Chapter 5: Trials of the Blade

The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting the village of Bramble Hollow in shades of gold and orange as dusk settled over the land. Elara stood in the shadow of the inn, her heart pounding in her chest. The scarred mercenary, who had introduced himself as Garrick, waited for her in the clearing behind the building, his broad arms crossed over his chest, eyes cold and calculating.

"You showed up," Garrick said, his voice low and rough. "Good. Many don't."

Elara swallowed her nerves and pulled her hood lower over her face, trying to look confident. She couldn't afford to falter now. "I'm ready," she replied, though her heart still fluttered with uncertainty.

The small training yard behind the inn was surrounded by a few mercenaries, all watching her with curious, skeptical eyes. Elara knew that she would need to be more than just a princess in disguise now—she would have to prove herself as one of them. These men had spent their lives fighting, surviving by the edge of the blade, and one mistake could expose her as an imposter.

Garrick gestured to a rack of weapons lined against the wall. "We'll start with this," he said, tossing a wooden training sword toward her. Elara caught it in midair, the weight of the sword unfamiliar in her hands.

This isn't like the court lessons with wooden swords, she reminded herself. This is real.

Garrick took up a similar sword, standing opposite her in the clearing. "Your first lesson: never hesitate. If you're going to survive out here, you need to learn how to act without thinking."

Without warning, he lunged.

Elara barely had time to react, swinging the wooden sword up just in time to deflect the blow. The force of Garrick's attack sent a shock up her arm, and she stumbled back a step. He was fast, faster than she had anticipated, but she held her ground.

"Not bad," Garrick growled, circling her slowly. "But not good enough."

He attacked again, this time with a flurry of blows. Elara's instincts kicked in, her body moving on its own as she blocked and parried. The wooden swords clashed with a hollow thud, and the other mercenaries began murmuring to one another, watching the exchange with keen interest.

Elara's pulse raced, her muscles burning as she fought to keep up with Garrick's relentless assault. He was testing her, pushing her to her limits, and she knew that one misstep could end this charade. She needed to stay focused, to prove that she belonged here.

Garrick feinted left, then swept his sword low, aiming for her legs. Elara leapt back just in time, the wooden blade missing her by inches. She seized the opportunity, stepping forward and swinging her sword toward his shoulder.

But Garrick was ready. He spun out of the way, his sword flashing up to block her strike. Their blades met in the air, the sound echoing across the yard.

"You've got some fight in you," Garrick admitted, his eyes narrowing. "But you're too careful. Out here, hesitation will get you killed."

Elara's mind raced as she struggled to keep up with his pace. He was right—she was fighting too defensively, too much like the princess she had once been. She couldn't afford to hold back. She had to fight like her life depended on it.

Because it did.

With a surge of determination, Elara shifted her stance, planting her feet firmly in the dirt. She took a deep breath and charged forward, swinging her sword with renewed vigor. Garrick met her blows with equal force, but this time, Elara wasn't retreating. She pressed the attack, driving him back step by step.

The other mercenaries watched in silence now, their eyes wide with surprise. Elara could feel the sweat on her brow, her arms trembling from the effort, but she didn't stop. She couldn't stop.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Garrick raised his hand and stepped back. "Enough."

Elara froze, her chest heaving with exertion. She lowered her sword, her heart still racing as she waited for Garrick's judgment.

He stared at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "You've got guts, I'll give you that."

Elara relaxed slightly, though she remained wary. "Does that mean I've passed your test?"

Garrick grunted, tossing his sword back onto the weapon rack. "You've proven you can handle yourself. That's enough for now. But don't get too comfortable—this was just the beginning. You'll need to learn a lot more if you want to survive what's coming."

Elara nodded, relief flooding through her. She had passed the first test, but she knew that the real challenges were yet to come. Garrick wasn't wrong—there was much she still needed to learn, and the dangers that lay ahead were far greater than a simple sparring match.

As the other mercenaries dispersed, muttering amongst themselves, Garrick approached her once more, his expression more serious now. "You're not just some random traveler, are you?" he asked quietly.

Elara tensed, her heart skipping a beat. "What do you mean?"

Garrick's eyes narrowed, studying her closely. "You fight too well for someone who's never been in a battle before. And there's something about you—something you're not telling me."

Elara's mind raced. She couldn't reveal who she really was, not yet. But Garrick was perceptive, and she needed to give him something, or he would grow suspicious.

"I… had a mentor," she said cautiously. "Someone who taught me to fight. It's not something I'm proud of, but I learned how to survive. I didn't come from a noble family, if that's what you're asking."

Garrick studied her for a moment longer, then nodded slowly. "Fair enough. We all have secrets. Just make sure yours don't get you killed."

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving Elara alone in the fading light. She watched him go, her mind still reeling from the encounter. She had managed to keep her cover—for now—but Garrick's words echoed in her mind.

Just make sure your secrets don't get you killed.

Elara tightened her grip on the wooden sword, her resolve hardening. She had survived her first test, but there would be many more to come. Tristan's forces were growing stronger by the day, and if she wanted to stop him, she would need to gather allies—and fast.

But first, she needed to survive the night.