“And all this is standard training for a soothsayer’s apprentice is it?” Jonan asked for the second time, clearly unconvinced.

“Well I don’t know if it is for all of them,” Fynn replied, a little put out at being interrogated so much, “but I don’t ask too many questions, I just do as he tells me. You heard him yesterday, if I don’t I will get kicked out.”

They were walking through the increasingly busy streets of Brownsteds having moments earlier left the soothsayer at the already bustling market square where he had, with some difficulty, found a spot to park his wagon for the day’s business. As in Hearst, Sentor had given them a challenge and then charged them to locate the sparring fields and spend the morning practicing before they were to meet at noon for lunch.

Brownsteds was huge with even Sentor admitting it appeared to be more a town than a village. Fynn had been left stunned by the sheer number of people here, even at this time of the morning and wondered at how much larger Norfelk would be again. The buildings were a mix of the typical cottage type he was familiar with from Tenbi waypoint and numerous two or three-story buildings constructed with, now heavily weathered, red brick, wooden framings and roofed with wood or slate tiles. He had never seen such large buildings and it was all he could do not to stop and gape. Some seemed to defy gravity as they leaned dangerously probably due to poor construction. In contrast to Hearst, the streets here were littered and unkempt and Fynn even saw a few young beggars pleading with anyone who would listen for spare coin. Everything seemed a little more desperate with few friendly faces to be seen as people dashed about seemingly very busy.

“It’s just that I can’t see what use it is for you to undergo martial training when you will be spending the rest of your life selling medicines and giving people advice,” Jonan was marching along paying little heed to the surroundings.

“That’s not all a soothsayer does,” Fynn responded defensively, his head swinging this way and that as he, in contrast, took everything in. “Besides, we travel to remote locations and do need to know how to defend ourselves from …., you know from bandits and…., wild animals and things.”

Jonan snorted and said sarcastically, “oh yes, and of course from old village women that aren’t happy with their fortune readings,” he sighed and finally let it drop. “Come on, I have been here plenty of times, I know the way to the sparring fields.”

Fynn realised that Jonan just wasn’t buying into the story, however, he had no choice but to stick with it. Particularly as Sentor had reiterated to him, in no uncertain terms, that he was to tell his new friend nothing about his talent or their true goals in Norfelk. It pained him but he did understand why it was necessary, particularly given there was a chance the knowledge could put him in some form of danger. He had no idea what the other would do if he ever got to know the truth.

His mother’s painful words rang in his mind. You don’t know what you have done. What you have brought upon us. Leave now and never come back. The memory caused pangs of anxiety to flash through him. He also thought of his father as he suddenly realised that, despite everything, he missed them both terribly and wondered if they did him. Well at least if his father did.

Ten minutes later they came to rather large and impressive public sparring fields. Fynn was surprised to find that they were far from the first to arrive. Numerous groups of all ages were undergoing various exercises and their respective weapon masters barked instructions all over the place. There were also quite a few people paired up sparring and training independently, some with real swords, most likely blunted, but most with the more affordable and practical wooden practice blades. He even saw some people using long staffs and marvelled at the speed they wielded the impressive weapons. The atmosphere here was very different from that in Hearst, with an unmistakable air of competitiveness and urgency that was frankly very intimidating and just from what he could see so far, it appeared that there were very few beginners, if any.

“Must be because of the upcoming recruitment fair,” Jonan speculated. “Norfelk is just a day’s travel away from here so many groups from more distant villages and towns have probably chosen to stay and train here before traveling on,” he pointed to a group of around fifteen people that seemed to be engaged in some form of competition. “Let’s see if we can join in with them. They seem to be about my age and it looks to be a winner stays on session with wooden practice blades. It will be good for you to spar against different opponents.”

“Shouldn’t we warm up a little first?” Fynn asked a little too quickly, betraying his nerves.

