- Drorin Countryside -

“How’s the greatsword, kid?” Leona asked Colm as they walked alongside the caravan.

“Heavy,” he huffed. “But it feels good strapped to my back and Brash says I’ll need the stronger back that carrying it will give me, if I’m to be swinging it around at our foes.”

Leona snorted. “Give me distance and a bow, any day.”

“There’s no romance in that, though!” Rel said from the seat up at the front of the wagon, joining the conversation. “Fighting is like dancing, Colm. You need a partner. There’s a rhythm to it all, an experience to be shared with your opponent.”

Leona shook her head but smiled. “You would say that.”

Colm turned to walk backwards so he could watch Rel and Leona.

Rel smiled and bowed his head in acknowledgment. “Learn to dance, Colm. The ladies love a man who can dance.” He winked.

“Not all of them,” Leona muttered under her breath while she rolled her eyes. Colm laughed.

“Don’t listen to her, Colm. Dance.” Rel said as he straightened his thin mustache with his fingers.

“How far away is Cantford, by the way?” Colm asked. He’d been told that morning that they would travel to the coastal city in the hopes of finding a good hunt.

“Two more days,” Leona said with a grunt, timing a jump to lift herself up onto the moving wagon to take the empty seat next to Rel. “Your back will definitely get sore, but stronger for it.”

Colm smiled again and turned forward to look ahead at the never-ending expanse of farmland. Two days! He could never remember being outside the city, and now there was nothing but open land for days in all directions. The sky above stretched on endlessly over the horizon, with no stone walls to block his view of it. He breathed deeply. Yes, this had been the right choice.

A muffled whistle sounded from within the covered wagon and Colm looked over his shoulder to see Rel pull on the reins, slowing the horses. He made a “tick” sound with his voice and the horses began pulling the wagon over to the side of the road.

Colm slowed his pace to let the wagon pass him by, then followed it onto the grass. The back canvas of the wagon’s covering flew open, and Durnst hopped out onto the ground.

“We’ll camp here tonight,” he said as Brash landed beside him. “Leona, see what you can find. Rel, grab some wood out of the back.”

Each spoke their assent as Brash reached back into the wagon and pulled out his axe. “Come on then, Colm! We’ll train a bit while they hunt and make camp.”

“Shouldn’t I do something to help?” Colm asked, looking from Brash to Durnst.

“You’re Brash’s apprentice,” Durnst answered. “For now, simply do as he says.”

Colm nodded and followed Brash further into the field.

“Right then, lad,” Brash said. “Take that great blade of yours and hold it out toward me. Let’s see how well you balance.”

Colm reached his right arm up and behind his head, grasping the two-handed hilt that poked up from behind his shoulder. He angled it down, pushing the blade so it slipped through the slit in the side of the sheath, then brought it up and around so he could grip it in both hands.

With the blade up in the air, he felt grounded and powerful. As he lowered the tip to face toward Brash, however, the weight of the massive piece of iron began to pull him forward. He pushed one foot out in front of him and clenched his stomach muscles to help him stay upright as he brought the sword level with the ground.

Brash stared at him but said nothing.

A moment passed, then two. Sweat formed on Colm’s brow, and three seconds that felt like minutes later, his arms gave out and the tip of the greatsword fell to the grassy plain below him. He released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and breathed in a fresh gulp of air.

“Mm,” Brash mumbled with a nod of his head while he stared at the tip of the sword in the dirt. “We’re goin’ to need to work on that, but you’ll never manage to build the strength without mastering your core, first.”

“My core?”

Brash slapped his own belly in response. “Your core! The center of your body, the point that determines your balance, grounds you and yet leaves you free to move.”

“I was straining those muscles, trying to stay upright,” Colm said.

“You weren’t breathing, though, and your muscles gave out. A fighter’s muscles need the air just as much as your lungs, and a Direman’s muscles need it even more. They key is not to breath that air into your chest, but to fill your stomach with it.”

Colm watched as Brash took a deep breath, and his stomach pushed outward as if he were drinking an entire keg of ale. His belly deflated as he let out the air in a fast whoosh from his mouth. “Your chest will covet the air, hoarding it until you release it back into the world. Your core, however, will share it with the rest of your body - but only if you keep your breathing steady. If you hold it in, there’s nothing left to share after a few seconds, as you experienced yourself.”

Colm tried breathing the air into his stomach, but only succeeded in pushing his belly out with his chest at the same time.

Brash chuckled, but not unkindly. “It takes some gettin’ used to, but begin thinking about your breathing from now on. By the time we get to Cantford, you should be able to breath with your core without your chest heaving in and out. In the meantime, do me a favor and turn your body so that your right side faces me, and your left faces away.”

Colm shifted back on his left foot and turned as instructed, keeping the tip of his greatsword resting on the grass and now only gripping the hilt with his right hand.

“Good. Are you familiar with the term ‘leverage’?” Brash asked.

Only that the stinking, toothless fat man said he had it, over me. “Not really. I’ve heard the word, but…”

“That’s fine. You’re going to need leverage to lift that sword now, with only one hand, and manage to hold it out in front of you. If you try now, you won’t last long.”

Colm started to lift the sword but only managed to bring it a few inches off the ground before he had to let the tip fall back onto the grass.

“Instead of holding the hilt in the same place you would if I let you use both hands, grip it closer to the guard. Let the hilt rest under your forearm, and the pommel come up just shy of your elbow.”

Colm shifted his hand higher on the hilt and brought the rest of it under his arm as Brash instructed.

“Good. Now as you lift, the hilt and pommel are going to want to move higher than the blade, since most of the weight is out in front of you. Since your arm is in the way, they won’t be able to, and so the blade won’t be able to fall. Your hand, which before was a pivot-point, will now provide a sturdier hold. Your arm provides leverage, you see.”

Colm started to lift his arm once more, and found that the large man was right. He still couldn’t hold the sword out in front of him with his arm outstretched, but as he lifted he realized that if he pushed down with his elbow and forearm, the rest of the sword moved up, the opposite of his downward force.

In this way, with a slightly bent arm, he managed to bring the point level with the ground and keep it pointed at Brash for a handful of seconds before it started to shake with his exertion.

“Good! Go ahead and rest your arm now,” Brash ordered.

Colm smiled as he lowered the tip of his greatsword to the ground once more, amazed that he’d accomplished such a feat.

“When will I be strong enough to use this fully with one hand?”

Brash laughed. “Likely never! You will, however, thrust forward with it one-handed, before pulling it back into both hands for your other strikes. That is why you’ll want to familiarize yourself with swiftly movin’ your arm over top of the hilt as you push the blade forward. It will increase your range, and let you maintain solid footing.

“Speakin’ of footing,” he continued, “let’s bring your other hand back into play and learn how to arc the blade horizontally in front of you. Slowly though, so slow that your arms burn.”