Merek's Ascendance by Andrew Lashway Page B

up,” the Trainer said, holding his own wooden sword straight up to the sky. Merek mimicked the movement, also taking note of how the Trainer stood.
                  “Good. Now, we’ll start slowly, so you get a handle on the weapon in your hand. But we won’t be going slow for long. Understood?”
                  “Yes sir.”
                  Without preamble, the Trainer gripped his sword with both hands and brought it down with an overhand swing. Merek, uncertain but ready, crossed his own blade in front of him blocked the blow, feeling the tremor of the connection run down his arms.
                  “Good. That move would save your life, but there is a better one. Can you think of it?”
                  The Trainer separated, and then did the same attack again. This time, Merek slipped away from it and gently swung his own sword towards the Trainer’s abdomen. Merek stopped it before it made contact, but his point was still made.
                  “Good. Now, any decent swordsman would never come at you with that kind of attack, so now we’ll practice actual decent swordplay.”
                  Merek only nodded, gripping his blade tightly. He was never afraid of a challenge.
                  At least, so he thought.
                  But the Trainer wasn’t joking in the least when he said they would practice decent swordplay. He jammed his sword forward, and only a desperate whirl coupled with a slash of his own turned what would have been a strong blow to his chest into a harmless slash at his cloak.
                  “Good. Again.”
                  This time, there was nothing slow about the attack. Merek was barely ahead of it, and this time the Trainer followed it up with a whirl that brought his sword swinging at Merek’s midriff. He dropped to the ground, whirling his sword up at the Trainer’s chest.
                  But the Trainer smacked it down with his own sword and sunk a fist into Merek’s face. Merek’s head whipped back, and he had to take a second to clear his mind.
                  “You’ve left yourself exposed.”
                  Merek nodded before standing up, shaking out the rest of the pain and again starting in a ready stance.
                  The two battled for nearly an hour before the Trainer called an end. Merek was bruised from head to toe, as the Trainer pointed out his every flaw with a sharp blow from fist, hand, or sword, but never once did Merek complain.
                  “Well, it looks like you aren’t completely hopeless. Get some breakfast, and then you’ll begin marksmanship practice.”
                  Merek had no clue with that meant, but that didn’t change his answer. “Yes sir.”
                  Without another word, the Trainer turned away from him to yell at a different knight, one who was wildly swinging an ax at a log made to look like an opponent. Merek headed back inside, trying his best not to show how much pain he was in.
                  “Well, that didn’t seem to go terribly,” the woman said as he entered. She had dressed now, and her hair had been pulled into a tight bun that almost made it look like her hair wasn’t a giant bush.
                  “Really?” Merek replied, “As many times as he punched me, I thought I wasn’t doing anything right.”
                  “Oh don’t worry about that. He always hits people. He split my lip once. He didn’t apologize…”
                  “He never does,” Merek chuckled.
                  “Ha. But he did look a little sorry for hitting me so hard. Not that I minded. I didn’t make that mistake again.”
                  “Well, at least he doesn’t seem to be wrong saying it’s the best way to