Of course he did.Orval just shook his head.Yfin laughed and lunged in slow, and Orval repeated the maneuver with the scarf.Yfin backed off, then lunged in fast.Orval managed the first part, deflecting and lunging forward.
But Yfin slipped from his grip and rolled away, doing a few extra somersaults in the process before jumping to his feet.
Roth laughed.Orval just shook his head, breathing hard and sweating, and made for the bench.
“Oh, no,” Roth said.“You walk yourself cool before you sit.Yfin and I will do some sword and shield before his reading lessons.”
“Awww,” Yfin wrinkled his nose.
“Keep your end of the bargain,” Roth reminded him.“You teach him, he teaches you.Get your shield.”Roth pointed to Orval.“You.Walk.”
“Aye,” grumbled Orval.Walking did help with stiffness, he had to admit.Didn’t mean he had to like it.
Yfin and Roth picked up swords and shields and started sparring as Orval paced the edges of the courtyard.Past the stables, the rubble of the stone walls, the ugly barn cat basking in the sun, staring at him with narrow eyes.
“You’re going to have a time of it,” Orval muttered.“When the babes start chasing you.”
The cat yawned.
Orval kept moving.He had to admit that he felt good after the lesson, tired, yes, but stronger, more flexible.There had been fewer cramps in his bad leg lately, fewer aches.That fall he’d taken after chasing Lara would have laid him up for at least a day before Roth and Yfin had started teaching him.
Not like the bad days during his fostering, when he was battered, bruised, and aching—and embarrassed.
Orval frowned, turning what Roth had said over in his mind.In all his shame over his fostering days, it had never occurred to him that his failure might not be his fault.
Fostering was a tradition of the noble families, to build friendships, nurture connections, and build loyalty and trust.Older Barons and Lords teaching the young.His had been mostly miserable, but had had some good moments.Mostly in the library.Still, he’d come to know the other boys, learn their strengths and personalities.Fostering did work, or it had before the civil strife and would work again, if or when—
Stones clattered deep in the Keep.
Orval stopped and considered, then shivered at his own daring.But if they were to make their way in the Black Hills, he had to start somewhere.
“Walk,” came the command, and Orval resumed his task.
At the first sign that the fighters were taking a break, Orval made his way over the sparring circle and caught Roth’s eye.
“Invite them to spar,” he said.
“What?”Roth asked, puzzled.
Orval went to the bench and sat, stretching out his bad leg and taking up his book.Yfin poured water for everyone.
“Reading lessons later,” Orval said.“I have an idea.Invite our watchers down to spar.”
Yfin’s face lit with delight; Roth stared, then shrugged.“You and your ideas,” he muttered, then finished his drink.With one last look at Orval, he shook his head.“By your command, Lord High Baron,” Roth muttered, then raised his voice.“Hey, you there on the walls.Come spar with us.I want to work on multiple attackers.”
Heads popped up, then popped back down.Orval didn’t look up, but the wind brought the sound of a furious, whispered debate.
“Yes, you, hiding in the Keep.Get down here, we haven’t got all day,” Roth shouted, then winked at Orval.“Mother Bercie’s not expected until tomorrow and I won’t tell if you don’t.”
Orval suppressed a smile as figures started to emerge from the ruins and Roth and Yfin went over to greet them.
Chapter Four
Like something the cat hacked up
Tassos wasn’t dead; he felt far too horrible to be dead.
Every sweaty muscle ached; every breath was a twinge in his chest.There was a spike crawling deeper into his skull that pained with every heartbeat.He tried to lift a hand to check but that brought on the heaves.With a groan, he rolled to the edge of the cot and puked bile.
