Radimar stretched out an arm to help a flustered Sodrin up from the floor. “Jahna could have easily done what I just did. You’re resting your weight on your heels instead of the balls of your feet, and your center is too high. Knocking someone over with a featherispossible when they stand like that.”
He returned to Jahna and motioned for Sodrin to join him. “Watch.” He shoved Jahna with the same force he used on Sodrin. Her torso rocked back a little, but her feet stayed planted. Radimar pushed again, this time a little harder, with the same results. The third time he did it hard enough that his bicep flexed, and Jahna’s lead foot lost its grip on the floor, slipping sideways.
“I’m easily twice your sister’s size and weight,” he said. “But did you see the effort it took to make her budge? That’s all due to her stance.” He raised an eyebrow at Sodrin. “Footwork is the backbone of sword fighting. You can’t fight if you can’t keep your feet under you. Swinging a blade around doesn’t make you a swordsman, Sodrin.”
Suitably chastised and more willing to listen, Sodrin worked harder at curbing his impatience and listening to Radimar’s instructions. He wasn’t always successful, but he tried. His disappointment when Radimar, one morning, presented him and Jahna each with a wooden waster showed clearly in his expression.
He gripped the wooden sword, tipping it one way and then the other, his upper lip lifting in a scornful curve. “What is this child’s toy?”
Jahna rolled her eyes. She found her brother’s unending complaints irritating. Radimar’s unwavering patience with Sodrin spoke of his abilities as a teacher as well as an expert swordsman. Had she been him, she would have strangled Sodrin by now.
Radimar hefted his own sword, a waster as well. “This ‘toy’ will become your best friend over the next several weeks. You’re going to fight with it, sleep with it, dream about it, and fall in love with it by the time you’re ready to hold a steel blade.” He then proceeded to show Sodrin and Jahna how the “toy” could be a lethal, awful weapon capable of dealing out bruises and split flesh when wielded by a capable hand.
The current lesson incorporated all the things Radimar had introduced in the previous weeks—tumbling, footwork and bladework with the wasters. Sodrin struggled against the tyranny of the training circles painted on the floor.
They fought in the largest of the circles, the one Radimar called the Student’s Circle. “All students start here and stay here for the longest time,” he said. “As you learn and improve, you move to the next smaller circle.” He tracked Jahna and Sodrin as they sparred with each other within the Student circle.
Sodrin glanced at him. “How long did it take you to reach the Master’s Circle?” He yelped at the hard swat Radimar laid against the back of his legs with the flat of his waster. The move made him jerk forward, allowing Jahna what would have been a lethal stab to his gut had she been fighting him in true combat.
“And you’re dead,” Radimar snapped. “Don’t take your eyes off your opponent. You don’t need to look at me to hear me. Resume your stance.” Jahna and the flinching Sodrin jumped to do his bidding. “Bout.”
The measured whack of wood on wood sounded through the solar. Radimar answered Sodrin’s question, peppering his answers with commands to “Bend your knees. You’re standing too tall,” and “Slower, Jahna. You’re holding a sword, not wielding a whip.”
“I reached the Master’s Circle when I was eighteen, a year older than you are now, Sodrin.”
Jahna gasped. So young! She’d been surprised to learn Radimar was only five years older than Sodrin and seven years older than her. He seemed so much older, so much wiser than either of them. Lord Uhlfrida’s concern over the unprecedented youth of Sodrin’s teacher faded away once he observed a few lessons. Young he might be, but Radimar Velus lived up to the reputation of the Ilinfan swordmasters who trained him.
She countered one of Sodrin’s attacks. He moved slower, distracted by Radimar’s comments. “Then it won’t take me long to reach the Master’s Circle.”
A short chuckle from Radimar revealed he thought Sodrin’s statement as ridiculous as Jahna did. “I started training when I was five years old. I might have attained the Master’s Circle at eighteen, Sodrin. You won’t, even with my training. That isn’t realistic.”
They fought several more bouts before Radimar called a halt to eat breakfast before returning to the lesson. Sweaty, breathless, and certain her arm was about to fall off, Jahna thanked the gods her participation in the swordmaster’s lessons were done for the day. He’d been correct when he said participating instead of just observing would serve her better when she went to record the details of a lesson given by an Ilinfan teacher. Hopefully, after clutching a waster for so long, her sore hand would allow her to hold a quill.
The three made their leisurely way downstairs to the kitchens where one of the cooks had set aside a pot of porridge and slices of pork to warm on a sheet of metal set over hot coals. The first time they ate breakfast together, Radimar had surprised Sodrin and earned the eternal devotion of the kitchen staff when he made his two students serve themselves.
It wasn’t a first for Jahna. She often sneaked into the kitchens and helped herself to a slice of bread and honey or a wedge of cheese drizzled with blackberry syrup while she harassed the cooks for stories of their lives before they came to Hollowfell. Some were born and raised in neighboring villages, others had come from farther away, where Belawat shared a border with the Kai of Bast-Haradis and the wild hinterlands were controlled by the margrave of High Salure.
Sodrin, indulged only son and heir of the master of Hollowfell, had balked at first over the idea of waiting on himself. Radimar’s unflinching gaze and the unspoken threat behind it convinced him avoiding such labor wasn’t worth a thrashing in the Student’s Circle.
They sat down together with their plates and bowls at one of the work tables the head cook reserved for their use. Jahna sat beside Sodrin, with Radimar across from them. Her stomach gurgled the moment hot steam, scented with butter and salt, reached her nostrils. She was starving and dug into her porridge with gusto. The two men with her did the same, and the table was quiet for several minutes while they ate. Sodrin rose to refill his bowl, offering to do the same for Jahna. She declined and watched as her brother made his way to the hearth.
“You were right,” she told Radimar. “I can describe better and recount the details more clearly if I actually go through the lessons.”
A pleased smile softened his hard face. “There’s much more to learn, and it will be good for you both to train together at first.”
Sodrin returned to his seat and dug into his second steaming bowl of porridge. “It still seems wrong to fight a woman, even my sister.”
Radimar rested his elbows on the table and pointed his spoon at Sodrin. “That thinking will get you killed. The greatest swordmaster ever to come out of Ilinfan was a woman.”
Jahna’s writing hand itched. She sensed a wonderful story ripe for the telling. “I’ve read of Beotra. She was legendary. Some books say she wasn’t even real.”
“She was both.” Radimar’s mouth twitched at Jahna’s enthusiasm, and even Sodrin paused in eating to listen. “Her students were Andalin Helparn, Marius Godok, and a Kai warrior named Senakhte.”
Sodrin swallowed a spoonful of porridge before speaking. “Everyone knows of Helparn and Godok. They’re famous. I’ve never heard of Senakhte.”
Jahna gave an indignant huff. “Of course they’re famous. They’re men. I’d wager Senakhte was a woman.”
Radimar nodded. “You’d win that wager.”