Rhiannon - Dragonrider

Chapter Twenty Three - Attack in the Dark

I stretched my aching muscles as Geraint limbered up to take a few more blows. It was a simple enough exercise. I had to stand in a four-foot circle whilst he took swipes at me with a padded training sword and try to dodge the blows, or at least take them on my breastplate or something. Then, every once in a while, we'd swap.

I glanced up to the tower where half a dozen primes, mounted on nags, were making passes at a model rider and I found myself wishing I was flying.

But Geraint grabbed my attention with a solid thump on my thigh with his sword that was going to leave bruises.

"Come on, concentrate!" he said. "I pulled that one but don't expect me to do it again. I'll get it in the neck if Zalibar doesn't think I'm trying properly."

"Sorry about that," I said. "I'm still aching from yesterday."

"'The rider must stand ready to perform his duty, no matter what the state of his body or mind'," Geraint said in his 'I'm quoting something' voice.

"Do you really know the whole manual?" I asked as I leaned out of the way of a blow aimed at my head.

"Not quite all of it," he answered, "but I try to remember the important bits." He stepped in to launch an attack towards my right hip. But, by swiftly closing on him, I managed to step inside his attack and, with a little push, helped him out of the circle.

"It's like that, is it?" he said with a grin. He launched a vigorous attack towards my head which, with a sudden turn, melted into a blow towards my right leg which happened, at that moment, to be taking all my weight. I couldn't avoid the blow completely but, by hopping, slightly inelegantly, out of the way, I managed to reduce the force.

"Ow!" I said.

"Pay attention!" he told me. "Follow the eyes! The eyes give a lot away."

"I really do ache," I grumbled.

"That sand trip's a killer, isn't it?" he agreed, as he made his way cautiously round the circle. He was using the approved 'closed sidestep' pattern which told me he was about to attack.

Once a month, instead of a run, we were sent down to the beach. The trip back to the compound, loaded with a heavy sack of sand, was much, much worse than any training run.

"At least we have a decent pile of sand again for tidying up any loose footing in the quad," I said.

"So you have no excuses if you..." Geraint began but then he launched another attack, this time aiming for my right hip. I dodged cautiously, half expecting the switch that came and, when he flipped his attack to a head stroke, I managed to close on him and shove him out of the ring.

"Slip," I completed his sentence for him as he stumbled out of the ring.

"Maybe you're not the only one who's tired!" he admitted. "Should we swap again?"

My answer was interrupted by a whistle from Zalibar, calling the prime riders in and telling the rest of us to clear the quad and get ready for lunch.

The afternoon was beautiful and I was pleased that I'd been sent on the meat run with Geraint. The heat of high summer was past and the light was sharp, giving us an unusually clear view across the water to the mainland.

"If you don't mind me asking," I said cautiously as we walked along the open ground at the top of the cliffs, "why have you learnt Zalibar's whole manual?"

He thought for a moment. "To try and stay alive, I guess," he answered. "I mean, learning stuff is the only thing I've ever been any good at and I may as well put it to some use in this crazy place."