"Go ahead. Wield it," said Richard.
Kestrel ran his fingers down the spine of the blade—cool to the touch. "May I?"
"Don't be shy," said Eyleen.
"You may," said Richard, gesturing toward the sword.
Kestrel sneaked his fingers under the hilt and grasped it gently. He lifted it forth, and noticed how light it was. He turned the flat part of the blade toward himself as if to look at himself in the mirror, but there was only a blur of cold colors. He tightened his grip, choking the hilt as he reminisced on Marquis' death. 'Never again,' he thought.
"You're a natural," said Richard. "You've just got to put it to practice."
"Practice?" reiterated Kestrel, unsure if he was even 'practice-ready' to begin with.
"Training ground's just outside! Let's see what you're made of," said Richard as he walked past the table and up to Kestrel, putting his hand on his back to guide him outside.
"Wait," said Eyleen. "I'll practice with him."
Richard looked at her with a discerning gaze for a moment. "You can. But it's best to have multiple opponents. You'll develop bad habits otherwise."
"He's a freshling. You said it yourself. He's not ready for your warriors," said Eyleen.
"You wanna go easy on him," said Richard, crossing his arms.
"Well, your boys won't," said Eyleen, adamant in her tone.
Richard looked down at Kestrel's short stature for a moment, cocking his brow.
"Alright. I'll leave him to you, then. Teach him the ropes. Teach him good."
"As if I wouldn't," said Eyleen as she walked outside. "Come on, Kestrel."
Kestrel picked up his pace to a brisk jog, following Eyleen outside back to the dozen clashing swords.
Eyleen picked out a half-empty spot among the chaos and brandished a sword. Kestrel hadn't noticed her taking one as they walked out, but it seemed to be one of the weapons from the barrels.
"Have you practiced sword fighting before?" asked Eyleen, warming up her skills as she played with her blade.
"Maybe a little," said Kestrel, taking a stance. The sword in his hands gave him strength. And confidence.
Eyleen also took a stance. Her feet seemed to flow like the overcast shadows of leaves as she moved her feet slowly. She slowly met Kestrel's blade with hers, sliding up and down it with a scraping of metal. Kestrel didn't dare attempt to strike.
Eyleen retreated her sword. "Your stance is correct. Kind of. You look a bit sluggish."
"I'm just doing what I was taught," said Kestrel.
"You bend your knees too much. You have to move as if you're walking. Come. Follow after me."
Eyleen walked backwards smoothly, and Kestrel tried to follow, but his rigid stance didn't permit him to move. He naturally began walking after Eyleen, following her pace while pointing his sword slight upward beginning from his hip.
Eyleen smirked. "You really are a natural. Also, is that the Rykard stance?"
"Maybe..." said Kestrel, trying to focus on his walking.
Eyleen began walking towards Kestrel, and he began walking backwards. They walked for a moment back and forth in a circle.
"Strike me," said Eyleen.
"What? I don't want to," said Kestrel.
"We're practicing, remember?"
"I don't want to hurt you," said Kestrel sheepishly.
Eyleen laughed quietly. "You won't. Trust me."
Eyleen readied her blade. "On guard."
Kestrel felt his sword grow heavier. His gentle hands unsure in their grip. He hesitated, then struck forward in a downward sweep—holding back as to not damage his sparring partner. Eyleen stepped back and easily avoided the strike.
"Don't strike my sword. Strike me. Don't hold back."
Kestrel tried again, this time again aiming towards Eyleens mid-area. Eyleen easily parried the slice.
"Faster. Don't hold back. I'm serious," she said, furrowing her brow. A bead of sweat ran down Kestrels temple. He had to perform. Kestrel stepped forward, heel planted firmly as he thrust with his sword, switching from a two-handed grip to a one-handed grip mid-attack. But he felt it. His form was sloppy. He was no swordfighter. He was only pretending. Eyleen parried the strike with a clang as she shifted to Kestrel's side.
"Again!" she commanded, and Kestrel heeded.
They danced around for a bit, with Eyleen on the defense. Kestrel had started off not intending to strike Eyleen, but grew increasingly furious with his inability to faze her even a little bit. His strikes grew fiercer. His focus sharper. Or so he thought. Suddenly he felt his sword leave his hands as if it was in a hurry to head to the Brimming Tavern for a drink, then the muddy ground below him crashed into his face. He tried to catch himself with his hands but they were no where to be found. After his head had stopped spinning, he found himself sitting up. Eyleen wiped dirt off his face with her leather-gloved hand.
"Sorry about that," she said. "Did it hurt?"
"No, it's alright," said Kestrel as he stood up to pick his sword back up. "How did you do that?"
"Shall I teach you?"
"Please," said Kestrel, before a voice spoke up beside them.
"Bullying the weak will not make you stronger," said a man in a foreign accent. The man was taller than Kestrel, about as tall as Eyleen. A half cape was slung over his shoulder, and he wore baggy, loose, and colorful clothing. His beard was trimmed into an intricate design, and his shoulder-length brown hair was partly tied up in the back. His hand rested on the hilt of a curved sword of which was guarded by a spiraling ball of ornate steel. His hip swayed as he shifted his body weight, and his half-cape flowed in rhythm with his movement.
