Chapter Nine: Swords & Sorcery
"Your Highness wouldn't be headed off towards the practice grounds in such a hurry would he?"
Adam gave a quick glance at the man who had fallen into step besides him, opened his mouth to respond and, realizing that he lacked a response that the man would find suitable, promptly closed it again. He raked his hands through his hair, looking left and right for an escape, any escape, but knowing that there wouldn't be one to be found. "No, Stewart, I thought that I would spend some time in the library this afternoon."
Stewart Avonar, Adam's personal guard, snorted derisively. A good head taller than Adam with a wiry frame and eyes as black as, and Adam would wager as sharp as, a hawk's, he was a man given wide berth by those who did not know him. Even those who did know him in the Palace still watched him as though he was a mad dog that might bite at any moment. It was a reputation Adam had discovered that the man had earned through his battle scars, including the ugly one that ran from under the ridge of his left eye right to his chin, and his sword skill. Defender of the Lady Carrina before she married Prince Martine, he now fulfilled his duties as Defender of the Heir to the Lion Throne. Unfortunately for Adam, Stewart believed that one of his purposes was to train Adam in all things tactical and weaponry - the most important of these was sword training.
The very idea of picking up a sword made Adam cringe inside, so he spent as much time and effort as possible avoiding Stewart. However, five days was not enough time to learn the Palace inside and out, and it was inevitable that Stewart would catch up with him.
And so he had.
"I think that you've spent more than enough time in the library." Stewart's eyes darted left and right, always moving in the well-traveled halls of the Palace, as though he expected an ambush at any moment.
What made Adam more than a little uncomfortable around Stewart was the realization that the man *did* expect an ambush at any time. That was the way Stewart had been trained and raised. Adam knew he should be grateful for that; the real prince probably was extremely grateful. It meant that he wouldn't have to worry about a knife in the back -- at least not that it would come as a surprise. And if it did happen to strike his back, there was no doubt in Adam's mind that the assassin would have his throat slit before Adam's heart stopped beating.
Adam repressed a shiver at the acknowledgement and forced the thoughts away.
Happier thoughts, happier thoughts, he repeated the mantra uselessly to himself. Happier thoughts were hard to come by when in the company of a man who wore his sword like it was an extra and much needed appendage.
"Just trying to prepare myself for what's ahead."
"Maybe you should prepare yourself to defend yourself. Just because King Palgar is appeased today doesn't mean that he won't wage war tomorrow."
"You always think that someone is going to declare war on us tomorrow." Adam didn't know that from his few conversations from Stewart; that was information that he gleaned from his numerous conversations with Hagen. The prince's cousin -- his cousin for all intents and purposes -- was more than happy to allow his tongue to wag freely when he knew his words fell on no one's ears but Adam's. The more wine provided, the more freely the tongue wagged.
"And you still seem to think that you are going to live forever." Stewart stopped and stared down at him, his voice hard, "There is more to being a king than knowing how to order around water spined nobles and which words will offend what kingdom. Being king is also about being a soldier and a warrior, Adam. Your father knows this; he learned it well. And you would be best served to learn it as well before you sit upon the Lion Throne.
"I shall see you on the practice grounds on the hour. If I have to come for you again, I will make the work out that much harder on you and you will wish that you were nothing more than a water spine."
The man turned and stalked away, his words leaving no room for argument -- even had Adam been able to think of a convincing argument.
****
The practice grounds were a large, open field walled off near the barracks of the Palace. They could be reached by underground tunnel and over ground paths, and both ways of travel were well used. The practice grounds received heavy use on a daily basis, the king's soldiers and his knights practiced here, and the clanging of steel and twanging of bowstrings could be heard long before one reached the practice grounds proper. All around the edges of the grounds were stone and wooden benches, and above were balconies from which the training sessions could be watched. Adam had had the opportunity to peek in once or twice, with Hagen as his guard, quickly ducking out again before Stewart spotted him. On those occasions, he and Hagen crept around the balconies, doing their best to remain in the shadows; today, he walked out into the open, doing his best to pretend that this was nothing out of the ordinary.
