WhatsTheStoryMorningGlory"So as a result, I want to hold morning trials against some of you lot. You might be the most miserable disgrace of a fencing team the school has had, but you're all we have." As usual, Cynwyd was only half paying attention. Fencing came as easily as everything else, and besides the abrasive lectures were always the same... But one word penetrated his inattention. "Morning?!?" he asked incredulously. But trials are always in the afternoon! And against second rankers!" "Deigned to join us Mr. Barimen?" his teacher asked, a very practiced edge of sarcasm and danger in her voice. "Last I checked, this isn't a democracy. So is that challenge I hear in your voice?" The Colonel required not only the order of a regular course of study, but also respect, so allowed her students to speak in ways that wouldn't have been allowed in a standard classroom- If they had the requisite skills and boldness to do so against her. Most did not, and the matches were very purposely painfully demonstrative of this. Cynwyd hesitated longer than most would have, calculation in his suddenly sharpened attention befor backing down. "'Twas merely an observation," he answered finally, bowing deferentially in his defeat. But the look on his face when he rose was still lacking in subservience. "So if I may continue, I expect all of you here 30 minutes before the morning session starts..." That had been the start of Cynwyd's foul mood, one that even his jam session at Club Masquerade hadn't been able to assuage- especially as he'd had to leave early to make sure he was on time, or at least passably close. He'd seen the annoyance on Colonel Kel's face as he'd entered 5 minutes later than she'd dictated, but he'd calculated well as she dropped it without issue. He felt her gaze on him at times as he stretched- and the promise lurking underneath. She'd not kick him off the team, but she would make his life hell, but it was nothing he was unused to. Then the doors opened, and his attention turned to the hopefuls as they entered. Cole came in first, a head taller than most of the others. He was smiling, as usual, but his grin had something less cheerful and more feral about it this morning. Now that he'd had some experience with Kel's sword fighting, rather than the formal stylized fencing that he'd learned at home, his enthusiasm for the subject had grown considerably. He'd never been much for formality, after all. After the most recent class he'd challenged Arkela and Satonaka to take him on at the same time. He'd eked out a victory, and though he didn't know if he could chalk that up to Arkela's healing ribs or not, he was feeling rather cocky. He scanned the room, taking in potential opponents. He definitely had reach on most of them. His most dangerous threats tended to be smaller, those who were both fast enough to get inside his guard and wiry enough to do some damage while they were there. Like the dark young man, stretching over there: he looked dangerous. Cole dropped his mask and foyle and began his own stretching routine. After the brief stretching period, Kel's voice rang through the room as she cut through the din of the students' talk. "On the line, people," she said, even as she walked towards the center of the room, her steps ringing loudly on the hard wooden floors around the training mats. "Listen carefully- I don't have the time nor the inclination to repeat myself." "I'll pair you up- one half on this end of the lyceum, the other half there. The winner shall line up for another pass, the loser to the other group. Keep going until I say otherwise. Jourdain! Sortek! Step out and officiate." "You are, of course, free to leave at any time," she said as she looked to the recruits. It went without saying that the members of the team could not, lest they cease to be part of the team. Cynwyd lined up, all traces of laxness gone as he looked at his opponent. Of a height with him, the student massed more than he, though with Cynwyd's tendency towards leanness, this was not difficult, his opponent looked more like a barrel than a biped. Preternaturally fiery red hair and four horns marking the crown of his head in front and back definitely tagged him as non-human- as did the pointed teeth his unfriendly smile displayed. In a normal fencing environment, his size would be a disadvantage, but as Kel's definition of fencing was more physical than most, and consisted pretty much of forcing your opponent to stop his attack for one reason or another, this could be a painful experience. "One." The Colonel's voice cut through the air like a whip as everyone assumed position. "Two." The salute. "Begin." A quick dash in followed by a murderously brutal upward diagonal slash were Cynwyd's greeting from his opponent, but Cynwyd took not the expected counter to such a move. Beating his blade tierce, he turned his opponent's blade, then disengaged, sidestepping the attempted corps-a-corps, as he kicked the outside of his rather generous thigh, the contact resounding with a meaty