the sky, indicating that it must have been at least a couple of hours since they had begun at sunrise. A gaggle of children, some of whom looked not much younger than Fynn had since gathered nearby, some playing and others watching eagerly. Master Tyler paid them no mind.

‘Okay, I believe that is everything that you need to know. Indeed, thanks to how quickly we went through it, I was able to teach you many more ripostes and variations than I had anticipated. Now all that’s left for you to do is practice, practice and practice some more. One of the best ways of doing this is, of course, by sparring, so I think it’s time you both did just that. You will only stop at my command, there is no restriction to the number of forms and their corresponding ripostes you can use, so have at it. Just try not to hurt one another too badly’

The last was clearly aimed at Jonan but Fynn nodded anyway, a grim expression of determination on his face. In this setting, with the large master watching, he felt none of the sickening fear that had crippled him yesterday while amid the taunting boys. Instead, a thrill of excitement washed over him. He knew he wasn’t anywhere near Jonan’s level but he wanted to see if he could at least make the other boy work hard and if at all possible, land a hit or two.

As they began, Fynn found that, already, his movements for the initial forms came much more naturally to him and therefore, on that front, although still inferior, he fared much better than he had yesterday. In fact, when it came to sheer speed, he had a slight suspicion that he may just be a little faster. However, the added challenge of incorporating ripostes and feints were where Jonan effortlessly held the upper hand. The serious young man’s greater experience showed, and exchange after exchange resulted in Fynn reeling from a successful riposte, doubling over in pain or having his wooden sword torn from his grip. On a few occasions, he even found himself knocked down, Jonan positioned expertly for the finishing strike. The watching children delighted in this and took to cheering every time this happened, he was grateful that the older boy’s professionalism never slipped, remaining as respectful and neutral as ever.

In the midst of his repeated failings, Fynn concentrated on looking for any sign of weakness, cue, tick, or pattern that would give away the other boy’s intentions.

He had started the sparring session actively and consciously breathing in the manner taught him by his father, now, however, all that was forgotten and, unbeknown to him, his body had automatically and subconsciously taken over the task. The concentration he was putting into the sparring session meant that overthinking wasn’t getting in the way and the pain he typically felt when attempting the breathing couldn’t have been further from his mind. The rhythm finally edged a tiny bit closer to that which his father had taught him. His chi, in turn, began to respond as never before since that day, rising and hesitantly traversing the quagmire of channels within his body. While he was not actively manipulating it, it was nevertheless drawn, as was its nature, to areas of the body that needed it the most.

Fynn’s focus sharpened, he saw a slight turn in Jonan’s advanced right leg indicating an intention to put more weight on it for a lunge, that in addition to the position of his sword at the moment made it probable that his intention was to attack with the fifth form and a very slight narrowing of the other boy’s eyes reaffirmed that it was no feint. Once the sword was at a position where there was no turning back, Fynn reacted in a flash.

Clack, wood on wood, a successful block. Now the hard part. He opted for a riposte that aimed to lock the opponent’s sword while he simultaneously stepping in close to deliver the killing blow.

Clack, somehow Jonan had read it and managed to twist his way out in time to successfully defend. Now Fynn found himself frantically analysing the possible ripostes that he, in turn, would receive. He knew of the three standard options that his opponent had. Stop it, stop overthinking, he willed himself, I just need to watch his movements and react.

Clack, he now understood where he had been going wrong. With all the information he had received, he had inadvertently been slowing himself down by trying to analyse all possible moves rather than focusing solely on the other boy’s movements. While it was, of course, important to have that knowledge, he somehow had to embed it so well within himself that it would come out naturally and instinctively when called upon.

Back and forth they went, their wooden swords getting faster and faster. Their trick and feints ever more elaborate. Fynn found himself lost in this game of wits and suddenly, without warning, he saw an opening. Jonan had miscalculated a block and while he had still managed to stop Fynn’s attack, his posture and foot positioning was off meaning that he would be unable to riposte and would instead seek to disengage.

Fynn didn’t need to be asked twice. He pressed his advantage. Ducking down, he positioned his sword at an angle letting its momentum slide it up along the other toward an unguarded torso and added to its speed and power by lunging, his legs kicked off with power he didn't know he had. Jonan, off-balance, desperately tried to cover, but it was too late.

The satisfying thud of a successful strike was his reward and the force of the impact sent Jonan sprawling.

Fynn stood there, drenched in sweat, a disbelieving expression on his face. He had done it. Jonan could only gawk up at him from where he was sat rubbing his ribs. The watching children whooped and hollered as they cheered his achievement.

