“Choose one,” he said.
“How do I know the one that’s right for me?”
“It’s the one that calls to you,” Mott said.
I reached for one with a medium-size blade with a wide fuller grooved down the length. The hilt was wrapped in dark brown leather, and a circle of deep red rubies was set into the pommel. Almost as soon as I grabbed it, the sword fell from my grasp and landed on the ground.
Mott darted forward and retrieved it, like I’d committed some sort of sin by dropping the sword.
“This is obviously too heavy for you,” he said. “Choose another one.”
“It was heavier than it looked, but it’s fine now,” I said, lifting it with both hands. “I chose it because it called to me.”
“Why?”
I smiled. “It has rubies on it. I could sell those for a lot of money.”
“Try it and I’ll use this same sword to run you through as punishment. Have you ever held a sword before?”
“Sure.” I’d once held the sword of the Archduke of Montegrist after sneaking into a room where he was staying. I’d taken it, just to admire of course, while he was asleep one night, but I hadn’t held it for long before I was caught. My punishment was thorough, but it had been worth it just for a few minutes of holding a sword as fine as his.
“What’s your training with a sword?” Mott asked.
“I suspect not enough to make a fair match between you and me.”
Mott smiled. “I heard what Conner said to you in the dining room. Despite what he describes as your limitations, you do have a chance to take the role of the prince. But you must learn and train and give yourself every advantage you can. Now raise your sword.” He demonstrated, holding his sword upright, nearly parallel to his body, and tilted outward. “Like this. This is first position.”
I followed him and moved my sword as he did. “Like this?”
“Get used to the feel of it in your hand. Swing it back and forth. Learn to control it, to balance it.”
I obeyed. Despite its weight, I liked the feel of the sword. I liked me with this sword in my hand. It stirred up memories of how I used to be, before the day-to-day survival that comes with living in an orphanage.
Still in first position, Mott said, “This is where you begin any basic attack.”
“So I should avoid it, then,” I said.
Mott raised an eyebrow. “Why is that?”
“If it’s that basic, then it’s the first move everyone learns, which means everyone knows how to defend against that one.”
Mott shook his head. “It doesn’t work that way. Sword fighting isn’t a chess game where you make one move, then so does your opponent.”
I sighed. “Obviously.”
Mott pulled a wooden sword off the wall, comparable to mine in length. “Let’s test you, then. See how you do for a beginner.”
“Should I use a wooden sword too?”
That made Mott smile. “Even with a wooden sword, I can still do more damage to you than you’ll do to me with that real one.”
As soon as he finished speaking, he cut a line through the air past my sword and hit my shoulder.
“Would you at least try to stop me?” he asked.
I made a face and thrust my sword at him, but he parried it. “Not bad,” Mott said. “But be bolder. Prince Jaron was known for that.”
“Sounds like he’s dead. So whatever his boldness was with a sword, it obviously didn’t save him.”