"Halt."
I stopped inside the court entrance. So did most of the students ahead of me. One boy completed another step and let his wooden blade fall to his side.
Instructor Veylan pointed at him. "After the call. Again."
The boy went back to his place. I moved out of the doorway before I could become part of the lesson.
It was six. I had left my room a quarter of an hour earlier, after tea and an unsuccessful attempt to make the fresh linen lie flatter under the work glove. The foundation court admitted the grey light between its roof and the top of the wall. People were still arriving, showing their access cards to the assistant by the racks. I showed mine and was directed to the newcomers beside the empty practice rectangle.
Veylan wore leather gloves and carried a whistle that, so far, the voice had made unnecessary. A sheet on a board held the names. The instructor marked one in red, looked up, and found me without checking the board again.
"Valdrake."
I inclined my head.
