Fennrin is a shadowforger, a type of az-ari who have mastery over shadows. But all it's ever brought him is misery. People are afraid of the power that he himself barely understands, seeing his shadows as omens of bad luck and death.
Forced to bare...
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Fennrin panted, sweat running down the sides of his face as he raised his sword again, just in time to meet the Bulwark's blade as the woman attacked him again. They'd been training for hours now, and Fennrin truly felt that he was at his physical limits. But he kept going, not letting up, too stubborn to.
At least that was what he thought, but in a short moment, blocking blow after blow, a badly coordinated counterattack resulted from her slamming her blade into his hand hard, knocking his sword out of his hand.
Fennrin groaned as the blade clattered against the stone floor, the Bulwark not even bothering to keep her sword at his throat anymore. She'd done it the first few times she'd beaten him at sword fighting, but she didn't do so anymore.
"I'm sorry," he said, sighing. Why was this so much more difficult than using his powers? Turning into a shadow seemed much more intimidating than fighting with a sword, but clearly, it wasn't. He'd been training for weeks now, and he wasn't getting much better.
"You are improving," the Bulwark said, wiping her forehead as she put her sword down. It was still a little strange seeing her in simple clothes made up of a tunic and trousers compared to the luxurious robes she usually wore, but Fennrin had gotten used to that mostly after training with her for so many days now. He had had no idea she was so good at fighting, but it made sense if she was the leader of the army. Fennrin had simply thought she was a politician more than a soldier.
"Better than Ainreth was when he started training, I must say," she continued, putting on one of her small but genuine smiles. Fennrin frowned.
"Ainreth wasn't good at sword fighting?"
The Bulwark snorted. "No, and he still isn't."
This information almost shook him. Ainreth wasn't good with a sword? Fennrin supposed he didn't strictly need one when he could simply burn his enemies to a crisp, but it was still odd to him. Ainreth was a general. And he did have a sword that he seemed to like, given how many times Fennrin had seen the lightweaver polishing it.
"He always argued with me about not needing a sword. I am glad you haven't said anything about that. You never know when knowing how to fight with one may be useful."
Fennrin nodded. While he did sort of see fighting with a sword as somewhat unnecessary when he could simply become a shadow to avoid blows and kill people by moving their shadows, but he certainly didn't see any detriment to knowing how to use a sword. Maybe it would come in handy someday, what did he know?
And besides, it helped him build up some strength. Already, he could feel himself getting stronger, his arm no longer getting tired from slashing the sword around so quickly.
"I think that's enough for today," the Bulwark said, putting her sword into the sheath hanging from her belt. "We will take a break from training for Dragonrise, and we will reconvene after the celebrations are over."
