by Guy Antibes
“From the bottom of my heart, I will always remember how well you took care of me, Win’s mother,” Trevor said.
“Please do, king’s son,” Marin said.
~
No one else visited Trevor before he reported to duty at the barracks. He felt a little bad about it, but he was still more interested in how his uniform looked. He showed up at the tailor’s shop that was part of the quartermaster building.
The tailor had Trevor sit in a curtained stall and had him remove his clothes before passing the uniform. The uniform was black, trimmed with green piping. Trevor was hoping for something with red, but he knew that wouldn’t happen. Black with green piping meant a roving infantry unit. Trevor would be commanding a small complement of swordsmen, pikers, and archers, and now he wouldn’t have to wait for his assignment orders to find out.
He emerged from the stall and looked at himself in a polished metal mirror. It needed some buffing, but Trevor knew he cut a handsome figure. Now he would be subject to the army’s command and live without the protection of his title. His father had told him of the eventuality often enough in the last six years.
“Any tight points?” the tailor asked.
Trevor went through a quick series of standing calisthenics and found that the tailor had done a superb job. “No problems,” Trevor said.
“No problems, sir,” Sergeant Boxster said, entering the tent. “The tailor’s rank is equivalent to a captain. He outranks you, so you end every sentence with ‘sir.’”
Trevor smiled. “Shouldn’t you be doing the same to me?”
“Yes, sir. I have been corrected, sir,” Boxster said. The reply was given with sarcasm.
The tailor brought a muslin bag from the back. “Your armor outfit,” the man said.
“Thank you, sir,” Trevor said, saluting the tailor.
“Saluting one rank up is not necessary unless you pass each other outside,” Boxster said.
“Are there a lot of these rules?” Trevor asked, already knowing the answer. He added, “I didn’t have to follow them on the practice field.”
“That was before your appointment, sir,” Boxster said, “and there are lots of rules, sir.”
Trevor nodded. “Can you show me to my new quarters?” he asked the sergeant.
“Follow me, sir,” Boxster said with a sardonic smile, holding the door open for Trevor to leave before he did.
They walked through the quartermaster building and stopped at another counter. There was an officers’ line and a soldiers’ line.
“What am I doing here?” Trevor asked.
“Bedding, personal items. Officers get better bedding and better personal items, sir.”
Trevor nodded. “Thank you.” He could put sarcasm into any comment as well as Boxster could.
Armed with his bag of clothes for armor and a much smaller sack of personal items, which consisted of a shaving kit, towels, teeth sticks, a hairbrush, and a small pair of scissors, Trevor let Boxster take the bedding.
They stepped into the barracks.
“Second floor. Officers get their own rooms,” Boxster said.
Trevor let the sergeant walk ahead of him until Boxster opened a door along a hall full of them. Trevor poked his head inside. It wasn’t a proper set of quarters but more of a closet. He put his bags on a small desk that was along the wall where the door opened. His bed was on the other side. A wardrobe took up the end of the tiny room with a set of sturdy hooks between the desk and the wardrobe.
“This is a room?” Trevor asked.
“Palatial compared to where I sleep,” Boxster said.
“You sleep with the soldiers?”
Boxster nodded. “I do, sir. My bed is at the end of a dormitory with a little extra space between one side of my bed and the wall.”
Trevor realized that his military experience was going to be a lot different than being a dilettante prince.
Chapter Three
~
W in showed up two days later with Trevor’s armor. For once, Trevor was happy he didn’t own the fancy armor his two older brothers wore. Trevor’s armor showed hammered out dents. The mirror-like sheen had been scratched out long ago, and he liked the well-used look.
At least Trevor had learned where the officers’ mess was. He already knew quite a few of his fellow officers and knew he would have to persevere through the ribbing of being a newly appointed officer and no longer under the protection of his father. He had dreamed of this day since he was eight years old, playing with Owen’s toy soldiers for the first time. Trevor was motivated by his current change in circumstances to suck it up and enjoy the experience.
“Time for a little practice,” Boxster said, walking up to Trevor as he finished breakfast.
“With you?”
Boxster nodded. “I am to teach some of the less honorable aspects of combat.”
“I already know those,” Trevor said. “I haven’t been given too much quarter against regular soldiers. Officers are less likely to cheat.”
Boxster frowned. “It isn’t cheating. When you are fighting to survive, anything goes. There is a bit of an art to it,” the sergeant said. “Perhaps as you learn, you can determine what is cheating and what is appropriate for the situation.”
Trevor frowned, but he rose from the long table and nodded to the few officers who were still eating and followed Boxster out of the officers’ mess. They proceeded to the practice field and warmed up. Trevor had already done his calisthenics, even though they were much harder to get through in his tiny room. He watched Boxster warm up. He used a different philosophy, warming up with a weapon, but it was fascinating to watch. It was more like a dance while flashing a sword.
“What are you doing?”
“Forms. They get me limbered up, but also, I become one with my weapon. I do different forms for different weapons.”
“Where did you learn that?”
Boxster narrowed his eyes. “When I was growing up,” he said. “Whatever you do for real, it isn’t on the practice field.”
