“I don’t see why,” Fanen protested. “It’s not like I’m planning a life in the soldiery or the tournaments. I’m the second son. I’ll end up at some monastery stacking books.”
“Second sons don’t go to abbeys, third sons do.” Mauvin lifted his visor to grin at Denek. “Second sons are the spares. You have to be trained and ready in case I die from some rare disease. If I don’t, you’ll get to roam the lands as a bachelor knight fending for yourself. That means a life as a mercenary or on the tournament circuit. Or if you are lucky, you’ll land a post as a sheriff or a marshal or master-at-arms for some earl or duke. These days, it is almost as good as a landed title really. Still, you won’t get those jobs, or last long as a merc or swordsman, unless you know how to fight. Now come at me again, and this time pivot, step, and lunge.”
Hadrian walked over to where the boys were fighting and sat on the grass near Denek to watch. Denek, who was only twelve years old, glanced at him curiously. “Who are you?”
“My name is Hadrian,” he replied as he extended his hand. The boy shook it, squeezing harder than was necessary. “You’re Denek right? The Pickering’s third son? Perhaps you should speak with my friend Myron, seeing as how I hear you are monastery bound.”
“Am not!” he shouted. “Going to the monastery, I mean. I can fight as well as Fanen.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Hadrian said. “Fanen is flat-footed, and his balance is off. He’s not going to improve much either, because Mauvin is teaching him, and Mauvin is favoring his right and rocks back on his left too much.”
Denek grinned at Hadrian and then turned to his brothers. “Hadrian says you both fight like girls!”
“What’s that?” Mauvin said, whacking aside Fanen’s loose attack once more.
“Oh, ah, nothing,” Hadrian tried to recant and glared at Denek, who just kept grinning. “Thanks a lot,” he told the boy.
“So, you think you can beat me in a duel?” Mauvin asked.
“No, it’s not that, I was just…explaining I didn’t think Denek here would have to go to the monastery.”
“Because we fight like girls,” Fanen added.
“No, no, nothing like that.”
“Give him your sword,” Mauvin told Fanen.
Fanen threw his sword at Hadrian. It dove point down in the sod not more than a foot before his feet. The hilt swayed back and forth like a rocking horse.
“You’re one of the thieves Alric told us about, aren’t you?” Mauvin swiped his sword deftly through the air in a skillful manner that he had not used in his mock battles with his brother. “Despite this great adventure you all have been on, I don’t recall Alric mentioning your great prowess with a blade.”
“Well, he probably just forgot,” Hadrian joked.
“Are you aware of the legend of the Pickerings?”
“Your family is known to be skillful with swords.”
“So, you
“He’s the best,” Denek snapped. “He would have beaten the archduke if he had his sword, but he had to use a substitute, which was too heavy and awkward.”
“Denek, how many times do I have to tell you, when speaking of one’s reputation, it does not boost your position to make excuses when you lose a contest. The archduke won the match. You need to face that fact,” Mauvin admonished. Turning his attention back to Hadrian he said, “Speaking of contests, why don’t you pick up that blade, and I will demonstrate the Tek’chin for you.”
Hadrian picked up the sword and stepped into the dirt ring where the boys had been fighting. He made a feint followed by a stab, which Mauvin easily deflected.
“Try again,” Mauvin encouraged.
Hadrian tried a slightly more sophisticated move. This time he swung right and then pivoted left and cut upward toward Mauvin’s thigh. Mauvin moved with keen precision. He anticipated the feint and knocked the blade away once more.
“You fight like a street thug,” Mauvin assessed.
“Because that’s what he is,” Royce assured them as he approached from the direction of the keep, “a big, dumb street thug. I once saw an old woman batter him senseless with a butter churn.” He shifted his attention to Hadrian. “
Mauvin stiffened and glared at Royce. “I would remind you I am a count’s son, and as such, you will address me as
“Better watch out, Royce, or he’ll be after you next,” Hadrian said, moving around the circle, looking for an opening. He tried another attack but that, too, was blocked.
Mauvin moved in now with a rapid step. He caught Hadrian’s sword hilt-to-hilt, placed a leg behind the fighter, and threw him to the ground.
“You’re too good for me,” Hadrian conceded as Mauvin held out a hand to help him to his feet.
“Try him again,” Royce shouted.
Hadrian gave him an irritated look and then noticed a young woman entering the courtyard. It was Lenare. She wore a long gown of soft gold, which nearly matched her hair. She was as lovely as her mother, and walked over to join the group.
