Veylan put a wooden practice sword on the rack and handed me a plain iron rod.
"Left hand," he said.
I looked at its rounded end.
"Is this meant to improve my technique or your mood?"
"Both, if you listen."
The rod was shorter than a sword and light enough to hold without raising my shoulder. A strip of cloth marked its middle. No channel ran through it. When I tested the balance, nothing answered inside the metal.
Ordinary iron.
My right forearm rested against my body in the support. Maelis's restrictions sat on a bench beside Veylan's notes. He had read them before allowing me onto the marked floor.
"This is footwork," he said. "You aren't blocking a full strike. You aren't feeding the rod. If you forget either point, the lesson ends."
I placed my left foot where the first mark lay.
He moved it back with the toe of his boot.
"You haven't started and you're already reaching."
