The Wastelands (Part II of the Runner Series)

Chapter 1

"All right, soldiers, let's partner up for a bit of sparring. Everyone, grab a weapon," Will instructs and the soldiers disperse, heading toward the rack of swords lined up at the far end of the field.

Finally, here's a bit of training that I can actually use. I select a sword of hammered steel, testing its weight; stepping back, I take a few experimental swings. Only a couple of months have passed since I began training, but the deadly movements are already beginning to feel natural—

an intuitive step up from my street tussles. Rotating in place, I try a couple more sequences. I bring my sword up and swipe it vertically across my chest, then jump when the blade is suddenly blocked by opposing steel.

Will pushes my sword aside with his, his steely eyes dark with challenge.

I smirk and correct my stance, meeting his eye and raising an eyebrow.

Will's blade meets mine over and over with practised precision, challenging my weak side intermittently and forcing me to block. The sounds of metal striking metal reverberate through the dusty air as we join the other soldiers.

"You're still too tense across your shoulders. Relax—follow your weapon."

I fight the urge to roll my eyes as I sidestep him and block again, changing tactics abruptly and forcing him to defend. He counters my manoeuvres easily, not bothering to hide his smirk.

"Find something funny?" I ask, my voice hoarse from the exercise.

"When you're annoyed you stop using your head."

He shoves my blade aside again, deliberately using enough force to send me stumbling backwards.

"Don't let your emotions dictate your fight." He shoots me a meaningful look before he turns to shout directions over his shoulder. "You can't defend all day, Grifin. Attack him!"

At once, I hear the sound of one soldier viciously attacking another with a renewed sense of vigor. Grifin's opponent desperately defends himself against the blows, at the same time releasing a string of colourful curses.

"How are you able to see Grifin and still fight me?" I ask, buying myself a few moments to catch my breath.

"I see everything." A familiar dimple dots his cheek. "I also saw you sneak in late. You missed drills. Again."

"I caught the gist of it." I switch the sword to my left hand and wait for him to do the same.

"If you want to train with my army, then you need to stick to our rules." Will' voice has taken on that note of condescension and I feel myself prickle.

I channel my anger and aim my sword for his undefended side, letting out a grunt of annoyance when he blocks. "When I told you I wanted to train, what I meant was that I wanted to learn to fight, not to march."

"It's all part of a larger picture. Fighting is about more than just strength and technique." He parries patiently, his tone measured. "It's also about discipline."

I strike again, intending to catch him by surprise. I overcompensate and Will takes full advantage of my loss of balance, bringing his sword down on mine and sending me crashing to the ground.

I roll over onto my back, scowling at the blade pointed toward my neck.

"Most importantly, it's about attacking with your head and not your heart." That half-grin eases my annoyance a bit and I knock his sword away, accepting his hand and letting him pull me to my feet.

"I can't say I've missed your approach to teaching," I grumble, rubbing my sore arm.

"Perhaps not, but you have to admit that this is infinitely more fun than learning names and manners." He picks up my sword and tosses it back to me. "Now, let's try it again."