Clap, clap clap. master Tyler, whom Fynn had all but forgotten about, broke him out of his reverie with the slow clapping of hands. ‘Well done lad,' he looked at Fynn with an odd expression, ‘that was quite something, I think that is enough for today. I know Sentor wanted to leave the village before midday and I don’t want to hold him up. Make sure you keep practicing and ensure that you find suitable opponents with whom to test yourself through sparring.’

Fynn bowed in gratitude. ‘Thank you, master.’

In this short time, he had come to appreciate the man’s dedication to the vale-step-singlehanded sword style and the time he had taken out of his schedule to coach and support him.

Jonan, who had got up and brushed himself off, also bowed to the master murmuring his thanks. His didn’t appear angry to Fynn, merely lost in thought.

‘You learn exceptionally quickly,’ master Tyler said as Fynn was about to leave, ‘I have half a mind to speak to Sentor about this. Talent like yours is exceedingly rare and, not to be rude but you would be wasted as a soothsayer,’ he paused thoughtfully as his thoughts took hold. ‘Have you ever considered a career in the army? I think they would make an exception for you and take you in despite your age. You would have some of the finest instructors and fighters to learn from.’

The high praise would have caused Fynn to flush with embarrassment if he wasn’t already red in the face from the spar session.

Master Tyler continued. ‘I’ll be taking Jonan and a few of the other lads to Norfelk in three days time for the annual army recruitment fair. There will be numerous tournaments and plenty of opportunities to showcase your talent. Depending on how well you do, you may even get fast-tracked to the cadet training unit which, provided you worked hard, would all but guarantee you a successful military career. For those that show outstanding ability,’ he said this with a meaningful look at Jonan and then Fynn in turn, ‘you could find yourself invited to join elite cadet training programs for famed units such as the capital’s own Almora brigade or the king’s renown Junja battalion, to name a few. Rumors are that even the white banners of the empire may have scouts present,’ he said this last almost reverently before shrugging and continuing. ‘In any case, there will be plenty of talent scouts and I’m sure you would catch the eye of a few of them should you choose to join us,’ he looked at Fynn hopefully.

‘Th..thank you for the offer,’ stammered Fynn helplessly. The overture was so sincere that he felt loath to turn down the large man. ‘But, I am recently apprenticed to the soothsayer and have committed myself to learn all that I can from him.’

The large man sighed and shrugged again. ‘Well, it was worth a try. Nevertheless, you know where we are if you change your mind. Good fortune to you, young man, and good luck with your apprenticeship,’ with that he turned and walked away.

‘A soothsayer, you want to become a soothsayer?’ Was the indignant and incredulous outburst from Jonan, once master Tyler was out of earshot.

Fynn grimaced but said nothing.

A determined expression came across Jonan’s stoic features. ‘You are headed to Norfelk right?’

Fynn nodded.

‘Good, I’ll see you later,’ he said as he turned and jogged off in the direction of the village leaving a perplexed Fynn staring open-mouthed.

'Jonan wait..when?...,' but the other boy was already out of earshot.

The wagon trundled down the main road leading out of Hearst Village. The soothsayer, as always, marched alongside leading the gentle dapple grey mare. Hot on his heels was an anxious-looking apprentice.

‘But he said we’d meet before I left, master,’ Fynn grumbled.

‘There isn’t much I can do about that, is there?’ the soothsayer retorted. ‘And, though I approve, you have already delayed our departure by insisting on visiting and saying goodbye to Esorna, really did you have to sit for a chat and have a cup of tea with her? We aren’t going to waste any more time otherwise we’ll arrive in Brownsteds after dark.’

‘She practically forced me to sit and chat,’ Fynn mumbled under his breath.

‘What was that?’

‘Nothing.’

Fynn let it drop. He had wanted to say goodbye to Jonan, with whom he had built a strange but what he felt had been an important bond in their brief encounters together. However, he acknowledged that it didn’t make much sense to just sit and wait around for him. It saddened him slightly, to think that he might not again get a chance to see the boy that had left such a strong impression on him. He didn’t really know anything about him, where he lived, who his parents were, what his ambitions were and other such things but he had felt that the serious young man was someone with whom he could build a solid friendship. Perhaps, if luck would have it, they would bump into each other in Norfelk.

He grudgingly swung himself up onto his customary seat on the wagon and stared dully at the passing houses and farms. He felt none of the excitement that had overwhelmed him upon leaving Tenbi-waypoint.