Jonan flashed a rare grin, clearly excited. “If you aren’t already warmed up from the wretched exercises Sentor had us do this morning then you have serious problems my friend. Relax you’ll be just fine.”

Fynn had no choice but to follow, his heart sinking. He tried his best to be invisible as the older boy introduced himself and talked with some members of the group. They seemed to welcome him easily enough and one of them, a fairly large boy with muscles visible through a sweat-soaked shirt, introduced himself by the name Caddy and quickly explained the rules.

“Queue up here with the rest of us, when you get to the front you then spar with the winner of the previous match. To keep things moving quickly, the first strike to the body wins. If you win, you stay on, lose and you go to the back of the queue. Win five times in a row and you have to step down and go to the back, that’s just to keep it fair and to let you get a rest. Got it?”

“Got it, I’ll join in,” he jerked his thumb at Fynn. “Him too if that’s okay.”

“That would be something to see,’ Caddy laughed, clearly thinking Jonan was having him on. He pointed to a nearby spectators stand. “He can sit and watch from over there if he wants. He your little brother or something?”

“I’m not joking,” Jonan said managing to keep a straight face, “he might be young but he is pretty good. Give him a chance. You’ll see.”

“Seriously?”

Jonan nodded.

The large boy looked skeptically at Fynn then went over to consult with a few of the others. After an uncomfortable moment with a few of them looking over at Fynn dismissively and others laughing outright, Caddy came back and shrugged apologetically to Jonan. “Sorry, no one is willing to risk injuring him. He’ll just have to sit this out.”

“If I win five in a row will you let him join?” Jonan asked without missing a beat. He said it loudly enough that the whole group could hear.

Fynn was once again struck by his friend’s confidence. I mean, how would he live it down if he loses? he thought. But such was the other boy’s self-belief that it clearly didn’t even cross his mind he could lose and it was amazing how he managed to say it without sounding at all arrogant. Judging by the reactions of the other boy’s, none of them seemed to think he was making an unreasonable claim either. He simply carried himself in a manner that inspired very little doubt.

“Well I suppose so,” Caddy agreed uncertainly glancing back at the others.

No one said anything to contradict him, so Jonan quickly prepared himself with a few stretches then confidently walked to the front of the line. Again nobody called him out on the blatant queue jumping, rather there was a keen sense of anticipation.

Jonan’s first opponent was a short and sturdy looking boy who nodded a greeting before taking a defensive stance which Fynn wasn’t familiar with. Jonan acknowledged the greeting and adopted the vale-step-single handed sword attack stance. Fynn had sparred enough with him to know that he always sought to go on the offensive from the off and he wasn’t disappointed.

The lightning-fast boy went with one of his favorite moves where he looked to initially strike with one of the vale-step attack forms only to then suddenly appear to pull out of it for a feint, before once again reversing and actually following through with it. It sounded simple in principle but Fynn was yet to successfully pull it off. Jonan though, somehow made it look easy, but for the person on the receiving end, it was near impossible to determine if it was an actual feint or not.

As it so often did, it came off. The blow struck soundly on the body and would no doubt have been a fatal strike.

His opponent grunted acknowledgment of his defeat and walked to the back of the queue with no qualms.

The next two opponents fared little better with the matches over quickly, one did manage a parry but was unable to take advantage of it before Jonan pressed on for a successful strike. It was clear to Fynn that he had been holding back a little against him but he also got the impression that Jonan was trying to show him the approach he would need to take here if he was to stand a chance. He had to strike first and maintain the upper hand using sheer speed. With his size, it would be sheer folly to try a long game as everyone here was practically an adult with strength, skill and stamina to boot.

The fourth opponent, a cheerful young man, of similar powerful build to Jonan and with wild untamed hair, seemed a different proposition. Again his stance was unfamiliar but he also had an air of confidence about him that couldn’t be denied. It was the first time that Jonan had to defend the initial move and the boy was no slouch either. Like his hair, his style was wild. It was unpredictable and unbelievably quick.

