Manfred spent his first five days of knighthood performing humble tasks such as cleaning the horse stables, grooming the equestrians, and generally being a set of strong arms as Tom Holt had the knight's hall rearranged to accommodate his new plans. While the younger men assigned to perform those same tasks alongside him proved full of complaining and bitterness, he remained content.

When Manfred's sixth day arrived, Tom assigned him a teacher from among the more experienced knights who practiced the Torlenian style. For the next few days, his mornings were filled with instruction and refining of his skills, with afternoons occupied in sparring with fellow swordsmen of all disciplines and skill levels. Nearly every lunchtime, he enjoyed an outdoor chat with Princess Kate, who seemed to grow more playful and cheery each day. Why that was, Manfred had no clue.

Then when the morning of day twelve arrived, Tom called the knights together to announce that he was making an addition to training protocol. While primary focus would be given to swordsmanship, he ordered that one special session a week be dedicated to learning various common battlefield weapons such as polearms and spears. Though archery wouldn't be made mandatory, he gave a strong recommendation that it be worked into training sessions as well.

Since very few of the senior knights had previous familiarity with weapons beside the sword, and those that did had little confidence in their ability to teach them, Tom made a quick run to the military barracks just outside the capital and brought back some officers to give instruction.

So before long, Manfred found himself being escorted by Tom to one of the sparring rooms to meet the soldier who would be his instructor for the day. When they entered the chamber, Manfred raised an eyebrow at the other pairs of sparring men, wielding a variety of heavy weapons of such length that the only physical contact possible would be blade or hammer head against flesh. Unless someone rushed into grappling range, of course, which one young knight did, only to be flipped onto the floor by his instructor and shown that he could have been beheaded right there were it a real fight. Manfred shuddered in sync with the fallen knight.

When Manfred returned his attention to the path ahead, he realized Tom was slowing near the corner of the room, where a Monteraynian soldier stood with a pole-axe in his hands, girded in sophisticated plate armor evidently exported from Alconte. The soldier's helmet lay at his feet, allowing Manfred to view his olive-skinned face. He sported a stubbly beard of no great length, but just enough to give his jawline greater definition. Overall, his features were well-proportioned, and the skin around his eyes bore various wrinkles, which Manfred could only assume were from expressions like squinting and frowning, as the soldier only appeared a few years older than himself.

Tom cleared his throat beside Manfred. "Allow me to introduce you to Captain Sloan Troy, Overseer of the capital's garrison. He'll be your instructor for today."

Manfred's lips tightened into an awkward smile as he extended his arm for a handshake. "Nice to meet you...sir. I'm Manfred Rickland."

The plates of metal covering Sloan's arm chattered against one another when he shifted his weapon into one hand and then reached out. He grasped Manfred's hand firmly, almost painfully. "I'm equally pleased to meet you, Rickland. We'll do a lot of heavy lifting today."

Manfred eyed the pole-axe apprehensively. It looked beastly, with its gleaming axe blade balanced out on the other side by a studded hammer head and finally tipped by a slender stabbing point. "Very heavy lifting."

"It's not too bad." Sloan remarked with a chuckle, "Just takes some getting used to. Alright, Sir Holt, you can hurry along and find someone else to boss around."

Tom laughed at the captain's remark and muttered something under his breath before spinning to leave. With Tom gone, Sloan trudged over to the wall, where another pole-axe leaned against the bricks. He retrieved it and placed it in Manfred's hands.

Manfred stared down at the weapon and weighed it with a wrinkled brow. Unlike his sword, which felt balanced and civilized in his hands, this thing was heavy and imbalanced. In a way, it felt like holding death on the end of a long stick. And death was a weighty burden.

"Are you ready, Rickland?"

Manfred's eyes leapt up from studying the weapon in his hands. Sloan had retreated several steps and now held his own pole-axe at an angle, the spike pointing just to the left of Manfred's head.

"Yeah...I think I am. Can you tell me about this thing first?" Manfred asked.

Sloan retreated his weapon with a nod. "I certainly can. Alright, so the pole-axe in my opinion is the best battlefield weapon, both for its versatility and sheer power. A wielder of this weapon gets the heft of a hammer, the cutting power of an axe, and the thrusting potential of a spear, all in one."

"Does it do each job equally well?"

"For the most part, I'd say so. Certain individual weapons are fashioned with spikes too short for my liking, and sometimes the weight balance between hammer head and axe blade could use improvement, but a soldier with a good pole-axe is a well equipped soldier indeed."

A trainee several paces off cried out, yanking Manfred's attention that way. Then he rolled his eyes. The man had clumsily dropped his hammer on his foot.

Finally, Manfred turned back to Sloan. "Isn't this...cumbersome, though?"

Sloan laughed. "You'd think so by looking at it. And it seems that way even when you weigh it in your hands for the first time. But believe me, with proper hand placement and well-drilled technique, this thing's nimble as anything. Tell me, why're you so skeptical?"

"Not exactly skeptical, just curious. It doesn't feel right."

"Plenty of things don't feel right at first, Rickland. Surely the sword didn't feel right when you first picked it up."

Manfred shrugged. "Actually, it pretty much came naturally to me. Of course I needed practice, but this...I don't know. It intimidates me a bit."

"Weapons are intimidating in general. That's the point. Now, I can sympathize with your initial nervousness, but this is for your good. Let's begin."

Sloan took his stance again, and with a jerk of his eyebrows, he urged Manfred to mimic him. Manfred shifted his feet and planted them, a familiar enough stance from his swordsmanship. Then he rotated his body so his shoulder faced Sloan, and finally, he spread his hands out on the pole-axe and lowered it to the same position as his instructor.

