The Unfortunate, стр. 18
The recruit’s only movement, however, was a slow shaking of his head to express disagreement. “No. It should not be like this. I am unworthy to be trained by a champion. Offer your knowledge to a better man.”
“You may be unfortunate, Derian, but not unworthy. Every man no matter how highborn or humble has his worth. Every man has a purpose, but he must prove it.”
“As you did?”
Awiergan nodded and glanced around the yard. “As did we all. It is the only way you will advance. It is the only way you will gain respect.”
“But you are the champion,” the recruit repeated in an almost protesting manner. “One whose advice I do not deserve.”
In a way the moment was frustrating. It was as if Derian did not even want to learn. It was as if he would rather have remained in Armania and been punished for his crime than to have received a second chance. Awiergan continued to ponder momentarily before replying, “Have you ever wielded a sword?”
“No.”
The answer was not surprising to the champion. Despite the assumptions about the recruit’s willingness, and although Derian was shorter and less built than the other fighters, Awiergan still believed the recruit could fight and had potential. Every man no matter how highborn or humble has his worth. The words continued to echo in Awiergan’s mind even after he had inquired, “But you agree you need to learn, yes?”
“Yes.”
Because of his humility, Awiergan did not care to boast about his successes, but for this occasion, to make the recruit understand, he realized it was necessary. “Then who would you rather have train you? A proven fighter who wins his share of matches or a proven champion?”
✽ ✽ ✽
After breaking for midday meal, Awiergan again had the men form pairs, but instead of being random, the groupings were based on the morning’s practice results. Those who had performed well, mainly the veterans of the academy, were assigned to test one another. The other pairings were composed of those who had offered little showing, those who were still months or even years removed from a chance to fight in the Dorstor Arena.
Once satisfied with the new matches, Awiergan motioned to Atelic. “Now I shall require your assistance.”
The man approached expressing a broad smirk. “Yes, Master?”
Awiergan ignored the sarcasm and explained. “I need your help with the training.”
Before Atelic could reply or even further his sarcasm, Derian interjected, “Two against one?” The recruit’s response suggested he was both astonished and fearful. “Both of you intend to fight me?”
“No,” the champion assured, but before he could explain further, his friend interrupted, “I should have known!”
Atelic then directed his attention to the recruit. “He intends to prove his worth by facing two opponents.”
“No,” Awiergan again corrected. “I am not participating. I want to evaluate Derian without distraction. You shall fight.”
“Is that all?” Atelic’s tone altered to suggest a hint of annoyance.
Awiergan glared at his friend an instant before ordering, “Take your positions.” He allowed the men time to adjust their armor and grips on their weapons before adding, “Begin!”
The fight commenced with several thuds in rapid succession as the swords impacted, and on many occasions, Derian’s weapon slipped. Having noticed this Awiergan called for the men to pause, approached the recruit, and instructed, “Your grip is too loose.”
“But during morning practice, you instructed—”
“This morning your grip was overly firm. Do you not recall my advice?”
Derian made no reply.
Awiergan retrieved his own sword and explained. “Watch and repeat. Use these to firmly grip,” he said and gently twitched his pinky and ring finger. “The thumb should pinch the hilt to the palm, and the pointer and middle fingers should remain loose for guidance.”
Derian nodded, “Yes, I remember.”
“Good. Now assume position.” Despite the need for a reminder, the recruit had shown increased potential from the few hours of training. The champion had something more in mind, however, another method to test Derian’s worth, and he walked over to his friend and whispered, “When I give the signal, do what you do better than fight.”
“But there are no women present.” Before he could be scolded for his immaturity, Atelic simply gestured his understanding with a slight nod.
After the fight resumed, a sequence of irregular thuds and clunks persisted, but nothing more. Neither man was able to gain an advantage.
Awiergan continued to watch the fight as the combatants altered their stances and countered each other’s attacks. Despite this the champion was aware the stalemate would soon cease, and he was correct.
Atelic placed his shield tightly against his midsection, gathered his strength, pushed forward, and caused Derian to stumble.
Awiergan identified that the moment had arrived to test the recruit’s patience, and he glanced at his friend and inquired, “Do you recall Derian’s crime?”
Atelic nodded to indicate not that he remembered but that he understood the comment to be the signal. “Theft.” He directed his attention to the recruit before continuing. “But he is not a common thief. He attempted to steal from King Beadurof.”
Derian made no reply. It was as if he was doing his best to ignore the mockery.
“What did you attempt to take from the king of Armania? Food? Jewels?”
“Nothing.” The recruit’s tone was littered with frustration as if he did not want to speak about his crime.
“Are you certain? You should have taken weapons.”
“I had no need for a blade.” Even more annoyance clung to each syllable.
Atelic persisted, however. “Perhaps that is why you were caught. But I must wonder, would you even have known what to do with a weapon?”
“That is enough!” Derian warned as he did his best to seem intimidating.
Having been unmoved by the threat, Atelic continued with the insults. “My guess would be no. You were a thief because you were never born to wield a blade, and your inability is still evident.” He chuckled again. “I have seen women fight better than you!”
The insult hung in the air, and