by T. H. Hunter
***
He spent the next two hours ostensibly showing me the registration process for books, though we talked mostly about swordfighting and various techniques he had learnt as a young vampire. It was particularly fascinating to hear him talk about the war. He had been a veteran, with many years of combat experience.
Some detention. After my two hours were up, I made my way back to the dormitory. I had almost forgotten the awful circumstances of how I had arrived here, but Doctor Yurasov’s tales of the war against the Slayers brought it all back again. I felt guilty for not visiting my grandfather’s grave more often and made a mental note to go first thing in the morning the next day.
Safe behind thick stone walls and the ever-vigilant gargoyles, it was hard to still believe I was the prime target for the Slayers. But I was. The castle had turned from an initial prison to a safe haven.
Lying on my bed, I took out the small silver figurine again. I liked the slight prickly feeling it gave me in my hand as I turned it. I was still nowhere closer to finding out what it was. But I was sure it had a larger meaning somehow.
12
“The tournament, ladies and gentlemen,” Doctor Matei addressed the class. “The time to show what you have learnt during this class. To prove your worth. I expect everyone to do their absolute best. Now, let’s get on with it.”
During light sparring, everyone was tremendously motivated. This led to quite a lot of frustration as well.
“I just don’t know how you do it, Beccs,” Lynn said, lying on the grass and out of breath. I stepped forward and pulled her back up again.
“I don’t know. It just… just came to me naturally. I’ve been reading up quite a lot on technique, though. Doctor Yurasov showed me the library section. They’ve got an endless amount of books on combat.”
Vanessa was fighting next to me with a guy I only knew from sight. He was losing badly, and I could see that Vanessa had been training hard, too. I’d read enough to see that her flourishing style, which matched her arrogant demeanour and haughty good looks, was a psychological tactic to put the opponent off-guard. It was certainly working. She quickly caught him with a stab right in the stomach, though her use of force was quite unnecessary. We were only using practice weapons, of course, but his yell told me that her thrust had hurt. He supported himself on one knee, trying to catch his breath.
“Watch out, Flynn. I’ve got worse in store for you,” Vanessa said slyly, her blonde hair dancing ominously in the soft morning breeze.
“Like last time, you mean?” I said.
“You got lucky once, Flynn. Beginner’s luck. It won’t happen again, I’ll see to that.”
Her eyes flashed with malice. At that moment, her sparring partner got up, gingerly rubbing his stomach. As if to show off her determination, she aimed a blow right to his head, which he was just about to parry, and they continued fighting.
***
For the coming weeks, the tournament was all that occupied my mind. I won’t deny that Vanessa got under my skin, that I hated her arrogant face with a passion. And I was determined to prove that it hadn’t just been luck. There was a small voice at the back of my mind that seemed to agree, a voice I tried to push away as hard as possible. I was determined that next time, during the tournament, I would show her and the rest of the castle that I could beat her with skill alone.
During my detention the next day in the library, some of these worries must have shown on my face whilst I was pouring over a complicated treatise from the 16th century, for Doctor Yurasov approached me with a concerned look.
“I hope everything is alright, Miss Flynn. I’ve never seen you so concerned since the first day when I told you that you were a vampire,” he said, chuckling in a good-humoured way.
“Oh, it’s nothing. Just the tournament.”
“I understand. I fought quite a number of tournaments in my youth, you know.”
“You did?” I said.
“Yes,” he said .“I know, very hard to believe for such an old vampire like me.”
“Sorry, I didn’t want to…”
“That’s quite alright, Miss Flynn. Do not worry. Maybe I can show you a move or two. I always found practice more enlightening than reading these old tomes.”
“Thanks, that would be great, Doctor,” I said.
***
After the library closed, we moved to the upper floor. Doctor Yurasov hadn’t been exaggerating. The view was incredible.
“A good panorama to hone your skills, I think,” said Doctor Yurasov, wheezing slightly from the steep climb. “Wait here please, Miss Flynn. I will get the sparring rapiers.”
Sparring with Doctor Yurasov felt strange at first, though I quickly learnt not to hold back. He really was an excellent swordsman, better perhaps even than Doctor Matei, though he lacked her speed and fitness.
“You really are very good, Miss Flynn,” he said, after he had landed an elegant blow on my wrist, which would have easily sliced through it with a normal blade.
“Except that you’ve beaten me every time,” I said, slightly disgruntled. I knew that I still had an enormous amount to learn.
“You must not think like that,” he said, suddenly agitated. “Only those who are already defeated think in those terms. Focus your mind on the fight and the opponent, on the present. You must observe closely. Do not waste your time doubting your own skills.”
Doctor Yurasov was right, of course, though I couldn’t shake my emotions so easily. I picked myself up again and began anew.
His technique was close to perfection. He was an artist with the blade, though I noticed that his reaction times were sometimes a little off, a bit too slow when the pace picked up unexpectedly. I had been attacking mostly, falling victim to his clever counter-attacks.
At the end of training, we shook hands. I hadn’t landed a single blow on him, but he seemed very pleased with me.