The discipline and consistency of the vale-step-sword style shone through in the end though, and Jonan was able to parry, riposte and disengage no matter what was thrown at him. And once an opportunity showed itself Jonan didn’t hesitate to take it.

After acknowledging his defeat, the wild haired boy whooped loudly and flicked his sword from hand to hand as he retreated to the back of the line laughing. “Unbelievable. He is seriously good.”

The fifth opponent also provided a challenge, but Jonan saw it through with relative ease.

After the matches, Jonan strolled up to Fynn oblivious to the impressed looks he was getting from the other young men and said. “You’re in, trust in yourself and in the vale-step-style and you will be fine. You have landed a few hits on me so there is no reason why you can’t do the same against this lot. Remember you are even faster than I am and will continue improving, so you have to use that to your advantage.”

Fynn nodded and joined the back of the line bolstered by his friend’s words. He tried to look confident and closed his eyes. Thinking of his father, he methodically started to breathe as he’d been taught, straining to get the feeling he had that day and grimacing slightly when the familiar spasms of pain flashed through his body as his chi stirred, but he kept at it.

The line moved quickly and he, all too soon, found himself at the front. His first opponent, somewhat unsurprisingly, was the wild-haired boy that had fought Jonan earlier. He’d heard others call him by the name Otto. The boy flashed him a wide smile revealing small sharp teeth that, along with his hair, made him look something like a wild-cat. Fynn rolled his eyes at himself internally. There I go thinking of animals again. Focus.

Fynn adopted the vale-step-attack stance. In his opinion, having seen Otto’s match against Jonan and the subsequent ones the boy had won before he got to the front, he acknowledged that there would be no chance for him should the other boy manage to attack first. Otto’s style was just far too quick and unpredictable for him to defend given his inexperience. He would have to gamble everything on an all-out attack.

Otto brows raised upon seeing the stance but smiled in anticipation.

Everything depended on Fynn making the first strike so he didn’t waste any time. His sword whipped forward with all the speed and power he could muster to strike with the third attack form.

Clack, Otto’s sword just barely made it in place to parry.

Fynn had figured that Otto would be able to get the block in but had banked, as indeed turned out to be the case, on it being a close run thing, which gave him little chance to riposte. This allowed Fynn to disengage easily enough and attack again keeping Otto on the back foot.

Pushing himself to the limit, he opted again not to go with a feint, this time he used the first attack form.

Clack, once again Otto’s sword only just prevented a successfully strike. The older boy was now clearly on the back foot and his face had narrowed in concentration to deal with Fynn's astonishing speed, there was no sign of the wide smile he’d had previously.

Fynn disengaged and went for his third straight attack. He couldn’t keep this pace of attack up indefinitely so he had to make his advantage count soon. He decided to try something that he had learned, not from master Tyler but from Sentor.

In the lengthy discussions and analysis of the vale-step-single handed sword style that he had been undergoing each night. Some insights that soothsayer had slowly guided him to had begun to bubble forth in his mind.

The greatest strength of the vale-step-single handed sword style was its discipline. It relied on a sound understanding of all the available moves and their corresponding options along with, of course, the necessary talent and intelligence to mix things up. But what the soothsayer had been trying carefully to get Fynn to discern was that this was simultaneously its greatest weakness. As it had been around for centuries without much change, other sword styles had evolved to counter it thereby putting it at a disadvantage.

What he needed to do was utilise and take full advantage of the strengths and discipline of the style but not be put in a box by it.

The soothsayer had provided numerous examples of how he could potentially do this. What was stopping him, for example, simultaneously changing his position by stepping to the left or the right while attacking using the first to the third forms? This seemingly simple movement, which wasn't part of the teachings of the style, would have no impact on the effectiveness of the strike but could put the opponent in great difficulty. This is because were they able to successfully parry, they would find themselves in an awkward position, having to adjust themselves before they could riposte or defend again.

