Chapter 58: The Swordmaster's Lesson
This morning sun angled over the stone terrace of the training grounds.
Not far from the burning mist from the cliffs below slowly swelled and blew lightly, creating an appearance that there was far more land where it covered, instead of a sheer drop to what could be a very quick and fatal death. The clang of steel echoed across the practice ground where Seraphina Ebonspire circled her new opponent, a blunted black steel blade held firm.
Her new temporary instructor, who had stepped in over the last little while—was Master Kaelen Falcrest, a sergeant—moved with surprising speed, his sword a blur in his hand. He was quite a bit younger than Lord Sylen Velwraithe by at least a decade. His feathers were still glossy black shot with storm-grey, not from age but just a tinge of lightness in his feathers, making them appear extra glossy, even though he was not the type to wax his feathers. Though only distantly of noble blood, Kaelen had trained under Sylen himself and bore the precision of a man who had honed every strike through sweat and repetition. Likely because Sylen had trained him every morning at dawn when he was just a new recruit, because of the potential he had seen in the man before her, who was also once a boy who needed combat instruction.
Blunt black steel blades clanged and locked, then broke apart with that distinct heavy ring. Seraphina swept in, precise as a needle. Just in time, Kaelen parried, shifting his weight and then, to her surprise, pressed her back until their blades ground together, the weight behind his weapon far greater than hers. Far greater skill and years of further practice, and dedication to the art than hers. All apparent.
"Better," he said, his breath steady as he picked up his weapon from the ground. Preparing to go yet another sparring round. "...but princess, you're holding back."
A little insulted, Seraphina slid away. Dashing to the side, her blade raised. "No. I'm thinking."
"Thinking is hesitation by another name." Kaelen's tone was not unkind, it was that of a mentor, but it was unrelenting. "Nearly," He called with a deep laugh of someone enjoying their spar. "Little higher or lower." The clang rung out again as he caught her attempt at a swift attack.
Beads of sweat dewed on her forehead. Her jaw tightened. "You sound like Commander Velwraithe."
At Sylen's name, Kaelen's brows lifted, and he laughed his jovial laugh again, but his eyes never left hers. "The Commander asked me to fill in today. He is… occupied."
That word snagged at her. Sylen rarely missed training—especially hers. "Occupied with what?"
A flicker of hesitation crossed her own face, and Kaelen seized it at once. More focused on the sparring lesson than the chat. His blade darted in, not a killing blow but sharp enough to sting her pride. "You hesitated."
Their swords disengaged. "You'd be dead here." Yet he held his, pointedly by her neck a moment longer.
Exhaling sharply and wiping the sweat on her forehead with the back of her hand. She was a little annoyed with herself. "I didn't hesitate."
Again, she pushed forward, blows quick and precise, that signature black steel flashing in the morning light. Kaelen met her each time, his guard infallible. He drove her back another step, and again his sword kissed her shoulder in a feint within minutes.
"You hesitated... again," he said flatly. "...and now you are twice dead."
Her feathers bristled as she opened her wings a little. She set her jaw, refusing to show temper.
Kaelen lowered his blade. "Enough steel for today. Show me your talons."
"My..." Seraphina blinked. "Talons?"
The young temporary instructor nodded confidently, even if a little impatient. "You're no child to be hidden behind metal. A Raven's birthright isn't her black steel sword, although it is very shiny, very durable, and very pretty—it's her talons."
He stepped back and let his blade fall aside. His nails extended with a practiced motion, black nails sliding out, slightly curving; they were long and gleaming in that stark stormy grey. Six inches at least, each one sharpened to a deadly edge. "Steel is made. Flesh is born. From you, your enemy should fear both.
Mirroring him exactly, Seraphina began exhaling slowly as she extended her own talons. Five black crescents slid free, each catching the light.
Kicking of the ground and allowing his wings to carry him into the air, Kaelen lunged first, the sound of his claws scraping against the stone of the ground, before colliding with hers.
Finding her guard and blocking just in time, sparks flew. Talons screeched against talons, harder than black steel. Then Princess Seraphina shoved back, every motion a contest of strength and precision.
"You're too cautious," Kaelen pressed, clearly enjoying having her on the defensive, circling her with the patience of a hawk. "Control is your gift, Princess, but control without fire is restraint. Too much restraint? And... it will get you killed." He seemed to speak from experience.
Her eyes narrowed. "All emotions, like rage, cloud judgment."
