7. Chapter Seven #2
Sparring on the uneven ground in one of the academy’s smaller courtyards was a challenge. The courses were outside and had obstacles and pits and other traps to watch out for, but most of Rafi’s combat training had been in the Arms Room, where the only thing on the ground to worry about was straw.
The courtyard was large, with swaths of flat ground covered in grass, and small mounds that might have once been earthworks in a garden, and some trees.
One of the sides that made up its rectangular shape was an old, old former dormitory that was being slowly dismantled bit by bit whenever a new building required some brick or stone.
That meant the courtyard itself was not busy, especially not in the early hours of morning, but did have students and servants and instructors walking through on their way elsewhere.
Since Rafi and Viau were chasing each other around trees and the remnants of a fountain, those passing through often stopped to watch, probably wondering what was going on.
Viau noticed the observers but didn’t acknowledge them other than to stay well clear of the paths during their skirmishes.
Which at least meant Rafi wouldn’t have to ask if Viau minded an audience.
Not that Rafi had much time to think about his friends, or about any of the people goggling at Rafi sparring with the capital’s favorite just after dawn in the shade of flowering ceribud trees.
Maybe people thought they were dueling. Rafi almost laughed at the thought, although he was too breathless to do so.
His legs were shaky, his arms water. Uneven ground was different indeed, and Viau allowed him not an inch, so it was learn to consider the field, or fall again and again.
When he fell, Viau helped him up and then attacked him with barely a pause.
The gentle courtier was relentless and calculating.
Rafi did laugh then, a startled wheeze that made Viau briefly lose his look of focused concentration.
Rafi had “died” several times now and didn’t care. He would topple over at any moment more than likely, too focused on Viau’s eyes and his hands and his feet, looking for what Viau might do next. He still couldn’t see Viau’s aer, not like this, but was holding his own fairly well despite his falls.
Those were mostly due to the ground. Once he got used to that, he was going to see Viau fall too.
He’d already hit Viau once, in the calf, because if he could not stab or slash with a play weapon, he could whip with it.
Even though the move had gotten him killed again, the delighted outrage on Viau’s face had been worth it.
“What are they doing?” The comment, though whispered, was audible due to the acoustics of the courtyard and the momentary pause in the clash of swords as Rafi retreated.
He’d tripped over a large decorative stone the last time. This time, Rafi nimbly jumped over it without sparing it a glance. He could have taken on the entire academy at the light that put in Viau’s eyes.
Still, he lost again when he did charge forward, though not without making Viau work for the victory. Rafi took a wound to the shoulder and pressed on, because none of it was real, and even if it had been, no one who killed him was going to escape unscathed.
He struck Viau in the thigh, more startled at this than Viau despite his plan to do just that, and felt the blunt edge of Viau’s sword push against his breastbone.
Rafi stumbled back a step, and then, because the grass was cool with dew and he was burning up, slipped and fell onto his ass.
Viau immediately appeared above him, as worried as everyone said Rafi always was. “Rafi! Are you all right?”
His hair had fallen free of its ribbon some time ago. His fine shirt was soaked with sweat. Rafi had at least worked him hard.
He rubbed his chest. “Being stabbed in the heart hurts even when it isn’t fatal.”
Viau let out a relieved breath, then clucked his tongue.
“If it’s fatal, you shouldn’t feel anything.
But let’s not test that.” He extended a hand to help Rafi to his feet, but looked away once Rafi was up, probably to whoever was watching.
His hairline was dark, his nose shiny. Not even Viau could look heroic after an hour of play fighting, what Viau called sparring, which was both ridiculous and strenuous and Rafi was too tired to keep himself from smiling.
“Is your calf all right?” He thought he asked nicely.
Viau turned back to him with narrowed eyes, but pulled up the leg of his trousers and pushed down his boot to consider the red, slightly swollen line. Rafi had hit hard enough to mark him through even the leather. Viau’s mouth quirked up. “I’ll live. But that was dirty.”
“You said fighting got dirty when it was life or death.” Rafi didn’t mean it to be smart. Viau had said that and Rafi believed it. “You also said the rules were only to avoid serious injury and to stop if someone called to stop.”
“We decided on those rules,” Viau returned, sounding for all the world as if he was enjoying himself. “You are not innocent here, Rafeli Tizzan.”
It did not feel like being scolded, though perhaps it was meant to.
Rafi tugged his shirt down as much as he could to see the reddening mark over his heart and the larger circle at his shoulder. Viau was suddenly close, head bowed as he contemplated what he’d done, his breath warm, yet cool over Rafi’s damp skin.