Sloan's eyes climbed up and down Manfred's body. "Very good, for the most part. But move your right hand down a bit. The way you have it, your shoulder will absorb much more of the impact, and with a full day of that, you'll have yourself one beast of an ache."

"Alright." Manfred said as he moved to comply. He also shifted his foot back slightly to center his balance better.

"Excellent. Now, I want you to step back until our weapons can touch a few inches down the shaft from the heads." Sloan waited while Manfred took the necessary steps and shuffled himself back into position. "Good. This is the close guard position, or as many of my men call it, the 'death embrace'."

Manfred's eyebrows raised together. "Why...why do they call it that?"

"From this position, almost any offensive maneuver, if landed correctly, is an instant end to the fight for the other man. Defensive countermeasures are possible, but require extremely sharp reflexes and an excellent command of the weapon. Of course, the latter is something you lack at the moment, so we'll practice another guard for now."

"Alright, what is it?"

Sloan cleared his throat. "Step back again so the heads of our weapons touch, but no more."

Manfred rolled his shoulders and complied. "Is that good?"

"Perfect. Now, this is far guard, or 'arms-length'. As you can see, neither of us can make any contact without advancing forward. Most people prefer this guard, as it gives advantages to the defender over the attacker, basically creating conditions where strategy is to be preferred over speed. It's also the best guard for us to use while practicing thrusting techniques today."

"That makes sense. So we're focusing on the spearhead?"

"Yes, for today, we will. Bashing and slicing can wait for another day." Sloan said with a laugh, "Many of the techniques I'll show you now will make your spear training later go much faster, maybe even only a day to get acquainted with the lighter weight."

Manfred smiled at this. "If that's the case, let's get started."

****

Andre's heart weighed him down all the rest of the day. The numbness made everything he experienced feel oddly detached, as if he were only watching someone else's experiences. Even when Deljegne gave him a tour of the capital city, he could barely focus enough on the sensory delights before him to properly enjoy them. All the aromatic incenses sold at the marketplace, the tasty tidbits he and Deljegne sampled, and all the pretty women milling about still failed to catch Andre's attention for more than a fleeting moment.

Finally, on the emperor's orders, Deljegne reserved a room for Andre at the inn nearest the palace. A pair of guards were placed over the door to prevent him from leaving, but as long as he kept it shut and made no strange moves, the men assured him they'd respect his privacy. In spite of the room's expansive size, homely furnishings, and luxurious bed, Andre wasn't happy.

Andre didn't sleep at all that night. He merely laid in the bed for several hours accompanied by his racing thoughts that all condemned him with a ferocity that made his head hurt. And then a rap on the door prompted him to rise. Thoroughly exhausted from his night of internal turmoil, Andre stretched his tired limbs and padded over to answer.

No surprise at all, it was Deljegne on the other side of the door. Andre rolled his eyes at the sight of him. "What is it now, you wretch?"

Deljegne's bushy red eyebrows drew together at the insult, but he soon recovered. "Let me enter."

Andre clenched his jaw and obliged, but not willingly. Once the overweight man with the ginger beard had entered, Andre demanded an answer to his initial question.

"After you retired last night, I discussed some things with the emperor. And he decided that though he promised you lordship previously, he'll require more than just your word to ensure your loyalty. He wants you to do something to prove it before he trusts you with an estate and the title of Lord."

"I thought that was part of the agreement. He can't simply decide to change it on a whim like that."

"Actually, he can." Deljegne retorted with a smirk, "He's the emperor."

"Of course." Andre rolled his eyes. "What do I have to do?"

"Emperor Hakentaknid has decided that the time has come for Innutuk to make an incursion on Aroria. The Empire's poorer towns are beginning to riot over the food shortages, and it's only a matter of time until the violence makes its way to the larger cities. You're going to prove your worth by accompanying Captain Markeltet of the Innutukian army as he oversees this attack."

"I thought you were going to complete my training before I begin serving like that."

"We discussed that as well. It's more likely that we'll train during lulls in your activity, which will give you the opportunity to gather more field experience." Deljegne strolled back over to the door and opened it. "Anyway, I figured I'd introduce you to the captain now."

A towering figure with a long face, graying hair and beard, and stern blue eyes entered the room, decked out in a textured charcoal shirt with golden buttons and matching pants. He wore black boots reaching up to his knees, with hard wooden heels that clicked on the floor as he walked. A scarlet cape rustled behind him.

Deljegne bowed slightly toward the man, and Andre perplexedly followed suit. The man glanced silently between the two with an attitude as if he were waiting for something to happen.

When Deljegne wouldn't make a move, Andre stepped forward with his hand stretched out to the newcomer. "Welcome, sir, I'm Andre Feliz. I presume you're Captain Markeltet?"

The man nodded and shook Andre's hand. "I am. I take pleasure in meeting your person as well. Always appreciate a new atokto."

Andre frowned, both at the captain's thick, nearly incomprehensible accent, and at the strange word he'd added at the end. "I beg your pardon?"

Deljegne smirked. "It's Innutukian for 'fighter'."

"Oh, I see. Well, sir, unfortunate as my circumstances are, I shall strive not to disappoint."

"I do hope so." Captain Markeltet replied in his deep voice. "We have much busyness ahead, so let's not slay the time."

Andre almost laughed at Markeltet's strange way of putting things, but he still managed to keep a straight face. "Yes, let's not waste a moment." 

****

A/N: I'm not sure whether to be excited or terrified, to be honest. Both our swordsmen have now met their respective captains, and they're definitely training. One can only hope this doesn't mean what it looks like... 😂

But anyway, if you enjoyed this chapter, please leave a vote and some comments! Now I'm off to post the next.