Hagen walked with him, a fact that Adam was uncertain whether to be pleased or displeased about. The full of Adam's knowledge on swordsmanship came from his scant years of fencing, and somehow he was quite certain that a fencing foil and an epee were far cries from the gilded hilted weapons of sharpened and polished steel. He knew he was quite possibly on the verge of making a very big fool out of himself, or even worse, revealing himself for the imposter that he was. There didn't however appear to be any way out of this, short of a miracle, and so far one had not occurred.
Hanging in a scabbard at Adam's side was his own personal sword. A work of art, for all that Adam knew about swords, if he had truly had the time to admire and appreciate it. The hilt was decorated again and again with the lion and the rose of his House, and although Adam thought it might have been imagination, it did feel like it *belonged* to him when he tied the scabbard around his waist. Although he had found it odd that he should come to practice with his own sword; but Hagen had seemed surprised that Adam wasn't taking it along, so he followed what appeared to be the norm in this situation.
Stewart was waiting for them, and not very patiently.
"You're late," he bit off.
"Sorry," Adam apologized.
"Sorry will cost you an arm or leg, or perhaps your throat in the heat of battle. Remember that."
So much for the hope of a morale boosting before he made an idiot of himself.
"We begin," Stewart nodded. "You know the exercises. Unsheathe the sword. Use it as your center and together allow mind and magic and spirit to merge. Surrender and become one."
There was a tenderness in Stewart's voice that Adam would not have imagined the man could have had he not heard it with his own ears. Apparently, there were some things in the world that even Stewart had a soft spot for. Okay, the soft spot was for an item of death and destruction, but it was still a soft spot.
Figuring that it was better to do as he was told, and knowing that he had already managed to score a black mark against his name today, Adam gripped the sword by the hilt and pulled it free.
The moment that he did, the world spun away from him. Sharp barb, like needles bit into the palms of his hands and the world exploded in red and black. A power like nothing he had ever imagined or dreamed in his life washed over him, both drowning him and lifting him at the same moment. He was surrounded by the purest of raw energy, molten fire and liquid ice tumbling around him, tossing him about in the middle of a storm. He could not see, he could not hear, there was nothing but him and the power of life, the essence that was all things.
How he knew this, Adam didn't know. The knowledge came from someplace deep inside of him, some long forgotten intuition when man had been closer to the world than he was now.
He knew what this was.
This was the sword. This was the magic. Magic was the life. And the sword fed it to him.
And it devoured him.
"Surrender!" The words came from a disembodied voice, beyond himself, beyond the torrents that surrounded him.
Sssssssssurrender. Sssssssssurrender. It sang to him, it begged of him.
Surrender . . . came more easily than he thought.
And when he surrendered, no longer resisting the power that reached into him, the torrent stopped. Suddenly he was filled simply with energy, energy all around him, different colors and different feelings -- joy, sorrow, love, hate, envy, ecstasy -- they all moved and flowed against him; they all were apart of him and he a part of them.
He knew the sword, this sword which had moved from generation to generation. This sword that cleaved itself to him, that made it an extension of himself. What he did not know, the sword did; what he needed to learn, the sword would teach and the magic would be its guide.
By the time the lesson was over, Adam felt as though his entire body had been wrung dry. And even then sheathing the sword -- the very item that he had not wanted to unsheathe to begin with -- was a lesson in self-control and restraint. He slumped to the nearest bench, not caring what Hagen or Stewart had to say about it. He had wrestled with a powerful force of magic, and never having done so before he had come out on top.
He now knew more about this world's magic than he ever wanted to know.
"Next time, you will be better prepared," Stewart said before departing.
Next time?
With any luck, Adam hoped that there never was a next time.
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