"Still losing focus...." He almost sang, his talons shot forward, grazing past her throat, although she knew this was sparring and she wouldn't be hurt too badly, before she pivoted aside. The touch was light, but it might as well have slit her from ear to ear. "And... again—you'd die like this too."
Her wings flared, anger finally breaking her calm and composed restraint.
With a sharp cry, she struck, claws raking in a feral arc. |Which Kaelen barely dodged in time to be able to deflect with one hand, his grin breaking through at last. "There! Better! Now you're fighting to win."
They clashed again, claws locking, the raw screech of keratin harder than black steel grinding echoing down the stone. Seraphina's chest heaved, her eyes flashing. For once, she wasn't thinking—she was driving.
Then Kaelen broke the lock, stepping back with a sharp bow of his head. "Good. You remembered that you're not porcelain. You're a Raven and the Great General's Daughter."
She lowered her talons slowly, heart still pounding, wings trembling faintly with adrenaline.
"You move with discipline," Kaelen was sincerely complimenting her, or trying to, within the scope of what he was trying to convey. "...but discipline must be married to fire. That fire does not need to be rage or consume you. Precision is your blade. That fire in your center, whatever it is, that is the hand that drives it home. Forget that, and your enemies will gut you with ease."
Her eyes a little wide that she'd been beaten so many times by Kealen now...Seraphina swallowed her retort. His words hit too close. For all her composure, for all her exactness, she knew there was truth in them... and though she would not admit it aloud, she envied the fire that came so naturally to Sephora.
"Again?" she asked.
The grin that beamed from Kaelen Falcrest's smile was but faint, although it was highly approving. "Again and again. Until you can strike without hesitation or you can't stand."
The sword master's lesson with the sword master's apprentice continued; they fought until the sun dipped higher, steel forgotten, talons shrieking as if two great birds were locked in aerial war.
They sparred until her arms burned, talons aching from the constant clash. At last, Kaelen finally called out a halt, stepping back with his fist in the air, his chest rising and falling only lightly, while Seraphina's breath came far more ragged.
He sheathed his claws with an easy flex of his fingers and studied her. His eyes—sharp, storm-grey, almost hawk-like—did not soften, but there was no mockery in them either. Only taking in his measure of Seraphina's style.
"You have discipline," By the chime in his voice, you could tell that the temporary instructor was honest in his compliment; he had been very impressed to some extent. When Kaelen followed it up and said evenly. "More discipline than most. Enough to make you dangerous but not quite enough alone to make you deadly."
Sheathing her own talons slowly, with a slight ringing sting and ache as she did - a side effect of long sparring, but her body would toughen up and before more and more used to it. Seraphina straightened up, sweat cooling on her brow, though she bristled at the faint but in his tone - knowing, or at least having an idea for what he was about to say.
"But," he went on, circling her slowly as though she were still his opponent, "discipline alone is a cage. You strike to measure your strength, to hold the line, to test. A Raven Queen cannot only measure. She must be able to put an end to those and that which threaten her realm."
Her jaw set, clinging uncomfortably with her frustration at herself. "Rage and emotions makes you sloppy."
Shaking his head slowly and exhaling in a sigh, he continued watching her. "No, princess. Unmastered rage and emotions makes you sloppy. But the right emotions? The right rage—the kind that burns clean, not wild—find that fire and it will make you unstoppable."
She swallowed, the wings on her feathers tightening before relaxing, some brushing against her back as the wind began to pick up slightly.
He stopped in front of her, close enough that she could see the faint, star-shaped scar over his temple, old and silver. She couldn't help but wonder how she got that. "Remember this, Princess: control without fire is brittle. Rage without control is reckless. Only when you carry both in your heart will you strike like a true Raven Queen."
His words lingered in the cooling air like a challenge, like a prophecy.
He gave her the smallest nod of respect and then turned away, gathering his sword. "The Commander was wise to leave you in my hands today. Perhaps... he saw I was exactly what you needed to improve... but I can tell, I'm going to look forward to our training sessions with you. There is so much potential for fantastic capability growth. My style is just a little different from my old Swordmaster's lessons."
Seraphina flexed her hands, talons retracting fully and finally with a soft hiss, her heartbeat still thrumming in her ears. She replied with nothing, but Kaelen's words cut her deep - sharper than any black steel ever could.
For the first time, she wondered if perhaps the fire she dismissed in Sephora, that her sister was always supposed to quell but never quite did—that unrestrained and unashamed emotions, fire and... at times, fury her twin carried so easily—wasn't just weakness.
Maybe it was something Seraphina herself would need, one day, and if her twin had it... perhaps she too could find it.