Lords of Deception (War of Four Kingdoms 1)

1. ARTHAN

Perilune Academy, Barres Ministry

Midspring, 3034

Arthan Valient ducked under the sword swipe. His counterstab was parried by his opponent, so he spun away, catching his second opponent wrong-footed. Arthan lifted his shield overhead, deflecting the first man's attack, then prepared for the second man's charge. But he missed what came next and landed on his back with his ears ringing inside his helm.

"We've been at this for a week now, Brother," came a young voice through the piercing ring.

Arthan unclasped his helmet and let it fall onto the matted grass. "Don't complain to me, Bardil," he said. "I've seen more real battles than you. How many times have you been surrounded?"

"Bardil is right," Pelinaud said. "This maneuver is critical to crusader swordcraft, and it matters not what he has experienced. This is your training, my lord. You can either learn it or learn to run."

"We Valients don't run," Bardil said as he pulled Arthan to his feet. The strength of his younger brother embarrassed Arthan despite it being just the three of them in the field.

"Why must we learn the ancient technique, Pelinaud?" Arthan asked. "Surely a master like yourself prefers the modern techniques. My prior fights did not use—"

"It's one thing to wield a sword—any peasant can do that," said the old master. "But learning the old ways gives you a unique advantage over those of lower or foreign birth. If I had my way, your father would not have brought you into those battles until you had learned the crusader way. The fire in the blood of the Valients was born in the Second Crusade in wild Pemonia, but your skill must be honed."

"My brother prefers books about strategy, politics, and all the rest." Bardil smiled. "Maybe he'd prefer to learn Ovelian dagger dancing."

"I thought that was your desire, Bardil," Arthan said, raising his sword toward his brother. "How else would you attract a respectable ten Ovelian wives? Not with your looks."

"More honor in that than the builder's assistant you've had your eye on," Bardil answered with a grin. "Besides, no lord minister can juggle his duties to the king and ten womenfolk. You see, when you die for lack of crusader swordcraft, I'll be next in line to replace Father."

"You're forgetting Rowan," Arthan said. "You are the baby boy."

"The Rugens will get Rowan too..."

"Enough foolery," Pelinaud said. "I wish the two of you and Rowan had known your mother. You'd be the better for it. Now, let us begin again."

"Must I play the charging Hral again?" Bardil asked.

"At least I'm not making you run up into the trees," Pelinaud said. "Not that you could, but that's what our crusader ancestors faced back in colonial times, and much more..."

"Our enemies don't fight like the heathens of ancient Pemonia," Arthan said.

"Correct," Pelinaud said, "but crusader swordcraft remains relevant, for reasons you'll learn. On guard!"

Pelinaud nimbly lunged between the brothers, swiping at Bardil's and Arthan's breastplates and prompting them to restore their helmets to their heads. Bardil raised his sword at Arthan.

"Watch it!" Arthan pointed his sword behind Bardil.

His brother took the bait, glancing to his left for Pelinaud and lowering his sword. Arthan swiftly spun past the blade, pommeling Bardil's visor before disarming him. Arthan laughed as Bardil lost his balance and teetered backward into the grass.