As dawn painted the morning sky with shades of orange and pink, Dras found himself already awake, tending to his belongings as the camp was being dismantled. Vantos, the seasoned mercenary and their de facto leader approached him, his eyes betraying a hint of amusement.
"Hey boy, remind me of your name again?" Vantos asked, feigning forgetfulness.
"My name is Dras," he replied, his voice steady despite the knot of excitement in his stomach. He was securing his bow and quiver, the tools of survival he had known all his life.
"Right, Dras. As we journey to New Haven, I plan to teach you the art of the sword. I suppose there's no better time than the present." Vantos handed him a sword, one of the spoils from their encounter with the bandits the previous day. The weapon was heavier than Dras had expected, its hilt adorned with intricate carvings, its blade sharp and deadly.
"Thank you, but why do I need to go to the capital?" Dras asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.
Vantos chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that echoed in the quiet morning. "That's where the Legionnaires recruit and test their candidates. Usually, you'd need a recommendation letter from your local barracks commander to even get a foot in the door. But I have faith that the commander in New Haven will vouch for you."
With that cryptic remark, Vantos left Dras to his own thoughts. "We'll start your training this afternoon, during our lunch break," he called over his shoulder.
As the party moved forward, Dras found himself grappling with a flurry of emotions. He was excited and a little terrified. He was skilled with a bow and knife, but a sword was uncharted territory. He examined the weapon in his hand, the cold metal, the intricate hilt. With a sense of trepidation, he belted the sword and scabbard around his waist. As he began to walk, however, the scabbard poked his leg uncomfortably, and soon he tripped, causing a round of laughter among the mercenaries.
A gruff voice echoed through the laughter. "You need to put your hand on the hilt, lad. Lifts the scabbard away from your legs."
His face flushed with embarrassment, Dras stood up and adjusted his grip on the sword, following the merc's advice. The sword now comfortably away from his feet, he continued on with the group.
Their journey took them deeper into the forest, the terrain growing rougher with each passing hour. By noon, they came upon a small lake nestled within the expansive forest. The snowy peaks that had seemed so far away the day before now loomed large before them. After a brief rest, Vantos came to Dras, a familiar grin playing on his lips.
"Time for your first lesson, Dras," he announced, unsheathing his own sword. His eyes sparkled with anticipation, a look that told Dras something interesting was about to happen.
Dras pulled out his own sword, standing opposite Vantos, ready for a duel.
"No, no, we're not going to fight. Not yet. You've never swung a sword before. For now, I want you to observe how I swing mine." Vantos demonstrated a simple exercise: He raised his sword above his head and swept it down to the left, then up again and down to the right.
"I want you to repeat this motion, from now until we make camp in the evening," Vantos instructed, the smile never leaving his face.
"While walking?" Dras couldn't keep the disbelief out of his voice.
"Exactly, while walking. This is your first lesson. If you manage to keep it up, we'll move on to the second lesson this evening."
With that, Vantos sheathed his sword and rejoined the others, leaving Dras alone with his new task.
Dras started his first set of swings, his thoughts swirling. [All I'm doing is swinging a sword. This is easy enough,] he thought. But the reality turned out to be quite different. As they broke camp and continued through the uneven forest terrain, Dras found the exercise increasingly challenging. At one point, they were climbing a steep slope and he had to stop his swings to maintain his grip.
"Stopping so soon? Is that how far your convictions will lead you?" Vantos' voice carried down from above. He stood looking down at Dras, an unreadable expression on his face.
"I can't climb this slope while swinging a sword," Dras managed between pants, trying to catch his breath and maintain his footing.
"The legions are expected to fight continuously for three days without rest, and run a hundred leagues with full packs on their backs," Vantos retorted, his voice full of scorn. "And here you are, tired after only swinging for two hours."
Stung by Vantos' words, Dras gritted his teeth and resumed his swings. It was hard to maintain his balance on the uneven slope, but he soon found his rhythm. Before long, he had reached the top of the slope, his sword still swinging in the rhythm set by Vantos. He looked up to see the mercenaries and Vantos far ahead.
