Ravenhurst: Royalty (EDITING IN PROGRESS)

two: in which I officially become dangerous

I place my jacket and shoes close to the door on the ground, and go over to the opposite wall where the knives are kept.

Every student has their own knife, and all of them hang on this wall.

When beginning training in our first year, we all started with a generic knife. Straight blade, firm grip, slightly dull, and lightweight.

Then in the second year, we got to design our own.

Curved blade, rippled blade, double blade, leather hilt, wooden hilt, metal hilt, silver blade, bronze blade, iron blade, any metal but gold could be used.

And then the careful choice of weight, heavy or light, to either pack a punch or move more quickly.

Each was made especially to order by the royal blacksmiths.

Some of us got insignia's on the hilt or on the blade itself. We could also choose to dye the hilt our favorite color or draw on the knife's sheath.

My own knife is a rippled blade, curving in and out like a snake's track in the dunes of Vix, slithering to a nice, sharp point.

On the blade itself, there is a silver 'R' to represent my family. I also had the hilt dyed a dark violet purple, like the color of royalty. It is lightweight, not a burden to the hand, with enough weight drive it quickly home, if needed.

Even after our weapons were made, we would still train with generic knives, sometimes even having special lessons on more unique styles every month or so. However, in our special one-on-one training, every student would always use their own knife.

Now, in beginning my last session, I take my own blade off the wall, remove its dark leather sheath, and slowly drag my finger along the edge of the blade. It is cold and ready.

So am I.

I hear Draze begin to move quickly behind me, and I move quickly to avoid his blade grazing my back. I then hold my own knife out in his direction.

He nods. His hand holding his own knife drops to his side.

"Not bad, Gem."

I smirk.

Not falling for it.

It's an old trick he used on our first day of combat.

His ploy was to draw your attention away from the fight.

Perhaps he's distract you with words, like a snide remark or a rare compliment. Then, in that split-second pause, he would move to disarm you.

Leroy, a fellow student, had learned it the hard way. He had looked up at Draze after the latter had strangely complimented him, and found his own knife knocked to the floor. He was then struck down by our instructor's fast moving offense and surrendered quickly to the knife at his neck.

'Never take your eyes off the knife,' Draze had said. 'If you're going to die fighting, you might at as well see it coming.'

My eyes now train on Draze's blade. It glints with the light from the lanterns as they glow in the darkness of dusk.

Draze suddenly moves, and I feign a strike at his side, when in reality I move toward his shoulder.

He reacts to my feint first, and moves to deflect it. My knife seems to try to block his move, then it swiftly touches his shoulder and prods his neck.

"Check and mate," I say.

He nods.

"Good. However, if you were half a second slower-"

I feel his blade poke my side.

"You would've joined me in death."

It's a compliment, though it is hidden with a mellow afterthought.

"I'll take the half-second," I say.

I then step back to re-adjust myself for the next duel.

We fight a couple more rounds, with the score almost even: Draze with two and me with three. Compared to my first two years, where I failed every time, I'm not doing half bad.

Block, feint, parry, move, attack, defend. All like clockwork.

We take down our blades after the fifth round, and I move to put my knife back on the wall.

"You can keep it," Draze says. "Just remember have it on you tomorrow for the ceremony."

I grip the hilt, proud of my official ownership.

Though the knives were always ours, we were never allowed to use them for anything other than training. That also meant we couldn't take them back to our rooms.

It helped us remember than knives were not toys, and when held in a learned hand, they could be deadly.

Draze walks over to the wall to put his own knife away. It has its own section with three others he uses, each with a different purpose. As he puts his current knife back in its holder, he sighs.

"You're a good student, Gem. The wall will feel empty without your knife hanging from it."

I look at the wall again and I see five other knives missing from their holders.

I realize I'm the last student to have their lesson today. Draze must've given the others their final lessons earlier.

Draze turns his head to say something.

"I've always admired your ability to be dangerous."

I'm slightly taken aback.

Partly because it's an outright compliment, not a distraction or a sarcastic weapon, but an honest one. And also because the realization hits me about the importance of this moment.

"Being dangerous is a rare thing in this world, Gem. Though many may be strong, wild, or even tough, not many are truly dangerous."

His body turns to face me and he moves closer. Gently, he puts his hands on my shoulders and makes eye contact with me. I can clearly see there's pride in his dark, midnight black eyes.

"But there is something you must remember."

I swallow, realizing I'm holding my breath and gripping the hilt of my rippled blade.

"Someone who has the ability to be dangerous, and chooses not to be, is the most dangerous person of all."

I smile.

"So I'm officially dangerous?"

He steps back, and in a rare moment of humor, looks me up and down casually,

"Well, not till tomorrow . . . but yes. In my eyes, Gemini Thoren Ravenhurst, you are officially dangerous."

I pause for a moment.

Then taking my knife in my hand, I throw it to a wooden target board across the room.

It hits the mark perfectly.

"Sweet."