The air inside the wooden armory was thick and heavy with dust and the faint stench of sweat. It was dim, but he had been in there enough times to know where everything was placed. There were spears lined up along the right wall, swords on the left, shields right above them. The tourney swords were towards the rear, placed individually in a rack. He lifted each one slightly, testing the weight and the balance. Each one was forged almost identically to the other, but he knew there was one that was slightly lighter and easier for him to wield. He slid it out of place, and rolled it in his hand, staring down at the sword nervously.
He wasn't strong, and there wasn't a chance that he'd win against Illyon, who had been training with the broadsword every day, and who was both taller and broader than him. He swung tentatively, but the sword felt awkward in his hand and his strike was clumsy. He had trained with a sword before, but the fighter was his brother, not him. Besides, the sword was nearly twice as heavy as the sword he had practiced at home with. Sephys shook away the lingering thoughts of Miiryn, and stepped out of the armory, squinting in the light.
Illyon was smiling at him when his eyes focused, and had his sword up, ready to meet Sephys's. Sephys closed his eyes, willing his breathing to slow down and for the uncomfortable twisting in his gut to fade. He raised his sword as well, and nodded slightly. He was as ready as he was going to be.
The first strike was just a glancing blow to the side of his sword as he backed away, but it had nearly knocked his own sword out of his hand. Sephys scowled and gripped the hilt of the sword tighter, raising it again just in time to block the next blow Illyon made at him.
"Not bad." Illyon said, grinning. Sephys struggled to press Illyon back, and almost fell over as Illyon suddenly backed away, smacking the flat of the sword against his shoulder.
Sephys bit his lip, letting out a huff of breath at the strike. He could only be glad that they weren't fighting with real swords. But even though the edges of the swords were dulled, the metal was real enough, and it glanced off his skin, which he knew would later become dark bruises.
He wanted to drop his sword, and to kneel on the ground to beg for mercy, but Illyon didn't let him, forcing him to keep his sword up to parry the blows that rained down on him. Sephys thought back on nights that he fought with his brother, his brother steadily yelling instructions at him—how to place his feet, how to hold his sword, how to strike and how to defend. In those moments, he felt strong enough to be able to take on any knight, strong enough to fend for himself.
Sephys gritted his teeth, and backed away from Illyon, shifting his sword to one hand, and adjusting his grip. The sword was heavy, for sure, but he'd only need a couple of seconds and some luck to land a blow. And if he didn't make it, the fight would end for him anyways. A treacherous grin spread over his face as he saw the flicker of surprise on Illyon's face. He'd regret it later when he was punished for striking the prince, he knew. But he'd let himself have just this one.
He lowered his body as he ran forwards, narrowing his eyes, focusing on Illyon.
His brother's voice echoed in his head. Aim for their chest. He swung, lifting his sword just high enough to run hard against Illyon's chest. But Illyon's sword was already up to meet his. Let the blow land, and stop. Steel rang against steel as their swords clashed. Let them push you off. Use that momentum. Illyon forced his sword away, and Sephys lowered his body again, straightening a leg as he leaned into the force, using it to spin himself around. Strike with a backhand. Sephys was behind Illyon, and he swung his sword again before Illyon had the chance to turn around. He heard a yelp as his sword connected with Illyon's hip. And now they can't walk.
But he didn't have long to revel in his success. That attack was meant for real swords with real edges and the power to sink into a man's flesh. It wasn't meant for fighting with dulled blades.
He was slammed into the ground, Illyon twisting his arm against his back and the tip of his sword against the back of his throat.
"Do you yield?" Illyon asked. He was breathing hard, obviously exhausted, but he was kneeling on top of Sephys, and Sephys couldn't throw his weight off. The steel was cold against his skin, and sand filled his mouth and nose, making him splutter.
"Do you yield?" Illyon asked again, louder this time. Sephys spat out more sand as he nodded, and as suddenly as it had been forced on him, Illyon's weight was gone. When he looked up, Illyon was offering his hand, a slight smile on the corner of his mouth.
Sephys nodded his thanks and took Illyon's hand, letting Illyon pull him up. And then the weight of his actions dawned on him. He had struck the prince. He had been quiet, obedient, for so long, all to be undone in one stupid move. He could already feel the whip digging into his flesh—or perhaps he'd be beheaded or hanged. He couldn't remember the punishment for striking a prince.
"You've fought well." Illyon said, dragging him out of his thoughts.
Sephys shook his head emphatically. He had meant it, he knew, but he had to convince that Illyon that it was just a fluke—a slip of his hand.
"No, you have." Illyon insisted, "I have never seen a fighting style—"
"I never took you for one to torture your servants." A voice interrupted Illyon's claim. Sephys spun around to see a young man walking towards them, a half-smile brightening his face.
"Verim!" Illyon laughed, before protesting, "I asked him to fight with me."
"And you thought it was an evenly matched fight?" Verim asked, walking with long strides over to both of them. Sephys sank to his knee when he drew closer, dropping the sword onto the sand with a dull thud.
So he was Illyon's brother, the crown prince of Lhir. He could see the resemblance; they both had dark blonde hair and broad shoulders with angular faces and noble features. But Verim's eyes were a deep blue rather than brown like Illyon's.
He turned to Sephys, "Stand." He ordered. When Sephys stood, he asked, "Do you think this was an evenly matched fight?"
Sephys couldn't answer.
"All right, maybe it wasn't." Illyon confessed, "But it was close enough."
Verim arched an eyebrow, "He managed to land a blow on you?"
Illyon nodded sheepishly, "It was a square blow too."
Sephys flinched, shuffling back a step. He braced himself for a fist to land on his jaw, but nothing came but a snort of laughter from Verim.
When he looked up, Illyon was pulling a face and Verim, Verim returning an equally disgusted face. Illyon finally shook his head, and asked, "I heard you were at a war council."
"So I have."
"What did father say?" Illyon asked, excitement peaking in his voice, "Are we going to battle again? What's happening outside the walls? Will he let me sit in the next council?"
"You don't want to sit in a war council, Illyon." Verim said, "It's just old lords arguing about the number horses and men. I'd rather sit in lessons with Laech Viseis again."
"But it's about war." Illyon said, "You get to know the new strategies and father's plans..."
"Perhaps you'll be more suited for the war council than I am." Verim shrugged, "But there wasn't anything worthy of paying attention to."
Illyon let out a groan, "That's what you always say."
Sephys let his fear quell as he listened to the princes. It seemed that they had entirely forgotten about his presence. He bent to pick up his sword, and walked as quickly as he could without being noticed back into the armory, slowing his breathing as he slid the sword back into its rack.
When he exited the armory, Verim was holding Illyon's sword, as Illyon jogged across the courtyard, "Father's waiting in his solar for you." Verim called after Illyon, "Be sure not to offend him."
"I will." Illyon shouted back, "I'll be fighting alongside you in the next battle."
Sephys tried not to think about what he'd have to do as he ran after Illyon.
