Chapter 18: evaluations gone awry

Conrart sighed as he made the long trek down to the sellie. Truthfully, it wasn't that long of a walk, but so far the day had exhausted him. He had time to rest while Yozak was at weapons practice earlier, but now it was his turn to see one of the Weapons masters and prove his weapons competency. He wasn't looking forward to it.

Not that he had anything to worry about; he was the Lion of Luttenberg and hailed as the best swordsman in Shin Makoku since his father's younger days. However, he was still a bit shaky from the stuff Gisela had force-fed him, and tired easily. He was used to testing the swordsmanship of his new recruits, but it had been a very long time since his own skill had been evaluated in anything other than true combat. Then any mistake he'd made had been pointed out in his own blood and pain.

He wasn't looking forward to it, not because he feared the pain or even because he feared defeat at the hand of another; his father had always told him that no matter how skilled he became, there would always be somebody out there who could mop the floor with him.

His father had always taught him never to get cocky.

He rolled his shoulders to loosen them before entering the sellie, with Yozak beside him. He kept his back straight, and raised his chin. He noted the floor to ceiling length mirrors that made up one wall of the building, acquainting himself with the layout and noting the way the wooden floorboards creaked as he moved. They would help him pinpoint an opponent should one come at him from a direction he wasn't expecting. As far as he knew, this was to be a one on one evaluation of his skill, but experience had taught him never to take personal codes of honor for granted. He knew better than to be unprepared to handle an unfair fight.

That lesson had been branded into his skull years ago, the one time he'd forgotten it, on his 85th birthday.

Mottled sunlight filtered in through the high windows, and racks of weapons lined the other three walls. His eyes flicked to every corner of the room, marking everything he could use as a weapon. The racked practice blades were a mixture of wooden and dulled metal blades. He noted the different lengths and thicknesses, with a practiced eye, noting the ones he was sure would be around the right size and weight for him to wield, and marking them in his memory in case he had to get one quickly. He also marked the ones that were too light or too short for him; he could wield them if he had to. The ones he marked as too large or too heavy he put out of his mind. He could use them, but not in the manner they were designed for. They were too heavy for him to use as a sword, but he could use them more as a bludgeoning object.

The soft creak of the floorboards alerted him to the approach of another. He shifted his stance, and turned to face the man coming towards him. He was mildly surprised by what he saw. Herald Alberich was an old man, wearing a deep charcoal gray uniform rather than standard issue whites. Beside him walked the young man he'd been sparring with. The man looked to be around 25, and a member of the palace Guard by the color and cut of his midnight blue uniform. Conrart briefly looked the younger man over with a practiced eye, before dismissing him as only a mild threat. Wolfram he suspected could take him, though he assumed his little brother would have a hell of a time doing so.

With that done, he turned his eyes upon Alberich. Here he recognized a threat, probably about as much of one as Yozak was at any rate. He allowed himself to relax just a little as the man looked him over. Conrart was well aware of the fact that by human standards he was ancient, even if he still looked like a boy. He also knew and upon occasion capitalized on the fact that humans tended to take his appearance at face value; at least until they got a good look at his eyes, and recognized him as Mazoku—then they usually screamed in terror.

Then he lowered his eyes a bit and watched the man from beneath his lashes. He wasn't worried about Alberich recognizing him as Mazoku; he'd be surprised if the man even knew what to look for. No, what he was trying to hide was the spark of fire and the hard look in his eyes that even Yuri noted. The hard look he only acquired after the war. It wasn't exactly the nicest thing he'd ever done; particularly knowing that even with his hair cropped short the action made him look disturbingly innocent. He simply stood there and waited, feeling Yozak's amusement in the back of his mind, as the now former spy figured out exactly what he was doing.

Well, he should. Yozak was the one who first informed him of the fact that even with his hair cut military short, when he lowered his chin just a thumb's width and gazed out past his lashes –

Apparently, he still looked like a pretty boy!

