LEAVING THE COUNCIL of elders behind them, Zakkai follows Okafor on a winding path which eventually leads to unseen sections of the Rukisu's base of operations. The youth returns his sword to the armory, learning in the process that his new mentor is a blacksmith and will forge him a weapon of his own. In the meantime, they head toward what Okafor calls their practice chamber.

Okafor struts down a narrow corridor and then stops at a broad door. He swings it open and beckons Zakkai inside. Even before he rounds the doorway, the clamor of wood hitting wood calls out from inside, only sparking further curiosity. He steps through the arched entryway into a wide open space where a row of windows along the back wall causes sunlight to wash over the chamber. In the golden light, three pairs of young men spar against one another with wooden swords.

Zakkai cannot help but marvel at the spectacle before him. The Esrayan school of swordsmanship still exceeds this display in terms of sophistication, but the raw power displayed here is most impressive. The Esrayan way is a battle of minds, but Zafanya's swordsmen perfect the strength of their bodies.

One pair in particular battles one another at an incredible tempo. The fluidity of their movement paired with the strength of their attacks is astonishing. The shorter and stouter of the pair fends off a flurry of blows from a lanky giant who wields a fittingly long weapon. Their wooden blades blur around one another, a mesmerizing spectacle.

The taller fighter topples his fellow over with a particularly powerful blow. He holds the tip of his blade a few inches from the other's neck. The fallen man bats it away with the flat of his sword. A glint of frustration sheens in the giant's eyes, and he brings the tip of his weapon even closer to his fellow's throat.

"Enough, you two!" Okafor shouts, jolting Zakkai out of his trance. "On the battlefield, you would both be dead now. Go again, and do better."

"How would I be dead? I won!" the giant protests.

"You stood and gloated over your victory. In battle, such hubris will more likely earn you an arrow through the eye than a medal around your neck."

The giant dips his head meekly, and he proceeds to help his fellow to his feet. After regaining his balance, the stouter fighter engages in a renewed bout. Their blades intertwine once more, but a warm hand comes to rest on Zakkai's shoulder, coaxing his gaze upward.

Okafor runs his other hand along the top of his shaved head. "To live a long life in our line of duty, you must learn a more balanced perspective. Humble, yet confident. Confident, yet not arrogant."

"I can see how that would be the case."

"Are you ready to do some sparring of your own?"

"With what weapon?"

Chuckling, Okafor paces over to an open barrel where the hilts of multiple wooden swords protrude over the rim. He snatches up one for himself and tosses one to Zakkai. These are straight and broad blades, similar to the metal one Zakkai had taken to Mejanno, but longer. He wonders whether Okafor's prowess here matches his mastery of the saber.

"Before we begin," Okafor says, shrugging off his scarlet outer coat and hanging it on a nearby hook, "I must make you aware of the path set before you. For now, you are an initiate. You will spend your days in these walls, studying and training for battle. Much of your time will also be spent learning to maintain and eventually craft weapons."

"At any point, will I accompany you on missions again?"

"Perhaps. But that is no promise. Initiates are not allowed to leave the capital city unless under the supervision of a Rukisu of higher rank."

Zakkai blinks. "So I am stuck here for the time being."

"You are a student, not a prisoner."

"I am accustomed to coming and going as I please. This is frankly a disgrace and a—"

"Must I remind you of the alternatives? Thieves are ordinarily locked up and forgotten." Okafor huffs. "You must know your place, young man."

A cracking sound over Zakkai's shoulder causes him to glance back sharply. One of the other initiates has dropped his sword. He glances around sheepishly.

"Very well," Zakkai says. "Do you have a curriculum in mind? How long until I am free again?"

"That depends on your diligence. First, you will be instructed in the rudiments of swordsmanship, using a wooden sword. Alongside that, I will be teaching you the basics of smithing. Ideally, by the time you are ready to forge your own sword, your skill will be suitable to wield it. At that point, you will also choose a battlefield weapon and begin learning its use."

"What battlefield weapons are there to choose from?"

"Countless." Okafor flourishes his wooden sword in his left hand, passes it to his right, and back again. "All manners of spears, axes, hammers, clubs, any of those lengthy weapons that can be used from horseback or on foot to battle multiple opponents at once. A sword is generally your backup, or for combating one opponent at a time in close quarters."

"Should I not study a battlefield weapon first, then?"

"A sword requires more skill. For this reason, you begin your studies there first. When I judge your prowess on a primary and secondary weapon to be satisfactory, you will become a proper Rukisu warrior."

"And you have no estimate for how long this will take?"

Okafor tilts his head and laughs. "That depends on you, young man. To begin, I will spar briefly with you and assess your skills as they currently stand. In Mejanno, I saw an overemphasis on thrusts and stabs in your style."

"Such is the Esrayan way. Our swordsmanship is for sport and ceremony, for the most part."

