Knight of Thieves

Chapter 10

Someone in the Court is working for the Cyrans. What was Emberly supposed to do with that information? What did this mean for the rest of Central? Or Etrusca, for that matter? What did this mean for Benedick? Will he be able to stay safe through all of this?

Emberly walked back to the castle with Will, Arran, and James. She was glad for the brief respite the weekend afforded her. But, as she and the others passed by the training yards, she knew exactly what she should be doing. A pang filled her chest, knowing she was wasting her time. Extra training would be far more beneficial for her than drinking ale with her friends. So, when she returned to her room, she told Kyra she needed her training uniform. She would have enough time before dinner to practice a little.

She stopped at Arran’s door and knocked. When he opened the door, and noticed Emberly in her training uniform, he let a long sigh. He held up a finger and closed the door. Then, he reappeared moments later in his own training uniform. She smiled and they strode out to the training fields. All the while, Arran grumbled about training on his day off.

“You’re the one behind,” said Arran as they reached for their training swords.

“And you’re going to end up behind if you don’t keep training,” Emberly pointed out. Arran humphed but obliged.

Once they had their swords, they strode over to the training fields. Emberly held up her own sword and Arran attacked first, pouring his weight into the attack. The strength of it overpowered Emberly and she stumbled backwards. Dropping the sword, she kneaded through the cramp in her hand. “I see why you’re out here,” said Arran.

“Where has all this confidence come from exactly?” Emberly asked. “I miss the old Arran.”

“I worked hard this summer. Besides, we saved everyone last year. It’s not so terrifying anymore.” But Emberly heard what he did not say. He failed to protect the prince last spring. He would train until he could not move if it meant he could save Will, like a real knight.

Emberly grabbed her sword once more and prepared for the attack. This time, she was ready for the force behind the blow and was able to block it. She arched her sword, bringing it down for a high attack. Arran defended it easily, but he took a step back, frowning.

“What was that?” he asked. Now, it was her turn to frown.

“It was an attack.”

“There was no force behind it. There’s no point in training if we go easy on each other. We’re cheating each other out of really being prepared. If you can’t attack me like you would a Cyran, then you’re never going to muster up the strength when you’re against them. They’re not going to go easy on you.”

Emberly nodded and held up her sword again. This time, when she sent the high attack at Arran, she put all of her force into the block, narrowing her strength into the blow. Arran blocked the blow but not nearly as easily as he had for the other one. He pushed against her sword, shifting his stance to carry the blow. Emberly withdrew the attack, giving her opponent a second to recover before she went for a low attack. Arran sidestepped, thrusting his blunt sword at Emberly’s shoulder. She quickly repositioned so that she could defy the attack.

Arran did not hesitate. After she blocked his attack, he sent his sword in for a middle attack. Emberly, still on the defensive, blocked the attack. She took a step back, analyzing their battle. He was better at strategy, she knew that. But that meant he would be thinking more than just what next blow he would land. He would be thinking far into the future. He wanted her to stay on the defensive.

So, naturally, she took the offensive.

While she did not have Arran’s skills in strategy, she was a far better fighter. Once she took the offensive, she kept it, forcing him to block every attack she sent his way. Eventually, he fell to the ground, panting. She held her sword to his throat. “Do you concede?” she asked.

“I concede,” he answered. She drew back her sword and offered her hand to him, which he took gratefully, rising to his feet. “I’d ask for a rematch, but I’m tired. Shall we try again tomorrow?”

“I think that would be a good use of our time,” said Emberly. They walked back to the squires’ wing together.

When Emberly opened the door to her room, she was surprised to find Kyra pouring hot water into the tub. Emberly threw her things down and gave her friend a thankful embrace.

Kyra was not amused.

“Oh! Get off of me, you strange woman. I just thought you’d need a bath after training. Really, it’s a conspiracy. You’ve tricked me into acting a certain way.” Emberly stepped away, beaming at her friend. “Oh, stop looking so happy! Look, you standing there is only going to make the water cold and all of my hard work would be a massive waste. So—Emberly! Stop hugging me! You know I hate it!” Emberly stepped back from the second embrace.

