As a boy, I got into a lot fights. And as I grew up and reflected back on those time, I found that most of my enduring friendships were with boys I got to know after having fought them. This story is inspired by that little piece of introspection.
Age 10
Late Spring of 1341 DR in the month of Mirtul
Silverymoon
Taron swept his dark brown hair out of his eyes as he approached the practice field with trepidation. It was an unusually warm day for spring and the sun blazed relentlessly overhead, causing him to sweat profusely. The padding Taron wore was almost comically too large for him and it made him uncomfortably hot. “It’s big now, but you’ll grow into It.”, his father Maros had told him. That was little comfort to him now though, as he had to roll up the sleeves in order hold anything.
The practice field wasn’t actually a field at all. It was a patch of bare earth on one side of a large courtyard that surrounded the House Thrumbold manse. The entire courtyard wall was ringed by a 10 foot high wall, which blocked out much of the wind, but provided no shelter from the sun. Taron and his family had been there on occasion, as his father served as captain of the house guard. But he had never set foot on the practice field, nor had he ever wielded a full-sized wooden practice sword and shield.
Mikayl was already waiting when Taron arrived. The two boys were about the same age but, as the heir to House Thrumbold, Mikayl had already become accustomed to lessons on the field. He stood confidently staring off at some point on the wall that surrounded the courtyard. His training gear was all well fitted and appropriately sized for the boy. Small beads of sweat could be seen forming around his strawberry blonde hairline, occasionally dripping down around his steel blue eyes.
As Taron squared off with Mikayl, he heard his father’s voice from behind him. “Ok Mikayl, Taron is here to spar with you. Show him what you’ve learned.”
“Shouldn’t you be calling me Lord Mikayl, or Sir Mikayl, or something like that?” he replied casually without moving or looking up at either of them.
“Watch it, pup. If you want a title, you gotta earn it. And you haven’t. Not even close.” Maros barked back. “Now, get started unless you’d like to run laps around the yard.”
“Very well”, he replied to Maros as he turned towards Taron and readied his wooden sword and shield. “Tell you what, Taron. I’ll let you take the first swing. When you’re ready.”
Taron raised his unwieldy sword high and charged forward, but the whole maneuver was ponderously slow and Mikayl side-stepped it easily. As the blow fell, Mikayl’s blade lashed out and struck Taron’s weapon hand, causing him to lose his grasp. Then, as Taron’s momentum carried him past, Mikayl stepped in with his shield raised and knocked Taron off his feet where he fell unceremoniously to the ground.
There was a loud sigh from Maros. “Get on your feet, Taron.”
Taron was humiliated. He spit dust from his mouth as he struggled to his feet and rubbed his weapon hand. That hit had really hurt and he was sure he would have a nasty bruise before long.
“Quit sulking and pick up that weapon. You need to …” His father’s voice trailed off as one of the house guards called to him. “Damn it. You two keep at it. I’ll be right back”
Taron and Mikayl watched Maros hurry off. His steps were crisp and rhythmic, like those of a soldier marching with purpose. They saw him approach a group of guardsmen, then they all stormed off out of sight.
The two boys stood for a while before Mikayl broke the silence. “So, are you going to pick up that weapon today or should I maybe go have some juice while I wait?”
The smugness in the boys’ voice was insulting. Taron turned and gave Mikayl an angry scowl, but he didn’t move to pick up the blade. He wasn’t about to give the smug boy the pleasure of doing as he was told.
“I see. Well, Maros told me you weren’t much of a fighter. He said your mother had ruined you by letting you run around free like some kind of lunatic vagabond. It’s sad really, but it seems he was correct. Your mother really has ruined you.”
“You shut your mouth about my mother!” Taron yelled as he dropped his shield and leaped at Mikayl. The speed and ferocity of the attack seemed to catch Mikayl by surprise and Taron, who was strong for his age, tackled him to the ground. The two struggled for a bit, and even though Taron had wrestled many other boys before and acquitted himself well, once again Mikayl’s speed and training proved to be superior and before long he had Taron pinned.
Taron continued struggling, but to no avail. “Calm down, Taron. Calm down … I did not mean it. Calm down and I will let you go”. Something in Mikayl’s voice had changed, and instead of sounding haughty and privileged it was soothing and friendly. Still angry, Taron ceased struggling and Mikayl released him.
As Taron stood up from the ground, Mikayl walked over to the Taron’s fallen weapon and picked it up. He spoke as he examined it.
“So it seems your father was wrong. You are a fighter, you just need motivation. I’m sorry for saying those things about your mother, but I wanted to see how you’d react. You have heart, but you also need skill.”
Taron stood still, his face red from anger, humiliation and the sun’s unrelenting heat. He used his arm to wipe away the sweat that was pouring down his forehead. As he watched, Mikayl casually tossed aside the oversized weapon and retrieved his own from the ground. “Well, that sword of yours is clearly no good for you. Come on Taron, let’s find you something better.”
The two walked over to the weapon racks. They were filled with a variety of training weapons, all adult sized and well worn. Taron’s own weapons had been chosen from these racks.
But Mikayl continued past them to his own personal weapon rack, with items sized correctly for boys their age. He selected a sword and a shield. They were a little beaten up, but still sturdy. He handed them to Taron. “You’ll need proper equipment if you’re going to learn anything, so you may use these. After all, if we’re going to be sparring, I need you to be your best so that we can learn from each other.”
“Thanks”, Taron replied begrudgingly as he took the items. “Won’t your dad be mad if I am using your stuff?”
“I doubt he’ll notice. He never comes to watch me train. Anyway, tomorrow we’ll find you a proper fitting suit of padding too. But for now, let me show you how I disarmed you. With proper equipment your attack will be much faster, but your natural grip and stance are leaving you exposed.” Mikayl shifted his grip and his posture slightly imitating what Taron had done and slowly began swinging the blade in a similar motion. “You see, when you do it this way, it exposes your hand to … OW!!!”
Seizing the opportunity, Taron took his own weapon and whacked Mikayl hard, disarming him in the same manner he had been disarmed earlier.
Mikayl shook his hand, jumping up and down and grinning the whole time. “Dang! That hurts!”
“It sure does.” Taron said, smiling back.
Still smiling but keeping an eye on Taron, Mikayl leaned over to retrieve his weapon. “You learn fast. I think we’re going to have a lot of fun. Come on then!” he yelled.
The two boys, now friends, ran back to the center of the practice field and gleefully set about shouting and hitting each other under the hot sun.