I frowned, puzzled, and answered honestly. "No."
Marcus had a patient look on his face. "Ander had no need to think of the 'how'. He reacted. He knows the blade, knows the movements, knows in the depths of his body and blood. Has known since he cut his first teeth and his thea handed him his first blade."
I blinked. First tooth? But that was—
"You think, Warprize." Marcus continued his lecture. "You think, and then you tell your body and that delay is fatal. Never mind the weight of the shield, never mind that you—"
"You give babies weapons?"
Marcus fixed his eye on me. "What do you mean by 'babies'?"
The language again. Just when I think I know the language of the Firelander, something new comes up.
"Babies. Children that still crawl and soil their—" I bit my lip. "Like Meara, the babe we found in the village."
Marcus shook his head. "No. First teeth." He opened his mouth and showed me his teeth. "All their first tooths."
I thought for a minute. He meant the first set of baby teeth—all of them. Which meant they gave weapons to children that were roughly two and a half, maybe three years old.
"Wooden blades, Warprize. The first weapon is wooden." Marcus looked at me closely. "The first true blade is at the first true tooth. You understand?"
I nodded slowly, taking that in. Firelander wielded steel at roughly six or seven years old. No wonder they were so fast. It occurred to me that I was very glad I'd sent Meara back to Anna at Water's Fall.
"So." Marcus's voice called me back. "We will concentrate on what you can do. Not on what you can't." I sighed, and let my shoulders slump. "But I can't do anything!"
"Pah." Marcus turned, and picked up the wooden sword and small shield that I had been using. "What did you do when that warrior-priest burst into your tent?"
I went and sat close to Prest, flopping down in the grass. "I screamed and ran."
"And?" Marcus asked as he seated himself. Rafe dropped down next to him, and pulled out a dagger and a sharpening stone. Ander and Yveni remained standing, on watch, standing close enough to hear.
"Hid behind Keir." I picked a stem of grass and started playing with it. "Bold warrior that I am." Marcus snorted. "You, with your terrible memory. You have forgotten." I looked up to see that Rafe and Prest were both grinning, as if at the memory. "What?" Rafe answered promptly. "You threw that pot of muck at him. He was covered with it when he came out of the tent."
"Wish I'd seen that," Ander spoke, his eyes still on the horizon.
"Heyla to that," Yveni added.
Prest chuckled. "The stink clung for days." He reached over and pulled his warclub close, preparing to re-wrap the handle with the leather strips. Of course, it wasn't just any warclub. I looked away from the weapon. It brought back too many painful memories.
"So," Marcus continued. "What did you do? You alerted others that you were in trouble. You used what was at hand to distract the enemy. You fled to where there was help, and positioned yourself where your defenders could protect you."
I had forgotten. I'd whipped that jar of boiled skunk cabbage right at that warrior-priest's face before I'd fled. I sat up a little straighter. "I guess I did."
Marcus gave me a nod. "Teaching you to fight is enough to make a gurttle laugh. But teaching you to defend yourself, to respond under attack and get yourself to safety, that can be done." I shook my head. "Marcus, I froze when I found Iften hovering over Keir with that dagger. I didn't have the sense to scream."
"Fear." Prest spoke as he concentrated on his task.
Rafe nodded, even as he honed the edge of his blade. "Fear holds you still when you need to move, and moves you when you need to be still."
"Fear makes you silent when you need to be loud and loud when you need silence," Ander said, almost reciting. I wasn't surprised; Prest had taunted Iften with a teaching rhyme back at Wellspring. It seemed they used them a lot for teaching purposes. Which also didn't surprise me—since they had no written language, everything was memorized, and their ability to do that was amazing.
"Fear closes your throat, makes it hard to breathe. Fear weakens your hand and blinds your eyes." Marcus took up the chant. "Fear is a danger. Know your fear. Face your fear." I waited a breath, but when it was clear they were done I broke the silence. "But how do I do that?" Prest turned his head, and smiled at me, his white teeth flashing against his dark skin. "Practice." I should have kept silent. This warrior-princess routine was uncomfortable, sweaty, and exhausting. We had been waiting to join the army at the very rear of the march. Keir had that little-boy smile on his face when he'd told me that I'd be moving to the rear of his forces. I was fairly sure that he wanted to make sure that he gave me my first glimpse of the Plains.
Since we were waiting anyway, I'd asked my guards to teach me to use a sword and shield. I'd thought it would be easy; after all they handled their weapons with grace and skill. Easy to say; hard to do.
We spent the rest of the afternoon as the army passed practicing. Each of my bodyguards would play the attacker, and then I had to work with the others to protect myself. Marcus stood back and watched. When it looked like I knew how to handle the situation, Marcus called out for Prest to die, and Prest obligingly fell 'dead' at my feet.
So I learned to move with my protectors, trying to stay out of their way, and be constantly aware of the threat I was under. Marcus was a strong believer in action as opposed to talking. When I got too tired, we'd stop and talk for a bit, get a drink of water, so that I could catch my breath. The others never even broke a sweat.
