BREAKINGS

I hated this one initially, so to keep with the Martel theme, I changed it, and now it's much better, don't you think?

There was a satisfying clang as the lance hit the very centre of the target, bending the arm back. Vanion nodded, beaming.

"Sixth hit in a row, Sparhawk, you're doing well." The preceptor complimented, leaning against the rails of the practice yard, gauntlets in his hands as he watched the latest bunch of striplings charge at a target

Set up in an ingenious manner, the targets were wooden arms with shields attached, connected to a pole. Every hit bent the arm back, and a cleverly wrought windlass slowly eased it back into position for the next pass

Sparhawk raised his practice visor and nodded to the preceptor, his sweaty face beaming. Compliments were hard wrung from Vanion

However, his proud moment of compliment was broken by another clatter of a bullseye. Sparhawk looked over his shoulder with the slight resentment- his fleeting moment of glory marred, as Vanion clapped another good pass.

Martel raised his visor and shot his noviate brother a grin "Don't think you'll get ahead of me Sparhawk!" He warned in a friendly fashion, spurring his horse level and clapping his brother on the shoulder, Sparhawk forced a laugh

"How many?" He asked, feeling his competitive spirit taking over and had a hard time talking without grating his teeth. Martel was the only match he had on the field.

His red headed compeitor opened his mouth to comment proudly, but Vanion butted in over the top
"Eight now- I've been counting… If that new Warhorse of yours hadn't faltered, Sparhawk, you'd be even."
Sparhawk absently patted his new steed, Faran, a little indignantly.

"Not my fault sir, the horse is a bit frolicsome… good steed, anyway." He said a little surly. "I could floor Martel anytime on passes if it weren't for that…" He boasted, trying to fix his ego. Vanion laughed

"Martel- why don't you let your surly component have two passes to try to even the score?" The preceptor said with a hint of a grin through his auburn beard. Martel bowed mockingly and allowed the now embarrassed Sparhawk to pass.

Humiliation and anger mingled in the novice Pandion. He TRIED to think of it lightly as the other two seemed to be taking it, but a burning "I'll show them" sort of attitude over rode everything…

So it was rather natural that he hit the sheild a little too hard on both passes… the second time, a crack was faintly heard from the leaver arm of the target. He ignored it and rode back to the preceptor and his novice brother

"Excellent!" Vanion clapped, slapping his free hand to his wrist, Martel didn't look quite as smug as before. Sparhawk raised his visor grinning at his brother novice. That cheered him more then a thousand correct passes ever would. He stubbornly told himself off for such a thought, but the triumph ran repeatedly over his karma, he beamed at Martel and gestured the field
"All yours…" He said expansively. Martel grunted noncommittally and clucked his horse to the field. Vanion shook his head
"Noviates!" He rolled his eyes heavenward. Sparhawk cocked an eyebrow at him, but the preceptor just shook his head "Watch"

Later, Sparhawk would blame himself for what happened. He should have mentioned it, but it had just seemed so unimportant….

Martel made the pass, but instead of the wooden arm bending and swinging slowly back, it snapped in two. The horse panicked and reared, the startled novice grabbed onto the reins tightly, but the broken arm that held the target swung back forcefully, windlass broken, slamming hard across Martel's chest and hurling him from the saddle.
Sparhawk and Vanion were by the fallen novice's side before they could even think about it.
Martel pushed his visor up- his fifteen year old face look terribly white, but he determinedly tried to sit up. Vanion pushed him down with the flat of his hand
"Stay there" he warned "You might have damaged something and the last thing I need is a knight with such promise coming out crippled."
Martel oped his mouth to protest, but shut it, obviously thinking better of it.

Wise decision.

Later, in the chirgeon's area of the compound, Martel was complaining to his friends about his now bedridden exile

"It's not like I can't move or anything, I swear Vanion's a fanatic. It's only a little broken…"

"Martel, the chirgeon says you shattered the bone…." Sparhawk chided, a little amused at his friend's over enthusiasm to be back on the field

"So? It doesn't affect my other arm and…"
"And you'll be staying there as long as the chirgeon says, Young novice…." Vanion said from the door, looking amused. "As for you two, you're supposed to leave him alone, now out…" He thumbed towards the door. The last thing they heard of their friend was a definite protest about not needing rest and what was he going to do now, stare at the ceiling?

It was some weeks before he was allowed back on the practice field, although he HAD spent the time practicing other weaponry, he had also spent the time complaining about it…

THWACK!

"Another hit, Glad you haven't lost your form there, young Novice!" Vanion complimented.
Martel reined in his bulky horse and raised his visor. Sparhawk was aware of his fellow novice watching HIS pass. Thankfully it hit square on.
As he pulled Faran over, Martel smirked

"Care for another contest, Brother Mine?" He asked in mock innocence.

Sparhawk hesitated, glancing at his preceptor. Vanion gave him a faint smile and the tiniest nod.
"You're on! Prepare to lose!" He grinned, nudging Faran over to a free practice arm, his friend following