A white dress. The image pervaded his every thought, countered his every action. Slender arms protruding from that dress, enhanced only by the beautiful face that never seemed to look in his direction.
And for these thoughts, pain. Loss of concentration coupled with excitement magnified his desire, but his thoughts were shattered by a wooden sword crashing into his shoulder. He yelped in pain and stumbled to his knees, dropping his own wooden weapon to clutch his wounded shoulder.
"Focus!" cried his master. "What so occupies your thoughts?"
He shook his head and retrieved his weapon. Slowly he stood up; his master eyed him warily, ready to attack, or ready to counter if necessary. Adso raised his own weapon and steeled himself.
His master circled around him, then in a quick leap covered the distance between them and swiped with his sword. Adso's met it before it could connect again, and he found the strength to force it down against the ground. His master laughed.
Adso didn't quite understand the laugh until his master's foot jammed into his stomach. The air left his lungs and he was forced onto his back. His grip was still intact—the sword remained in his hand. He raised it to deflect one attack and scurried backward on the ground, trying to gain distance and oxygen.
His master slowly walked forward, grinning, as if this were a game instead of a training session. It angered Adso, and he felt his grip tighten around the sword. He clenched his teeth and scrambled to his feet, deflecting another blow he knew would come.
"You have learned so much already!" his master said, a hint of pride in his voice. That did not soften Adso's resolve; instead, he suddenly felt a twinge of hatred for his master. He wanted to hurt him.
And so he swung his blade, ignoring the pain in his shoulder and the exhaustion in his chest. He immediately knew his mistake—in his anger, he swung with such force that his body lost its natural balance, and he paid dearly for it.
His master brought the hilt of his sword down in the small of Adso's back. Adso yelped in pain and the grassy ground rushed up to meet him. He coughed and spat out blood, spraying red into the grass.
"If this were a battle, more than just your blood would be spilled upon the ground," his master snorted disapprovingly. "There is one key factor to war that you still haven't learned!"
Adso's brow furrowed and he became enraged. Standing up again, he wiped the blood from his lips and met the gaze of his master, who was almost to the point of overflowing with laughter. But behind him… she stood behind him, watching. Adso's jaw dropped for a moment as his gaze flickered over to her for an instant, catching the white dress as it flowed softly in the breeze. And as his eyes met hers, she turned and began walking toward the temple, holding her hand to her face as though she had been weeping.
His master caught the sudden loss of concentration and took the opportunity. Again his sword whistled horizontally through the air, intent on inflicting pain upon its student.
Adso tilted his head to the side and felt the blade whiz through his hair. He had certainly lost his concentration for a split second, but had realized his mistake in time to correct it. His master was an expert swordsman, yes, but too often did he cut horizontally from the same side, and so Adso had expected this particular attack. As his master's sword started to come back around, Adso pushed his arm to further disrupt his balance. His master stumbled forward, away from Adso, and the student kicked his master in the back, sending him tumbling onto the ground.
And Adso ran. He brought his fingers up to his lips, let out a loud whistle, then shouted, "Agro!" Not once did he turn to see if his master was giving pursuit. He simply kept running.
Agro, a massive black horse with a single white diamond between his eyes, broke away from the stable and galloped toward Adso. Upon reaching him, it slowed just enough to keep pace with its master, and Adso gripped the reins and hoisted himself up onto the huge beast.
Adso turned the horse in the direction of his master, who was now standing and brushing off his tunic. He was laughing.
"That key factor," Adso said, smiling, "is the knowledge of when to retreat."
The master raised a hand up and stroked Agro's snout just as the horse slowed to a stop. "You, Adso, are an expert bowman, an expert rider, your sword skills are improving… and while lacking in strategy, you are most certainly learning quickly. Not to mention you are very adept at surviving in the wild, as has been proven."
The master was referring to a time when, in the course of his training, Adso had been blindfolded and led to a remote area of the wilderness, where he was then isolated from anybody else and expected to survive on his own and return to the city. He managed it in under five days. Out of ten students undergoing the test, the other seven that had survived found their way back in no less than eleven days. For this feat, he had been given the nickname "Wanderer".
"But I fear that in your mind lurks the power of your undoing…" said his master, his voice trailing off as he turned slowly toward the field. Adso noted that she was still visible as she made her way back to the temple.
"It's tonight, isn't it, Master Gorman," Adso said, more of a statement than a question.
Master Gorman blinked, confused by the half-question. "What is?"
"The ritual. The cleansing."
"Yes, it is, Adso, and you must attend if you wish to join the Sun's Templar."
Adso sighed. If only there were another way, if only the ritual could be performed without—
"Is something wrong, Adso?" Master Gorman asked. Agro neighed softly and pawed at the dirt, tired of standing. The master stroked his soft nose again to settle him as Adso slowly dismounted the monstrous horse. He let loose of the reins and gave Agro a quick slap on the rump, sending Agro off into the field to continue grazing lazily.
"No, nothing's wrong," Adso replied, his gaze still intent on the woman in white. "Merely thinking of what I need to do in order to prepare for tonight."
"Good," smiled Master Gorman. "Tonight you will become a knight. Tonight, you will begin your true service under Lord Emon."
