Thrust! Thrust! Slash sideways to parry the counterthrust! Thrust again!

A small group of hardened soldiers watched impassively as Thomas weakened slowly in defense against their captain.

Ignore the dull ache of fatigue that tempts you to lower your sword hand. Thomas commanded himself. Advance! Retreat! Quickly thrust! Now parry!

Above Thomas, gray clouds of a cold June day. Around him, a large area of worn grass, and beyond the dirt and grass, the castle keep and village buildings within the walls of Magnus, the kingdom he had won barely a month earlier.

Right foot forward with right hand. Concentrate. Blink the salt sweat from your eyes. And watch his sword hand!

A small boy struggled to push his way through the wall of soldiers blocking him from Thomas.

He can sense you weakening. He pushes harder. You cannot fight much longer. Formulate a plan!

"Thomas!" the boy cried. One burly soldier clamped a massive hand around the boy's arm and held him back.

Thomas began to gasp for air in great ragged gulps. His sword drooped. His quick steps blurred in precision.

The captain, a full hand taller than Thomas, grinned.

The death thrust comes soon! Lower your guard now!

Thomas flailed tiredly and relaxed one moment too long.

His opponent stretched his grin wider, and -- overconfident because of the obvious fatigue in front of him -- brought his sword high to end the fight.

Now!

Thomas focused all his remaining energy on swinging his sword beneath t

Instead, the captain roared with rage as he fell backward onto the dirt and scrabbled to his feet.

"Insolent puppy! Now learn your lesson!"

Among the soldiers, a few faces showed amusement. The small boy among them kicked his captor in the shins, but could not free himself.

The captain rushed forward and waved his sword.

Intent on saving what energy he could, Thomas merely held his own sword carefully in front to guard. He watched the waving sword as a mouse in hiding watches a cat.

"Fool!" the captain shouted, still waving the sword in his right hand as distraction while his left hand flew upward in an arc that Thomas barely saw. At the top of that arc, the captain released a fistful of loose dirt into the eyes and mouth of his younger opponent.

Thomas caught most of the dirt as he sucked in a lungful of air. The rest blinded him with pain. The choking retch forced Thomas to his knees, and he did not see the captain's sword flash downward.

Once across the side of the ribs. Then a symbolic point thrust in the center of his chest.

Over.

The soldiers hooted and clapped, before dispersing to their daily duties. The small boy broke loose as his captor joined the applause. He darted to Thomas.

"That dirt was an unfair thing for 'im to do, it was!" the boy said.

In reply, Thomas coughed twice more, then staggered to his feet.

"Wooden swords and protective horse hide vests or not, my lord," the captain said to Thomas, "I expect you'll be taking a few bruises to your bed tonight."

Thomas spit dirt from his mouth. "I expect you'll have one yourself, Robert. It was no light blow I dealt to your ribs. By our rules, I thought the fight would end." He wiped his face and left a great smudge of sweat-oiled dirt.

The boy tugged on his sleeve. "Thomas."

"Later, Tiny John."

"Rightfully so. By our rules, you were the winner." Robert of Uleran replied. He was a man, at thirty years old, nearly middle aged. Solid and tough, his scarred and broken face was a testimony to much of the first three decades of rough living. Set in anger, children would run from that face screaming. But when he smiled, as he did now, no child would ever be frightened.

"I continued, however, for two reasons."

Thomas spit more dirt from his mouth and waited.

"One, I was angry you had fooled me by pretending tiredness so effectively. A teacher should never misjudge his student so badly. It's been a month and you've learned far quicker than most. I should have expected that move from you."

"Thomas!" Tiny John said.

"Later, Tiny John." Then, attention back to Robert of Uleran. "Anger has never been part of the rules," Thomas observed.

"Neither has mercy. And do not deny it." Robert's eyes flashed beneath thick dark eyebrows. "When you landed that first blow, you should have moved in to finish me. Instead, you paused. That hesitation may cost you your life someday."

Robert drew his cloak aside and began to unbind the thick horse leather wrapped around his upper body. "I will not impart to you all I know about fighting only to have you lose you to a lesser man with more cruelty. The dirt in your face, I hope, has proved to be a great lesson."

"Thomas!" Tiny John blurted, then stamped his feet in frustration and rolled his eyes in exasperation.

Thomas good naturedly placed a hand over Tiny John's mouth. He knew this was the proper time to make his announcement.

"Robert," he said, "I do not wish for you to remain captain of all these soldiers. Pick your replacement."

"My lord, have I offended you?"

"Pick your replacement," Thomas ordered. Thomas was already in his fourteenth

"Yes, my lord."

Tiny John considered biting the hand over his mouth. But even he recognized the steel in Thomas' voice, and decided there would be a better time later.

Having said that, Robert of Uleran turned. He had not completed the removal of his fighting gear. Yet because of angry pride, he turned to leave quickly.

"Please remove your possessions from the soldier's quarters," Thomas ordered.

For a moment, Robert's face expanded with rage at further insult. His narrow scar lines flushed with blood, and he drew a deep breath. He wheeled quickly and stared at Thomas.

Neither flinched.

Then Robert's shoulders sagged. "Yes, my lord."

Thomas drew his own breath to speak, but was interrupted by the drumming of horse hooves.

A great white beast rounded the buildings opposite the exercise area. On it, a man in a flowing purple cape. Sword sheathed in scabbard. No travel bags attached to the saddle.

Thomas removed his hand from Tiny John's face, and placed it on Robert's shoulder to stop him from moving away.

"It's the Earl of York," Tiny John blurted. "That's what I was trying to tell you. The most powerful man in the land! He asked permission at the gates to enter alone and unguarded. Twenty of his men remain outside."