"You will find swordsmen of the savannah seek to kill and destroy. A greater variety of attacks and defensive maneuvers must be cultivated if you seek to survive their onslaught. I will first test your instincts in terms of offense. You will make the first move, and I will take a defensive role. Engage when ready."

Zakkai eyes Okafor up and down, shifting into a ready stance. He squints, evaluating a dozen little factors to determine his optimal first engagement. Esrayan swordsmanship is highly reliant on strategy and outmaneuvering the opponent in the mental realm. The physical component is only an extension of that.

Okafor's greater stature precludes certain angles of attack. Judging by the position of his wooden blade, a thrust to his right side would be swiftly countered, but the tension in his arms also suggests him anticipating a feint from the left as well. Zakkai calculates, ponders, and considers.

Then he strikes. Lunging forward, he stabs for Okafor's right side. The move baits his blade forward to strike it aside, but Zakkai withdraws quickly and redirects to the left side now exposed. Such is the beauty of Esraya's nimble thrust-oriented approach.

Okafor leaps back, avoiding the attack altogether. Though Zakkai had outsmarted him, his superior reflexes still saved him from an early defeat. His face twists into a wry smile.

"That was clever," the elder says. "I opened myself up for that one."

"I warn you not to underestimate me."

Shaking his head, Okafor shifts back into a fighting stance and bids his new student to attack again. Zakkai analyzes the elder warrior's posture and form once again. The downward angle of his blade would instinctively encourage an attack on the upper body. But this is too obvious; it is bait. He expects an attack from up high and will counter it immediately.

Again, Zakkai calculates. He devises his strategy. Take the bait, withdraw, attack elsewhere. This time, he will move faster and score a hit.

He lunges at the opening. Okafor swings his sword up in an arc at such incredible speed that it knocks Zakkai's weapon out of his hand. He brings the edge of his wooden blade to his throat, forcing him to yield. The youth has failed to take the speed and power of his opponent into account.

After retrieving his weapon, Zakkai engages Okafor again without further comment. They exchange a flurry of attacks and counters this time. For a moment, Zakkai gains the upper hand, but then Okafor parries and reverses the momentum. As promised, the master swordsman remains on the defensive, but when he does launch an attack of his own, he is an unstoppable force. Zakkai stumbles backward when forced to ward off his new mentor's attacks. Despite the precision of his style, it simply cannot withstand the strength of Okafor's barrage.

Finally, Zakkai feints to the right, luring Okafor's blade with him. He draws back, comes forward again, and executes a winding maneuver that places the edge of his weapon inches from Okafor's throat. Finally, a fair victory after several intense bouts.

Okafor steps back. "Excellent. Your approach is strategic but lacks power. Your defense also needs work. I will reverse now and take the role of aggressor. Your aim is to ward off as many attacks as you can and show me your defensive instincts."

Zakkai plants himself in a neutral stance. His blade angles downward, but the tension in his wrist allows him to flick the blade up at a moment's notice. From the taste he had already been given of Okafor's power as an attacker, he dreads the result of what is to come. A second's delay in choosing an angle of attack might lead to a better chance of impact, but the same delay in defense can lead to severed limbs or impaled organs.

Okafor's blade blurs. It moves so fast Zakkai loses sight of the weapon itself. Only by tracking his opponent's arms can he detect the angle of attack and compose a defense. His arms jerk up. He knocks the sword aside and parries, only to swiftly be countered again. Okafor maintains a strong advance that drives Zakkai toward the wall. Their weapons knock together repeatedly, and the youth crumbles under the pressure.

Zakkai's back hits the wall. There is nowhere further to run. He ducks underneath Okafor's weapon and leaps to the side. He skirts out of range, but the Battlemaster is upon him immediately. He raises his weapon to absorb one attack, then lowers it to knock aside a masterful followup. His wrist aches from the impacts of Okafor's thunderous display.

A blur of movement, and the top half of Zakkai's wooden sword snaps off. Before the splintered nub hits the ground, Okafor has smacked the other half of the weapon out of the youth's hands, and his own blade now rests against Zakkai's throat. The victor's stare is electric.

"How ... how did you do that?" Zakkai stammers, watching Okafor step away to pick up the broken pieces of the wooden sword. "You just ... did that ... and not a bead of sweat on your forehead!"

"You too will be able to wield such strength if you follow my teachings." Okafor hands the splintered shards to the youth. "Your instincts are sharp. We simply need to improve your strength and broaden your horizons. Stabbing and thrusting are the domain of the spear. A sword is to cut and to slash."

"The power you possess is impossible. How?"

"As I said, years of dedication and study. What I can say in the way of encouragement is you approach dueling with an analytical way that will serve you well. You simply need more moves at your disposal. Then your calculating mind will allow you to outmaneuver your opponent."

"Will I ever be as powerful as you?"

Okafor chuckles. "With enough study and discipline, yes. Perhaps more powerful. Time alone will tell."