He decided to use the third attack form again, figuring that since Otto had already faced this before he would perhaps have a false sense of confidence in dealing with it. The sword, as before, whipped forward but this time Fynn simultaneously danced to the left.

It took great concentration to keep the strike true while doing this but he was rewarded when Otto, who had indeed managed to easily block it, was visibly startled to find that Fynn was no longer where he expected him to be for the riposte.

As Otto desperately tried to disengage and turn, his feet and posture all awry, Fynn had the relatively easy task then of finishing the bout using the second attack form. The satisfying thud of his sword against flesh the reward for his effort.

There was stunned silence from the watching group, broken as Otto howled in laughter. “Wow,” he yelled. “I was not expecting that,” he thumped Fynn hard on his back, nearly causing the smaller boy to topple over, then sauntered happily to the back of the queue, looking for all the world like he was the one that had won.

From his place in the line, Jonan nodded his approval.

Having firmly established their place amongst the group, the rest of the morning was spent sparring as per Caddy’s rules. Jonan remained unbeaten throughout but had some more close calls. Fynn also performed well, though on balance took more losses than wins. It was clear to everyone though, that this was not due to a lack of talent, merely down to limited experience. On more than one occasion others from around the sparring field, including some instructors, took time out from their own activities to come and watch the small boy holding his own against young men years his senior.

At noon they met back up with the soothsayer tired but exhilarated. The soothsayer listened patiently as Fynn excitedly narrated the mornings events.

They were seated near the market square on some steps that led up to a small, odd-looking and very neglected statue. As they normally did for lunch, they had bought their food at a local vendor’s stall and were, strangely for them, eating it without their usual enthusiasm.

“Ughh, why did they have to put so much salt.” Fynn moaned.

Jonan merely chewed quietly, a distasteful expression on his face.

“Did you have any luck with my other task?” Sentor asked, ignoring Fynn’s comment and taking the chance to get a word in edgeways.

The challenge today had been to find the most interesting piece of news or gossip with the soothsayer promising a reward for the winner. He hadn’t said what it would be, but assured them it would be worth it.

“Otto told me that this year will see record numbers turn up to the recruitment fare. The rumors that the white banners will be scouting there have intensified meaning that even people from the lands of neighboring lords will be trying to participate, despite this being mainly a recruitment drive for the Norfelk army.” Fynn looked hopefully at Sentor.

Jonan snorted. “That’s hardly news. Listen to this, I spoke to a master today who says that there are strong rumors that Lord Tabor’s daughter is being personally trained by a wielder.”

“Oh?” Sentor said perking up, clearly interested. “And was there any suggestion as to who it might be?”

“They say it could be Sadia of Carpa.”

“Sadia of Carpa?” Fynn burst in excitedly. “Didn’t she defeat a Huscan overlord and a handful of their elite warriors in the battle for Severn’s beach a few years ago, single-handedly turning the battle to the empire’s advantage?” He paused looking slightly confused. “But isn’t Carpa a kingdom north of the Strait of Darvor? Why would a wielder from all the way there be training Lord Tabor’s daughter?”

“Beats me,” Jonan replied shrugging as he gave up on his meal, putting it aside, “perhaps she is being well paid for it.”

“Hmm,” Sentor mused, “it does seem strange. There is nothing that I can think of in Norfelk let alone in all of Arean that would be attractive enough for a wielder from the northern kingdoms to come all the way here. Some of the minor lords in those kingdoms are known to hold more wealth and power in their little finger than the king and all the lords of Arean combined. And they pay handsomely for wielders services to boot. If this is indeed true, something very unusual is afoot.”

Both Jonan and Fynn stared at the soothsayer wide eyed. In Fynn’s mind, he was thinking. What are you doing here then?

