The biting chill of winter burned his lungs.
Breath in, breath out.
He closed his eyes, taking comfort in the voluntary blindness, where he could see nothing and feel everything. He opened them again after only a moment. It was too much. The world needed to be seen, as it distracted him from his thoughts.
The training yard had all but already cleared, word of the fight having traveled as quickly and as efficiently as it tended to amongst a populace of adolescents all trapped together in a fortress as dull and unexciting as Castle Duurwalis.
They crowded about the perimeter of the yard, speaking in hushed voices amongst themselves as their gazes flitted between themselves and the young man standing alone in the yard's center. Small mounds of white were dotted haphazardly around the area: the remnants of last week's snowfall.
Kasamir ignored their eyes, their voices, or at least he tried to. It was not enough to preoccupy his mind with a rehearsal of the longsword forms he knew, of the guards and the cuts and the maneuvers, for his thoughts always returned to a panicking state of apprehension.
His opponent was already at least five minutes late.
Five minutes of waiting, thinking, worrying, and regretting.
The events that led him to that point danced about in his head, playing back through his mind's eye a thousand times a minute, reminding him of every point at which he could have turned back, he could have done things differently.
Now, he was beyond that point, knowing no way out that wouldn't strike him with a brand of humiliation and shame. He wasn't prepared for that. It would be said that he, at the very least, saw his decision through to the end.
There was a change in the air.
The hushed voices ceased, and he could feel the eyes leave him.
Breath in, breath out.
Kasamir turned, following the stares to where he already knew they were planted.
Standing before the east entrance to the yard was Master Donovan, his opponent. Even from where he stood, Kasamir could see the boiling ferocity in the Master's eyes, a stark contrast to his otherwise cool demeanor. He swallowed, grasping the hilt of his feder, the leather of his gloves straining from his grip.
Donovan began to approach, entering the yard at a casual pace.
Silence permeated the vicinity. The crowd of gathered students watched every movement with palpable anticipation.
Kasamir watched as Donovan stepped aside, approaching one of the several racks set up around the yard. He gave the mounted feders a cursory glance before picking one and continuing his approach.
Refusing to let his apprehension show, Kasamir stood his ground as the Master neared, leveling his gaze with the man's as his heartbeat pounded in his head.
Halting four paces away, Donovan stood before him.
They remained still.
Kasamir exhaled. He hadn't realized he was holding his breath.
"I'll give you exactly one chance to show humility and stop this." Donovan said.
"I cannot." Kasamir replied.
Donovan shook his head, pulling his helmet over his head.
"Yes, Kasamir. You can." He took his stance. "You're simply choosing not to."
Breath in, breath out.
Kasamir donned his helmet, falling into his guard.
In an instant, the distance was closed between them.
Donovan's blade twirled, attacking from the upper-left.
Kasamir stepped back, out of the blade's range, and held his own against his right flank. For a moment, he expected his intuition to be correct.
His opponent's blade pulled back, circling in a backward arc as it approached from the upper-right.
As the blades met, he suddenly felt the direction of Donovan's force change, the man stepping to the right and sliding his blade against Kasamir's until the hilt locked against it, leaving the length of the blade free to curve over toward his head.
Kasamir immediately disengaged, hurriedly retreating and turning his blade to allow Donovan's to slide off.
With a few extra steps, he stood at Donovan's flank and took the offensive, stepping forward with a point-forward thrust at his abdomen.
Donovan saw the attack, swinging his blade downward to slap Kasamir's point with it. The blade fell, parried away, and Donovan proceeded into a riposte, swinging the blade up toward Kasamir's neck.
Attempting to retreat once more, Kasamir stepped back, pulling his blade with him. He just barely stepped out of range before the blade of the feder flicked past his neck.
He attempted to bring his blade back up to ward Donovan away and regain his footing. However, Donvan had already twirled his own blade back, swinging into a horizontal feint that Kasamir hastily committed to parrying.
Hands twisting, Master Donovan arced the blade backward, swinging overhead and landing a crushing blow upon Kasamir's right shoulder.
Even past the gambeson, the strength behind the strike was agonizing, causing Kasamir to immediately lose his grip on his hilt, the feder falling, loosely held by his left hand while he crumbled to his knees.
Kasamir heaved hissing breaths as the aching pain set into his arm. His fingers twitched as he attempted to regain control over his hand.
Breath in, breath out.
The helmet stifled him.
He reached up with a shaky hand, unbuckling and doffing his helmet, letting it fall to the ground.
Blinking, he gazed back up at Donovan, lips parting to speak.
A gauntlet met him, colliding into his face and throwing him sprawling to the ground. His vision blurred in spots of dark red as new pain hijacked his attention, the metal of the gauntlet cutting into his skin and blackening his eye.
Hands flew up to cradle his face as he struggled through haggard breaths.
Blinking through his hampered vision, Kasamir managed to pull his hands away and look up at Master Donovan, who towered over him with a twisted grimace.
"Thatā¦is for making a mockery of our teachings. We do not fight for sport, nor glory, nor intent to impress." Donovan growled the last point with thinly veiled venom. "Let your pain remind you of that."
Without waiting for a response, he reeled back, swinging the blade of the feder and delivering a vicious blow across Kasamir's back.
Clenching his teeth, Kasamir barely suppressed the gasping yelp of pain that threatened to break from his lips. He shut his eyes.
"None of you," He heard Donovan address the gathered students. "Are permitted to help him. Leave him be."
Kasamir heard his departure thereafter, the booted feet shuffling away into the distance. He heard the quiet movement of the students as they began to leave.
His eyes reopened. Struggling, he pushed one arm between himself and the ground, finding the strength to endure the pain and begin pushing himself up. As his gaze rose, he found himself facing the shifting crowd. He caught the eyes that remained upon him. He saw the lips move in even quieter voices than before. He saw the one face that he had hoped against hope that he wasn't going to see.
Eyes falling, he averted his gaze and turned, trying to muster the strength to rise to his feet. For some reason, he couldn't find it. To his dismay, he felt tears welling up behind his eyes. Quickly, he shut his lids once more.
Of all things, he wasn't going to cry, not even from the pain.
Breath in, breath out.
The biting chill of winter burned his lungs.
Breath in, breath out.
*Disclaimer - I'm uncertain if feders specifically are lore-compliant, I just chose to use the term in place of repeatedly saying "training sword" or the like. For all intents and purposes, they're dull, metal training swords.
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