With a wild clang! Amathan's sword-hand at last succumed to the force battering upon it, and his blade went scittering away across the packed dirt of the guards' training ground. Its erstwhile bearer, on the other hand, collapsed where he stood, head falling back with a similar clang.
"I don't---" he gasped to catch his breath, "---I don't think I'm cut out to be a guard."
Somewhere above him, his brother laughed, sheathing his own sword and offering his hand to help him up. Amathan ignored it, much preferring to remain where he was, and instead surveyed the slowly lightening sky above. Usually, two boys as young as they would not be permitted to use the city guard's equipment and land, but their father had struck some sort of agreement with the captain, and so for the meagre price of a few chores done and errands run, Aderthor and Amathan had the run of the place in the dark of predawn.
"I think Adar has long given up on either of you becomming any kind of soldier." his brother said, interrupting his musing, "You don't have to be a guard to find a sword useful,"
With a huff, Amathan sat up, though he did not deign to stand. If I don't get up, he can't make me go another round. He was still struggling to keep his breath even while Aderthor--- **** him--- had barely broken a sweat.
"So what, I'll be a brigand?"
"Not with that kind of stance you won't," Aderthor replied easily, and he caught at Amathan's arm, easily dragging the shorter boy up to his feet with only the smallest wince of effort. Amathan had half a mind to plop back down, but previous experiance told him that would merely perpetuate the cycle. He shook his head, and his helm gave up and slid off at the sudden movement, clanging once more to the dirt.
"I'll work on the docks, then, like Areher," he said. To the east, a stray sunbeam at last breached the city walls and arched over the barracks. It caught on the sword and helm in the dirt, and on Aderthor's teeth as he smiled. Amathan's heart lifted with the new sun, not least for that the guards would be arriving soon and Aderthor would have no further oppurtunity to beat him into the dust.
"You could," Aderthor agreed, and he removed his own helm, shaking back sweaty dark hair from his face. He reached in to muss Amathan's hair before the latter could stave him off and laughed once more. "You might need to grow a foot or so first, though."
Both standing on the packed dirt, Amathan's head barely crested Aderthor's chin, and though Areher wasn't nearly as tall as their eldest brother, he also stood far above Amathan. It wasn't an entirely fair contest, of course, for Amathan had turned fifteen the winter before, and Aderthor would be twenty-four come August.
He scowled fiercely and bent to collect both sword and helm. They, and both brothers' other practice armour, they would return to the city's armoury--- hopefully before the lieutenent showed up to scold them, permission or no.
Aderthor's sword, though, was his own, gifted by their father at his coming of age. When Amathan finally grew a bit more, he thought, he would have one of his own, and perhaps it would suit him a bit better than the blunted blade he carried now.
Above them, the new day dawned brightly over the city as the pair made their way through swiftly filling streets toward home.
