The Ruins of Gorlan- Character Reaction

11

"Alright, Halt," Crowley said. "It's your turn now."

The senior Ranger sighed and held out his hand. "Fine." He flipped the book to the right page and then began reading.

Sir Rodney leaned on the timber fence surrounding the practice area as he watched the new Battleschool cadets going through their weapons drill. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his eyes scanning the twenty new recruits, but always returning to one in particular—the broad-shouldered, tall boy from the Ward, whom Rodney had selected at the Choosing. He thought for a moment, searching for the boy's name.

Horace. That was it.

"The name is wrong," Will put in. "It's Kurokuma."

The drill was a standard format. Each boy, wearing a chain mail shirt and helmet and carrying a shield, stood before a padded hardwood post the height of a man. There was no point practicing sword work unless you were burdened with shield, helmet and armor, as would be the case in a battle, Rodney believed. He thought it was best that the boys became used to the restrictions of the armor and weight of the equipment right from the start.

In addition to shield, helmet and mail, each boy also held a drill sword issued by the armorer. The drill swords were made of wood and bore little resemblance to a real sword, aside from the leather-bound hilt and crosspiece on each. In fact, they were long batons, made of seasoned, hardened hickory. But they weighed much the same as a slender steel blade, and the hilts were weighted to approximate the heft and balance of a real sword.

Only Gilan looked mildly interested in fhe drills. After all, he had gone through much the same thing.

Eventually, the recruits would progress to drilling with actual swords—albeit with blunted edges and points. But that was still some months away, by which time the less suitable recruits would have been weeded out. It was quite normal for at least a third of the Battleschool applicants to drop out of the harsh training in the first three months. Sometimes it was the boy's choice. For others, it was at the discretion of his instructors or, in extreme cases, Sir Rodney himself. Battleschool was harsh and standards were strict. Horace and Gilan nodded in agreement.

The practice yard rang with the thudding of wood against the thick, sun-hardened leather padding on the practice posts. At the head of the yard, drillmaster Sir Karel called the standard strokes that were being practiced.

Five third-year cadets, under the direction of Sir Morton, an assistant drill instructor, moved among the boys, attending to the detail of the basic sword strokes: correcting a wrong movement here, changing the angle of a stroke there, making sure another boy's shield wasn't dropping too far as he struck.

It was boring, repetitive work–Once more, Will was glad he had chosen to be a Ranger–under the hot afternoon sun. But it was necessary. These were the basic moves by which these boys might well live or die at some later date and it was vital that they should be so totally ingrained as to be instinctive.

It was that thought that had Rodney watching Horace now. As Karel called the basic cadence, Rodney had noticed that Horace was adding an occasional stroke to the sequence, and yet managing to do so without falling behind in his timing.

Karel had just begun another sequence and Sir Rodney leaned forward attentively, his eyes fixed on Horace.

"Thrust! Side cut! Backhand side! Overhand!" called the drillmaster. "Overhead backhand!" Both Horace and Gilan mentally envisioned the sequences as the thrusts were called.

And there it was again! As Karel called for the overhead backhand cut, Horace delivered it, but then almost instantly switched to a backhanded side cut as well, allowing the first cut to bounce off the post to prepare him instantly for the second. Gilan raised an eyebrow at Horace, who flushed in embarrassment. The stroke was delivered with such stunning speed and force that, in real combat, the result would have been devastating. His opponent's shield, raised to block the overhead cut, could never have responded quickly enough to protect uncovered ribs from the rapid side cut that followed. Rodney had become aware over the past few minutes that the trainee was adding these extra strokes to the routine. Will grinned at the tall warrior. He had seen it first from the corner of his eye, noticing a slight variation in the strict pattern of the drill, a quick flicker of extra movement that was there and gone almost too quickly to be noticed.