Closed Swords and Smiles

[Oliver Burke]

Spring 35, 514 AV

Training was the biggest part of Oliver’s life, for as long as he could remember, from dusk till dawn he would practice with the sword, the bow, the horse, and the shield. These skills were drilled into him by various teachers. These teachers were veteran knights, who in turn had spent their entire live training, and fighting. These skills were taught generations back, all for the service to the city of Syliras, and the gods they worshiped. But simple fighting was not all that they were, the knights kept the order during the days of chaos, and carved a sanctuary nestled on the Suvan Sea. A place where you were free to work, and live in peace. Oliver believed that, he knew it wasn’t perfect, and the city had its problems. It was crowded, it was smelly, and if you broke the law you were punished severely. He accepted those things, because he believed it was better than the alternative, it was better than living in chaos, and in anarchy, and in fear. And as the sun rose each morning on the citadel hugging the sea, he believed what he was doing had meaning and purpose, and that drove him on to better himself to help protect what the entire world seemed to want to rip apart.

He woke early, like many of the squires in the dormitories, which seemed crowded like the rest of the city. They had brief time for a simple, but filling breakfast of oats, and dried meats. This early meal would fuel him through his training regimen, which would begin once the city was lit by the golden sun. He felt a little trepidation today, his patron, Ser Glyn had told him of a special practice today. Oliver rarely spent time socializing with the other squires, and would rather spend his time off the training field reading history, or military treatises, or even poetry than talking and making friends. He was never mean, however, he had just never connected to the others in the Dorms. His closest friend was his patron, that was something he would openly admit.

Once the meal was over, the squires proliferated through the city, going about their various duties. Patrols, horse riding lessons, sparring and sword play, any number of things their patron demanded of them. Oliver had went back to his room, and donned his armor. It was difficult to put on by yourself, it seemed like there dozens of pieces to a complicated puzzle he didn’t have instructions too. The chain mail came first, the interlocking metal rings always seemed to weigh heavily on his shoulders, but as he donned the rest of the armor during what seemed like a bell, the weight was changed, and more evenly adjusted. It was constricting, and heavy, and hot. But it was effective protection or the knights wouldn’t use it. He slowly made his way through the city, pushing past crowds, and politely saluting patrolling knights.

The morning mist had already been dissipated by the sun, and the city already seemed to brustling with activity. The sounds of merchants and traders slowly faded to the sweet sounds of knights plying their own trade. Even for a man who sought little solace in others, the sounds of training comforted, and encouraged him. Ser Glyn was already waiting for the squire, and he seemed eager to begin.

“Im glad you made it, we should start right away.” The young knight, Devon Glyn said. Though he was young, he was sharp, and not bad with a blade. He made few waves however, and their morning regimen always started with brief meditation to ask the gods for their blessing, and to gather strength for the grueling calisthenics that would come next. They kneeled out of the way of other training sessions, and Oliver tried to clear his mind like his patron had instructed. It was difficult, and the noises of the yard made it almost impossible to quiet his thoughts.

[Oriah]

"And you're...absolutely sure about this?"

Oriah peered up at her guide, who was an older woman with a limp and walking cane to steady her gait. Nan had retired from knighthood to live a life of quiet and peace, though from time to time she did visit the dormitories and training grounds to see how the younger generations were doing. The Benshira rather liked Nan's sweet and mild temper, having grown much too used to Sera Mora's cryptic reticence, but the woman's refusal to shed light on their destination proved more than a little frustrating.

"Hush, dear," Nan chuckled. "I thought you desert folk were supposed to be renowned for your wisdom and patience."

"I had plenty of the latter," Oriah retorted, only a hint of resentment seeping into her otherwise pleasant tone, "until I found myself facing my twenty third test, without water and only five arrows in my quiver."

The old woman laughed outright, her voice at once rough and exquisite, not unlike the sound of campfire crackling to life. "You'll know soon enough, dear," Nan said, shaking her head fondly. "You'll know soon enough."