“I look forward to your next detention,” he said. “I must say, you’re bringing back the old days. You can be proud, Miss Flynn.”
“I didn’t even graze a hair,” I said, rather dejected.
Doctor Yurasov shook his head violently, like a horse that wishes to rid itself of flies in the summer.
“The first lesson, Miss Flynn, is that you are your worst enemy. It is a cliché, perhaps. But that doesn’t make it less true. You must discipline your thoughts. Self-analysis in defeat is vital. Otherwise you will simply remain mediocre because you are too proud to learn from your mistakes. Self-doubt, however, will lead only to defeat and collapse. That is a lesson not only for the swordsman, but for all aspects of life, Miss Flynn. Some of our politicians would do well to remember that.”
He looked fiercely at me, a fire burning in his eyes I had never seen there before. But I had understood what he meant. I nodded and thanked him for the training session. There was certainly a lot I wanted to improve on. And I would begin with my mindset.
***
Back in the common room, I sat in one of the comfortable chairs by the fireplace. It was late October, and the weather was already quite cold, especially at night. Lynn was nowhere to be found, so I decided to go over the day’s sparring in my mind. I was absolutely determined to defeat Vanessa during the tournament – if we ever encountered each other.
I reached into my pocket and took out the small silver figurine. At first, I had simply enjoyed the fuzzy feeling in my fingers. But it had become something of a symbol. A reminder of my determination, one that I could carry around with me everywhere.
My fingers would get numb after a while of absent-mindedly caressing it, so I placed it down on the table. The common room was emptying quickly as people went to bed. Somehow, I didn’t feel tired at all. There was a keen nervousness that held me awake. But I must have dozed off at some point.
***
In the following days, with the tournament coming up and classes being cancelled specifically for the purpose of giving the participants more time to train, I hardly saw Lynn
at all. But it was more than that, somehow. I had the impression that she was avoiding me – as far as that was possible when living together in one room. I knew something was bugging her, but she would always switch the subject when I tried to raise it. At first, I thought it was something I had done, though I couldn’t for the life of me think what it was. But it was all very unlike Lynn. She usually just told me if something bothered her. Living in one room with her was very easy-going. As soon as the tournament was over, I told myself, I’d get to the bottom of it. I only hoped that she wasn’t in any serious trouble.
Training with Doctor Yurasov continued, and I was really glad that it did. His eagle eye for any weakness of mine was as frustrating as it was instructive.
“You must pay attention to your feet, Miss Flynn,” he had told me last time. “Positioning and balance are key.”
I had learned the basics of positioning in Doctor Matei’s class, though it was clear from Doctor Yurasov’s private lessons that I had far from mastered the various styles and concepts.
With only a few days left before the tournament, which was to take place on Halloween, my nerves were stretched to breaking point. I always had had a rather erratic eating behaviour, but my stomach had refused to take anything except for the Elixir. Something, I was sure, Doctor Yurasov would have strongly disapproved of.
***
Two days before the tournament, I went to the – now very familiar – upper floor of the library for the last time.
Doctor Yurasov, who was already waiting, greeted me with his usual enigmatic smile.
“Very good to see you, Miss Flynn. Here, take your weapon.”
We had been training with real – albeit blunt – weapons and protective gear for some time now.
The sparring was exhausting but exhilarating at the same time. Every night, I had tried to let all the lessons of the day sink into my mind. For hours on end, I had mulled over weapons and combat treatises, old and new, until the common room emptied of students. Lynn, who seemed to be just as occupied, regularly sneaked into our dormitory, and woke up the next morning with even greater bags under her eyes than I had these days.
Now, it was my chance to put all that knowledge into practice for the last time before the tournament. Doctor Yurasov would briefly pause, to correct a minor detail here and there, but otherwise seemed very pleased.
When I parried one of his elaborate attacking combinations and landed a light but decisive blow on his chest, he would egg me on.
“Be unrelenting, Miss Flynn,” he would say then. “A foe in the real world will not give up. They don’t count points. We are not indulging in modern-day fencing.”
We fought well into the night until Doctor Yurasov insisted that I get some rest.
“Tomorrow, you must not fight. Give your body some rest. Take a walk in the grounds, but nothing more. Eat well but not excessively. I will see you the day after tomorrow at the tournament, Miss Flynn.”
I thanked him one last time for everything that he had done for me. Whatever the outcome during the tournament, I was grateful.
13
On the morning of the tournament, I sat at the breakfast table. Steve was sitting next to me. He also hadn’t been doing too badly during training, though his style was very different. Lynn, however, wasn’t keen on the tournament at all. Unlike for the rest of the students, participation was obligatory to all first years. I was suppose they wanted everyone to get a taste of it before they made their decision.
As Doctor Yurasov had suggested, I had spent my free day out in the grounds. I walked down to the village to visit my grandfather’s grave again. It seemed like a lifetime when all those awful things had happened that had cost him his life. But I hadn’t forgotten. And I never would. It was easy to feel safe, even complacent, here at the castle, though I was sure it wouldn’t always be so. One day, I’d face the Slayers’ League again. If I ever wanted to truly be free again, to move and travel where I pleased, then I’d have to eventually.
