Chapter Eleven
Basic Training

As the sun rose on another blissfully beautiful morning in Hylia, Rael found himself crossing the courts of stone past the fortress to the complex of buildings beyond it. Many of the buildings beyond the fortress were barracks for soldiers, and students. The barracks were long rectangular shaped buildings of grey stone with sloped red slate roofs. Beyond the barracks was a larger building, the academy centre, and in the large open space before it was the main training area. The ground was hard-packed dirt, about a hundred yards across each way, ringed by paving stones and tall colonnades that supported an encircling row of buildings.

The grounds were empty, and Rael felt quite self-conscious walking there all alone. His thin jacket did little against the bitter morning chill either, and he hugged himself tightly to keep warm. He was not even sure why he had decided to come down here, considering his stubbornness to even hold a sword, let alone fight. He kicked at the dirt under his feet and looked around at the training court, considering the choice he was making. There was nothing for it really; he had nothing else to do in Hylia after all, and like Tabett said it would be useful to know how to defend himself if the war caught up with them. And, he reminded himself, how else would he take revenge upon the Kairin for destroying his home?

"Hey!" called a voice from the side of the court, "you all right, there?"

Rael inclined his head in the direction of the voice, and found that it had come from the side of the court, where a man was sitting bent over a sharpening wheel with his sword. Rael began walking in his direction, brushing back his messy hair hastily, "I came to sign up here, from Lieutenant Shaef's recommendation…" The young man, who was clearly a soldier, by the metal plates on his legs and the chain mail lying on the floor beside him, looked at him sceptically. He had short dark hair, and stubble that suggested days without shaving. Small eyes observed him from a narrow face, with a twitch of a smile that could have meant almost anything. The soldier eyed Rael up and down curiously, taking in everything from his scruffy boots to his unkempt dark red hair. "My name is Rael," he went on, coming close to the soldier, and stopping about three feet short, "can you help me out? I don't know what to do and I-"

"Joal," said the young soldier, interrupting confidently, "a pleasure, Rael." He sat down on his stool, and swivelled around, opening a short crate behind him. After a moment he spun back around and tossed something large straight towards Rael. With his fastest reaction, Rael grabbed the heavy object out of the air and brought it down to his side. It was a large steel sword, very rusty looking and dirty.

"What is-"

"Swing it," said Joal, commandingly.

"Why-"

"Just do it."

Rael sighed and tried to raise it up to chest height. Straining, he brought it across his body, and almost dropped it as it came swooping down to his other side. "Now, what-"

"Here, take this instead," interrupted Joal once again, throwing him another sword from the chest. It sailed towards him blade first, and Rael snatched it from the air in his left hand as. This sword was more slender and far lighter. In a reflex that came from seemingly nowhere, he spun it behind his back and brought it back over the top of his head, holding it level with his chest.

Joal shook his head in slight bewilderment, but shrugged his shoulders, and went back to sharpening his own sword. Rael stepped forward, lowing the sword to his side, "Why have you given me-"

"That was quite an impressive catch, you should-"

"Stop interrupting-"

"-see what else you can do."

"Stop interrupting me!"

Joal frowned, but nodded, "I apologise; I regret I am not renowned for having good manners. You appeared to be a competent swordsman, evidently I may be right."

"Right about what?" said Rael, glancing around, in the hope that someone would come and alleviate him of this situation soon.

"I'm sure the sergeant will be going through the basic forms for you new lads, but perhaps you won't need that training." He frowned, "There is something unusual about you."

Rael shook his head, "You're talking nonsense. I have to sign up somewhere don't I? Where should I be going?"

"Never mind that. Just call it a soldiers intuition, Rael, give that sword a proper swing."

Rael grunted angrily, dropped the sword on the ground and began walking away. The light steel rattled on the cobble stone momentarily and fell silent. For a moment, Joal let him walk away, but then caught his attention again. "You're one of the Taraners, aren't you?"

Rael ignored him, and kept on walking towards the main building at the far end of the court. "So what if I am?" Echoed his reply around the walls of the court.

"You're the al'Brash kid, aren't you?"