Today was Oriah's fifth day at the dormitories. Five whole days without Sera Mora's mysterious presence. Five whole days without knowing what on Miz the Chaktawe had been up to. From experience alone, the girl knew her patron would give her no straightforward answers, even when--or if--she did return. This was more than off-putting enough to dampen the squire's usual sunny demeanor, but she tried her best not to let it sink too deep. They were almost to the training grounds and she was about to find out why she had been summoned, without any prior warning, from the mess hall that morning.

It was slow progress, walking with Nan. Oriah suspected this had been as integral to Sera Mora's plan as everything else, from her bunk mates to her training schedule, but had given up long ago on trying to understand it all. She simply had to trust that this was for her own good. Even if it did irk her that her guide clearly knew the answers but refused, and sweetly so, to give them to her.

It seemed her tests of faith to Yahal continued to manifest themselves in all manner of forms she had yet the wisdom to anticipate. With a silent nod to her god, Oriah sighed and contented herself to making other small talk with Nan as they ambled their way toward the training grounds.

By the time they arrived and Nan led her to a yard already bursting with activity, the Benshira had quite forgotten her earlier gloom. It was always exciting, seeing other squires working through their training, all different in skill levels and preferences but united nonetheless by their choice in path. It was difficult sometimes, being so secluded by Sera Mora's side within the woods. Or not by her side--whatever the Chaktawe deemed necessary and most enlightening. On more than one occasion, the girl found herself wishing for another soul to talk to. One that would talk back, and had facial features more expressive than peeling bark or twinkling skies.

Soon, they stopped behind a pair of kneeling figures, both suited in considerable amounts of armor and nestled deep with silent meditation. Unsure of what their next course of action should be, Oriah watched and kept silent, waiting patiently for both figures to complete their routine.

Nan said nothing, as was expected. The old woman simply give her a sweet look before pointing at the kneeling pair before toddling off in another direction. Oriah opened her mouth to protest, but clamped it shut again. What was the point? She wasn't going to get answers anyway, and she would only appear rude to what she assumed would be her new training partners for the day.

And so she stood there a polite distance away, examining her short bow, watching the other squires train--anything to help ease the passage of time. When the meditation had finished, Oriah snapped to attention and smiled warmly to the two men rising to their feet.

"Squire Oriah Azari, a pleasure to meet you both," she greeted, offering her hand to each. "I believe I am meant to train with you today?"

[Oliver Burke]

Oliver had never truly grasped the purpose of meditation. He had spent days trying to figure out what you were supposed to achieve during these times of quiet. He didn’t even know what he was supposed to be thinking of, or even if he was supposed to be thinking of anything as the case may be. If he was being perfectly honest, he had spent much of the time day dreaming. Sometimes he dreamed about books he had read, or books he wanted to read, or books he thought he had read. Sometimes he would dream about the history of the order, all the valiant knights who came before him, all the knights that were still to come, all the good deeds that the order had done, and the good that they do now. This path always lead down a darker road, leaving him to believe that he wasn’t fit to be a knight. Compared to the legendary knights of old, he felt like he was weak. He felt like he had no purpose if he couldn’t be strong like them. If he couldn’t be the kind of person the city deserved then why should he even exist? The people of Syliras deserved the best its knights could give, these people should live in peace, free to pursue their dreams, and lives. These thoughts left a burning desire to train harder, this was the only reason he believed he existed. He would help protect the city, he would let them live their lives, he would pay for their dreams with his own blood, and he would do it gladly.

The young squire didn’t notice his patron stand, or the woman who had approached them. ”Ah Squire Azari” stared Ser Glyn gathering his squire’s attention and taking the woman’s hand. ”I’m glad you found us. I trust Sera Mona is well?” he continued, his voice cutting through the sound of training and sparring. ”You are correct, I believe my squire can benefit from variation in the routine.” He swatted his squire’s shoulder light heartedly, trying to ease his squire. ”I’m afraid his dour and quiet nature will hamper him as a knight.” He shot a wolfish sidewise glance at his squire, hoping to see some sort of reaction out of Oliver.