“Well Fynn, you’ll be hard-pressed to find a more interesting piece of news than that,” the soothsayer continued, “but I’ll give you until we leave Brownsteds this evening to try. You can both do as you please until then,” looking at Fynn with an evil smile he added. “Don’t forget you need to learn another thirty pages of my medicinal plants and herbs book by this evening and find some time to update your own book as well. Oh and I suggest you also work on your meditation and breathing techniques.”

“Meditation? Breathing techniques?” Jonan asked puzzled.

“Thought you said I could do as I please.” Fynn grumbled quietly.

After lunch Fynn, after much searching, finally found a quiet spot to study a few streets back from the market square, behind one of the large two-storey buildings that dotted the village. There was hardly any foot traffic and no wagons or horses at all, presumably because the streets were much narrower. He then spent two straight hours memorising the soothsayer's book then spent some time updating his own with his recent insights, paying special attention to his writing style. It helped having the soothsayers book for a side by side comparison and he quickly saw a marked improvement in his writing.

Jonan had earlier apologised to Fynn, without really seeming to mean it, saying he would catch up with him later. Fynn knew without a doubt that the other boy would have gone back to the sparring fields. He sighed in frustration and not for the first time wondered if he had made the right decision. Am I even capable of becoming a wielder? Perhaps a career in the army is more realistic.

He wrapped the two books in protective cloth and put them aside before crossing his legs in preparation for his next assignment.

For the first half-hour, he focused on the recovery meditation and breathing techniques as taught by Sentor. He now had a much better understanding of its mechanisms and had spent quite some time summarising the details of it in his book, choosing to name the technique simply ‘recovery meditation’. From what Sentor had explained, everybody, talent or no talent, had natural energy running through their body’s twelve meridian channels where it was refined before dispersed into the body naturally. However, once a person had their chi triggered, the quantity and more importantly the quality of this energy increased tenfold, supplemented naturally from the newly created chi well, thus dramatically upgrading the body’s healing and recovery capabilities. This was the only reason he had been able to pull through and recover from his life-threatening injuries. What the meditation did, was further harness this ability by encouraging the refined energy, already in the meridian channels, to slow, sink in and disperse more efficiently into the body with the sole purpose of healing and recovery.

The results were startlingly effective and after just half an hour of it, he felt none of the aches and pains from the bruises that he’d suffered in the morning’s sparring sessions, nor did he feel any of his prior exhaustion. This also generally meant that he could do with much less sleep than the average person.

With a deep breath for resolve, he then, reluctantly, switched to his father’s techniques which in his book he called ‘cycling techniques’ as this was how the soothsayer also referred to them. This was a completely different kettle of fish, but again his understanding of it had since improved under Sentor’s tutelage. In contrast to the recovery meditation, these techniques sought to actively nudge and cajole unrefined energy up from the chi well with the sole purpose of cycling it through the body’s myriad of channels where it’s raw power could be used to improve the body’s active performance whether mentally or physically.

Indeed, once a person had their chi triggered they would have to do this regularly or else risk a backlash. If the volatile chi were to fill the well, it would eventually explode uncontrollably into the body’s channels causing untold damage, physically, mentally and sometimes even fatally.

This meant Fynn was in a race against time. Granted, due to his age he had many years before anything serious could happen, but, as Sentor had stressed, there was a reason nobles went to such great lengths to ensure their children were taught correctly from a young age. Eventually, inevitably the quantity and potency of the chi would rise to such a level that half-hearted attempts at cycling simply wouldn’t cut it.

The agonising pain he felt as the chi rose into his channels was familiar but, as ever, he just wasn’t prepared for it. It felt like molten lava flowing uncontrollably in his veins. As he normally did, he tried to inject some measure of control by transporting himself back in time to the feeling he had when his father had shown him how it was meant to be done. But it was still like trying to hold back and calm a panicked and bolting horse with a rein made of a single piece of string.

He managed to maintain the effort for a solid twenty minutes which was the most he had been able to do so far, then, still sweating and trembling from the effects, switched back to the recovery meditation. He decided to recover for another quarter of an hour before attempting it again.

