Free Sword of the Bright Lady by M.C. Planck

between sparring partners, Karl hesitated before bowing back and raised his shield.
    Christopher stepped in for a basic men strike, his bokken held overhead and cutting straight down, putting his height to good use. Karl brought the shield up fast, faster than Christopher would have imagined possible, ducking under it and letting the bokken slide off.
    Then he clubbed Christopher solidly across the ribs.
    â€œOw,” Christopher said, before he realized it didn’t hurt nearly as much as he had expected. The force of that blow should have broken his ribs. He looked down in perplexity, but he wasn’t even sore. The only injury was to his pride, as the chortling guards complimented Karl on his technique.
    â€œYou are newly promoted,” Karl said by way of apology. “I did not think you depleted.”
    Apparently whatever effect protected Hobilar now protected Christopher too. That was a welcome development.
    â€œLet’s not deplete me any more than necessary,” Christopher said, and raised the bokken again.
    Karl hefted his shield, and for the next two hours they fenced, lunging and parrying. Or rather, Christopher parried while Karl lunged. The young man attacked relentlessly, taking every opportunity to strike regardless of how exposed it left him. This was completely opposite to Christopher’s training, which heavily emphasized the value of not getting killed.
    Although Karl pulled his blows after the first one, mistakes were inevitable. A number of serious hits left little more than bruises, but eventually a blow slipped through that left Christopher gasping through the pain and seeing stars. He sat down, almost collapsing, the anxiety that drove him burned out with the last of his strength. His muscles were sore, a few probably torn, and a dozen lumps were forming inside and out. Idly it occurred to him that he would not be in any condition to fight tomorrow, but he was no longer physically capable of being afraid.
    â€œWhy do you always attack?” Christopher asked, dropping his bokken on the floor to signal surrender.
    Karl dropped his shield and club, squatting near him. He struggled out of the chain-mail tunic, letting it pool on the floor in a jangling mess. Christopher was embarrassingly gratified to see Karl had his own share of lumps, at least one of which was seeping blood.
    â€œThe goal is to deplete the foe’s tael before he depletes yours. Defense is merely giving the enemy free attacks. As an unranked soldier, my only hope is to land one strike before being slain, and trust to my comrades to finish the task.” The other soldiers nodded their agreement. “Had we fought for real, you would have absorbed my first blow and then cut me down.”
    Helga timidly crept into the room, bearing a tray of bowls. Porridge again, but the soldiers dug into it without comment. With considerable relief Christopher observed that as long as Karl was in the room, Helga seemed to completely forget about flirting with him. Karl took this without comment, as well.
    One of the double doors creaked open, and Svengusta entered, covered in snow.
    â€œStill alive, I see,” the old man said. After dumping a bag on the floor and struggling out of his cloak, he took a closer look. “But only barely. What have you done to him, Karl?”
    â€œProvided an education,” Christopher said. “At my request.”
    â€œIt’s likely to be the least painful of your lessons today,” Svengusta said, “and the easiest to repair.” He spoke a prayer and touched Christopher. Instantly the pains were gone, the bruises healed, and Christopher felt whole and rested again.
    â€œWow.” The surge of good feeling could not be contained. “Can you fix Karl? He’s as beat up as I am.”
    â€œI don’t need him to be able to concentrate.” Svengusta went over to the young man anyway. Karl looked like he wanted to object, too, but Svengusta