Oliver smiled politely, and took the Oriah’s hand briefly. He choose to ignore his patron’s teasing, sometimes you just had to let it wash off. ”I am Squire Burke, it is a pleasure to meet you.” It was nice to meet other squires occasionally, the regular drill did get boring, and he enjoyed social interaction on rare occasions. Most of the other squires probably thought he was meek, or maybe slightly touched in the head. He let them think what they would, and made few attempts to try and correct them. Most mornings in the squire dormitories felt like a big game of ‘match up’, it was something he chose not to participate in. He just didn’t have the time to deal with the finer points of making and maintaining connections. He knew that he really should do those things. Making connections was probably an important skill for knights, and he knew that many of the veteran knights encouraged such friendships. Perhaps these were crucial to the order.

”See what I mean?” bellowed Ser Glyn, ”Oliver here is so bland!” he messed up his squire’s hair, and laughed loud, [b]”Well, lets begin. We usually start up with some warm-ups. Will you join us?” the pair of knights began to stretch before their very intense calisthenics that would prepare them for the sword drilling.

[Oriah]

Oriah returned Ser Glyn's easy cheer readily enough, used to warmth and vigor of most of the knights of the Order. When his jests failed to tease a reaction from his squire, however, the Benshira looked upon the boy with new curiosity. He had let the playful words slide by not out of shyness or ineptitude, but intention. Though what that intention was she had yet to puzzle out.

"I wouldn't call him that," Oriah mused with a shake of her head. "Quiet, perhaps, but not bland. There's plenty brewing behind those sharp eyes."

At Ser Glyn's question, the Benshira nodded eagerly, itching to get her day started at last. All of that slow, purposeful strolling with Nan had left her more than a little bottled up with excess energy. "I would like that, Ser. How does one do these...stretches?"

She mimicked the others as best she could, having never done such an exercise before. Out in the woods, Sera Mora usually made her run or climb as a sort of warm up, but rarely employed any set routines. The Chaktawe seemed to be of a mind that the more varied the surprises she tossed in her squire's way, the better prepared Oriah would be for what was to come during knighthood.

"They greatest lesson in life you can learn, Little Bird," Mora often liked to say, "is to master the art of surrendering."

Of course, that had sounded fifty different shades of wrong to the Benshira when she first heard it. And she had said as much. But her patron only smiled that humorless, cryptic smile of hers as she explained, "there is more than one way of surrendering, squire. The beaten mongrel cowers before his master in fear of another blow, whilst the willow yields and sways beneath the wind as its roots grip the earth with resolute strength."

There were variations to these explanations as well. In fact, there seemed to be a new one for every repeated attempt Oriah made to question her superior. "A mountain stands tall and strong as Caiyha's breath and lifeblood wears him down year after year," the Chaktawe had offered for her squire's dozenth or so rebuttal, "but never knows the faces of his kin in other realms. The seedling, however, travels far and wide as it rides that same breath and blood, year after year, taking root and budding in the most unlikeliest of places."

At this point, of course, Oriah felt quite a lot like clutching her hair and almost--almost--throwing a tantrum. But throwing tantrums was not what she did as a Benshira, devoted follower of blessed Yahal, let alone a respectable squire of the Order. So, she would swallow her pride, sigh in defeat, and return to her seemingly endless training.

The girl had been so lost in her thoughts as she doggedly tried to follow the men in their stretches that she almost failed to notice they had finished. Straightening quickly, she looked to them for where to go next, wondering how Ser Glyn's routines most assuredly would differ from Sera Mora's.

"Ready when you are, brothers," Oriah nodded cheerfully.