“Let me go or I’ll scream.”

The woman’s voice distant but clearly audible startled Fynn out of his meditation. He looked around, seeing nobody. Did I imagine that? He asked himself.

And then, from a narrow alley between the large building he was sat behind and a smaller one neighbouring it, he heard the voice again, this time louder, high-pitched and clearly frightened.

“I said let me…”

The voice cut off and there was a muffled sound. Then another voice, a male, quieter and urgent.

“Shhh, shhh, no need to shout my love, I just wanted a kiss, that’s all. Just one kiss.”

Fynn instinctively grabbed the wooden practice blade lying next to him and jumped to his feet, his heart in his mouth. He looked around again frantically for anyone that he could call for help. Seeing nobody, he ran to the corner of the building and carefully peered around it.

A figure in a dark cloak was stood, back to Fynn, clearly engaged in some sort of struggle. One of his arms was wrapped tightly around a frantically wriggling figure that Fynn immediately knew to be the owner of the first voice he’d heard. Her arms were pinned to her side preventing her from fighting back. His other arm was clamped forcefully over her mouth stopping her from yelling. She did her best to anyway.

From his position, Fynn could just about see the whites of the woman’s frightened eyes. What should I do? He asked himself desperately. Shall I run for help? Will it be too late if I do?

Making a final decision and acting before he could talk himself out of it, he stepped out and into the alleyway, sword held tight in his trembling hand.

With his back to Fynn, the man in the alleyway didn’t see him, but the woman’s eyes widen indicating that she had. Her struggling and muffled cries became more urgent as if pleading with him to do something.

“If you don’t calm down, I’m going to have to hurt you,” the man snarled, grunting with the effort it took to keep hold of her.

Fynn raised his free hand and put one finger to his lips hoping that she got the message not to draw attention to him. As he did this, he crept forward closing the distance between them. He still wasn’t quite sure what he would do when he got there but felt sure a surprise attack was his best bet of getting the man to let go of her.

Suddenly, with a huge effort, the man managed to force the woman onto the ground, letting himself fall on top of her in order to pin her down. He then scrambled into a sitting position using his knees to hold her arms down as she desperately kicked about. Fynn had an instant flashback of the bully Jak sitting on him in a similar fashion back in Tenbi-waypoint. The feeling of terror and helplessness that he felt then threatened to overwhelm him now.

But he had little time to dwell on it because the man, with one hand still over her mouth raised his other hand clearly with the intention of hitting her.

Close enough now, Fynn acted. Aiming for the back of the man’s head he swung his sword with all the speed and force he could muster. At the very last moment, the man must have sensed something because he suddenly hunched over. The wooden sword connected with a sickening thud sending the man sprawling over to the side.

Finding herself suddenly free of her tormentor, the woman finally let out the ear-splitting scream she had been trying for all along and turned and crawled as she frantically tried to scramble to her feet, stumbling and falling over and over in her panic. She was sobbing uncontrollably.

The man’s last-ditch effort to protect himself had worked, his shoulder taking some of the force of the strike that otherwise might have knocked him out. With one hand cradling the back of his head and upon seeing the woman attempting to escape he snarled and staggered to his feet lunging with one arm trying to grab her. Fynn swung again going for the outstretched arm.

“Run,” he screamed at the woman as his sword struck the man just above his elbow causing him to bellow in pain and abandon his attempt for her. Instead, he spun round to face his tormentor.

The woman finally on her feet needed no further encouragement and without looking back she ran for the exit at the opposite end of the alley, all the while screaming at the top of her voice.

“You’ll pay for that you fucking brat,” the man, unkempt and dirty with a few teeth missing, growled upon taking in the source of his troubles. He pulled out a knife Fynn hadn’t spotted earlier and nervously looked around. “Don’t worry I’ll make it quick. I need to get out of here fast.”