“And how would you know?” Trevor asked.
The sergeant smiled. “I’ve watched you for the past two weeks, ever since I knew you were going to join the army.”
“I think the army joined me,” Trevor said. “I go through a series of calisthenics in my room. They keep me limber.”
Boxster snorted. “As if a nineteen-year-old needs to stay loose.”
Trevor shrugged. “Does it matter what you think?”
“More than you know, sir,” Boxster said. Trevor noticed it was the first time Boxster said “sir” on the practice field, but the comment was laden with sarcasm.
“Then show me how you do your forms,” Trevor said.
Boxster gave Trevor a little bow. “As you command, sir.”
They spent the next hour going through Boxster’s forms. A few other soldiers joined in until Boxster called a halt to his instruction.
“Time to nick our wooden swords,” the sergeant said.
That dispersed the small crowd. Boxster took him to a far corner of the practice field, away from most prying eyes.
“A short sparring match. I’m sure you are tired of learning the forms.”
Trevor grinned, for now he had the opportunity to get Boxster’s measure. “We will see how far it goes,” Trevor said.
Boxster wasn’t as tall and didn’t have the reach that Trevor had. That informed Trevor that there were a few strategies unavailable to Boxster and him. The concept of reading his opponent was drilled into his brain for years by the army fencing master, but Boxster had knocked the sword out of Trevor’s hand in a few swings.
Trevor looked around. He didn’t see anyone he recognized and sighed. He had to find out how Boxster did that.
“Again?” the sergeant asked.
Trevor nodded. He gripped his sword tighter, but that only stiffened his wrist, and Boxster pushed his sword aside and scored a painful point. Trevor stood back. “I’ve never—”
/> Boxster raised his hand. “I learned a few techniques in other lands. No one in Presidon or the surrounding countries have seen them, so there are no defenses. Do you consider that cheating, sir?”
“No. A good swordsman must learn to fend off unexpected approaches, but perhaps not quite that unexpected.”
“I will show you what I did both times, and let’s see if you can come up with a suitable defense on your own.”
Trevor’s attention was focused on Boxster’s demonstration, and he was eager to try out what the sergeant showed him.
“You do learn quickly,” Boxster said. “Care to give it another try?”
Trevor thought for a moment and nodded. He would be challenged differently than usual, and that brought a smile to his face.
They faced off again. Trevor successfully defended the disarming technique that Boxster had shown him. Trevor figured he had to hold his sword lower, but Boxster still pushed his sword aside with remarkable ease. The man didn’t look any more potent than Trevor, but Boxster was able to get through Trevor’s defense three more times.
“I give up,” Trevor said. “I need a bit more instruction.”
“A little humility from the prince?” Boxster said.
“Don’t worry about my humility,” Trevor said. “There are times to be honest and times to be less so. This is an honest time.”
“Just like cheating, I’ll wager,” Boxster said.
Trevor could tell that the man was baiting him, but he ended up nodding his head. The sergeant was right, and the verbal lesson he had just learned might prove more important than the two techniques.
“Let’s go through how I pushed your sword aside in a slower motion,” Boxster said.
As they went through the motions, Trevor identified the technique. Boxster wasn’t fighting against Trevor’s strength, but using it to deflect. It was a novel application of lessons taught to Trevor for hand-to-hand fighting.
“You need to have the right circumstance to get me to follow through with my blade,” Trevor said.
Boxster smiled and nodded. “It is a philosophy as much as a technique. The long swords used in Presidon take away some of the advantages of using your opponent’s strength and momentum against them.”
“I don’t see a defense,” Trevor said.
“Think about it.”
Trevor planted the tip of his wooden sword in the dirt. “All I can think of is to use your opponent’s move to your advantage. Is that it?”
The sergeant smiled again. “There is hope for you. Use the technique on me slowly, again.”
Trevor mimicked Boxster’s move and found it easy to duplicate now that he knew the philosophy behind it, but on the second try, Boxster gave up resisting Trevor’s movement and twirled around, slamming the side of his blade on the prince’s unprotected side.
“That wouldn’t work with a shield,” Trevor said.
“I would lose the point if you blocked my counterattack, would I?”
“No. The match would reset.”
“Or your enemy opponent would likely back up a step to stay out of range and block the move.”
“Movement as a defense. That sounds more like a fisticuffs strategy,” Trevor said. “I learned to block a blade with a blade, but you say you can do more with your body to manipulate the match in your direction. I do some of that instinctively, but as you said, it is a philosophy. It would take a lot of practice to change one’s reflexes.”
“You have the proper idea. Let’s practice a bit and see if you can last a minute or two more,” Boxster said.
An exhausting hour later, Trevor knew he hadn’t mastered the techniques, but he made sure he knew them well enough to recognize the method used in a match. With more practice, he could employ them against an opponent who was unfamiliar, like Trevor had been before they started the practice session.
“I am finished,” Boxster said, “sir. You did well. There is the hope you will last more than a quarter hour on the battlefield.”
“Is that your goal?” Trevor asked.
“Among other things. We will continue this afternoon. I’d like to see what kind of an archer Prince Trevor Arcwin is.”
