Fruits of Insanity

Playing with Swords

“Put your back in it, lass.” Hrothgar roared the instruction, catching the eyes and ears of everyone in the training yard.

Matilde winced but brought her arm up for another attack, her shield held ready to block. In the quiet of her room, after bathing her bruises in a salve and warming her aches in the sun, she was grateful the armsmaster took her wish to train seriously. In the harsh reality of the practice yard, sometimes she wished he’d give her the deference due to a king’s daughter.

“Remember,” he bellowed, not even pausing the pattern he could probably do in his sleep, “you’re smaller and weaker than most of the opponents you will face. You are not learning to duel, lass. What’s the first rule of combat?”

“Stay alive, sir,” she panted, trying to pull from muscles that were leaden.

“How do you do that?”

“By any means necessary.”

“An enemy will not play fair. They will attack when you are tired and distracted, and what is your job?”

“To stay alive by any means necessary.” She repeated the words, but her heart sank. Now was the time when he’d press her until she broke. She had only one chance to escape without serious bruising.

“Now!”

As he attacked with renewed vigor, Matilde ducked inside his sword’s range and kicked firmly just below his gut, holding her shield to protect her face and vital areas. As he staggered back, still upright but shield held firmly over his groin, she brought her sword up towards his face, hit as hard as she could, dropped sword and shield and ran towards the door, happy that she’d succeeded in hitting him for the first time, but unsure of what happened next.

Hrothgar roared with laughter. “Well done! Do what they don’t suspect, and then run.” He gestured to the dropped weapons. “But try to keep your sword, lass. You don’t want to face an opponent without a weapon.”

She paused, her hand on the doorframe. “But the sword is so heavy to run with.”

“Ah, yes. And that’s why we practice.” Hrothgar motioned for her to come back.

Reluctantly, she walked back over to pick up sword and shield. She just wished her father hadn’t gotten it into his head that she needed to learn arms—she had a much easier time of it in the garden with Anne, learning poisons.

Prompt 7
the week of September 13

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