The next day he awoke at four and shivered himself out of bed in the darkness. The fire in his bedchamber had long since burned out and he could see his breath in the air.
Throwing on cold clothes, he took a lamp from the wall and lit it with his tinder box before making his way out of the deserted castle and into the woods. Galaan prefered not to live in cold stone buildings when visiting the family and dwelt instead in the woodland lodge.
The lodge was a long, hall like construction several hundred feet long with a sloping thatch roof and several chimneys. One end of the building enclosed Galaans living quarters whilst various out buildings housed his few servants. A nearby stream provided a ready source of water and, even at this early hour, Sozo could spy a few cold servants carrying bundles of clothes to wash as he crossed the clearing and approached the lodge.
One half of the building had long ago been converted into a wide covered space, ideal for teaching the arts of riding or dancing.
Today however it had been arranged in a manner that put Sozo in mind of his sessions with the master of arms. A few climbing frames stood at the centre of the vast room whilst racks containing wooden staves and other martial equipment had been arranged around the rooms edge.
A long rope hung from the main ceiling beam and some running weights had been left at its foot. Galaan was seated on a long bench at one end of the room, coolly regarding Sozo in the early morning light. Unlike the soft robes that Sozo was accustomed to seeing him wear, Galaan was stripped to the waist today. His white elven skin contrasted starkly with the dark black snake tatto that curled around his upper body and down one arm. Today Galaan wore black leather breaches and simple soft leather shoes, similar to those he used for Sozo's dancing lessons. The ageless elf appeared no more than 25 and his thick black hair had been cropped short since Sozo had seen him last year. In all other aspects he remained the same as ever he had. Not one wrinkle or grey hair.
Two identical sabres had been placed on the bench at his side, Galaan finished running an oiled cloth over one of them before he stood and addressed the young lord before him.
" You are punctual as always", he commented as he motioned for Sozo to come and examine the blades. "Tell me Sozo, what do you see before you?".
"Two swords sir" he dutifully replied. Suddenly aware of the sound of his stomach growling as his digestive system began to wake up.
Galaan picked up one of the sabres and lightly turned it to and fro in front of his eyes, examining his reflection in the perfect blade. He spoke almost as if to himself, causing Sozo to feel as if he were an unwitting spectator in some very private ritual that he had no right being party to.
" Two swords indeed. And there are those who would perhaps tell you that these are magical swords possessed of the ability to make the bearer invincible in battle or to rid him of all fear. There are yet others who would tell you that a sword is a noble weapon and the mark of a nobleman. They would say that truely great swords belong only in the hands of truely great swordsmen"
Galaan turned to fix his gaze on the young boy. In one sudden movement his hand seemed to blur as he expertly flicked the sabre accros the room with a noise like an angry metal hornet. It buried itself in one of the lodges many wooden supports.
" But it is not!" he excalimed, making the young Sozo jump in spite of himself. " It is not magical, and beware of any fool who tells you that he has discovered a magical sword. Iron is a pure metal and will not suffer enchantment upon itself. Nor is it noble. For how can a few ounces of steel and leather and wood turn the bearer into a nobleman. Be careful of anyone speaking of truely great swords. Such things do not exist. There are only truely great swordsmen and the tools that they employ. And in the end that's all it is boy. A tool. A tool that one uses to do a job. Just as one might use a hammer or a cart or a candle.
Most men use a sword as if they were trying to swat flies on a summers day. You will meet a few, like your master of arms back at the house, who can at least put the tool to its propper use when the occasion demands it.
But you boy, you must learn to dance with the blade. You must learn to see a weapon as an extension of your own will. To see the beauty and story of combat and to become a part of that story moment by moment. To ebb and flow within it's colours without fear. Without rage. Without any emotion save for a detatched pleasure in the rhythm of the dance.
You will train your body to obey your concious and unconcious command. To obey the music of combat and to kill or wound only as much as is neccesary for the peice to be played.
You will train yourself to do all of this without hesitation and with no feelings of regret or remorse. Until you see yourself only as a dancer within that music &your body as an instrument of the dance.
All of this I will endevour to teach you, but do not think for a moment that it will be easily achieved".
Sozo nodded his acceptance but felt his heart sink once again as he recalled all of the things that he had been looking forward to doing with his friends that year. All of his future plans were evaporating under the heat of his tutor's ambition. For the briefest of moments he considered refusing to attend the training but immediately dismissed the idea. He was an Eschin and would not be a source of shame to his father and the family name.
Galaan retrieved the second blade from the bench. It was twin to the one now buried in the beam of the practice room. Two and a half feet of silver blue steel around an inch and a half in width. The hilt was wrapped in supple black leather and the blades edge appeared wickedly sharp. Sozo had not seen many swords but even he could tell that this steel was of a high quality and had likely been forged by a master craftsman.
Galaan pressed the hilt into Sozo's hand and he reluctantly accepted it.
He had been fearing what the morning would entail and now imagined that his tutor would fetch the other blade and demand that they fence.
Insted the elf led him to an uncluttered area of the hall and bade him stand still. He departed about ten paces from Sozo before turning to face him once again. He closed his eyes and began to breathe more deeply. When he spoke his voice was tranquil as if coming from a dream or a waking trance.
" Attack me boy. Kill me if you are able but whatever you do, do not hold back"