sound. Turning to face him once more, the face of Cynwyd's opponent was now almost as red as his hair, as he struggled to bring life to his now numbed leg. Truthfully, Cynwyd was most glad to see this effect, as he was in no way sure that the man's physiology followed the norm. Pressing his advantage, Cynwyd feinted to the now weakened left side, then extended into the opening made as his opponent attempted to counter, connecting with a hard touch to the center of his solar plexus, taking the wind from his lungs. "Point, Cynwyd." Sortek's voice cut through Cynwyd's deadly concentration, and his focus again broadened as he warily backed up from his opponent. He waited a few moments as the man regained his breath, then grudgingly bowed and retired from the line. Waiting for his next opponent, Cynwyd watched the other matches thoughtfully, trying to gain any advantage that he could from doing so. Cole found himself facing a burly young woman with stone-gray hair: not as tall as himself, but broader. Knowing Colonel Kel as he now did, he doubted that much of his opponent's girth was fat. He also knew better than to treat her deferentially due to her gender. Colonel Kel hadn't taught him that, he'd learned it from the occasional sparring match with his own mother. So at the "begin" he lunged forward, taking advantage of his greater reach and hope of greater speed, and struck at her lower right arm. "Point, Cole", Jourdain called. "Light," Cole's opponent pronounced. "A technicality. Little swats like that are what armor is for. Try this instead." With that, she closed upon him, her sword pounding like a hammer. Cole was fast enough to block, but her attacks beat his blade aside, preventing him from countering. Eventually she pulled her arm back too far on a backhand strike, telegraphing her intent. Without taking the time to consider that it might be a feint, Cole stepped back and then in to the right, avoiding her blade entirely, striking her hard on the solar plexus. She doubled over, gasping. "Point, Cole", Jourdain called again. "Better?" Cole asked. His opponent nodded, and staggered away from the line. Though blades were blunted and minimal padding worn, such punishment begins to take it's toll in both energy and injury. Though there had been only one injury enough to actually take someone out of the lines, fully half the hopefuls had decided that the difference between class and this was enough to deter them from their aspirations. Even with those winnowed out, it took the over an hour for the lines to cycle through enough times to separate the luckily victorious from the consistently skilled; Cynwyd himself, though a bit battered, and with a slight catch in his side from a glancing pommel strike, had managed to avoid being beaten. Finally the winners on both ends of the lyceum remained uniform, and Colonel Kel stepped forward. "Stop," she said in a voice of battlefield command that cut through the din of clashing blades. "Now.. you eight," she said, pointing to the line that included Cynwyd and the four winners from the other group. "You're all on the team- now we'll rank you. Face off against the winners from that end. Pair up as you will. Double Elimination." Taking the other two lines, she continued, "You do the same. The two of you of you who *were* first ranked had better get in the top three, or I'll know why. There are..." She looked back to the winners, counting the number of recruits that had made it, "two more open spots on the team. Top three recruits will be taken into consideration." "What are you all looking at me for? Get started!" As Cole had expected, it was a little guy—just over four feet tall—that had put him on the losing side of the room. At least, he suspected it was a guy: he couldn't tell behind the mask, and the long monkeylike tail hadn't provided a clue. Anyway, the little-suspected-guy had surprised him by leaping inside his range, and he'd slashed the hell out of Cole's shins before the point was called. That made enough lost duels to sort Cole out to the losing side. The little-suspected-guy did a backflip, in full padding, when he was sorted to the winning side. Cole was impressed. Instead of being disappointed, Cole felt great. He was having a good time, and he wasn't really that worried about getting on the team. He was caught up in the moment, one opponent at a time. He'd caught a few good blows, but he'd shrugged them off, and none of them were impairing him. Each of them had been a lesson, and Cole felt like he'd learned more about fencing in the past hour than he had in the rest of his training. And while most of the people around him were breathing heavily after an hour of exertion, he felt like he was just finishing his warmup. And so when he faced his next opponent, it was with a glint in his eye and a feral grin. Somehow it conveyed through the mask, because his opponent seemed hesitant, and reluctant to come to blows. Or maybe he was just tired. Regardless, he didn't last long. Two more duels later, Cole was in the top slot at