He'd used that to his advantage a time or two.

~~~***~~~

Alberich watched the boy calmly, noting the way he held his shoulders, and the way it clashed with the slight tilt of his chin, and the way he surveyed the world through his eyelashes. He suppressed the urge to sigh; the latest batch of Trainees was going to be a trial and a half to train out of any bad habits just because of their ages. He was already having trouble with that highborn lout Austin, who seemed to think he knew how to wield a sword better than he did, simply because he'd had the benefit of overpaid, overly fancy teachers, teaching him how to honorably get himself killed. On top of that, the boy had actually started complaining that he was 'breaking the rules and fighting dirty' every time he tried to teach him how to keep his pretty neck intact! Now here he was with what was obviously another overly pretty, puffed up young noble peacock to attempt to turn into a Herald.

He was getting too old for this!

Let Kero handle this lad—from the looks of it, there wasn't going to be a thing he could teach him! Maybe getting knocked around by a woman would show this boy that his fancy overpaid teachers were all idiots!

"What skills do you have, boy?" he growled, trying vainly not to let his annoyance show. "What weapons can you wield?"

The boy didn't even bother to open his eyes completely, and continued to stare at him past his lashes. "I'm skilled with a sword," he said at last, his voice holding that trained softness he'd learned to associate with the higher nobility. "Embarrassing with a knife, and proficient in archery and hand to hand," he continued.

Alberich shifted his stance and circled the young man, noting that the youngling turned his head to keep him in his line of sight. At least this one had self preservation instincts that Austin sure as hell didn't! "You say you are skilled with a blade. Very well boy, prove it! The practice weapons are along the walls, find one that meets your liking." He snapped, waving his hand in the general direction of the many practice blades. He prayed this gently born idiot at least had the sense to grab a wooden blade. That way it wouldn't be quite as painful for the boy when he walloped him.

But alas, he knew noble pride would keep the boy from doing what was sensible. "Don't attempt to meet age and experience with youth and ambition, boy." He warned.

The boy predictably ignored him.

He watched the trainee as he went through a selection of blades that he would have thought too heavy for the young man. The brown haired youth hefted one, seeming to test weight and balance on the thing briefly before sliding the practice blade back into its sheath. After a moment, he seemed happy with the blade he was holding, and gave it a few experimental swings. It was nothing too fancy; just the first of the techniques that masters taught students of the long blade; Conrart nodded, satisfied.

Alberich raised an eyebrow. That sword was one of the heavier ones in its size ratio, although technically he guessed the thing could have counted as being one of the lighter ones for the next size up. It was also too big for the boy. "Is that the blade you wish to use, Trainee?" Alberich asked.

If the boy was that much of an idiot, then he deserved the beating he was about to get.

"This will do nicely." The boy said simply.

Alberich sighed and flung himself at the younger man drawing his own practice blade as he did so, not even giving him a chance to take the correct stance.

To his immense surprise, the boy brought the blade up in time to block his sword. He disengaged and went after him again, only to have his blade blocked a second time. It appeared that the boy had had some training, but not much from the looks of it. All he was currently doing was angling his wrist and arm into a series of basic blocks.

He continued to attack, hoping to drive the boy across the room as part of his lesson, but to his surprise the trainee held his ground, not even bothering to look up.

He continued in that vein for about five minutes before speeding it up a bit. Again, every one of his attacks was met with a block. However, not once were they countered.

At least he knew the boy could do that much!

Finally, after a full fifteen minutes had passed at this pace he decided to change styles, and see how far that got him. The boy shifted his technique slightly to accommodate for the change, and continued to do nothing but block him, still watching the world through his lashes.

It was infuriating!

Abruptly the boy stepped forward, twisting his blade round to counter Alberich's last attack with a force that made his wrists ache. Before Alberich had –quite – grasped the significance of the move, he found himself losing ground. Alberich struggled to keep up as Conrart switched styles, and kicked up the speed as he took the offensive all in the time it took him to blink. Rather abruptly, he found himself staring into the boy's unusual brown eyes –

- And unexpectedly confronted with the same steel gaze he associated with soldiers who'd survived the front lines.

