by CJ Brightley
She nodded, and I backed away to sit at a table. Now with the daylight streaming through the windows she was more frightened of me. Perhaps she could see me better, and last night of course I’d been sitting, so she hadn’t seen my great height, my hair nearly brushing the rafters. But when she brought us our food, rich bread, butter, jam, boiled eggs, ham, and hot tea with milk, she smiled again. A cautious half-smile at me, and a larger one for Hakan, but kind enough nonetheless. The day was already more pleasant than I had expected.
We were nearly finished when there was a clatter of horse hooves outside. Hakan’s back was to the door and I was facing him. I never sit with my back to a door. It is a mostly unconscious habit, though Yuudai used to tease me about it. Then the sound of boots on the steps and a sudden stream of light. Suvari.
The first two I didn’t recognize, but the third was Hayato, followed by another three men. The others sat immediately, calling for food, and the girl disappeared into the kitchen. The innkeeper was apparently her father, for he came out and bantered with them while she served them breakfast. I suppose he was keeping an eye on them, letting them know by his very presence that the girl was not unprotected. Of course, if they’d been bandits, dishonorable, determined, he could have done nothing, but out of respect they restrained their comments to compliments and not suggestions.
Hayato saw me almost immediately. “Kemen, I’m glad you’re here.” He nodded quickly at Hakan, eying him with interest but making no comment as he slid into another chair.
“Our group has found nothing, of course. One of the squads sent southeast was a bit more zealous. They burned a homestead just east of Darsten. The father and son were killed by the suvari, and one child was burned to death in the cabin. Apparently the fire was something of an accident, but the men took no great care to stop it. The mother and the youngest child lived. The squad thought the boy was the prince sheltered by the family, but he was their eldest son. The woman and her brother are on their way to Stonehaven to make a formal protest and request for compensation to Vidar.” Hayato was solemn, his voice very low.
“I thought they weren’t looking very hard.”
He looked grim. “You’re right, most of us aren’t. But there are a few who are. I went back to Stonehaven while my squad searched, and right glad I am to find you here, for you’ll be interested to hear this. The search orders didn’t come from Vidar, though they were given in his name. They came from Ryuu Taisto.”
“Taisto! Really?” He was the Minister of the Military Affairs, the official title for commander of the suvari and the kedani, the highest military officer in the country. Of course the king, and perhaps in this case Vidar, would have the final say, but as far as operational specifics, he made the decisions.
“Aye. Taisto. One of my friends, Siri Andar, is in the king’s personal guard. Do you know him?”
The Royal Guard was a position of honor and generally easy work, a reward for good service, for until recently the kings had been rather popular. I shook my head.
“Now they’re guarding Vidar until told differently. Taisto of course will be the one to tell them, unless Vidar himself overrules him. Siri says Vidar ordered Taisto to find the prince and bring him safely back to the palace if at all possible. Note the word ‘safely.’“
“So the specification that the prince’s death was perfectly satisfactory did not come from Vidar but from Taisto?” I asked.
Hakan looked back and forth between us seriously.
Hayato nodded. “Right.”
“And the suvari?”
He smiled a little. “They make me proud to be a suvari. Aside from that one incident, regrettable though it is, they’ve been mostly trotting about the country eating in inns and enjoying the lovely winter weather, with their helms deliberately pulled over their eyes.”
I grinned, for it was a typical statement from him. It had been cold with a cutting wind for weeks. Hayato had always been ironically positive, and I was relieved to find that this hadn’t changed.
“What about the kedani?” I wished I knew myself, but I no longer heard the rumors that flew about the army so quickly.
“They are as yet undecided. Vidar promised better pay and better training, with no such stupid maneuvers as that foolish campaign that retired you. He’s made some internal changes that I can’t evaluate yet. I don’t have enough information. Promoted some people, demoted others. I don’t know any of them, but I’m sure he has reasons. I imagine he’s planning on strengthening the borders as a preliminary move. That’s been needed for some time. Tafari is getting bolder.”
I spoke very quietly, eying the group behind Hayato to make sure my words did not carry. “Hayato, as you can see, the prince is alive and quite well. You know well enough where I stand. If Taisto is the one behind this rather than Vidar, we’ll need much more information. I know little of him. Do you stand with us?”
He nodded with a quick glance toward Hakan. “Aye, you know I do. I’ll see what I can find, but I’ll need to be discreet.”
I nodded. “We’re going to the eastern border, probably to Senlik.”
Hayato tapped his fingers rapidly on the table as he thought. “I know a man in the kedani, Katsu Itxaro.”
