Sparring
Chapter 1—Learning
King Lune of Archenland settled into his favorite chair in his study. It was a beautiful day, cool and clear. A light wind ruffled the purple velvet curtains, and if he looked out the window, he could see the new donkey colt, who had been unanimously christened Rabadash, nuzzling his mother out in their paddock.
A sudden commotion from the courtyard startled him. Crossing the room, he peered out the window, and a familiar voice floated up to him.
"Keep-"
Thwack
"Your-"
"OW!"
"Guard-"
Fwap
"Up!"
Thud
King Lune smiled and crossed back to his comfortable chair.
His son Cor was just having another sparring session.
Cor landed on his back with enough force to knock the wind out of his lungs. "Uncle!" he wheezed. "Respite!"
Aravis looked down at him, her wooden sparring sword hanging loosely in her hand. "No," she said coldly. "Get up."
Cor groaned. Of all his tutors, she was the worst. She never hesitated to beat him black and blue because he was the future king. In fact, she seemed to take particular pleasure in it.
"Just…let me…catch…my breath!" gasped Cor, pulling himself to his feet and turning away.
Aravis lashed out again, striking him fiercely in the back.
"Ouch!"
"First rule of combat!" she snapped. "Never turn your back on the enemy!"
"Just…can't I have a second?"
"No, Sh…Cor. In a real fight, your enemies won't give you a chance to rest." She jabbed him sharply in the stomach.
He slashed at her, and she parried easily, then paused, frowning. "Cor," she said, "You're better than this! Sword fighting almost seems to come naturally to you when you train with your other teachers." Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "Why…it's because I'm a girl, isn't it? You think you'll…you'll hurt me or something stupid and chauvinistic like that! Well, you can be as sexist as you like because I've trained my whole life and I'm better with a blade than you'll ever-"
"I know!"
The outburst was so unexpected Aravis stopped shouting in shock.
Cor glared at her. "I know you are! You're better at everything, at the formalities and politics and court life and…everything! You've been raised for this, you've done this your whole life, but it's all new to me! I'm just a fisherman's son! I was sold as a slave, Tarkheena, and now suddenly I'm a prince? Have you ever thought about that, that sometimes it's just too much?" He whirled around furiously, glaring at the castle wall.
Aravis watched him, aghast. She'd done it again, after promising herself she would never do it again! She'd acted superior to him…when he was her better in every way imaginable, even birth. He was right. She had never considered how overwhelming this might be for her friend.
"Cor?" she said hesitantly. He didn't answer. "…Shasta?" He straightened slightly, half-glancing around. Aravis swallowed and continued. "I…I saw High King Peter showing you an interesting move the other day. I'd never seen it before, and I was curious, but I didn't want to interrupt to ask about it. Do you…do you think you could show it to me?"
Cor looked back around at her, and for a moment he was Shasta again, the poor slave boy she had treated so poorly, bordering on indifference, who had charged an attacking lion to save her. This boy, she realized, still looked up to her, however little she deserved it.
A tentative smile spread across his face. "Of course, my good lady," he said, dipping into a perfect formal bow.
Aravis gave a Narnian-style curtsy, and Cor's eyes widened slightly when he realized she wasn't yet very good at it. "I'm learning too," she said simply.
Cor gave a genuine smile and lifted his sword slightly, opening his mouth to explain the disarming move.
"Aravis!" came an enthusiastic call from across the courtyard.
Aravis turned instinctively toward Corin's voice. Suddenly she felt a series of painful, stinging blows to her ribs, accompanied by a whap-whap-whap sound. She felt Cor's wooden blade press against her throat.
"Why, Aravis," said Cor playfully in her ear. "You seem to have forgotten the first rule of combat."