Lynn’s strange behaviour had continued leading up to the tournament. I had been so busy training for it that we hadn’t spent much time together. When I came to our shared room late in the evening or in the night, exhausted from sparring with Doctor Yurasov or another one of my fellow students, Lynn would just lie on her bed brooding or come back even later than I did. I had asked so many times where she had been that I can’t remember how often it was, but Lynn evaded me every time. She’d just shake her head and say it was nothing. Then, she’d turn around and pretend to be sleeping.
In the beginning, I thought it was the tournament that was worrying her. I offered to practice with her. We did once, but it became quite clear that she wasn’t afraid of the tournament at all. She wasn’t looking forward to it particularly, that was clear. But she simply wanted it over with.
***
With so many participants, the tournament was to stretch over three days, starting on Friday and ending with the grand final on Sunday. In the first round, I was going to face only first years. I had trained hard and was determined.
Masses of students and participants gathered outside in the courtyard. Spectators and judges lined the walls overlooking it. Colourful banners hung from the battlements and flags were raised on the towers. It reminded me a little of a medieval festival.
But there was a very competitive air about it. All over the place, students were practicing their moves and stances, checking their gear one last time. Older students had their own swords, whereas we used some from school supplies, which was quite a disadvantage. The protective clothing was usually acceptable, with the odd padding in need of repair here and there, but the real problem was the weapon. After generations of students, they simply weren’t competitive. I was looking forward to the following year when I could get my own rapier, perhaps even start a collection some day like Doctor Yurasov.
It was customary for the winner of last year’s tournament to initiate proceedings. Since the King was still ill, apparently, several members of the staff made some speeches on his behalf. I was rather restless and couldn’t wait until they had finished. By the looks of it, most of my fellow contestants felt the same way. Lynn, however, was nowhere to be seen.
At last, the first round began. I was paired Steve, who had become friendly with Jayden.
“Ready to lose, Beccs?” he said, grinning.
“Hope you are,” I said, returning the good humour.
We were allowed a quick warm-up session. Feeling the blade in my hand and being able to do something eased my nerves a little bit.
“Man, you’re good.”
“You’re not bad yourself,” I said, aiming a strike at his chest that he elegantly deflected.
The friendly warm-up slowly became more competitive in nature.
“Where did you learn to fight like this?” a flustered-looking Steve asked after a few minutes. I had been able to penetrate his defences more and more.
“Yurasov’s been giving me private lessons,” I said.
“Wow, the Second Warden? I didn’t know he could fight. Looks more like a bookish guy to me,” Steve said, just as he dived wildly. I dodged it, making him overshoot, and landed a friendly tap on his back.
“Yeah, I didn’t know either. He used to fight a lot in tournaments when he was younger,” I said when we were back in position.
In fact, Doctor Yurasov was extremely proud of his tournament prizes and trophies, which decorated the walls of his office. He said they reminded him of the ‘good old days’.
“He must think you’ve really got a chance. I’ve never heard of anyone training a first year in private lessons before. Some of the guys have been training for years, even before they came here.”
***
At last, we heard the drums that heralded the first round. Immediately, the sounds of playful banter died away, replaced by an almost reverent silence. This was it, the big moment everyone had been waiting for.
The rules were quite simple. Every duel had its o
wn referee. For the first couple of rounds of the tournament, this was done by one of the older students usually. The first to score five hits (all body parts were game except the head and throat for security reasons) was the winner and qualified for the next bracket. The loser had one more chance in a special loser’s bracket, though if you lost twice in the tournament, you were definitely out.
Despite his nonchalant attempts at concealing it, Steve had been unnerved by the warm-up. As Doctor Yurasov had taught me, I tried to observe my opponent as closely as possible. Steve had a tendency to lash out, neglecting his defences. The attacks were wild but fast, though they also left him wide open. A tendency that got worse when he was losing. The best strategy, I decided, was to play for counter-attacks, so-called ripostes.
The drums fell silent. The referee, a dark-haired guy several years older than us, raised and lowered his hand – the sign to begin. Steve and I bowed, in the traditional manner, and slowly edged toward each other.
“Prepare yourself, Beccs. I’ve gone easy on you so far.” Steve was trying to play mind games. Fine. Two people could do that.
“’Cause I’m a girl, no doubt?” I said. “What are you going to tell your pals when you’ve lost against one?”
He laughed defiantly but I could see that the thought disturbed him. He aimed a strike at my arm, but I parried it just in time. He was getting flustered already.
After two more unsuccessful blows, I got him right on the elbow.
“Damn you, Beccs,” he said, trying to keep it together in a friendly manner.
But from then on, it was like he was jinxed. He landed one blow on me with a wild attack I had foolishly not seen coming, but I scored a clean four hits in succession after that. I had won.
Steve, red in the face though determined to a sportsman, stretched out his hand. I shook it.