the losing end of the hall, and itching to take on the winners. Cynwyd’s bout with Velnor—a lanky Shadow-Dweller—nearly undid him, a fast but elegant conversation that stunned the room into silence. Cynwyd had watched him in other bouts, but it became apparent from the very beginning of the engagement that Velnor had been masking his true talents. Before he could even blink, Cynwyd barely avoided a touch from a fleche, only to turn and block a point in line. The boy’s skills were to—put it mildly—insidious, his attacks and counter-attacks rife with deceptive maneuvers. Combined with his startling speed, it made for a deadly combination. In particular, his finta in tempo and passe' arriere pressed Cynwyd more than once. However, Cynwyd recognized a show-off when he saw one. The boy was trying to impress Commander Kel with his skills, but Kel respected one thing and one thing only—victory. And after he deflected Velnor's most recent balestra and lunge, Cynwyd noticed him subtly favoring his right knee. Cynwyd pivoted his back leg out, going in quartata as he exposed his back. The counter would score a point in normal fencing, but not under Kel, and he couldn't be totally sure that Velnor was not feinting to leave such an obvious opening during his balestra—a mere change in tempo would have masked his intent. So instead of placing his foot down, Cynwyd brought it in as he extended his point into his opponent's space, a beat slower than he would have if he was serious. He was prepared to follow through if Velnor didn't respond, but his intent was a feint and a harder hit to his head, hoping to stun him. Tugging his mask off, Cole walked over to the winning end of the hall, watching the duel closely. Like a bravazzo sensing a quick kill, Velnor leapt at this opportunity. Velnor attempted a displacement to avoid Cynwyd’s advance, then perform a coupe over the extended blade. At least, that had been his likely intention. Instead, Cynwyd heard an inward gasp of pain, the boy’s right knee twisting too far to complete the maneuver. Before Velnor could recover, Cynwyd’s foible flicked across the top of his mask like a steel whip. The effect far exceeded Cynwyd’s expectations. As he recoiled from the impact, Velnor’s knee folded beneath him and he sprawled to the mat with a stifled howl. The room erupted with applause and shouts and much back-pounding. Commander Kel gestured for Cole to follow her into the center of the room. “I believe we have a clear victor,” she said, unimpressed. “And once again, a clear demonstration of the reward for showmanship. Defeat.” She purposefully stepped over Velnor’s prone form, ignoring his obvious pain. “Students Perondor and Barimen. You two will face off for the position of team captain. Sabres, standard rules. No corps à corps. Understood? Cynwyd, you have five minutes to catch your breath unless Cole is willing to provide you more time to rest.” Behind them, two of the students were helping Velnor to his feet. He nodded to Cynwyd before limping off, trying his best to hide his discomfort. Kel moved to assist them, her point now made, it was time to attend to her student. "Mister Barimen," Cole said to Cynwyd, with a little bow. "I don't mean to be too much of an ass, but I've been watching you fight, and I hope you will take it as a compliment if we start counting down your five minutes... now. Nice point, by the way." And with that, he began some exercises, to avoid cooling off before the final duel began. Cynwyd acknowledged the compliment with a nod, which turned into a bow of his own. Though he spared no breath for a response, a rueful smile crossed his face as he calmly sank to his knees. For Kel to have set this bout up, there was something that she saw, and though he might not agree with her at times, he didn't dare deny that her eye was better than his, so he wouldn't underestimate this one. A simple match wouldn't finish these trials, it seemed. Jourdain and Sortek attended to the duelists, providing them with water and the proper equipment, as well as words of encouragement. Meanwhile, the Commander returned from attending to Velnor’s injuries. Her eyes settled on Cynwyd and Cole. “When you are ready, please move to the mat,” she said, taking her rigid, military stance. Their classmates gathered around, eager to view this matching. The riotous cheering of before had been replaced by a crystalline silence. Not even a cough or a whisper disturbed the room. Cynwyd sprang to his feet from his kneeling position, moving into his place on the mat. Coming up on the balls of his feet, he rolled his shoulders forward, then as he dropped back down, finally looked up at his opponent, eyes narrowed. Pulling his mask into place, he bent his rear leg, and slid his other foot forward in line, raising his saber in salute. Extending his blade, he awaited the signal to start. Cole stood in one last vertical stretch, with his arms straight up and fingers interlaced over his head, towering over everyone in the room. His eyes were locked on Cynwyd's, a grin on his face. Then he pulled on his mask, took his place at the line, saluted, and extended his blade. On the signal to begin, Cynwyd extended his blade and placed his weight on his back foot as he executed an almost perfect check step to decrease range. Slightly turning his hand to engage Cole's blade, he tested without intent in quatre, then probed towards his midsection. 