“Wrong.” Avarus walked over to me and adjusted my fingers along the grip of the wooden practice sword. Still unsatisfied he took the weapon and demonstrated the proper way to hold it. The weapon looked natural in his gnarled fingers, an extension of his arm as he held it straight in front of him.

“Mimic my posture,” he said, returning the sword. I had captured his exact image in my head and felt confident as I adjusted my feet and stretched the weapon out before me. The older philosopher grunted and slapped the flat of the blade with his knuckles. The blow looked casual yet the shock of it numbed my arm; the weapon slipped out of my fingers and clattered to the ground.

Avarus circled around me as if scrutinizing a horse for sale. The other four acolytes that had gathered in this clearing were witnesses to my failure. Embarrassment formed a hard lump in my throat and I considered using my power to reverse time. It was not too late to back out completely.

Caedius had invited me to join in Avarus’ daily lesson. Despite his unapologetic personality the philosopher set aside several hours in the evening to spread the gospel of the sword. Before the lesson Caedius had taken me to watch the older man practicing his bladeforms. He must have been in his fifth decade yet he moved like a man half his age, a blur of fluid motion as he thrust and pivoted and weaved through the air.

The display was convincing, though now with the others’ eyes burning into my back I wondered why I ever thought I was suited to learning the blade.

Avarus had shed his honey-brown robes and wore only a pair of simple woolen trousers. He looked like he had been carved out of driftwood, sun-dark skin marred with the evidence of old wounds. Most prominent was a jagged pucker of scar tissue near his heart where someone must have skewered him with a polearm.

Having lost interest in me, he turned and moved toward the next acolyte. I could see the fist-sized exit wound under his left shoulder and again wondered if I had made the right decision in coming here.

The blademaster stopped in front of Caedius next. He unsheathed the weapon at his side---a true steel blade---and demonstrated a sequence of lightning-fast movements. Caedius echoed the flurry of sword strokes and though I could see no difference Avarus shook his head and repeated the movement. After two more attempts the blademaster nodded in satisfaction and moved along.

Next was Felix.

I was unsure what to think of the other disciple. I had spent most of the day with Mara’s group, attempting to memorize their advice and the locations they pointed out. Caedius would laugh and slap me on the back around the others, even though his gaze would linger on mine a second too long, a brittle hardness behind his smile. On the other hand Felix had ignored my existence completely, lingering behind the three of us, his eyes downturned.

Avarus demonstrated another sequence of moves, longer and more elegant than before. Felix watched, unblinking, then repeated the movements exactly, his wooden sword tracing elegant patterns in the air. Avarus nodded and launched into a more complex dance, this one lasting twenty seconds.

This time Felix stumbled at the end. He snarled, teeth bared like some feral animal. The blademaster clapped him on the shoulder and whispered in his ear. I thought back on earlier when I had first met the other disciples, the promise of violence that hung in the air after Caedius chastised Felix, and decided he was someone to tread lightly around. A temper like that meant nothing good.

Avarus rounded on the other three disciples present. The other two boys were roughly equal to Caedius, able to repeat a few seconds of complex strokes and footwork. None came even close to Felix. The willowy youth did not even bother to watch the others.

The fourth disciple was a broad-shouldered girl, taller than everyone except Caedius, sweat running down her face in rivulets as she stumbled through the motions. I took some small solace in her failure even though I doubted I would last more than a few moves against her.

When he finished tormenting the next two disciples the blademaster sauntered into the middle of the clearing. “We have a new face among us today, courtesy of Brother Augur.”

I forced myself to meet their gazes, keeping my expression neutral. Caedius offered me a shrug.

Avarus sheathed his blade. “I have made it my life’s work to teach the legato to those who seek it. I have not stepped foot outside of the Garden in a decade, though I am told the bards still sing of me. You may think pretty words sufficient to protect you but they only work against pretty people.”

Again I resisted the urge to reverse time, to end this lesson in my inadequacy. I could no longer be that lazy child sleeping beneath a lemon tree, content with a simple life. The Magisters had taken that away. I closed my eyes, remembering the way Everett’s corpse had smoldered in the grass. I couldn’t run from every harsh word and curious gaze.

The lesson resumed with the other disciples lining up and beginning to work through the bladeforms. The beginning was simple, an exercise in footwork like some bizarre waltz that I attempted to mimic. Soon they integrated their weapons into the dance, wooden blades swishing in identical arcs.

Here I did use my power, the world warping and twisting around me each time I stumbled through the movements, again and again as I attempted to master the bladeform. I made it through the footwork, ten seconds of precise steps, before that familiar migraine returned, warning me I was overusing my power.

After that I stood off to the side, hands clasped behind my back. The tall girl fell out of step after a half-minute and, cheeks flushed red, stepped away from the others. After a minute Caedius broke away as well, chest working like a bellows as he sucked in air. The other two joined them shortly, leaving only Felix to work through the forms. Time passed unnoticed as his wooden sword flickered, the movements becoming more and more complex, blocking attacks from multiple imaginary foes, a constant whirl of motion.

After another minute Felix brought his feet together, back straight as a blade, the dance ended.