Ten minutes later as they left the outskirts of the charming village and as the surrounding scenery slowly became wilder and more untamed, a figure detached itself from amongst the increasing shrubbery and approached the oncoming wagon.

‘Thought you’d never come.’

‘Jonan,’ Fynn shouted in amazement. ‘What are you doing out here?’

Jonan who was clearly dressed for travel with a large pack on his back and wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat, the kind he saw travelers use, shrugged nonchalantly. ‘Waiting for you obviously. Thought I would join you on your journey to Norfelk,’ he then had the decency to look a little sheepish as he nodded a greeting to the soothsayer. ‘If that’s okay with you Han?’

Sentor had pulled up the wagon and looked at the young man in amusement. ‘Jonan is it? I’ve heard a lot about you,’ he said that with a side look at Fynn causing him to flush. ‘You aren’t going to get me in trouble, are you? I can’t stop you going where you please, but if you are to travel with us I’d prefer it if I knew that those responsible for you are aware of what you are doing and are okay with it.’

‘Yes Han, I explained everything to them. I was due to go to Norfelk with master Tyler in three days for the recruitment fare anyway, this way I’m just going a little earlier and I plan to link up with them there.’

Jonan fidgeted as he said this leading Fynn to believe he was leaving something out and he willed the soothsayer not to dig into it further.

After a moment’s thought, the soothsayer sighed. ‘Okay, well if it’s that’s the case then I guess we could do with the company. Besides, I don’t think I would hear the end of it I refused,’ again he glanced at Fynn causing him further embarrassment. ‘Put your pack in the wagon and we’ll be on our way.’

It was an awkward start as neither boy knew quite how to naturally strike up a conversation with the other, so they traveled in silence. Fynn who had had only ever interacted with other kids his own age, and even then mainly with Anya, was unsure what older boy’s liked to talk about. He was spared though when the soothsayer spoke up.

‘So you want to join the army lad?’ It was clearly rhetorical for he continued, ‘Do you want to enlist with Lord Tabor’s Norfelk army and one-day serve at Valley Watch or are you looking at other opportunities?’

Jonan thought for a moment before saying. ‘I’m not sure. My father would like me to serve in the Norfelk army like he and my direct ancestors have done going back generations.’

Fynn quickly deduced that it was likely that Jonan’s family was one of those that Esorna, the archivist and scribe of Arthus royal library’s fifth archive, had told him about. They had the fortune of inheriting land from their ancestors who had fought in the infamous Red Valley Battle at Valley Watch Fort.

‘He says we owe it to the local lords for one reason or another. But my uncle, on the other hand, believes that the Norfelk army is a shell of its former self, and says that Valley Watch is now the laughing stock of the Kingdom since it will never see another invasion as long as the Empire stands and both the Arean and the Whallis Kingdom’s are on the same side. He insists that if I truly want to test myself and earn fame, wealth and glory then I need to, at the very least, enlist in the armies of the high lords or preferably those of the king himself, only that way do I even stand a chance of getting anywhere near the Empire’s front lines.’

Sentor didn’t say anything for a moment then said. ‘Well I don’t know about earning fame, wealth and glory but certainly as far as earning a quicker death goes, then he does have a point. The empire will only draw upon recruits that they have personally scouted for and trained through their white banners or from the seasoned armies of the highest-ranking lords in each of their Kingdom’s. Arean, being only a small, poor and relatively unimportant kingdom rarely ever gets much of a look in, to be honest, and when it does it is really only from the king’s capital Almora brigade or his Junja battalion, but that is not necessarily a bad thing. Believe me, the Heavenly Empire’s front lines are places of horror and carnage the likes of which you can barely imagine and ironically most of the Empire’s kingdoms would kill to have the type of peace that Arean has seen in the past few hundred years. That being said, as sure as the sands of the Ghabi desert will always be red, war will come again, even to places as seemingly dull as this and it will need its best to have a fighting chance when that time comes.’

Sentor’s words seemed to have a profound effect on Jonan and he retreated into himself, deep in thought. Fynn felt it best to leave him to it. Not that he had much choice because Sentor had thought up a new challenge to keep him busy as they traveled.

‘I want you to stay up there on the driver’s seat and start memorising the contents of this book.’

The book in question was at least two hundred pages thick and each page was rammed full with pictures of plants, herbs and detailed descriptions of their names, physical and medicinal properties, where they could be found and other such information.

‘But..but it's huge. I can’t memorise all this,’ Fynn said aghast.