'Just saying hello,' Cynwyd thought as he prepared for Cole's response. The greeting, for the most part, went unheeded; Cynwyd’s probes revealing little about his opponent’s true skill. Cole remained at a distance, using his impressive reach to counter and evade anything thrown his direction without investing himself. However, despite the impasse, Cynwyd’s conversation stole some of Cole’s strength, as he was forced to adjust to the various engagements. Not that it mattered much to an Oak-Blooded, who had plenty of that strength to draw on. Unless something changed, they could be like this all day. Given that his probes failed, Cynwyd decided that he was being too cautious in his offense. Careful not to over extend himself, he stamped once with his foot, bringing his saber to waist level quickly and tucking his elbow. Off tempo, he executed a balestra, even as he brought his saber up through sixte to threaten Cole's midsection with the lunge. Cole’s defenses remained intact, parrying the blade and replying with an attack au fer at Cynwyd’s shoulder. However, he did not invest enough into the attack to gain a touch. This continued for sometime until Cynwyd’s lungs felt like they’d been filled with hot lead. Despite his growing weariness, Cynwyd fell into a natural flow, pressing Cole further, the sabers singing with exquisite tones. This may have continued indefinitely, but something clicked in the Chaosian’s mind and he instinctively performed a changement de rythme. As a result, Cole’s tempo broke and before he could reply, Cynwyd scored a touch on his midsection. “Point. Cynwyd,” Kel announced. The class – silent until now – erupted in cheers and cries of disappointment. Any doubters in the group had become believers. The exchange, however, had revealed two important things to Cole. Although closely matched in skill, Cynwyd could never hope to match his endurance. However, the other student possessed a noticeable edge in creativity and adaptation. If he had any hope of scoring, he’d have to improvise. Otherwise, all he could do was prolong the inevitable. 'The purpose in fencing,' Cynwyd reflected even as he and Cole engaged once more, 'is to outmaneuver your opponent. Not to outlast him. Even though endurance is important, it becomes important only when you cannot perform this primary task early enough, and you must resort to waiting for your opponent to make a mistake.' Though Kel thought Cynwyd the lackadaisical student that depended only on his own natural abilities, in this one subject, Cynwyd did listen. His own vanity wouldn't allow him to show such, but he did deeply respect her teachings and her words. The rules stated no corps a corps, but even the appearance thereof was useful- especially as Cynwyd considered Cole's nature. And so he advanced aggressively, slipping his opponent's blade in displacement, then performed a vicious beat, continuing in opposition from septime to octave as he advanced as if to come into contact with Cole. But instead, he disengaged passing Cole, parrying in neuvieme behind his back. Only after he passed did he reveal his true intent as he spun and rooted himself for a stop thrust, his arm fully extended to pass Cole's longer reach. Fortune appeared to smile on Cynwyd as spun about. Cole’s surprisingly efficient defensive stance faltered at that exact moment, the lanky student making a serious misstep as he tried to get around Cynwyd’s neuvieme. Cynwyd renewed attack snapped out, only to be suddenly intercepted by a very prepared Cole; his misstep nothing more than an illusion. He parried Cynwyd’s blade and riposted with impressive alacrity, touching Cynwyd’s left elbow. However, the parry had only deflected the stop thrust slightly and the saber’s tip caught Cole’s wrist. A double touch. Cynwyd renewed his attack before Cole's attack. Cole's riposte depends purely on whether the parry was in true or if he started his attack too soon before completing it. The other students erupted again, but their voices were as conflicted as the result. The Commander raised her hand to silence them. Cole and Cynwyd returned to the En Garde position again. As he prepared himself, Cynwyd felt something at the back of his head. A memory. Subconsciously, as he faced off against Cole, his foot shifted. A slight move, nothing more. His center of gravity dropped, even as his blade moved a little out of line. His shoulder followed as he turned a bit more to the side. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Colonel Kel's look- one of ... anticipation? He saw the exchange in his mind- exactly where to place the saber in order to draw Cole's attention, and exactly how to perform the threat. But it was nothing from fencing that he feels. As his saber rose to a high guard, Cynwyd felt something that he'd never felt- something weird. Weird was the only word for it. Not in the debased and degraded sense of the mere peculiar. Weird in the old sense. The root of the word. Wyrd. Because somehow he had always been here. Not here as in the Lyceum, but here as in at the cusp of something greater. Not that the captaincy of the fencing team was something that was all that important in the scheme of things. But that he had approached that cusp of promotion, that coming of age before. And in that moment experienced a great moment of self-realization. It' was from that direction that the shade in his mind whispered, in a voice compounded of memories and grief. He had always been here because there was no past; all that existed of the past was a web of actions and consequences whose Gordian Knots were the structure of the present. He would always be here because there was no future- no bold stroke to part this conundrum; everything that was about to happen never would. Now was all that was. In his mind, in the moment before he lost this clarity, he saw that every unraveled knot led not only forward, but backward, and that everything was connected in a way that he couldn’t even begin to grasp. <But you will, Boy. You will. One step at a time.> a fatherly voice echoed in Cynwyd’s mind. Cynwyd lifted his blade to vertical, turning the flat towards Cole in a salute. Then instead of sweeping the blade down and to his right- the traditional acknowledgment of the salute, he lifted it, swiftly, but without haste above his head. There is a tradition- not in fencing, but in Kendo- that translated as appropriate speed. It took advantage of the body's natural reaction to being attacked. Difficult to master, the act of appropriate speed was to engage slowly enough that you did not trigger the opponent's defensive reflexes, so that he didn't feel like he was being attacked where you aimed. Its nuances were more subtle than the traditional feint- rather than distraction, it was a balancing act. Appropriate speed varied according to the situation and the psychology of the opponent. As Kel called the final point, Cynwyd began to bring the saber down, from tierce, even as he advanced. In reply, Cole retreated, continually backing up, counterclockwise, around the periphery of the dueling area, making Cynwyd chase him. As he did so, his speed began to increase, testing Cynwyd further on each exchange. In time, Cole believed he’d gained enough momentum and then stopped and thrust, hoping to use his own reach and Cynwyd’s inertia against him. The maneuver was sound, the counterclockwise motion providing him extra reach, as his arm came from the inside of the arc, while Cynwyd’s came from the outside. And with another less observant duelist, this clever tactic would have worked. However, Cynwyd had noticed that while Cole had natural talent and training, serious threats challenged his ability to maintain an effective defense, as he followed his training rather than his instinct. As clever as this attack was, Cynwyd had already assessed the threat and could have defended himself against it. But at the last minute, he instead pulled short, leaving an intentional opening for his opponent. Cole’s attack flicked over Cynwyd’s blade and caught his arm, hard enough to leave a bruise. The crowd erupted with startled cheers, applauding Cole’s success. As the fighters disengaged, they met the stony stare of their instructor, her fingers clenched in a tight fist. With her back to the crowd, only Cole and Cynwyd could see the seething anger brewing behind her eyes. “Point. Cole,” she said in a monotone. Cynwyd felt, rather than heard, the Voice nodding with approval. Cole was thrilled about scoring his point, until he saw Kel's face. His grin melted away. What was Kel angry about? It didn't make sense that she was mad at him for scoring, so she must be mad at Cynwyd. But why? He played the touch over in his mind: leading Cynwyd, the reversal, the thrust... and then he had it. Cynwyd had given him the point. Cole pondered this, and then something else occurred to him. Fortune was again conspiring to provide him with responsibility he did not want. He loved fencing, and wanted to do it well, but he didn't want to be captain, especially not as a freshman. He'd been enjoying the bout so much that he hadn't thought of the consequences... as usual. He hadn't wanted to lose, and now he wished he hadn't won. And knowing that he'd won when he didn't deserve it made victory that much more bitter. Kel turned away from the mat, "The bout belongs to Cole, Class dismissed. Now." The confused students paused only long enough for their mentor to bark, "I said 'NOW.'" Wrapped in a tangle of voices, they began to file off to the showers. Kel turned her head. "Cole. Cynwyd. Shower and then come to my office. I want to talk to you both." She stalked off without another word. Cole yanked his mask