“Excellent,” said Avarus. “The first form of the legato. Most of you will be lucky to master this within your lifetime. It is the simplest of the eleven. I have heard that a true master may challenge the Archon of Blades, though none has emerged in the past three centuries. It is the dream of all blademasters to face him on the Diamond Plains. Perhaps young Felix here will find himself on that hallowed ground.”

Felix bowed, his face blank. There was something unnerving about him, the way he avoided eye contact, how he had lingered behind Mara and Caedius while they showed me around the area. Caedius had invited me to the blademaster’s lesson and I was surprised to see Felix follow us. To my surprise his bladework turned out to be beautiful. He was a prodigy and I had misjudged him over a little perceived awkwardness.

The rest of the class was spent with the students sparring amongst each other. Avarus pulled me to the side. If I could not even hold a sword properly there was no use embarrassing myself against the others.

“I have to admit,” he said, “your footwork during the beginning of the first legato was good. Perhaps you do have promise. I have held a lesson every evening for the past decade and I have never turned anyone away. You are welcome here, but you must understand that when I criticize you I do so for your benefit. You should tolerate no flaw in yourself. Surrender your pride when you seek perfection. Now, show me your grip once more.”

This time when he adjusted my fingers I felt no embarrassment. With patience he demonstrated proper form, nudging my knee a few degrees, tilting my chin upward. He was right, of course---there was no shame in being corrected. After one last adjustment he told me to hold the position for five minutes. It felt unnatural, muscles I hadn’t been aware of quivering with effort, but I focused on memorizing the precise angles of my body.

My wrist felt like it was about to collapse under the weight of the extended sword. A deep burn spread through my hamstrings and calves, building to a bright crescendo of agony. A voice in the back of my head roared to surrender, to fall to my knees. Taking a deep breath, I attempted to clear my mind and enter the trance-like state I had experienced with Brother Augur, but the pain was impossible to ignore.

Finally my legs buckled and I fell to my knees.

“Forty-six seconds,” said Avarus. “Do better tomorrow.”

After the lesson Caedius and I headed toward the cook-store, Felix trailing at our heels. I slowed my pace until the silent boy fell in at my side. Caedius glanced back, a curious look on his face, and stopped until we were walking together.

To my surprise Felix made eye contact for a moment, his stare so intense I had to fight the urge to look away until he glanced at the ground again. His expression remained blank. Still, it felt like he was at least acknowledging my acknowledgment. I had planted a seed and in due time I hoped to see it flourish.

Despite Brother Augur leading me to believe the camp of the philosophers consisted of little more than the occasional man in a hammock there were a few stone buildings scattered around the area. The cook-shop---or as Caedius insisted on calling it, the thermopolium---consisted of little more than a terracotta counter embedded with earthenware vessels containing an assortment of salted beef, almonds, mushrooms, and sour cherries.

As I heaped food onto my plate I remembered the meals I used to eat with my parents, especially when my mother donned her apron and became a tyrant in the kitchen. Tuna baked in banana leaves with mint and thyme, boiled eggs drizzled in honey, sugared pastries bursting with cream. There was always so much warmth around the dinner table, my parents holding hands, all of us laughing and teasing each other.

I shook my head and poured myself a healthy portion of mulled wine after watching the others do the same. The three of us sat on a pile of furs in the corner, eating in silence. The memory of my parents weighed heavily on my mind. I considered making small talk but the others seemed lost in their thoughts as well. I finished my meal quickly, the wine filling my stomach with warmth, and walked outside. The alcohol muddled my mind. Weakened me.

I leaned against the wall, the evening breeze ruffling my hair. Foolish, childish tears slipped down my cheeks. On the road to Odena I had promised myself I would never cry again. It was weakness, weakness I could no longer afford. With a choked laugh I thought, well, it didn’t take long to break that oath. Not that my word could be considered very sacred; after all, I had promised my father I would attempt to save him when I couldn’t even hold a sword properly.

How could he ask me to come back and help him? No matter how hard I tried I could not go back in time more than an hour. Even if I could, how was I supposed to take on the Magisters? Perhaps after a few years of feverish training I could defeat their retinue of soldiers, assuming they were all kind enough to challenge me to single combat. But even if I could go back to that moment in time I would have to face them in the body of a boy who could barely touch his toes.

It all seemed so ridiculous. Coming here, learning to swing a sword and meditate and sharing a meal with some companions. None of it would matter if I came face to face with one of the Magisters. No philosophical text could protect me from a snap of their fingers.

I closed my eyes against the tears. Pointless. Stupid.

“I came here when I was nine.” A soft voice said from behind. Felix. “I may as well tell you myself since it’s common knowledge around here. The Increate blessed me with luck, which is the sort of cosmic irony I’m sure He enjoys deeply. So much luck, in fact, that I was accused of consorting with demons because I turned a copper penny into a small fortune playing dice.”

“Where I come from, an accusation like that would see a boy burned to death.”

“You’re Velassan, then? In Odena we are far too high-minded to execute children. They threw me in the dungeons instead, living in my own filth for a month until Avarus heard about me and came to my rescue.

“Never be ashamed to cry, Leones. There are plenty of things in this world worthy of your tears.”