"No, you must stand straight so your thrust has more power," Robert explained, showing an example of how to use a sword properly.
Despite the high summer heat, Robert, who had been practicing for hours, showed no sign of fatigue. Edwin, on the receiving end of his father's lessons, was exhausted, bruised, and bloodied.
Desperate to end this, Edwin threw his wooden sparring sword at his father's face. In a last-ditch effort, Edwin charged at Robert, hoping to catch him off guard. The sword smacked the unsuspecting face of Robert right on the forehead, stunning him for a moment. With a roar, Edwin attempted to capitalize on the moment and get close to his giant of a father.
"If I can just get the dagger from his waist, I win." That was Edwin's strategy: get in close, steal his father's knife, and take the win he longed to achieve after months of nonstop practice.
Edwin dashed right under Robert's sword's reach, rendering it inert. Edwin's hand reached out to grasp the handle of the dagger; victory was in his grasp.
Whack with a thump, Edwin found himself sprawling out on the dirt of the practice yard.
Stars were all that filled Edwin's vision; he lay dazed and confused, unaware of what happened. He reached up and felt the pain across his cheek; a massive red welt was already forming.
"He backhanded me," the realization dawned on Edwin. "How is that even fair? I'm five for crying out loud."
Robert's massive shadow blotted out the light of the sun as he now stood over his son; he didn't even try to hide the smirk on his face.
"Cocky bastard," Edwin was frustrated.
"That's not fair, I almost had you." Edwin groaned; the bruise on his face would join the many others that covered his body. He had so many bruises hidden under his clothes that one could easily mistake him for a leper.
Robert offered a hand to lift his son off the hard ground, "That is battle, son. Yes, you are young and weak compared to a grown man, but I do this to prepare you. When you become a squire to a knight, you are expected to fight in battle alongside him. Most become squires around twelve summers old. You'll be a page for a knight or lord even younger than that."
Edwin took his father's hand, but as he was lifted, he revealed his final trick. Edwin flung his hand, throwing the fist full of dirt he had hidden in his right hand at the eyes of his father. Robert thrashed around as he tried to clear the dirt that now blinded him.
"Now's my time," Edwin closed the distance once again, and the dagger slid out with ease.
Shouting in joy at the weapon in his hand, he held it high, the trophy of his victory. In front of him, Robert managed to regain some of his vision. He held a large smile on his face, but he didn't offer words of surrender or praise Edwin for the victory. Quickly, too fast for a man of his size to naturally move, Robert grabbed Edwin's shoulders, who was too caught up in his victory to notice his father move.
"Oh fuck." That was all Edwin managed to think before his father's knee thrust itself into his stomach.
"Ughhhhhh." The groan was painful. Edwin was now on his knees, clutching his stomach.
"And what did you just learn, son?" Robert failed to hide the boasting in his voice; in fact, he didn't even attempt to hide it.
With this day's breakfast now spread across the courtyard from the stream of vomit, Edwin was now projecting Tasting of Pork and a side of eggs in his mouth.
Stomach now empty of its contents, Edwin finally managed to speak. "That food isn't as good coming up as it is going down."
"That is a truth, HA," Robert bellowed a hearty laugh. Suddenly his face drew serious, "Enough jokes now, what did you do wrong?"
Edwin stayed silent because he had no answer to his father's question. Edwin had done exactly as he thought he was supposed to do. Robert searched Edwin's eyes for any sign of understanding, but he found none.
"You got my dagger, but what did you do with the opportunity?" Robert asked, now sitting alongside Edwin on the floor.
"Nothing, I thought I won." Edwin leaned in eagerly to learn a lesson; he knew every lesson learned was a step closer to what he wanted to achieve in life.
"That was the problem, you did nothing." Robert's explanation was already making sense. "Remember this wisely, son, it might just save your life one day. Until your enemy is dead on the ground, he will always pose a threat. Just because a knight says he yields doesn't mean he won't attempt to catch you unaware. A cornered beast will always fight the hardest, codes of chivalry be damned." Robert paused to let his words be absorbed. "So, what do you think you should have done?"
Edwin knew the right answer now: "I should have pressed my advantage, used the knife to take you down until you posed no threat."
"Good lad," Robert spoke, patting Edwin on the back, causing him to grimace in pain from the pressure on the bruise left from the previous day's practice. "You're improving every day; you'll be a monster in a battle given time." Robert stood now brushing dirt from his pants, and Edwin followed him up.
From his waist, he unhooked a separate dagger and its sheath from his belt and offered it pommel first. "When I was your age, my grandfather was the one who taught me how to fight. When I finally showed promise, he gave this knife to me; it's been in our family since our ancestors were still barbarians on the continent. Take it and use it well; it will bring you luck as it did for me."
Edwin grabbed the sheathed blade almost uncertainly; it was an honor he had not expected to receive.
The sheath was plain and unadorned, matching its handle of bland brown leather. Edwin was shocked when he removed the blade from its sheath. A pure, polished silver caught the sun's rays perfectly; the blade had countless swirls and waves from dozens of folds. This was no regular knife either, it was long and pointed, not meant for cutting or slashing like a usual blade, but for Stabbing. It was not to be used for cutting into his dinner plate; it was a rondel dagger used to stab into the weak points in full suits of armor.
"Long dead elven Forgemaster's made weapons like this in their thousands; they are unbreakable, light, and unnaturally sharp. Don't think it will cut anything like butter, though; armor can still stop it." Robert helped attach the sheath to Edwin's belt, next to the knife, which was more of a utility tool.
"Go get cleaned up. I think I've held you for too long; your mother will be angry with me if you're late to her etiquette lessons." Robert shivered at the thought of an angry wife.