off and turned to Cynwyd. "What the hell are you doing?" he snarled. Trying to maintain that connection he had felt during the match, Cynwyd was abrubtly jerked back to reality by Cole's outburst. He had already been in the midst of taking his mask off when Cole spoke, and so the change in his expression was obvious. One moment, he was centered, his face utterly devoid of anything but a slight smile, something that might have been considered a smirk if one didn't know otherwise, as he watched Kel's retreating back. Then he looked over at Cole, a frown melting away the serenity- though it must be said that there was no lack of an attempt on Cynwyd's part to let the remark pass. "Going to see Kel, it appears," he said, even has he closed his eyes to try to center himself. "Ever wonder why," he started, his eyes still closed, his voice very calming, "a first year, even after losing his first series of bouts, was chosen to compete for the captaincy of the school's fencing team? Her pride and joy in the hands of an unknown quantity?" It wasn't clear who the 'her' in that statement was- Kel or the school. "Hmmm," he finished, his expression pensive as he opened his eyes lazily to look at Cole. "No," Cole replied angrily, "it never occurred to me. Just one of the many reasons why I'm not qualified for the post I seem to have stumbled into. Thanks a heap." He thought a little more, and his heat faded somewhat. "Jeez, what did you do to piss her off? Not that it ever seems to take much." "Apparently, I didn't stick to the script," Cynwyd said ruefully. "Sorry to stick you in the middle of that," he continued, shrugging. "But I'm not sure you weren't to begin with. And I'm sure you'll do a better job of it than I would- and I'll back you up, since it's at least partially my fault," he added. It seemed that was as much of an apology that would be forthcoming. "Cynwyd," he said, holding out his hand. "Cynwyd Barimen." "Cole di Perondor," Cole replied with a wry smile, shaking the proffered hand. "It's been interesting meeting you, Lieutenant Barimen. Let's get cleaned up and find out what Lady Death proposes to do with us." "Along the lines of 'May you live in interesting times'?" Cynwyd replied ruefully. "My family has a distinct history of that, if you didn't know." The *click* from Cole's brain was nearly audible. THOSE Barimens, he mouthed silently. "And yes, that sounds like the only plan that might keep us in one piece," he added, smiling despite himself. "But we're... aw, never mind," Cole said. He slapped Cynwyd on the back and headed for the lockers. Some time later, the two young men found themselves in Commander Kel’s spartan office. The mahogany desk and a bookshelf of military history were the only luxuries to be found in the barren room. The chairs had been designed by a skilled torturer, offering only agony not matter what way a person sat. But this pain couldn’t compare to the withering look on the Commander’s face. She sat behind the desk like a crouching pantheress, sharpening its claws. “So,” she said, her eyes turning on Cole, “Firstly, do not see this discussion as a slight upon your skills, Cole di Perondor. Although you lack maturity and control, you have the makings of a fine fencer. And, with training and time, your abilities will far surpass your peers. However. . . ” Her deadly gaze settled on Cynwyd. “. . . I find myself in an interesting position. Outmaneuvered by a Chaosian barely out of his swaddling cloths. It is a truly humbling experience. I do not know whether to applaud or reward you, Cynwyd Barimen. Perhaps a little of both, yes? But before I decide which, you now have the opportunity to explain your actions to me. And to your new Captain.” "You flatter me, sir," Cynwyd began. "It was no more than a choice of two paths that you yourself set me upon." "I realized your aim towards the beginning of the final point, no earlier. Then I began to question your motivations. After all, you'd not place the fate of the fencing team in the hands of a 'Chaosian barely out of his swaddling cloths'," he said. "So there must be an accounting for the second option- the road less traveled if you will." "A more difficult road, surely. A choice that required me to put the overall good of the team above my personal skill and pride in it. Though surely with yourself at the helm, you could make up for my inadequacies, Cole is someone that I think the team could rally behind. Good enough to take the top spot, but without the arrogance and familiarity that someone already on the team would possess. Look at Velnor- he's good, but overconfident in his skill. And I might suffer from the same flaw at times- or even worse," he added self deprecatingly. "But someone from the outside, that knew that his position was a rare honour, and had the personality to back it up could be a great asset to the team- to take us to heights that we haven't seen before. And with his primary rival behind the decision, he would not have to worry about challenges from below distracting him." He