Re: THE TRAINING HALL
The axe is once again Ariadne’s time to shine, her glory. The drill itself is challenging, and she still feels that she is correcting herself, that it takes something out of her to do the work—but she does so unerringly, and what feels so good as this kind of work?
Come time to throw the axe at the shield, and everything comes together—as if Ariadne were the axe, and the axe were Ariadne, and it went exactly where she wished it to go. If she wanted to show off, to split a hair in two—she did so. The axe struck the shield dead center of the dead center, poetry.
“Very good,” Fenton says, and now it’s Ariadne’s turn to be whispered about amongst the guardsmen later on—a subject of some jealousy. “You have a precise hand.”
—
Jade is struggling, weariness coiling through her limbs and making her as imprecise as Ariadne is precise. She’s an Amberite, and there’s a certain power in even her clumsy blows. The club, she might feel, is not her weapon—it’s much more difficult for her to switch over from the other exercises than she’d like, and she accidentally thwacks herself in the back with the club during a certain blow—it doesn’t even leave a bruise, but … Well, she’s tired.
Fenton corrects her grip a time or two, and then says, “Next time, I will see you with a trident. They are popular in Rebma, are they not? What about spears or other polearms?”
—
And Jon… The exhilarating perfection when he was engaging with Fenton, when the weariness was sharpening him, is gone and he knows it's gone, but he still does very well with spear and shield, adapting to the new exercise quickly enough. His overenthusiasm or excitement at first causes him to be corrected a time or two, but eventually he settles into a steadier rhythm. Fenton nods.
"I have seen enough," he says.