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Quin heaved a sigh of intense frustration. He turned from the target and clenched his hands. He had thrown a straight spear hundreds of times before. Why now, when there were dozens of people around, could he not do it right? As he passed the captain on his way to stand in rank, he shot him a furtive look. Coenred did not even glance his way. The second in command did look at him, however. Quin looked swiftly away and found his place behind the other soldiers who had already thrown their spears.
The young man did not have the presence of mind to compare himself with others. Perhaps it was wisdom not to compare, for one should not think only of how others do, but how well one does oneself, detached and alone. In such a case, however, it was discouraging. Quin only looked at himself, and he had done poorly, and that was all he knew. He did not realize that others as well were not performing up to their usual standards that day.
Their next object was to practice their abilities on horseback. Quin looked disappointed. His horse had lamed himself on the last stretch of rode the previous day. In order not to be left out completely, he offered his help to the captain and helped set up the obstacles for the horsemen. He stood by and watched as the soldiers put their horses through their paces, practiced their archery and casting the spear again. The men were finally warmed up, it seemed, for most did fairly well.
“We will do the hand-to-hand combats next,” he heard Coenred tell a man to his right. “I want to see how they do at close quarters.”
Quin swallowed nervously. His talent had never run in that direction. He did not like the idea of seeing his enemy die so close, and he had never liked the sword practices. It was different than practicing with the sword or spear. With those weapons, one had a target one threw at. If you hit the target, you did well, and no one was hurt. But while practicing with a sword, even with the blunted weapons they used, people got hurt. Not seriously, no, but the bruises could be gloriously nasty. It was not as though Quin feared pain, it was merely that he did not glory in it, like some young men, and even older men, did. He would much rather have stayed home and learned a craft, or an art, perhaps a form of instrument. But it was not to be.
The soldiers completed their rounds on horseback, and the horses trotted back towards the captain and waited for the next orders.
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