That evening, Vantos called for a halt near a cliff face. They had climbed a significant portion of the mountain but were not yet at the peak, instead following a path through a valley. Dras stumbled into the campsite, his knees weak, his hands and arms shaking from exhaustion.
"We'll wait until tomorrow to start the second lesson. But when we leave here, I want you to continue swinging that sword," Vantos said before turning his attention to the others.
Frustrated and exhausted, Dras couldn't help but retort. "What's the point of all this? I thought you were going to teach me how to use a sword, not just swing it around."
Vantos turned back to him, a smile on his face. "Oh, so you're the expert now, are you? Have a lot of experience, do you? Know how to swing a sword like a master?"
"All I'm doing is swinging a sword. Anyone can do that," Dras grumbled.
"Yes, anyone can swing a sword. But it seems the main purpose of this lesson has escaped you. Until you can tell me why you're doing this, we won't be starting the second lesson!" With that, Vantos left Dras to his thoughts and sore muscles.
The following morning, Dras resumed his training, sword swinging up and down, up and down. As the day progressed, he noticed something. His balance, which had been shaky the day before, was much improved. He was now able to navigate the slopes without losing his footing, his sword swinging steadily all the while. [Is this what he was talking about?] he wondered.
By noon, they had started their descent into another forest, one that bore a striking resemblance to the one on the other side of the mountain, only with more clearings. They stopped for lunch by a small stream leading into a forest lake.
Vantos approached Dras, a familiar smile on his face. "Figured out why I had you swing that sword over and over again?" he asked.
"Is it for my balance?" Dras ventured, hoping he had understood the lesson correctly.
"Bingo! It's mainly to maintain your balance while swinging your sword on rough terrain. That, and you're putting more weight into your swings, and improving your posture," Vantos confirmed, walking around to Dras' side. "Now, take your sword. It's time for your second lesson."
The second lesson proved to be more complex and demanding. Vantos showed Dras several sword forms and parrying techniques. By the time they broke for lunch, Dras was sprawled on the ground, covered in sweat, while Vantos looked as if he hadn't exerted himself at all.
"Rest up while we walk. We'll continue training this evening," Vantos said, already moving on. "We'll only have a chance to do two lessons unfortunately, as we'll reach New Haven by tomorrow evening. So make tonight and tomorrow afternoon count."
As they continued their journey through the forest, Dras noticed signs of civilization. Small hamlets, foresters going about their work. They stopped for the night in a tiny village, the mercs heading to the local inn while Dras and Vantos continued their training. It was so intense that Vantos had to practically drag Dras back to the camp that night.
The next morning, they found their first road, which made the journey considerably more comfortable and faster. They made camp about twenty-five leagues west of New Haven, in a meadow overlooking a hamlet and the main road. Dras began his final lesson with Vantos.
"Your form is decent, and you can parry an attack. You're a long way from being a Legionnaire, but at least you can hold your own in a fight," Vantos noted at the end of their training session. They had sparred towards the end, leaving Dras bruised and sore.
"We'll stay in the inn tonight and meet the commander tomorrow. I might need you to provide more information for the report, but I think you'll be fine," Vantos said as they made their way back to the camp.
"Do you think I'll be accepted into the Legionnaires?" Dras asked, rubbing his sore arm.
"It's up to you, really. Most of the candidates are trained soldiers, but you might be able to make it," Vantos said, looking thoughtfully at Dras. "If you're anything like your father, you should have no problem at all."
That evening, they arrived at New Haven. Dras was awestruck by the sight of the city, its towering walls and tall buildings, the castle with a large square in front. He had never seen anything like it, coming from a small fishing village on the edge of the frontier. But before he could take it all in, a gruff voice called out behind them.
"Vantos, you bastard, what took you so long? We needed that report days ago. Come with us to the barracks. Commander Oisin is waiting," the guard ordered, a green gem in place of his right eye.
"Come with me, Dras. We might as well get this over with," Vantos said, following the guard. Dras fell into step beside him, the city of New Haven spread out before them, the beginning of a new chapter in his life.