With Crista’s tired but dutiful help, Paul was dressed and out in less than ten minutes. As he walked with his father, Paul was still shaken about why he didn’t remember ravaging Crista or losing control of himself, but as she assured him she was okay, he decided to put that mystery off until later. Paul took several breaths of fresh air and attempted to clear his mind.

One of the great things about Valeria, Paul noted, was the complete lack of smog or pollution in the air. He mentioned that once to his mother and got only a quizzical shrug. She, like everyone else, had no concept of the modern world's gifts or curses. Paul turned his face to the clear blue sky and took another deep breath of nature’s wonder.

Dominic looked over at his son. “Should I even ask why you took so long getting out of bed or what all that moaning was about? Or, should I have your mother question Crista when I return?”

Paul had never lied to his parents. He didn’t consider his silence as a baby lying. But, when he looked at his father, with the memory of Crista’s bruised body replaying in his mind, he knew he couldn't confess.

Dominic took a deep breath before continuing, “Your mother worries. It’s not like she doesn’t believe you would be a good husband or Crista, a good wife. She likes the girl. I think she wants you to be sure of your path before making a family.”

“Teen pregnancy is a worrying thing, no matter the world. I will take better care. I must teach Crista to read and write first. For myself, I know I need a trade, money, and land to build a home if I’m to stay...” Paul let his voice trail off. The idea of staying in this world was something he had always avoided speaking of openly. Now with Crista, what do I do? If I found a way back. Do I take her with me? Could I take her with me? Was my old world better than this one? So many things he had not considered flooded his mind. As they walked, Paul marveled at how fast the introduction of a woman altered your life.

“We will be there soon.” Dominic stopped and lay his hand on his son’s shoulder. “I don’t know if you can return to the world you came from. I know you’ve always wanted to go home. Your mother… your mother and I want you to be happy, and you need not worry about your woman. Your mother is already teaching her to read, write, and the other things a free woman and wife must know.” He turned and began walking again.

Paul was glad his mother was teaching Crista. Dominic spoke of Paul being happy, but Paul knew his happiness wasn’t all that mattered. Paul was his son, reincarnated soul or not, he was Dominic’s blood, and Paul wanted to leave him. That desire had nearly gotten Rosetta killed... maybe. Paul would not let it ruin anything else. If a way back existed, great, he would cross that bridge when he found it, but until then, he had to make the best of the home he had. He had to protect and provide for his family in the here and now. Paul thought that was a fear his mother had about Crista becoming pregnant. That he would not truly be there for her or their child if he made one.

“This is a good world. I have a wonderful family and home, father.”

They said no more on the subject that day, and Dominic did not press his son on breaking his word about Crista. Paul would find out later his parents had assumed he would; they were young once too. Academy instructors taught basic swordsmanship, marching, and following orders to the cadets each morning. Half of the eleven cadets were young apprentices. Three were older applicants; men who needed a new trade because they failed at their old one.

The group lined up in the courtyard. A gruff older man with sharp grey eyes stood before them. “I am Dougal Fenwick; you may call me, Sir, Master or Master Fenwick.” He slowly looked at each man. “I will not lie to you. Most of you will drop out during training. A few more will lose their life to stupid accidents because they did not listen. A couple more will either die their first week on the job or seek other less hazardous employment.”

Master Fenwick pointed to a nearby rack of old swords. “You have two minutes to grab a sword and pair up. It’s time to see how bad you are and how much drinking I will need to do.”

Paul grabbed a sword and paired up with a young teen named Parcell. To his right was a pair of twin teens. The twins were the first he had seen in this world. With Valeria’s one son rule, he had wondered what would happen if a woman had twins. He was glad his worst fear was not true. They all introduced themselves. The twins’ names were Alfred and Algar.

Paul was only adequate with a sword. His partner, Parcell, was much better. He showed Paul a few things that he was doing wrong in holding his sword before they began.

Paul swung down with his dulled sword. Parcell parried, stepped under Paul’s right arm, twisted slightly, and then Paul watched his sword sail through the air and land on Master Fenwick’s boot. Paul ran over and picked up his sword. “My apologies, Sir.”

“Apologies.” Master Fenwick glared at him. “Dead men can’t speak, Escamilla. If you die during training. It is I who would apologize to the Captain, for not seeing that his son was too weak to hold onto his sword.”

“I’ll do better, Sir.” Paul responded.

It seemed to be the right answer because Master Fenwick turned his attention to others.

Master Fenwick stood before Alfred and Algar as they sparred. The twins were quick, agile, and clearly had some training. Fenwick watched them closely before stopping them. He pointed at Paul and Parcell. “You two losers, come here.”

Paul and Parcell ran over and stood at attention.

“Switch partners.” Fenwick waited for Parcell and Paul to stand opposite a twin. “Now, I want you to spar with the idea that I will beat the crap out of whoever loses because I may.” He stepped back. “Begin.”

The two mock battles started in earnest. Parcell and Algar moved swiftly; their swords were a blur before the eyes of the other cadets who had stopped their training to watch. Alfred and Paul moved a bit slower. Paul struggled at first with Alfred, the more experienced swordsman.

A cry went out as Algar’s sword hit the ground, and he grabbed his right wrist in pain.

Parcell held his sword at Algar’s chest.

Algar lowered his head in defeat.

Paul and Alfred’s match did not end so quickly thanks primarily to Alfred’s seeming timid nature; it went on from five minutes to ten, twenty, and so on. Alfred was better, and there were points where he could have defeated Paul, but the boy appeared unwilling to take the risks victory required.

After nearly thirty minutes, the tide had turned. Alfred was breathing heavily, and sweat covered his face. He was slowing, and his guard was falling. Paul appeared unfazed. Alfred swung high. Paul parried. The two boys stepped nose to nose to each other. Paul suddenly grabbed Alfred's sword hand with his left hand and his robe with his right. Paul twisted his hips, pivoted on his heel, and Alfred was lifted off the ground. The boy went up and over Paul’s shoulder. Alfred’s sword hit the ground a half-second before he did.

Paul picked up Alfred’s sword as the boy lay on the ground gasping for breath with his hands covering his face in surrender.

“Finally, I thought I would die of old age watching.” Fenwick stood over Alfred’s prone body. “What have we learned?” He pointed over to Algar and then down at Alfred. “No more sparring against each other. You two know and trust each other too well. At this point, all you’re doing is dancing, not learning. From now on, you two freaks will partner with Escamilla and Chambers.”

Master Fenwick walked over to Parcell. “Good form and technique. Make sure you share what you know with the others.”

Fenwick stepped to Paul. “You still suck, Escamilla, but I can see the Captain at least ran you enough, so you don’t tire easily.” He turned back to the group. “Skill and talent are important, but sometimes it is the man with greater stamina that survives.”

Fenwick rubbed his chin, looked at the boys, and then nodded. “Yes, you four will form squad A. You will train together, eat together, sleep together, and if lucky whore together.” He turned to the others. “The rest of you form groups of four to five men. That will be your squad. That's enough for now. Dismissed."

Paul looked at the three boys, and they all laughed. Why? Paul didn't know, and he was sure none of them did either. He left the courtyard feeling pleased. Once again he had a squad.