Crystalline was the water, smooth did it run.

On the silty bottom of the river were a collection of rocks and stones, smoothened from the constant flow of the current, and on the surface was a reflection of the boy, Blacwin, inspecting the sides of his head. Dark and purple the bruises were, and tender to the touch. He winced when he poked and prodded, savouring the pain, for only the living could enjoy such a feeling. Speckles of blood dotted his face. With handfuls of water, he splashed and scrubbed until he was clean, spotless. Blacwin had managed to kill Mad Eyes, and with a sword no less. The affair was such an unruly execution. Of haphazard fumbles that somehow bore fruit. He did not mean to take the arm off completely, just that when the sword point was lodged in the joint that connected arm to shoulder, he wanted to multiply the damage that was dealt and so started sawing with the edge. There was a visceral thrill in the act, an airy ecstasy, one that could only be described as a coppery taste in his mouth, a humming rush throughout his limbs. Nor had he expected such a wound to be so fatal, for his father had survived such an ordeal. Though one or another, death found them nonetheless.

A numbness followed, like a limb drained of all blood and sensation. The boy prodded at the bruise again. He found that it hurt less. That the loss of life evoked no such grief nor guilt nor anything from his heart, just an apathy so cold that it iced over his animus. The fact of the matter was, those men were bastards and they deserved to die, and he relished in the slaying, in the slow torturous death he inflicted upon Mad Eyes, and the taste of power was delicious, intoxicating. And the boy wanted more, to become so mountainous in strength that no man could ever make him inferior. He turned away from his reflection.

Darius was elbow-deep in the running water, with a pile of roundish stones next to him.

“What are those for?” Blacwin asked.

“For you.” Darius found another stone to add to the pile.

“How… so?” He glanced at the stones nervously. His pack was already heavy as it was, with the things that Darius made him carry.

However, after drying his hands with the cloak, he produced a poach from some inner pocket and started loading the stones inside it. “There will be many perils on our travels, even within the confines of the forest, and whether it be man or beast, one or many, you should know how to defend yourself, for even I can get overwhelmed.”

Another item was produced from the cloak. Blacwin eyed it for a moment, at first thinking this was a poorly done joke. The supposed weapon appeared like a tangle of cords, however, upon a much closer inspection, it was two strips of leather, split like an open eye, tied together at both ends with two cords, where one ended in a loop and the other in a feathered knot.

“It’s a sling,” Darius explained, “a simple yet effective weapon. You cradle a stone in the split poach, slip your thumb through the loop here, hold the cord ends together, give it a good couple of swings over your head, then hurl it to cave a skull at medium and long ranges.” And to solidify the purpose and function of the weapon, he cradled a stone in the split poach and launched it at a nearby tree, striking the trunk with a resounding thunk, breaking bark like it was clay. “Here. Take it.”

Confusion wrinkled the boy’s face. “I thought you promised to teach me swordsmanship.”

“And in time I will.” He insisted on the sling once more.

“You saw the man I killed, you know that I can use a sword.”

Suddenly his eyes became dirks. “Any fool can pick up a sword, swing it around, and if Cybal’s in their favour, strike down even a skilled opponent. Any man can be lucky in a fight. However, when your luck has abandoned you, and all that is left is you, it is your training that makes up the difference.” This time he placed the sling in the boy’s hands. “I want you to practise everyday, every time that we stop to rest, and forage for more ammunition. Am I understood?”

The boy nodded slowly.

“Good. And don’t you ever dare question me again.”

And so the decision was final. At every opportunity when they stopped to drink, eat and the remaining time prior to sleep, Blacin would take out the sling from his pocket and practise on a tree, at a shrub, or at a point in the distance when there was nothing but grass to throw at. The sling was steeper to learn than he imagined. Sometimes the stone would launch too early, too late, or the swinging just did not feel right and would sail wildly off target. Sometimes he hit the mark square where he aimed. Mostly though, he just missed. And with a wide margin too. It frustrated him to the point of cursing. He should have at least struck it once after the many throws he made.

“Rein yourself in,” Darius said as he filled their water skins at a stream. “Focus. Don’t let your temper cloud your judgement.”

That was easier said than done. His blood ran as hot as molten metal, and he would rather train with the sword than with a stupid sling. His arms would always come away sore at the end of each day, in addition to his back and legs from carrying the heavy pack. Darius insisted upon practising with both hands. The boy did not dare disobey. And he was also given the first watch every night, which was the only time he could swing the sword. It was gruelling, and he felt stiffer than when he worked in the fields, however, he would do it again all the same.

“Where are we going?” Blacwin finally asked. They had been travelling along a river for more than a week at that point.

“To an old friend, if he’s still alive,” Darius said.

“Any reason why, or is it just for a chat?”

“He owes me a favour, and I intend to turn it in. For a couple of horses, preferably.”

“I don’t know how to ride a horse.”

Darius looked at the boy with a mild curiosity. “Didn’t you say your father was a knight?”

“No, I said he’s a… was a warrior. A normal levy.”

He grunted softly. “Then I’ll teach you how to ride as well.”

The river began to yawn wider the farther upstream they travelled. The even plains of grasses and trees rolled into hills, and the incline grew steeper with each step. Feeling dogged already, this was absolute torture for the boy, yet he gritted his teeth and continue to keep pace, lest the Swordmaster, who marched at a relentless speed, deemed him useless and abandoned him once more. So it came as a surprise when the man stopped so suddenly.

“What’s the matter?” Blacwin looked around with a nervous haste, his hand on the sling and stone in case of a beast.

“We’re here,” Darius said as he pointed to something in the distant sky.

Circling the afternoon blue were the white and grey bodies of winged gulls. And with that the boy also smelled a sort of briny mist in the air. A memory chimed. Around the fireplace, his father would speak of chaotic churns, of salty sprays upon his lips, of his longship smashing through hills of water as a storm whipped the ocean into a frenzy.

“We must be near the sea,” Blacwin said.

“Aye, and Castle Longclaw.” Then Darius continued his march, and the boy followed with a renewed spirit.