sat back and regarded Colonel Kel. "A master stroke, if I may compliment you, sir." Cole frowned, trying to make sense of what Cynwyd was saying. His eyebrows twitched every time Cynwyd said "sir" to the obviously very female Colonel Kel, but he said nothing. Kel didn’t even blink as she listened to Cynwyd, remaining as motionless and unreadable as stone. At the last ‘sir,’ her fingers twitched on the hardwood desk. “An intriguing assessment, Mr. Barimen,” she said. “You exhibit a strategic mind far beyond your years. But I suppose, I should not be so surprised, considering your heritage.” A hint of pride disrupted the corners of her mouth. “You will serve as Cole’s Second in all things, Cynwyd. Most specifically, you will instruct him in the finer arts of the blade. I want him to be able to adapt to his environment, as well as his opponents. And keep Velnor away from him. That boy is as reckless as he is skilled. I’d rather we not lose our Captain to a needless injury during a sparring match.” She exhaled loudly, “Cole. Only the three of us know what occurred here today. And it will remain that way, yes?” Cole, privately thinking that there were still only _two_ people who understood what had just happened, nodded. And as he pondered Kel's use of the word "reckless", and thought about the practice he would need to serve effectively as team captain, a strange and dangerous idea began forming in his head. "As you will," was Cynwyd's only reply, recognizing a dismissal when he heard it. Kel nodded, “Very well. Cole, until the end of the next year, you and I will have weekly meetings to discuss the team. Cynwyd may attend if he so chooses or you may inform him of our discussions afterward. I expect the team to train at least four times a week, in addition to your regularly scheduled exercise regime. As Captain, I leave it to you to decide which evenings are best. Unfortunately, school regulations prohibit me from requesting that you train on holidays, but I will not frown if you decide to ignore this. “Cynwyd will serve as your emissary, but do not abuse the position. A true leader provides his troops the good and the bad news, rather than filtering it through a subordinate. I believe the role will fit you well. Your name is already on the tongues of many of my. . . ” She paused, refusing to add the identifier, ‘female.’ “My students.” Cole brightened. "Really? Which..." Seeing the look on Kel's face, he amended, "Um, yeah, sure, training Monday through Thursday. Sunday training to make up for any sessions missed due to holidays. More training to be added if team is underperforming, or if there's any hint they aren't all practicing every day on their own. What's our competition schedule?" It was Cynwyd's turn to remain silent as he watched the exchange between Kel and Cole. It was interesting, to say the least, eliciting a raised eyebrow even in that short response. “August 2nd is the Golden Circle Tournament,” Kel said. “I want the entire team ready by then. We have an institutional exhibition on Show day. That is Apirl 29th. There will also be local events throughout the year, the most important of which is the Brightblade Tournament. That is June 12th and will feature the team captain – you – against Prince Benedict.” She gave a thin smile, “Not to worry. In the club’s history, he has only scarred one captain during a bout.” Cole shrugged. "That would be a scar I'd show off. I wouldn't even have to make up a story about it to impress chi..., um, people." Kel raised an elegant brow, as if daring Cole to complete that sentence. "Colonel, I'm not brave enough to tell you what a mistake I think this is, nor to face your wrath if the team lets you down. So I guess all that's left for me to do is get to work. Right after I write Mom to let her know that I've accidentally managed to do something she'll actually be proud of." "I think you underestimate yourself," Cynwyd spoke up. "Besides, my ... um skin is on the line too if this goes pear shaped." “Indeed, Student Barimen is correct,” Kel said. “You possess a natural skill that – combined with your charisma – will serve you well in this role. And any general that does not doubt himself at some point is a fool. Simply never reveal those doubts to your troops. If you must voice your doubts or worries, do so to your associate or I alone. “Because, as Cynwyd mentioned, he too is now ‘on the line.’” Cole nodded, his face unusually serious. Kel leaned back into her torturous chair, “You two are dismissed. I’m sure you have much to talk about amongst yourselves.” "Well, that wasn't a disaster," Cole said as they left the fencing environs. "Not yet, anyway. And I've had a brilliant idea for how I can get an extra hour of fencing practice in every night. It would help if I could find some real armor that will fit me, but maybe that would just weigh me down." "I didn't think it would be. Well, not much. Even though I was sort of improvising in there, it made sense after the fact," Cynwyd replied, more relaxed now that they had