Gaining of Trust

Screams emanated from the training grounds. The guard room was deserted, everybody was watching the display. It was the only place Syrth could secure to do his training. All the guards were watching his practice with great interest. It wasn’t every day that you got to see a Mage trying to use a sword. The young man was sweating at the brow and the blade nearly left his hand on a number of occasions. What would be the essential difference between a normal man learning to fight with a sword and a mage? Well the answer was right in the training grounds. Syrth wiped the sweat from his forehead and walked back into the circle he had drawn on the ground. A blue glow appeared around his body and the screams began once again. White spectres appeared around the grounds. All of them stood with swords in their hands, each of them advancing on Syrth. The Mage took a breath and the colour of the circle at his feet started to change to a red glow. Men watched with interest as he disappeared again. Syrth moved at such a pace that he almost tripped over himself. Guards observed the lack of technique, but he was making up for the lapse with sheer speed. The screams continued and the men laughed. It was the noise from his blade, the sonic blasts from his magic induced speed made sure that the blade never stood still. The spectres raised their blades, yet they couldn’t keep pace with Syrth. As the last glowing figure advanced on the mage, Syrth tripped and tumbled to the ground, his ankle snapping from the impact. Men winced at the action, some of the newcomers making an attempt to go to him, yet they were restrained from the guards that had been watching for a while.

 

Syrth screamed with pain, his hand shot up and released a burst of flame that instantly destroyed the advancing figure. Whilst that hand was extinguishing, the other hand was glowing white as it rubbed the broken ankle. Closing his eyes, Syrth wondered if he would be able to heal it in time to practice one more time.

 

“How long has he been here?” One voice asked. “He started yesterday morning.” A voice replied. “What? That’s impossible; nobody could endure such a beating! Not even a mage!” However one voice came above the crowd, “He’s broken that ankle over a dozen times. He can heal himself and set it, but it needs time to properly heal. If he continues like this, no amount of magic will save him.”

 

A guard looked around to see the woman that spoke. Her hood hid her face; she wasn’t supposed to be here. It was a hard thing to avoid when it was the talk of everybody in the palace. The young boy that used to play in the palace was entering the Tournament of the Blade. Every member of the palace remembered him, even the King. It was difficult to forget Syrth. His father was, after all, the most powerful mage the world had ever seen. “Who are you? You shouldn’t be here; this is for guards only, ma’am.” One guard said as he took the lady’s arm, about to lead her out of the barracks. Yet he hesitated for a moment when he saw her face. Instantly losing his grip on her sleeve, the guard went to one knee as a mark of respect. As he began to profess his apologies, Princess Dalia was already running away, her hood pulled down over her face.

 

“Why are you kneeling?” another voice asked. “It... It was nothing.” The guard replied as he looked toward the retreating figure. Looking around him, the guard saw at least thirty men supporting the young man’s efforts. The tournament hadn’t even started, but it looked like the Palace had already found it’s favourite.

 

Getting to his feet, Syrth slowly put pressure on his ankle and started to pace back to the circle. He was surrounded by men who looked like they wanted him to leave. “I have to do this, I have to win!” He told himself once last time as he got to the circle. Taking a breath, he felt the tears falling down his cheeks. The pain was still there, no matter how many times he healed himself. He would still have the pain from every break, bruise and strain. Taking the breath, he prepared himself for the practice. “You’re holding the blade wrong.” A voice pierced through the crowd. Noises of confirmation echoed through the men, causing Syrth to pause. Looking down at the blade in his hand, he wondered what they were talking about. A large hand enveloped his own, causing him to jump in surprise. “You hold it like this, also, tuck in your elbow... that way you’ll have more spring when you lunge into an attack.” The Captain of the guard said with a reassuring smile. “What’s a lunge?” Syrth said as he gripped the sword the way he was instructed.

 

More men crossed over to the yard, each of them smiling and offering a piece of advice. Syrth was confused; the guild had always told him that he was not to talk to any of the Guard. They were apparently to themselves and hated all the mages. “Why are you helping me? You don’t like mages...” Syrth asked in confusion as he tucked in his elbow and extended his arm. The Captain smiled at his men as they started to demonstrate movements with their own swords, “Yes, that’s true. We generally don’t like mages... But we do like swordsmen.” Syrth tried to clear the tears from his eyes, but the Captain just laughed louder, “The real training starts now! I suggest you do that white hand thing more often, you’re going to need it!”

Author's Note

If i had better classical music, this would have been longer. :)

Reviews

[-Aurelia Mirella]

Oh my! The Princess saw him...! I wonder what she's thinking...

I really liked this chapter. We get to read more about Syrth and understand a little better what he's like. His really determined which is a fantastic character trait, in my opinion. I'm curious though, about his friend that had water powers, Lysha. I wonder what her role is in this story...

Haha, I'm sorry you couldn't find better music! I would recommend some if I knew any classical songs, but I don't. :[

Always,
-Aurelia Mirella ♥