"I'm training him," said Eyleen annoyed.
"You are bullying him. You need a stronger opponent," said the foreign man, before drawing his curved sword in a wide arch. He let the blade sit in front of him, as if it was resting on top of the morning mist. "You want to accept this challenge."
Eyleen seemed to clench her jaw. She clicked her tongue. "Kestrel. Stand back."
Eyleen flourished the sword she held once more, this time far more skillfully than when she had been sparring with him.
"On guard, then," she said.
"Guard on," said the foreign man with a purr.
Eyleen attacked first. Her sword came down atop of the man like a bolt of lightning, and the clash of their blades was the flash. They exchanged screaming metal strikes—Eyleen thrusting, and the man slicing. Kestrel took notice of the small audience building around the two. The man was shuffling backwards, as if in a waltz, while Eyleen was spearfishing. As Eyleen seemed to go for the finishing blow, the man drove forward, and in a turn of the tables Eyleen was now on the defense. It was slicing versus slicing. A skillful duel. Eyleen picked up pace, but the man parried each of her strikes as if wafting away wisps of smoke. She looked like a storm. He looked relaxed. Without skipping a beat, as if part of a theatre play, Eyleen's sword flew out of her hands and spun through the air, almost hitting one of the spectators as it splashed onto the mud. The man's curved sword seeked out Eyleen's neck, but only tempted the thought.
"The disarmer, disarmed," said the man in a voice like warm sands. "But the story does not end here."
He flourished his blade and sheathed it artistically. He bowed gently. The small crowd around them cheered before returning to their own business.
"I don't usually fight with the sword. I do not consider this my loss. Only a performance," scoffed Eyleen.
"Then I pray I do not face you when you're not performing," said the man, winking. "I'm worried about this boy."
"I'm not a boy," said Kestrel.
"The boy is muddy," said the man, pointing at Kestrel's soiled clothing. "How will you survive out there? That golden sword will not give you golden strength."
"He's a mage," said Eyleen.
"Ahh," said the man. "I apologize for my critique."
"But I still want to learn the way of the sword," said Kestrel, looking at Marquis' heirloom which he held in his hand.
"Then, you must pay attention. Look," the man's finger traced the air before finding his mark. It pointed towards the graveyard knight, sparring against an older gentleman.
"A divine force drives this man," began the foreign man. "The armor slows him. But the fire inside burns through the cracks. His skill seems to lie in his sword, but witness his legs. He trips around the battlefield, but each step is masterful. Deliberate. This, my friend, is combat."
Eyleen was inspecting the knight.
"How is he moving so fast," asked Kestrel.
"He is not," said the man. "He is moving correctly. Speed is an illusion. He moves like he forged the future."
"He's a paladin," said Eyleen. "Look at the insignia on his chestplate."
"Divination..." muttered Kestrel.
"Divination?" repeated Eyleen.
"It's a school of magic that's taught to the priests of Light. It focuses on discerning the truth of the Light. That includes scrying the future."
"Cirasso!" Richard called from behind. "You're back from Wolfbridge. How is it looking? Are we ready?"
Cirasso turned around with a wide smile. "Ready? Oh, we have been ready. We are more than ready. We are resolute. We are willing. The time has come, I assure you."
"It is an interesting coincidence that you've met with these two. I've appointed them to the mission," said Richard gesturing at Kestrel and Richard.
"It was no coincidence. I know a new face when I see it," said Cirasso before looking slyly at Eyleen. "And this one seemed so sharp, it was hard not to spot her among the dullness."
"A silver tongue is easily cut by a sharp mind," said Eyleen, narrowing her eyes at him.
"My observation has been affirmed," said Cirasso.
"When will you travel back for Wolfbridge?" asked Richard.
"I was hoping to get going by tomorrow morning."
"Make that today morning," said Richard. "Plans have changed. We must hurry."
"Today morning!?" exclaimed Cirasso. "But that's right now!"
"You've had breakfast, surely?"
"Yes, but-" began Cirasso, but wasn't allowed to finish his sentence.
"There is no issue, then. We are in a hurry. Our future hangs partly on your responsibility as captain of Wolfbridge Lookout. I trust you fulfill your responsibility," said Richard. "I'll send word for Krola and her battalion. Meet her in two turns at the gate of departure."
Cirasso's confidence seemed to seep out of him as his shoulders sagged upon hearing Richard's command. "Understood..."
Richard rushed off towards town center.
"You are the captain of Wolfbridge Lookout," said Kestrel, his chest tight.
"Yes, boy," sighed the captain.
Kestrel swallowed in nervosity. "That means we will have to depart now, doesn't it?"
"Yes. It does," said Cirasso. "I was hoping to enjoy myself a bit more leisurely. Alas. Best you follow me, now."
Cirasso walked off, and Kestrel felt drawn to follow, but his feet would not carry him.
"Let's keep our hopes up," said Eyleen as she put her hand on Kestrel's shoulder. She began walking after Cirasso, and Kestrel followed after Eyleen. If it was Eyleen he was following, his legs would not object.