evaded Kel's total displeasure. "What kind of idea?" he said, Cole's words finally penetrating his good humor. "And ... armor? You know how much deeper in it I'd be if something happened to you now? What kind of idea do you have?" Cole avoided Cynwyd's eyes as he extemporized. "I've, um, seen evidence that there are some very dangerous... beings. Walking the streets of this town." He waved his arms in the general direction of the city around them. "Late at night. Thus far I've been avoiding them. I'm starting to think that maybe I should go hunt them down instead. It would be good practice. And it might even be a useful public service." "I see," Cynwyd said casually, not looking at Cole. "Dangerous beings, hunt them down..." Finally he looked at the other student. "Stop me when any of this makes sense," he said, adding sarcastically, "Especially the part where you're more qualified than the Black Cloaks to do so, and where you'll not get their attention killing 'beings' on the streets?" "The Black Cloaks can't, um, detect them. They're not looking at the right time. And I've already killed one of them, my first night here. At least, I think I killed her. Otherwise she probably would have devoured me while I was unconscious." Cole shuddered, remembering the flame-headed woman and her seductive fragrance. Cynwyd's gaze intensified. "You know!" he said, a bit too loudly. Moving Cole along to get away from the curious stares of nearby students, he dropped his voice and continued, "That's it... the connection. All that I told Kel in there... it was only true in the 'happen to go along the same path' sort of way." "I know you... I mean, not in the sense that I know 'you', but I know... hells, I don't know what I know anymore. But I knew that I was supposed to lose to you... that for some reason, it was better with you in charge and me running backup." He threw his hands up in exasperation. "And I don't run second to anyone." "And you want to go after those things? I mean, I've thought about it, in the 'I wonder what it would be like to get slice and diced and die horribly' sort of way... but only in my dreams have I actually done it," his concentration faded again. "Do you have some voice urging you to do things that you never thought you would? Is your 'voice' the one egging you on to do this?" "Voice?" Cole said, sounding confused. "I don't hear... oh, that voice. No, it was my own idea. He doesn't really say much." Cole stopped dead in the street, suddenly realizing what he'd just said. "Wait a minute. What sort of 'things' are we talking about here? Have you seen them too? For say, exactly one hour each night?" He laughed. "You were supposed to look at me like I'm crazy." "I can do better than that," Cynwyd said sarcastically. "You're crazy. There. I said it." "Those things are dangerous. And I'm not even sure they can die. Midnight's not exactly the hour to go traipsing around on a hunting expedition. These aren't your standard game, unless you're used to hunting things that can definitely hunt you." He cocked his head, considering. "Thought it could be interesting..." He shook his head, clearing that train of thought. "How long have you known?" "First time it happened was my first night here in town," Cole replied. "I'm pretty sure it has something to do with the Castle," he added, nodding at the structure on the mountain, "because it doesn't happen in Rebma, and the Castle goes particularly ugly when it happens. "As far as dangerous, hell yes it would be dangerous. That's the point. Lady Death says we're not playing a game, and she's more right than she knows, at least as far as we go. I'm sick of cowering in my room every night, and even then sometimes the damned things materialize right in there with me. We're already in danger, every single night, and we'd best face that danger and learn about it, learn how to fight it, before it rips our pretty heads off. Or prettier heads than ours. And now that I know someone who can watch my back, Lieutenant, I'm all the more certain I want to do this. So, where can we get some actual swords and armor to fight these damned things?" It was somehow clear from his tone of voice that when Cole said "damned thing," he wasn't merely swearing, but he also meant it in a taxonomical sense, as a naturalist might refer to "mammals" or "arthropods". Cynwyd smiled wryly. "'Oh Captain, My Captain'," he quoted. "Let's just hope that your end is not the same as the poem. Especially since knowing Kel, that would be my ending also." Not being terribly literary, Cole gave him a blank look, then shrugged. "I think we can handle the arms part. Armor's a bit gauche, so I don't have access to any of that. But yes, I'm in." "Yeah, I was afraid the armor was a bit unrealistic. But I thought it would be good to train in it, so that the fencing padding would seem less heavy and cumbersome in tournaments." "Anyway, I'm glad you're in." Cole looked at the clock tower. "We've got a few hours left. Let's gear up." [continued in Where the Wild Things Are] |
