Hynes Family/Alois/Victory/RP18

Alois stood at the edge of the Training Ground, watching as Pate circled the older stronger tutor, their Tourney swords held with the blunted point aimed at each others face’s, keeping his shield between him and his instructor.

He lunged quickly and feinted high, raising the shield and dropping to one knee, striking deftly at the Tutor’s legs. The old Master was too fast, though, and simply knocked the strike away with a blow to Pate’s wrist from the wooden edge of his shield. The boy screamed out in surprised shock and pulled back, yet kept a firm grip on his own sword.

Good, Alois thought as he watched the mock duel, the boy’s got unusual strength for his age.

Pate had barely regained his footing when the Tutor launched his assault, pushing his shield against the boy’s, driving him backwards, slashing at Pate’s exposed shoulders, forcing the boy to block with his own weapon.

He lunged suddenly, spotting what he thought to be an opening, aiming a blow at the Tutor’s upraised arm. The old man cried out suddenly as wood cracked hard against flesh, the blunted tourney sword tumbling from his limp fingers to crash on the ground.

“I won!” Pate called.

The tutor struck suddenly, smashing his shield into Pate’s thighs. The boy tumbled backwards, stumbling and flailing, flailing his arms as he landed onto the soft cushion of sand.

“No!” the tutor roared, towering over the boy, “You do not win until your opponent is down or dying! Until then you have not won! Now, yield!”

Pate wrapped his legs around the tutor’s knees and pulled hard, sending the older man tumbling onto his back. He struck again with his shield as Pate scrambled atop him, the Squire blocking the shield with his own, placing the sword tip against the tutor’s throat. “Yield!”

The tutor only laughed. “I should listen to myself more, eh? Now, please, help an old man up.”

“Yield,” Pate insisted.

“Ah, I can not beat the strength of youth, neither can I outwit a child. What good am I? I yield.”

Pate stood up and pulled the Tutor to his feet. He old man looked at Alois, smiled. “He is quite an adept student. I fear there is little more I can teach him.”

“You have done well, there is no shame,” Alois said, returning the smile.

“Aye, the best a Mentor can do is pass on his knowledge to his students, and wait for them to surpass his own greatness. That is our legacy.” He picked up a towel and dabbed sweat from his face, throwing it to Pate. “You’re a good student. I’d hate to lose you.”

“You’re a good teacher, I hate to leave.”

The old Master only laughed and walked off, rubbing his sore arm. Pate walked towards Alois, pulling on his own tunic. He was fifteen now, almost sixteen: Tall, wide-shouldered and muscular. A far cry from the gaunt, starving youth Alois had found begging in Enubec.

“I did good?” he asked as he picked up a simple white tunic and pulled it on over his head.

Alois rubbed the thick hairs of his beard and grinned. “Well, you beat him, so yes, obviously.”

“Good enough to go into battle with you?”

Alois laughed. “You’re almost a man. Do I have a choice? I have to see you blooded before I turn you loose on your own, eh?”

Pate bounded over the fence with great speed, landing on the other side with a soft grunt, turning into a walk without breaking stride. Alois hurried to catch up.

“No one likes a show off, Pate.”

They hurried from the academy and into the cool afternoon breeze of Xavax. The Market was filled with people, moving shoulder-to-shoulder among every stall, their roaring clamor filling the senses as seller bartered with buyer three and four at a time. A crowd of mostly young girls stood around one stall, admiring the Traders fine and exotic materials. Pate let his gaze linger a little too long as they passed, and Alois clapped him across the back of the head.

“Don’t stare so much,” he commanded.

A beggar stopped in front of them, dressed in torn and filthy rags, begging for just a silver for food. Pate was happy to accommodate. “It’s a hard life,” he said once they were well past the man. “I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.”

“Do you really believe you are ready to be my Battle-Squire?”

“Yes,” he answered without hesitation. “I have been studying recently, at the Academy. Tactics. Strategy.”

“I’m aware,” Alois said quietly. “I pay for the lessons, remember? But you wouldn’t be leading, so it has little merit.”

“I was with you in Bastad, as well. In the shield wall.”

Alois snorted. “You were in the third rank, handing me fresh spears, with the rest of the Old Men and Unblooded. No, a Battle-Squire, you would be with me, at the front, in the thick of it. A part of the unit. I ordered you to stay back during Chaos Temple, where every man who followed me atop the walls were slaughtered to a man. I couldn’t do that if you were my Battle-Squire, you would have died with them.”

“I’m willing to take that chance.”

Alois shook his head. I love you like a son, he wanted to say. Instead he stopped and swallowed the knot in his throat. “Alright,” he finally said, “Next patrol, you march with me.”

Pate smiled, wanted to hug the Knight and say, Thank you, Father. Instead he swallowed the knot rising in his throat and said, “Thank you for the honour, Ser.”