The Huntress ✓

08. Battle of Wills

Lucien looked into the swirling, foaming waves as the wind blew the salt spray over his small body. He cried out with shock, dread, and pure helplessness. He gripped the rail of the ship only a moment before decision solidified into action. Ignoring the sound of shouts around him he quickly jumped to the rail and over, before anyone could stop him...

Lucien sat up with a start. He was drenched. He threw his blankets to the floor with disgust and stomped to the window; the shutters were clapping loudly as the wind blew Bermudan rain onto his bed. He shut them tightly.

Dawn neared. Rather than trying to go back to bed in the soggy mess, Lucien decided he might as well start the day.

Stripping off his night clothes, he berated himself for not securing the shutters before falling asleep.

Today he'd speak to his father about the ship and he wasn't off to a good start. After dressing in dry clothes he went to the kitchen and made himself porridge. At the worn table usually reserved for the staff's meals he sat with a Bible he'd borrowed from Johnstone. His Bible had sailed away with his ship. He'd briefly daydreamed about one of the thieves reading it, then feeling convicted and contrite as they returned his ship. Absurd.

He opened the Bible to the third chapter of Ecclesiastics. "To every thing there is a season and a time to every purpose under heaven...," he began.

After his devotions, the morning dragged by. Lucien knew during the early hours his father would be busy with meetings and such so he'd planned to have their interview at the dinner hour.

Waiting for the time to pass proved difficult and he was becoming agitated.

When hours of pent-up energy threatened to spill out he decided to make his way to the courtyard used for sparring. This was yet another extravagance his father insisted on, since all of the best noble families employed their own private tutors to teach the art of swordplay and self-defense. But it was one of the few things Lucien was glad his father splurged on, unlike the fancy clothes and carriages; Lucien loved to spar and prided himself in his skill.

When he arrived he was disappointed to find the field occupied.

Opposite the instructor, sword poised to strike, was his hard-working father. Lucien felt a stab of irritation. He'd thought not to intrude on his father's busy morning and here he was, playing! Not to mention Lucien wanted the use of the field and Master himself.

As he turned to walk away his father called and stopped him. "Gear up son! Let's see how age and experience fair against the strength and endurance of youth!"

Lucien heaved a long sigh and smiled. His father was giving him the opportunity to vent his frustrations on their precipitant. At least one of them, anyway.

He strode to the shed housing the rapiers and chose a long heavy blade with a swept hilt, its point tipped with a leather button, and donned a padded vest.

His father dismissed the master as Lucien eyed his opponent speculatively. When Lucien was a child the man had seemed untouchable, but, things were changing.

Lucien stepped into the field of play and bowed to his opponent. His father returned the courtesy then took up a ready stance. Lucien did likewise, choosing one more aggressive than his father's. Lucien took a step forward–his father a backward step, preserving the distance between them.

Lucien circled right and again his father mirrored the movement. As they circled, Lucien inched closer, closing the gap imperceptibly. When he was within striking distance Lucien lunged, thrusting the blade toward his father's chest. His father pulled his shoulder back, turning sideways, and Lucien's point struck air. The older man quickly returned with his own lunge, trying to land the point before Lucien recovered but Lucien swept it to the side with a gloved hand.