The weapon flew from Cole’s grasp and slapped into the muddy snow.
“Blazes,” Kurtz muttered.
Derby stepped back, smirking as Cole scurried over and snatched up his sword.
“Again!” Kurtz crossed his arms. “And this time, hold on, because Wenk isn’t going to yield long enough for you to pick it up.” He shifted his gaze to Derby and nodded.
Cole squared his shoulders, raised his shield, and set the flat of his blade against the wooden edge. He had to do better, but his arms were already jelly.
Derby lunged for Cole’s legs. Cole dropped his shield to block, but Derby’s blade shot up. Cole barely had time to lift his shield before Derby caught the top edge with the cross guard of his sword and yanked down.
Again, Cole’s shield ripped away. It rolled in a circle before thumping into the snow.
“Don’t let up on him, Wenk,” Kurtz said.
Cole gripped his sword with both hands, the way Derby held his longsword. When Derby attacked, Cole sidestepped, narrowly dodging the blow. Without the shield’s weight, he moved quicker, more precisely, and felt stronger.
He parried another thrust, then managed a counterattack that forced Derby back a step. Now, that was more like it. Maybe he didn’t need the shield after all.
Still, Derby’s swift footwork left Cole scrambling. A high feint drew Cole’s blade up, then Derby lunged, slamming his shoulder into Cole’s chest. Off-balance, Cole barely registered the sharp crack as Derby’s longsword struck his forearm.
He cried out, faltered, and Derby disarmed him.
“Better,” Kurtz said gruffly.
When Cole turned to find his sword, Derby slipped up behind him, hooked an arm around his chest, and pressed his blade to his throat.
Kurtz lifted his arms, letting them fall back and slap his sides. “Well, now you’re dead.”
Derby chuckled and lowered his sword. “Lord Livna says never let anyone sneak up behind you.”
“He’s right about that, he is,” Kurtz said. “If a blade is at your skin, it’s over.”
Cole rubbed his sore forearm. “There’s no way to defend against it? Ever?”
“Nope,” Kurtz said. “You do nothing and hope for mercy, eh? Of course, if your attacker is holding you there and hasn’t slit your throat yet, could be he never intended to. In that case, talk your way out of it and try to get some distance between you and the blade. Let’s go again.”
Cole nodded toward the circle of wood on the ground. “I could move faster without the shield, and it helped to hold the sword with two hands.”
“You can’t wield a short sword with two hands,” Kurtz said. “How will you hold your shield?”
Cole didn’t want the shield. “Can I switch to a longsword?” he asked.
“You don’t have the arm strength,” Kurtz said.
“He could practice using the short sword like a longsword until he’s stronger,” Derby said. “He did fight better without the shield.”
“But he needs a shield because he has no armor,” Kurtz said.
Cole ran a hand through his damp hair. “But I think?—”
“It’s not just strength,” Kurtz said. “You need control. And if you can’t hold a short blade for three minutes, you can’t control a longsword.”
The weight of Kurtz’s truth drained what little energy Cole had left.
“Pick them up,” Kurtz said, nodding toward the discarded weapons. “Again.”
Cole swallowed the retort burning his tongue and bent to retrieve his sword and shield. His fingers ached, his arm throbbed, and his pride? Battered to shreds. Yet he wasn’t about to let Derby—or Kurtz—think he couldn’t handle the training.