‘Yes you can and you will if you want to remain as my apprentice. You best believe that I will be testing you on this, so don’t slack off. I expect you to know the first ten pages by the time we set up camp this evening,’ this was said with sure finality and Fynn recognised that there would be no argument. ‘Be very careful with the book, I wrote it when I was a young man and have no wish to have to re-do it.’

‘You wrote this, master?’ Fynn asked amazed.

Sentor didn’t bother responding.

Fynn marveled at the intricate detail of the hand-drawn pictures and the impossibly neat and stylish writing. By contrast, his own deserved never to see the light of day. He resolved himself to work on his writing style.

Right, he thought to himself, he wants ten pages memorised? I’ll give him twenty. Let’s see if he underestimates me again. With that determined thought, he delved into the book.

They arrived at the outskirts of Brownsteds village and found a suitable spot to make camp with barely an hour to spare before sundown. As Fynn began to take his tent out of the wagon to pitch, Sentor smiled wickedly.

‘Good lad. Set that up for Jonan will you.’

‘Huh, for Jonan?’ Fynn asked confused.

‘You heard me, I hardly think it’s fair that you get to sleep in a tent when our guest and your elder and better doesn’t have one. You will do the right thing and let him have it while he is with us.’

Fynn could only gawp, his gaze flicked between his master and the other boy who had chosen that very moment to suddenly take interest in the attention-seeking mare while pretending not to have heard the exchange. Bloody bastard, thought Fynn.

‘Umm. Sure I guess. I can sleep in the back of the wag..’

‘Nonsense,’ the soothsayer cut him off, with a satisfied tone, ‘you aren’t sick anymore, you can sleep under the stars tonight, it's plenty warm enough and I’ll give you some garlic to rub on your face and hands to ward off any mosquitoes.’

Fynn heard Jonan stifle a laugh. Bloody, bloody bastard, shows his true face.

‘Come on, get on with it. As soon as you are done I want you to show me all you learned from master Tyler this morning.’

That got Fynn going. Just the thought of the vale-step-single handed sword style excited him. He would pay Jonan back for his cheek.

The spar session that evening marked further improvement for Fynn as he was able to land two strikes against the older boy, albeit not as spectacular as the one this morning. It was just two strikes against, what felt like, hundreds that landed against him, but still, he was pleased.

The soothsayer too had lots of valuable input, mainly for him but also some for Jonan. Fynn enjoyed the astonishment on the other boy’s face as he was criticised and lectured on various things he had supposedly been doing wrong. But was equally impressed when he saw the older boy take it on the chin and work on the advice given with no hesitation.

Later Jonan had mumbled quietly to Fynn. ‘Knows an awful lot about sword fighting for a soothsayer.’

Over the fire that night, there was a companionable silence as they bolted down the delicious chicken stir fry that the soothsayer had whipped up as they sparred.

‘Good right?’ Fynn asked Jonan.

‘So good,’ was the muffled reply.

After the meal, the mood turned more serious as the soothsayer turned his attentions on Fynn. He had to endure further interrogation and lectures as they went into even greater depth on the nuances of the vale-step-single handed sword style, the ripostes, and the possible variations.

During this time, Jonan sat quietly, staring fixedly at the soothsayer and listening intently. It was clear that the approach of analysing everything to this extent was new to him, but that he was also entirely engaged.

Next Fynn was tested on the first ten pages of the medicinal plants and herbs book he had studied as they traveled. The soothsayer was dead serious and Fynn now understood completely that his master had meant everything he had said earlier; his very apprenticeship was at stake so he settled himself to focus on dredging up everything he had learned.

Jonan quickly begged out of this one by sneaking off to wash the dishes. At least there’s that. Fynn thought with satisfaction.

‘Good,’ the soothsayer said sounding less than impressed, ‘tomorrow I expect twenty pages.’

‘I learned thirty pages today, master.’ Fynn said, without managing to keep the smugness out of his voice.

‘Did you now?’ Sentor raised his thick eyebrows. ‘Well let’s continue the testing then.’

Later, as the soft sound of Jonan snoring from within his tent reached him, Fynn found himself seated alone, cross-legged, by his bedding out in the open under the stars as he breathed in and out in the meditative and therapeutic method he had come to value. He felt it’s soothing influence on the meager but bizarrely potent chi within him, helping it slow and better soak into his body, diffusing within his aching muscles and frazzled brain. He hadn’t forgotten about his father’s chi techniques, but, tomorrow, he promised himself. Tomorrow I will practice it some more.