'CLASH' 'CLANK' 'CLASH'
The sound of steel connecting with steel echoed across the courtyard. Young Archer Morvlinsk lifts his gaze from the trampled snow around his feet that was almost as slick as ice. A glint of light catches the corner of Archers eye and he manages to sidestep the lunge from his opponents blade just in time to avoid it connecting with his chest.
"Nice dodge!" yells Master Shuien, before turning his body around and meeting his off hand elbow with the left side of Archers jaw. With a hard crunch, a jolt shot through the young mans body and a flash of red and black briefly appeared across his eyes. Finally after a couple of seconds to recover, Archer stood back up straight, readying his sword and eyeing his master.
"Not nice enough apparently." Archer mumbles as he spits the blood from his mouth.
The prince was 18 years old and had been sparring almost everyday since he was a toddler with his weathered master, however; the outcome of their sparring was always the same. Shuien had beaten him in almost every way on could think of. There had never been a single victory for Archer through the 15 years of training with Master Shuien.
"Better to have bloody gums than death. Remember the fumble and correct yourself. After a miss, there is brief moment of exposure before I can even swing my elbow. Surely I've already taught you that" Frustrated, Archer raised his sword above his head, preparing to swing. The silver haired master swooped in close to Archer and grabbed his buckler with one hand while holding the point of his sword under his chin.
"Anger clouds your mind when fighting. Never let a move go to waste in a fight. Rely on finesse and your mind, not brute force." Shuien gave Archer a hard shake as he spoke.
The mist from their breath rose above their heads as Archer attempted to shove his teacher off of him with his buckler, but because of his arm being above his head, he threw himself off balance, unable to catch himself, the master swept his legs from under him. The world swirled around Archers vision, disorienting him slightly till the impact on the ground knocked the wind out of him. Looking up from the ground, the blade of his master was placed back at his throat. Archer grudgingly looked into the gray eyes of his opponent before diverting his eyes to the gray sky, sighing. He calmed his mind and took a deep breath, the cold air stung his throat slightly before he finally exhaled and slowly removed the sword that had been placed at his throat, stood up and bowed his head towards his master, marking the end of their sparring session.
Master Shuien was one of the kingdoms oldest citizens. At the age of 104, he was still revered as one of the deadliest warriors within the castle walls. Royal bloodlines usually lived longer than most due to reasons that were unknown to Archer, however; although not royalty, the master had been blessed by one of the castle oracles by order of the king to have extended life for the sole purpose of passing on his knowledge to the next generation, in particular; Archer.
Master Shuien had fair silver hair that always seemed to stay perfect on his head. The light gray eyes were soft but showed the experience of his years underneath the wrinkles that graced his face. Archer never knew much about Shuiens past besides some of the fights he had been in, but it never really thought to pry into it as he always had other tasks to focus on. The master never wore heavy armor, only a long black coat and chain mail underneath. For a man of his age, his physique was phenomenal. Among the occasional wrinkle, there was toned, firm muscle that had been hardened by the many years of protecting the Morvlinsk family.
Archer always admired the stories that he was told. From a young age, he always stared at the master with his red tinted, brown eyes with admiration. His master was more of a father to him than his own father was, and he knew deep down that the bond he felt was mutual between the two of them.
Although bested time and time again, Archer was a prodigy for his age. He had mastered almost every sword form that his beloved father figure had taught him. His build was above average for his age as well. His dirty blonde hair accented well with his dull red eyes. He had broad shoulders and although his body was not hardened like his masters, he had to makings to become a behemoth of man. He stood slightly taller than his master and slightly larger, which only highlighted the difference between experience versus youth in Archers mind.
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The two took a seat at the edge of the courtyard and snow began to fall ever so slightly. The flakes seemed to glimmer against the overcast sky. Archers eyes traced one of the flakes through the air as it landed on his arm.
Finally, Archer broke the silence between them.
"Master."
"Yes my prince?"
"For eighteen years, I've been the best son I could be. I've trained, studied, done everything thats been asked of me without question. Yet, I have only seen past our castle walls a handful of times. None of those without an escort."
Archers relationship with his father was complicated. His father was a good man, but convincing him to do anything out of what he deemed right was nigh impossible. From the time Archer woke up, he began his day with training, even before food. After cleaning up, he was meant to study. His teachers ranged from person to person depending on the subject, but only one person remained constant. His combat training instructor, Master Shuien. The tedious schedule was interrupted on occasion when his father would go through the streets of his kingdom and ask Archer to join him to "show face" as the prince. Not once had Archer ever gotten the opportunity to explore on his own.
Shuiens face hardened a bit, creasing the few wrinkles he had on his forehead. "That is a question best left for your father to answer. Although I love you as though you came from my own loins, I am not at liberty to say. Why don't you try talking to him?" The love that Archer felt for Shuien was reciprocated tenfold. He only fathered one child but the cruel world ripped the baby from that master. The same same happened with his wife as well. It was one of the few stories that Shuien never talked about, but enough hints had been spoken throughout Archers life that he was able to piece a possible story together.
Feeling his resentment towards his father beginning to renew its clashing with his understanding, Archer scowled towards the sky letting out a low growl, trying to avoid a sappy moment with his master.
"I know he only became like this when my mother died. It isn't fair to me. If I am to take the throne after him, shouldn't I have experience of what life outside these walls is like? It isn't fair to me or the people I'm supposed to rule." Shuin wanted nothing more than to tell Archer everything he knew about the kings dilemma, but he knew that the day would come that Archers father would divulge everything.
Archer stood up after muttering to himself, he stretched his arms and took another deep breathe, holding this one slightly before exhaling. "Where is father at.." he thought. Before the silver haired elder could stop him, the prince only said, "Don't." He then stormed away from the cold of the courtyard to the warm torchlit interior of the castle walls. Archer proceeded deeper within the castle, reminiscing over memories as he passed certain suits of armor and paintings, till he stood outside the engraved doors of the Council Room.
His father was usually deliberating with his advisors at this time on matters within the kingdom. With his heart beating out of his chest, Archer stood outside the heavy double oak doors for a moment before mustering up the courage to press forward. Grabbing the right handle tightly and giving a hard shove, he proceeded to enter the council room, hopeful to finally receive answers from his father.