~~~***~~~

Yozak suppressed the urge to yawn. This was getting boring! It had been about 20 minutes since the start of this bout and all Conrart had yet to do was block. He shifted his weight from foot to foot and watched Conrart closely, wondering just why the other man wasn't using any of his hard won skill and natural talent against Alberich.

The guardsman with the oddly colored skin made a rude noise as he watched the two. "I don't know why Alberich is even bothering with this boy! It's obvious he's incompetent. He must be the shame of his teachers. Damned pathetic highborn idiot; probably never had to face a single hardship in his life." Yozak glared at the man, resisting the urge to smite him for his stupidity. What did this man know of Conrart anyway? He turned his attention back to his friend and almost laughed aloud as realization hit. Conrart often had to deal with new recruits (and the occasional officer) who wanted to make a name for themselves by going against the Lion of Luttenberg. The men were usually a good deal older than he was, or rarely his own age. Add to that their tendency to simply attack the poor man as soon as they had a practice blade in hand and well… he wasn't surprised Conrart had snapped into teaching mode.

He knew from a few of the other trainees that Alberich often humiliated the students that boasted of skills they didn't really possess. He also knew that Alberich despised the high paid but essentially useless fencing instructors the nobles often acquired for their children. The man had apparently discovered that the highborn had trouble realizing that they had to forget most of what they'd been taught previously, until he'd wiped the floor with them at least once. So as a way to save time and prevent further arguments, Alberich simply humiliated new highborn students the first time he had to teach them!

Ironically, Conrart had a similar strategy, but rather than humiliating his recruits by wiping the floor with them he simply let them wear themselves out, while he did nothing but block their attacks with a bored expression. He knew exactly how Conrart would handle this; he'd let Alberich wear himself out against him, and then he would simply step aside and let the man's momentum carry him to the ground. After that, he'd likely set about correcting everything he'd seen Alberich do wrong, and the more frustrated the older man, got the more he'd slip up. Conrart was well aware of that fact, and in Shin Makoku used it to his advantage – green cadets and older, more experienced additions to his unit who were often inclined to think of him as an upstart child- never attacked him like that more than once. He was gentle with them afterwards, running them through their paces and correcting what needed to be changed, all while giving them the one on one attention that made him the most loved captain of the Maoh's armies.

Conrart would likely do the same thing now, if he didn't snap out of it. As amusing as that would be, he didn't think Alberich would appreciate it! With that in mind, he reached for Conrart with his Mindspeech gift. The link between them flared to life.

: I just thought I'd remind you that he's the one testing your skills, Captain. : He said calmly once he'd gotten Conrart's attention. : Besides, this is getting boring. :

Conrart blocked Alberich's blade even as he replied. : Well, I guess it's time to kick it up a notch. :

With that, Conrart switched effortlessly from the defensive to the offensive, driving Alberich back with ease and grace. He ran the man clear across the room and back again at least six times as Alberich struggled to keep up with his every move. Finally, utilizing a move Yozak had only ever seen Conrart's father employ before, his friend disarmed Alberich. He caught the hilt of the sword as it flew by, shifted his weight, and with a slight movement of his wrist let the sword's momentum carry the weapon back around and into play.

The look on Alberich's face when Conrart turned his own weapon against him was priceless! The Herald didn't even have the time to react before the now crossed blades rested on either side of his neck.

"Never underestimate your opponent." Conrart said simply, before moving the threatening blades. Without another word, he offered Herald Alberich the hilt of his sword, but kept his grip on his borrowed practice blade.

A woman that he'd noticed, and dismissed before as not being a threat thanks to her white uniform, with graying blond hair and fierce green eyes spoke into the shocked silence. "A lesson best not taken lightly."

: That is Herald Captain Kerowyn: Jissa supplied before adding: Chosen of my mother, the Companion Sayvil. :

~~~***~~~