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The BloodVaine EpicChapter 26: Sparring With Shainya
Sir Dractor had noticed that Shainya was somewhat out of sorts as well. Unlike Alex, he knew nothing of Luxus, having never even heard of the boy, but it was no surprise to him that Shainya was acting a bit differently. They all were, everyone in Drullen Bell. And for good reason, too. Being on the edge of a possible attack didn't have a good effect on most people, and from what Sir Dractor had heard, Shainya was also going through something of a romantic crisis that involved the recently vanished Reno Regga.
Sir Dractor was no healer, and not a man familiar with the intricacies of romance, but he knew that Shainya's mind needed to be taken off of her troubles. And she needed to be kept out of Bjarn's hair. The Forestman king looked at her almost as a daughter, and he had enough troubles on his plate. In addition, Sir Dractor was still training the commoners in the use of weapons.
So it was that he approached Shainya the morning after Alex returned with Walf during breakfast.
“Yes, Sir Dractor?” she asked, not looking up, as he came over to her place at the high table.
“How are you with weapons?” asked Sir Dractor. “You’re aware, no doubt, that I’m supposed to ensure that all the civilians in the Keep are armed and able to defend themselves, in case of an attack.”
“Hmm... Yes,” said Shainya, not entirely truthfully. The fact was, she wasn’t aware of the fact. But it was hardly Sir Dractor’s business to know that. “I can defend myself adequately, thank you.”
“How are you with a blade?” asked Sir Dractor, persistently.
“With a sword?” asked Shainya. “I’m, well... I’ve never really tried.”
“Good,” said Sir Dractor, rising and pulling a light, shorter sword out in front of him. It was a fine blade, crafted of the best Old Grey Armory steel, and embossed with gold and rubies.
“I found this in the armory. It was made for a Forestwoman queen many decades ago. Bjarn wants me to instruct you how to use it.”
That stretched the truth a little, Bjarn had actually said nothing of the sort. The sword was just the right size for Shainya, and because of its lightness, was not too heavy for her smaller frame. She took it, stood up, and swung it tentatively.
“What is it called?” she asked.
“It has no name that I could find,” replied Sir Dractor. “Bring it to the sparring courts this evening, and I’ll teach you how to use it. If you show aptitude, you’ll probably think a name for it yourself. Be there at seven, and don't be late.”
Without giving Shainya a chance to refuse, Sir Dractor walked away, leaving Shainya with the understanding that she was expected to show up at seven, whether she liked it or not.
Somewhat reluctantly, Shainya turned up at the sparring courts that evening with her as-yet-unnamed sword. Sir Dractor was already there. His suit of armor lay with his shield off in the corner. He handed her a leather jerkin once she arrived.
“Better put this on,” he advised, “just as a precaution. I’m unlikely to hurt you unless you move wrong, but it might take the sting out of some of the training.”
Shainya pulled on the jerkin, and then listened as Sir Dractor demonstrated some of the basic stances and moves, and explained them. Then he had her practice them, first alone, and then against him. When he finally allowed her to stop, two hours later, she had worked up a very impressive and stinky sweat, as well as an incredible ache in her arms, back, neck, and legs.
“Not bad, not bad at all,” said Sir Dractor approvingly. “You’ll make a fine swordswoman once I’m finished with you.”
He clapped Shainya hard on the back, and pushed her gently in the direction of the door.
“Off with you, young lady,” he directed, “that’s enough for one night. If you aren’t too sore, we’ll have another go at it tomorrow.”
Almost limping with the aches, Shainya stumbled out towards her chambers, intent on having a hot bath. Still, she was more than pleased with herself. Praise from Sir Dractor at one’s martial skills was no small thing.
Shainya dumped her sword on her bed and picked her way between the cots that now lined the floor of her room. No refugees were there now, but she dreaded every night when she had to endure the thundering snores of the Forestmen and women.
She longed for a hot bath, but the best she could come up with was boiling water in a kettle enough times to fill a small basin, giving her just enough water to scrub the grime and sweat off her lean body.
The spot wash did sooth her some, and she suddenly realized she was very, very tired. Without bothering to change into a nightgown, she slipped beneath the sheet and fell asleep.
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