Weeks passed by, but training continued. They woke at the fifth hour and began with the sword, hours of swinging their wooden blades at the posts on the practice ground, trying to fend off instructor Jarem's attacks and copying the increasingly complicated sword scales he taught them. Elaire continued to be most adept at parrying Jarem's blows after Lucas, but the Master frequently found a way past his guard to send him bruised and frustrated to the dirt, same with Lucas as Jarem no longer underestimated him. The lesson of not allowing oneself to be fixed by his eyes had been well learnt but Jarem knew many other tricks.
The first day of the week; Yir; was given over entirely to sword work but Er was the day of the bow when Instructor Zigak, a muscular, softly spoken Zijeli, had them loosing arrows at the butts with their boy sized strong-bows.
"Rhythm, boys, it's all in the rhythm," he told them. "Notch, draw, loose… Notch, draw, loose…"
Elaire found the bow a hard skill to master. The weapon was tough to draw and difficult to aim, leaving his fingertips raw from the bowstring and his arms aching with growing muscle. His arrows often sank into the edge of the target or missed altogether. He came to dread the day he would face the test of the bow, four arrows sunk into the bullseye at twenty paces in the time it took a dropped scarf to fall to the ground. It seemed an impossible feat.
Jon quickly proved himself the best archer, his shafts rarely failing to find the bull's eye. "Done this before, eh boy?" Instructor Zigak asked him. "Aye, master. My uncle Rick taught me, he used to poach the Fief Lord's deer till they cut his fingers off."
To Elaire's annoyance, Benjen was second best, his arrows finding the bull with grating regularity. The tension between them had grown since the first meal, unleavened by the blond boy's arrogance. He sneered at the failings of the other boys, usually behind their back, and spoke constantly of his family though none of the others did. Benjen spoke of his family's lands, their many houses, the days he had spent hunting and riding with his father who he claimed was First Minister to the King. It was his father that taught him the bow, a longbow of yew like the Windlanders used, not the composite horn and ash of their strong bows. Benjen thought the longbow a superior weapon, all things considered, his father swore by it. Benjen's father seemed to be a man of many opinions.
Sür was the day of the staff, taught them by Instructor Alltor, the burnt man Elaire had first seen in the dining hall. They sparred with wooden staffs of about four feet in length, later they would be replaced with the five-foot pole-axe used by the Order when they fought en masse. Alltor was a cheerful man, with a quick smile and a liking for songs. He would often sing or chant as they practised, soldier's songs mostly and a few love ballads, sung with a strange precision and clarity that reminded Elaire of the minstrel he had once seen in the King's Palace.
He took to the staff quickly, liking the way it whistled when he swung it, the feel of it in his hands. At times he even preferred it to the sword, it was easier to handle and more solid somehow. His appreciation for the staff deepened when it became clear Benjen had no ability with it at all. His staff was often snapped out of his hands by an opponent's blow and he was ever sucking numbed fingers.
Nir was a day they quickly came to dread, as it meant service in the stables, hours spent shovelling dung, dodging iron-shod hooves and sharp teeth then cleaning the myriad pieces of tack that hung on the walls. Instructor Dalinar was the ruler of the stable and his liking for the cane made Instructor Jarem seem positively restrained.
"I said clean it, don't tickle it lackwit!" he spat at Nolan, his cane leaving red wheals on the boy's neck as he tried to work the polish into a stirrup. Whatever his harshness to the boys Dalinar was all tenderness to his horses, speaking to them in soft whispers and lovingly brushing their hides. Elaire's dislike of the man was tempered by the blankness he saw in his eyes. Instructor Dalinar preferred horses to people, his hands twitched constantly and he often stopped in a mid tirade, wandering off mumbling under his breath. The eyes said it all: Instructor Dalinar was mad.
Dalinar was a favourite with most of the boys, the day when Instructor Odian would teach them the ways of the wild. They were led on long treks through the woods and hills, learning which plants were safe to eat and which could be used as a poison to be smeared on arrowheads. They were taught to light fires without flint and trap rabbits and hares. They would lie for hours in the undergrowth, trying to remain hidden as Odian hunted them down, usually within a few minutes. Elaire was often second last to be found with Nolan remaining hidden longest. Of all the boys, even those who had grown up amongst woodland and fields, he proved the most adept in the outdoors, particularly in tracking. Sometimes they would stay in the forest overnight and it was always Nolan who brought in the first meal.
Instructor Odian was one of the few masters who never used the cane but his punishments could be severe, once making Benjen and Elaire run bare arsed through a copse of nettles for bickering over how best to place a snare. He spoke with quiet confidence and rarely used more words than he had to, seeming to prefer the sign language some of the masters used. It was similar to that used by tongue-less Instructor Azmar when he communicated with Jarem, but less complex, designed for use when enemies or prey were near. Elaire learnt quickly, as did Deren, but Benjen seemed to absorb it instantly, his slender fingers forming the intricate shapes with uncanny accuracy.
Despite his aptitude, Instructor Odian seemed oddly distant from Nolan, his praise restrained, if expressed at all. Sometimes, during one of the overnight treks, Elaire would catch Odian staring at Nolan from across the camp, his expression unreadable in the firelight.
Vír was the hardest of days, hours of running around the practice ground with a heavy stone in each hand, freezing swims across the river, and hard lessons in unarmed combat under Master Rigmir, a compact but the lightning-fast man with a broken nose and several missing teeth. He taught them the secrets of the kick and the punch, how to twist the fist at the last instant, how to raise the knee first then extend the leg into a kick, how to block a blow, trip an opponent or throw them over your shoulder. Few boys enjoyed Vír, it left them too bruised and exhausted to appreciate the evening meal. Only Deren liked it, his large frame best suited to soaking up the punishment, he seemed impervious to pain and none relished being partnered with him for the sparring.
Elaire was supposedly a day of rest and observance but for the youngest boys, it meant a round of tedious drudgery in the laundry or the kitchen. If they were lucky they would be chosen to help Instructor Azmar in the gardens which at least provided the chance at a stolen apple or two. In the evening there would be extra observance and catechism, this being the Light's day, and a solid hour of silent contemplation where they would sit, heads bowed, each lost in their own thoughts or succumbing to the overpowering need for sleep, which could be dangerous as any boy caught sleeping would earn the harshest beating and a night walking the walls with no cloak.
Elaire's favourite part of each day was the hour before lights out. All the discipline would evaporate in a round of raucous banter and horseplay. Jon would tell another story about his uncles, Deren would make them laugh with a joke or an uncanny imitation of one of the masters, Nolan, normally given to silence, would tell one of the thousand or more old stories he knew whilst they practised their sign language or sword strokes. Lucas would still remain the silent one. He found himself spending more time with Benjen than the others, the slight boy's reticence and intelligence a faint echo of his mother. For his part, Benjen seemed surprised but gratified by the companionship. Elaire suspected his life before the Order had been somewhat lonely as Benjen was clearly so unused to being with other boys, although neither of them talked of their lives before, unlike Nolan who had never been able to shake the habit, despite angry responses from the others and the occasional beating from the instructor. You have no family but the Order. Elaire knew the truth of the Aspect's words now; they were becoming family, they had no one but each other. This was every day until the day of the first test.