Rael stopped dead. Brash…that was the name of the last general of Hylia. When Shaef had said that name the other day he had heard the name Resh instead, his father's name. Then the Queen said something about a Brash as well, when they were talking about his father.

Rael spun on his heel and fixed Joal with a firm, cool stare. "My father is named Resh, not Brash."

"I had to check." He paused, "then perhaps it is one of the others…"

Joal sighed, and continued sharpening his sword, "Do you know generals take on new names when they ascend to power? Oh yes, its all to do with status. Take our good general now, you didn't really think his birth name was Dragan did you? What sort of parent would name their child that?"

"What's your point?"

Joal shrugged, taking up a cloth and beginning to polish his breastplate. "Do you really want to know what the rumours are?"

"Tell me." Rael replied, flatly.

"All right…well… About twenty years ago, there was a general here called Brash al'Aals. An assumed name of course. But, the great General Brash al'Aals left Hylia. Brash was a master swordsman they say. He was one of the best bladesmen in the world, bettered only by Marshal Ivarl al'Arantos himself."

"So?" said Rael, his heart beating heavily.

"They said he left Hylia because he had a son, and he wanted a clean start with his life. He was young for a general, in his position only for his blade skill. He had other dreams to fulfil. Raising his son properly was one of those aspirations."

"But you couldn't be suggesting-"

"The Queen has taken extra special interest in you Taraners. In particular, the younger four of you, as I hear. Although your brother has her attention too…"

"So what?"

"There is something special about you all. Or just one of you. Or maybe several of you. It's hard to say for sure."

"She has taken interest in Ralis." Said Rael, leaning up against a column.

"So you admit there is something unusual about you six, then?" asked Joal.

"Well, yes, but-" Rael tried, but was cut off.

"The rumour is that one of you six," continued Joal, "well one of you three younger boys, is the child of Brash al'Aals."

"That's ridiculous," said Rael, very dismissively.

A bell rang through the training court, deep and sonorous. All around, people were making their way out of buildings into the court. Some dressed in armour, some in leather, or woollens.

"Now, it cannot be you of course." Said Joal. Rael felt relief fill him. "Because you are the younger of two sons. And your older brother Ralis is too old to be the son of Brash. But the other two…"

"Daran and Tabett?"

"…are of the right age, and are each an only child."

Rael stared disbelievingly, "How does this information get around?"

Joal shrugged, "Rumours."

You are telling me that Daran or Tabett is the son of General Brash al'Aals?"

"Maybe." Joal stood up and began fastening his armour straps tightly. "Looks like you better go and get signed up, the morning instruction is about to begin."

"But-"

"Go on, lad. Best not to be late, now."

Rael remained there in silence as Joal walked away. Surely none of that could be true. It was just too much to be true. Daran or Tabett, the son of a general? It just could not be true…It just couldn't…

……

Eventually, Rael managed to find the place for signing to the academy. After a very hurried scribing of information by an incredibly irritable clerk, he found himself ushered out into the training court once again.

The sun was higher in the sky now, casting its bright rays upon the stark greys and browns of the court. Away up the hill, the Palace caught the sun's light like a majestic land-born coral, its many banners flying high on silver flagpoles. Down here in the military centre of the city, it was far less grand.

Indeed there was a strange feeling of ineptness in him, now. He was relieved that he was apparently not related to this General Brash fellow, but the thought that Daran or Tabett could be made him feel somehow less important. He was being so foolish, he decided, he could barely believe his own thoughts.

"At attention!" shouter Sergeant Jaker loudly, and Rael snapped his left leg to his right leg with a clap echoed by two hundred other pairs of legs. Before he had time to think, he had found himself in the morning drill with all the other students in the school. He was on the back row of a ten by twenty grid square. To his right, Daran stood calmly at attention, and Tabett equally so beyond him. Once again, Rael wondered how he had ever got himself into this position.

The last half hour had been spent running circuits around the outside of the court, completing sets of body-ups and knee-raises, and marching in stance. Already feeling exhausted, Rael came to the realisation that they had only just begun for the day.

When swords were passed out to the newer recruits – made of wood – Rael was slightly more relieved; working forms with a sword would be lighter work than all that hard exercise. To loud commands from Sergeant Jaker, he moved with the others in ordered movements and patterns of sword.