Trevor was as exhausted as Boxster, but he wouldn’t be the one to walk off the practice field first. He practiced the disarming technique a few times and then slowly went through defending against the deflected thrust as he thought of it. It was all movement, and Trevor realized it was part of the forms that Boxster demonstrated. He trudged off the field, stopping at the water bucket to pour water over his head and take a few drafts from the long-handled cup at the pump.
He walked into the shadows of the porch in front of the barracks.
“I don’t know for sure, but it seems like the sergeant took you to school,” Brother Yvan said, leaning against the wall with his arms folded.
“Did you watch the entire session?”
The cleric shook his head. “Just the last bit. Why were you at the far corner of the field?”
Trevor smiled. “Boxster didn’t want to embarrass me.”
“He is more of a master swordsman than the army’s fencing master.”
Trevor laughed. “And he would put you to shame.”
That brought a smile to Brother Yvan’s face. “It doesn’t take that much, these days. I came to see how your cranium healed.”
“I still have a headache, but I did take all four packets of the medicine you gave me.”
Brother Yvan picked up a small bag at his feet. “I made a collection of them. These are lighter doses. Don’t take them every day, just as needed.”
“How did the castle take my reassignment?” Trevor asked.
The cleric shrugged. “Most didn’t notice or didn’t care. Renny stopped me after the family service to ask if I had talked to you. He is the only one.”
“The others are too self-absorbed,” Trevor said.
“And you aren’t?”
That brought a little heat to Trevor’s face. “I suppose I am. It isn’t easy to be banished from the family, even if it is to fulfill my dream.”
“Banish might be a more appropriate term than you realize. King Henry would prefer you not to entertain succession ideas. With Bering and Lilith continually at each other’s throats, Owen is now suggesting that he is the best alternative.”
“And Wynn?” Trevor asked.
Brother Yvan chuckled. “I’m amazed the lass can lace her shoes. She isn’t a threat, but Renald is the smartest of your siblings, and once he gets in and out of university, if your father is still alive, I imagine he will be looking for his piece of the throne.”
“And me? Don’t I matter?”
“You do, quite a bit. In the olden days, the strongest would often leapfrog over the other contenders for the throne. They are all afraid of you since they know you are smarter than you let on. It is easy for your father to take you out of the succession by sequestering you in the army. After the tournament, I doubt if you will spend more than a week at a time in Tarviston, and that will be by design.”
“My father doesn’t have faith in me?”
Brother Yvan shook his head. “He is not the best ruler that has ever graced the Presidon throne, and he knows you are smarter than he is. I would say he is more comfortable manipulating the situation without you to complicate things for him.”
“I don’t concern myself with such things,” Trevor said.
“Then don’t. You will live a longer and happier life if you enjoy your time as an officer in your father’s army.”
Trevor took the proffered sack of medicine and retreated to his room. It was a bit early for lunch, so he decided to do some thinking. As small as it was, there was still a tiny window above the wardrobe to let in natural light, and with Trevor’s height, he could lift his head a little and see the royal orchard on the other side of the tournament grounds. Tarviston surrounded the castle, the orchard, and the barracks, making Trevor’s world very small. He knew he would soon be out of the capita
l and into the field. If everyone had their secret fighting technique, he would have a lot of learning to do.
Trevor remembered the fight that Bering and Lilith had in the corridor before the last family dinner. That was more than simple bickering, and if Owen was now in the mix, he expected things to get nastier, especially if Ginster University rejected Owen. He wished he had asked Brother Yvan how that project fared.
He closed his eyes and felt his head pound a bit, but Trevor decided he would put up with the pain for now. He had to get used to deprivations, something he would face in the field. He was lying on one of them. The mattress was little more than a thin pad laid over a platform.
He found himself going over what Boxster had taught him.
Trevor shot to his feet when the sound of knuckles rapping on the door interrupted an unexpected slumber. He poked his head into the corridor. One of his fellow officers walked away from him.
“Lunchtime,” the man said before he descended the stairway leading to the main level of the barracks.
Trevor would have thanked the officer, but he had already disappeared. After eating with officers he knew, Trevor walked over to the tourney grounds and mounted one of the horses set aside for training. Targets were set up on the other side of the field as Trevor rode under the viewing stands and into the arena itself. A few tables were set up with water and bows and arrows for mounted archery practice.
Trevor spotted Sergeant Boxster standing with other noncommissioned officers. Trevor nodded to him when they made eye contact before he gathered up a bow and ten arrows. Trevor would only get ten arrows during this session. He stood with officers and soldiers as they lined up to shoot at the four targets fifteen paces apart. On his way to the end of the arena, Trevor tested his horse’s ability to be guided by knee pressure. The animal responded well enough.
The man in front of him took off, and in a moment, a soldier raised the flag that would send Trevor down to the far side of the jousting arena. He had the bow in his hand with an arrow nocked. The flag lowered, and he took off.
Trevor could generally hit two of the targets on each run, and he did the same this time. He almost hit the last target, but his arrow went high. Few officers could hit three, and most were like Trevor getting two targets, but Trevor always scored within the first two rings.