“It’s just…I’ve missed you, Kyra. It’s been far too long since you’ve hated the monarchy. I thought you were dying.”

Kyra said nothing as she wandered back into her room, muttering that Emberly just needed to let her know when she was done so that Kyra could get rid of the dirty bath water. And with that, Emberly was left alone.

—

The following week started without surprises. As she had done the previous year, Emberly rose early and stretched. She put on her training clothes and went out onto the field where she ran laps. She stayed out there until the sun began to rise. Then, she raced back inside, picking a spot at the second year table in the Great Hall. Will came down with James at his heels, taking the seat beside her.

Arran, unsurprisingly, was late for breakfast, causing Sir Wylan to say, “Squire Anson, you are going to sleep through the war if you are not careful. I am certain, by now, you know where the pots are. You’ll be cleaning them for the next week.” Emberly sighed as her friend plodded over to them.

Lessons that morning were the same, humdrum lessons they always had been. Emberly dreaded their lessons on war strategy, which, for some reason, took up most of the morning. Sir Roland had officially broken out of the many uses of terrain to the very long and drown out history of every weapon ever created. Emberly decided she would die of boredom long before she ever reached the battlefield.

The first surprise came after lunch. Instead of swordsmanship, Sir Wylan decided it was time for the squires to start training with knives. Like the swords, the knives were dulled so that the squires did not accidentally kill one another before the Cyrans ever got the chance.

They started off slowly. Sir Wylan had the knights-in-training line up across from the targets. Their only objective was to hit the target dead centered, which, as it turned out, was a lot harder in action. Emberly held the knife in her hand just as Sir Wylan instructed. She even threw it just as she saw him do. But she could not, for the life of her, hit the center of the target.

She supposed she should be grateful. Unlike her, Arran still had yet to hit the target at all, a fact Sir Wylan missed. “It’s right in front of you, Anson!” he barked in his rough voice. “How can you not hit it? A Cyran could be standing a foot in front of you, and even you wouldn’t hit him!”

Emberly could see the frustration mounting in Arran. She supposed she admired Arran for his persistence. Unlike many of the knights around them, Arran did not have natural skill at any of this. He had to work hard to rival his peers. Emberly believed he was brave for never giving up, the way that many do in the face of obstacles. Instead, he never gave up, and that was admirable. Because even with the frustration on his features, Arran’s face set with determination. He would master this, just like he had with everything else.

On the other side of Arran stood James. Without any hesitation, James Heczah threw every knife he had into the target’s center. Annoyance burned inside of her. How was he so good at this? When did he realize knife throwing would be necessary for knight’s training? Had he been practicing this all his life like he had done with the swords? It was all brutally unfair.

“You all need practice,” said Sir Wylan. “You are weak! And we will lose this war because of you!” Sir Wylan glanced up at the sky. They began its descent, drawing the day closer and closer to the night. Wylan sighed. “Off to dinner, then. I expect all of you to be on time.” He looked directly at Arran as he uttered these words.

Emberly walked back to the Great Hall with Arran. “After dishes,” said Arran petulantly, “knife throwing?” Emberly nodded.

“I’ll see who else will help. It seems the only one who doesn’t need practice is James Heczah.”

After dinner, Emberly trudged down the stairs to the kitchen with Arran. She managed to convince Will, Rormir, Antonio, Tom, and Rowan to join them. Emberly asked James if he wanted to join them, but he said he had more important things to do. She assumed he wanted to be a part of this. James Heczah really was not there for the camaraderie of it all.

They stayed late into the night, practicing their knife throwing. They seemed to be improving slowly but surely. “We should have brought James, he would have been able to instruct us, make sure we’re doing it right,” Will said as their time drew to a close. Will was answered with grumbles. “What?”

“James is annoyingly good sometimes,” Emberly said.

“Honestly!” Rormir interjected. “Who spends their childhood practicing knife throwing? Besides, we’re just supposed to get used to the weapon. We’re going to learn to fight with them. Isn’t that more important?”

“You all feel this way?” asked Will. He did not sound annoyed, rather he sounded curious, as though this were not obvious to him.

“Pretty much,” said Arran.

And Will was silent the entire way back to their rooms.