“How? Far?” Solène gasped, beginning to fear she would not be able to continue.
“There’re still a few laps to go,” dal Drezony said.
“I. Have. To. Walk,” Solène said, reckoning death was more attractive than having to take one more stride.
“That’s all right,” dal Drezony said, slowing to a walk. “Don’t want to kill you on your first day.”
Solène stopped and doubled over, sucking in great breaths as the others continued on their way. “It gets easier?”
Dal Drezony laughed. “It does, I promise. Now, come on. If you stop for too long, it will be hard to start again. If we take the direct route back you’ll have time to rest before lunch. You’ll need to rest whenever you can, and keep the fuel coming in, or you won’t have the energy to keep up with everything. The days are long here at the Priory, especially when you aren’t used to them.”
“Everything you do is dependent on the Fount,” dal Drezony said.
Solène was walking with dal Drezony through one of the Priory’s many courtyard gardens. She wore Uniform Number Two, as did most of the people around her: britches, boots, shirt, tunic, and robe. She had never worn britches before and they felt strange. Her legs were stiff and sore from the morning run, but walking seemed to help loosen them. It had taken her awhile to realise this was a lesson, not a casual stroll to ease aching legs.
“It’s the energy of the world, and it can be found almost everywhere. In us, around us, wherever there is life. Certain things block it—thick stone, water. If you swim underwater, for instance, you won’t be able to draw on the Fount. We don’t know why that happens. Ordinarily, with a new novice, I’d have to spend quite some time teaching them to open their minds to the Fount. Happily, that isn’t something I have to do with you—your connection to it already seems to be very strong.”
“What does it look like?” she said.
“You mean you haven’t seen it?” dal Drezony said.
Solène shrugged. She had no idea what the Fount was, nor had she ever felt it. She could simply do the things she could do.
“That comes as a surprise. Usually a novice needs to be able to see the Fount’s manifestation before they can accept, and reach for it. Getting them to see it’s the hard part.”
“So what does it look like?”
Dal Drezony smiled. “A blue glow, covering everything. It’s really quite beautiful. In order to draw on it, we must reach for it. To reach for it, we must see it. At least that’s what we thought before you. I was right when I said we’d learn as much from you as you from us,” dal Drezony said. “I can’t shape magic unless I see the glow. Only when my mind is open to its existence, can I use it. It’s too great a leap otherwise. For me, at least. And everyone else here. It requires quite a bit of concentration, so if you’ve got a better way, I want to learn.”
Solène blushed. She didn’t know why she could do the things she could do. “I don’t know if I can teach you. I just want to do something, and it happens. Or it doesn’t. It depends on what it is that I’m trying to do.” After a moment’s silence, she asked, “Is this how it will always be? Walks and conversations?”
“No, but for magic this is how we usually start. It helps the novice relax and slowly build up an understanding of, and familiarity with, the concepts they need to absorb. This in the afternoon, for now, and physical training—running, fencing, gymnastics—in the mornings.
“For you, this process will be faster, though. You already have a potent skill, so what we have to do is temper it. After that, your afternoons will be academic study, practise, and experimentation, and hopefully we will be able to develop your ability to its full potential. That’s what we’re all here to do, to keep pushing our boundaries and explore what is possible. If you hear any explosions over the course of the day, that’s usually the reason. We’ve not had any serious accidents though, so don’t worry.”
CHAPTER 25
Solène was relieved that she didn’t have to run the next morning, and felt settled enough to join her new comrades for breakfast. Her first fencing lesson was scheduled immediately afterward, and as instructed, she reported to the fencing salon, located in a long building lined with large bay windows too high from the ground for outsiders to see through. She had no idea what was about to happen, and felt uneasy as a result. Her light cream fencing clothes—Uniform Number Three—felt odd, tighter than any other clothing she’d ever worn, but the material had enough stretch to allow easy movement.
It felt peculiar at first. Without a robe, Solène felt oddly naked in her britches, but by the time she walked from the refectory to the training hall she had grown to like them. They certainly felt more practical than the long skirts she usually wore, and no one paid her the slightest attention, making it clear she did not stand out to anyone at the Priory.
The room that greeted her was impressive: an entire building dedicated to swordplay, with the beams and apex roof high above. The floor was of light-coloured wood, so well polished she could almost see her reflection in it. Several pairs of swordsmen and women fenced one another, clad in the same uniform Solène wore. They moved back and forth, their shoes thumping and squeaking on the floor as their blades clattered against one another. Fencing looked like it might be fun, and she felt her trepidation ease.
“Bastelle?”
It took Solène a moment to realise that the shout was directed at her. She looked over at a wiry man no taller than she was. His greying black hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail that gave him an intense look.
“Yes, I’m Solène from Bastelle. Brother Foulques?”
“Banneret Foulques,” he said. “In my fencing salon, we use proper titles, so while you are within these walls, you call me Maestro. If you’ve got a title, tell me, and I’ll use it. Otherwise, you’re Novice Bastelle.”
“You can call me Solène,” she said.
“Did you run yesterday, Novice Bastelle?”
Solène nodded.
“What?”
“Yes I did, Maestro Foulques.”
“Good. Now, the run. How’re your legs?”
“Sore.”
“Thought as much. It’ll ease once you’re warmed up.” Selecting a sword from a rack on the wall, he walked over to her. “I presume you’ve never used one of these?”
Solène shook her head, then thought better of it. “No, Maestro.”
“At least there won’t be any bad habits to unlearn.” He flipped the sword in his hand and presented it to her, handle first. “This is the lightest blade we have. It takes years of training to build the strength and stamina to use a heavier blade. We’re not looking to make a banneret out of you, just to give you enough skill to use it if you really need to.” He waved the handle at her, saying, “It’s not going to bite. Not that end, anyway.”
Hesitantly, Solène took the sword. The blade was long and slender, with a small, flat button at its tip. It looked flimsy, and she didn’t like that he had chosen the lightest blade for her.
“We’re not going to be having you running anyone through today,” he said, noticing her staring at the blunt tip. “We start easy. Swordplay is all about movement. Footwork is of vital importance.” Foulques turned and walked back to the sword rack, where he chose a more substantial blade for himself. “We’re going to start with what we call ‘the positions.’ Just a few to start off with, focussing on your feet and posture. In time, you’ll be doing them in your sleep. For now, we just want to get them into your head. And feet! Now, take your guard. Like this.”