Terync looked at the two knights for a moment, checking to see if this was an honest request or if this was some kind of odd joke being played on him. Neither’s face revealed anything that said he was being made fun of, so he figured he would humor her.
“The semifinal match was against upperclassman Wiedermon and we unluckily, for me at least, drew rattan fighting sticks for our weapons.”
“Why was that unlucky for you?” Azulaphael asked.
“Well, the fighting sticks are not taught to first-year whelps. We are trained only on quarterstaffs, maces, long swords, and daggers. All of the elimination bouts use only those basic weapons, but for the quarterfinals and up, the choice of weapons is randomly drawn from any that a knight is expected to be capable of using.”
The lady nodded, as if she had already known that answer. “And you had no prior training with the fighting sticks before coming here?”
“No ma’am,” he replied, feeling a little unsure of where the questioning was going. “I didn’t really have any martial training before coming here to the Citadel.”
She nodded again and waved a hand for him to continue, “So the match began?”
Terync smiled, he was back on familiar territory. “It did, and I was immediately on the retreat with a fast flurry of strikes from Wiedermon. I don’t think I managed to block a single one, but luckily, I was faster on my feet than he was. Though, honestly, I think it had more to do with the fact that he wasn’t expecting me to retreat so soon.
“I was getting too close to being out-of-bounds, so I dove and rolled back towards the center. Took a pretty nasty blow to the shoulder for that and it almost made me drop the stick in my hand.” He looked down at his left arm and flexed his hand a few times, as if remembering the numb feeling traveling down his arm during that bout.
She broke in again when he briefly paused, “What were you feeling at that time?”
Terync shrugged. “Not sure. Uncertainty, maybe? A bit of worry, definitely.”
He didn’t look sure of his answer and Azulaphael keyed right in on that. “Is that all?”
“Disappointment, I suppose. I had made it all that way only to fail so quickly, like I never truly belonged there in the first place.”
“If you cannot be honest with yourself, who can you be honest with?” She shook her head, “So, again, tell me what you were feeling at the time?”
He shifted in his seat a bit and wondered if taking a sip from his drink would help or if it would just be seen as an obvious stall. In the end, he set the goblet on the small side table and took a deep breath, “Well, if I’m being completely honest… I guess maybe you could call it panic.”
“It doesn’t matter what I call it,” she said, a frown of displeasure spreading across her face. “If you cannot give a name to your emotions you will only ever find yourself falling victim to them. One last time, perhaps? Or maybe I misjudged you entirely.”