Free Keeper of the Grail by Michael P. Spradlin

having us practice swings and jabs, then paired us off to work on sparring. I was teamed with Quincy.
    Sir Hugh came strolling by the line of squires as if he were a general inspecting his troops. At first I thought he would ignore me as he stopped to instruct a pair of the squires on their technique. Watching him from the corner of my eye, I had to admit that Sir Hugh was an excellent swordsman, perhaps as good as Sir Thomas. He was graceful and moved well, and I realized he would be a formidable foe in a fight. As he moved closer to us, Quincy and I kept practicing and I tried to ignore his presence, hoping he would move on. Soon, however, he stood next to us, watching as we sparred.
    Quincy jabbed at me with the wooden sword. Stepping forward, I swung my weapon to the left with the blade upright, solidly blocking the thrust. He stepped back, preparing to move forward again, but Sir Hugh stopped us.
    “That was the most pitiful parry I’ve ever seen,” he said.
    His words stung, but I tried not to pay him any mind. “Forgive me, sire. I am new at this,” I said.
    “No excuse. We are here to fight. If you can’t do that, you are of little use. A weak link in the chain like you can get us all killed.”
    Sir Hugh’s eyes bore into me, but I refused to be baited. “Then I will keep practicing until I am the strongest link, sire,” I said.
    Sir Hugh snorted. “Give me your sword,” he said to Quincy. Quincy was uncertain what to do for a moment, but timidly handed the weapon to Sir Hugh.
    “Attack me,” he commanded.
    I was reluctant to move.
    “In God’s name, boy, I have given you an order! Attack!” he yelled.
    I made a halfhearted lunge with my weapon. With blinding speed, he easily parried the thrust, then swung back, striking me solidly across my upper right arm. My arm went numb and I cried out in pain.
    “Horrible defense,” he said. “If this were a real sword, your arm would be lying in the dust right now. Attack again.”
    I couldn’t feel anything in my right arm below the elbow and couldn’t grip the sword correctly. My cry of pain had brought the training of the other squires to a halt, and they and Sergeanto LeMaire turned to watch, stunned, waiting to see what would happen next.
    “Sire, my arm…,” I said.
    “Boy, you listen to me! Attack!” Sir Hugh did not wait for me to move. Taking a giant lunge forward he brought the wooden sword swinging down at full speed. I had only a second to raise my weapon, which I held in my left hand only, moving it into a blocking position.
    Sir Hugh’s sword whistled down, hitting mine with a loud crack. Because I fought one-handed, I couldn’t completely stop it. His blow landed on my right shoulder with a horrible crunching sound.
    This time I screamed out loud. I thought my shoulder was surely broken. Dropping the sword from my hand I looked in shock at my right arm, now useless at my side. Tears stung my eyes, but I did everything I could to force them back, not wanting to give Sir Hugh the satisfaction.
    “That was terrible. Simply awful! You have no talent at this whatsoever,” Sir Hugh said. “These are only practice weapons and you can’t even get that right. What are you going to do if you are attacked by someone with a real weapon?”
    To my horror, Sir Hugh dropped the wooden practice weapon in the dirt. I watched in disbelief as he drew his battle sword from the sheath at his belt and began swinging it back and forth in the air before me.
    “This isn’t a game, boy. This is war. We are going to fight. What will you do when it is no longer practice? What will you do when it’s real?”
    Circling around me he swung the sword back and forth, each time bringing it closer to my face. I glanced quickly about. The squires watched on in silence. Sergeanto LeMaire looked stricken, but being far outranked by Sir Hugh, he couldn’t do much.
    “Sir Hugh…,” he pleaded.
    “Quiet, sergeanto!” Sir Hugh snapped.
    Raising the sword high, he