‘How long do I have to do this,’ Harold frowned from beneath his too-big helmet. ‘It’s been hours!’
‘It’s been minutes,’ his instructor rolled her eyes. Shara wasn’t accustomed to training children, but when the King had specifically demanded it…
‘Blade up!’ she barked and Harold slowly lifted his dulled sword from the dirt. Too slowly — she whacked him on the back of the knees.
‘Ow!’ he yelled, dropping the steel so he could rub his welt. ‘You can’t just—I’m the prince! When my father hears about this—’
‘He’ll thank me for doing my job,’ Shara growled. ‘Now pick up that sword, or you’ll be walking to the steel suppliers near Melbourne to forge me a replacement.’
Warily eying off her stick, Harold bent down to grasp the sword’s hilt, slowly dragging it back up with him, making a meal of every second. Shara rolled her eyes again, fighting the urge to whack him again. At a certain point, it became counterproductive, though. And he was the prince…
‘Blade up!’ she yelled again, once he was upright. A small smile slipped through as she noted how much quicker he snapped to attention this time. ‘Now,’ she continued. ‘Show me your stance.’
He clumsily shifted into the defensive posture she’d showed him and Shara wondered — not for the first time — if he might have a better future training for steel fabrication. Melbourne certainly didn’t have enough of them, not after the nasty business with the—
She noticed that her young charge was starting to strain, the tip of his sword wobbling, and she’d gotten distracted. ‘Parry!’ she yelled, quickly, and Harold twisted around with a grunt, swinging the sword up to block an imaginary strike.
The exertion had taken its toll, however, and the sword slipped out his sweaty grasp and went flying past Shara’s quickly-ducked shoulder, scratching to a stop on the courtyard’s cobblestones.
Both instructor and pupil winced at the shrieking sound it made. Slowly, Shara turned to the boy with a glare.
‘I guess you’re heading to Melbourne, then.’