I liked the name. Katsu, victory or triumph. Itxaro, hope.
Hayato continued. “He commands the division out of Rivensworth, so we work together sometimes. I’ll see what he can find out about the mood in the kedani, and if he knows anything about Vidar and Taisto. He’s in Stonehaven more often than I am.
“I also found something else. The rumors of your death weren’t just rumors. You’re counted as dead in the official records.” Hayato frowned seriously at me.
Somehow it didn’t surprise me. The mistake seemed to fit with the rest of the tragic affair.
“Do you have any enemies?” Hakan asked.
“No.” I shook my head.
“Yes,” Hayato said at the same time.
I looked at him with raised eyebrows. “Who?”
“Baris Eker, for one. He’d love to see you dead.”
I sighed. “He’s not behind that.”
Hakan looked at me. “Why doesn’t he like you?”
“I beat him wrestling.” I took a drink and glanced over Hayato’s shoulder at the suvari.
Hayato blew out his lips. “That’s not what I heard.” He grinned. “I wish I’d seen it. I heard you wiped the ground with him, made him eat dust.”
I shrugged, frowning at my mug. Eker had been angry, no doubt, but I still didn’t think he was responsible for having me recorded as dead. It didn’t make sense. Our match had been several years before my final battle, and I’d barely seen him in that time. His anger had simmered, I knew that, but I’d had no further dealings with him.
“What happened?” Hakan was still curious.
Hayato grinned again. “What I heard was this: Eker was a braggart and a fool, and he challenged Kemen to a wrestling match.”
“I should have turned it down,” I muttered. I’d thought it was all in good sport, at least at first. Wrestling matches are a common way to let out a little energy in the slow times between skirmishes. They keep you sharp and loose enough to fight.
“You did nothing wrong! Eker had a reputation to uphold and he bet stupid amounts of money on the match. I heard Kemen pinned him in the first round faster than your heartbeat, faster than thought. The judges wanted to call the whole match, it was so beautiful. But they did two more rounds, and Kemen let Eker test his strength, get a few good holds, and then pinned him twice more.”
I protested at that. “Not exactly. He was good; it wasn’t effortless.” Eker was a big man, not quite as tall as I am but heavier. We were fairly evenly matched in strength, but I was faster. I could have pinned him more quickly, but I wanted to be mindful of his pride.
“I heard it looked effortless, as lovely a match as any of the judges had ever seen. Afterwards Kemen gave him a hand up, the judges called him the winner, he turned away,
and Eker lost his temper and slashed at Kemen with his bootknife. Going for the hamstring, trying to cripple him.”
Hakan gasped and glanced at me. “What happened?”
Hayato looked at me as well.
I shrugged. “The judges didn’t care for it too much, and neither did the rest of the soldiers. He barely escaped hanging. He was demoted, fined two months’ pay, spent a month in prison.”
Hayato frowned. “That’s all? Should’ve been hung, I think. He’s always picking fights. With you he just picked a fight he couldn’t win. He’s a snake, and I’d bet he’s the one behind this. I wonder what happened to your pension money.”
I frowned at my mug again. “Fine. He’s an enemy. But I don’t think he had the authority to affect my pension or record me dead.”
“What about to have you sent out to that ambush?” Hakan asked quietly.
Hayato frowned thoughtfully, but I shook my head. “No. Besides, the orders came from the commander at Blackburn. He was a good man.” Dead soon after, though. I’d never thought about that coincidence before.
Hakan chewed his lip. “They appeared to come from him.”
Hayato was still thinking about the wrestling match. “I wish I’d seen it.”
We left early the next day heading northwest. After a week on the road I took us north again through the country to avoid Iskara; it’s not a large town, but it’s on the route to several border posts and I didn’t want to meet any suvari looking for Hakan. We found a clearing ideal for his training after another week, well off the road and with flat ground for us to work.
We stayed there over a month, and I drilled him every day. Hour upon hour of swordplay, back and forth, around and around the clearing. I was much kinder than my instructors had been, but I did push him.
I rapped him on his arms, his shoulders, swiping at his knees, barking his shins with the end of the sword to remind him to move his feet. Jabbed at his gut, carefully, because a blow even from the dull point of a wooden sword can be fatal with enough force. I was easily strong enough to drive it through his thin body and out the other side, and I had to exercise care. Care also when I rapped his head, for I wouldn’t want to drive out whatever learning a prince receives to prepare him for his rule.
“Guard your head!” I finally snapped.
That day he had been particularly slow and clumsy, and though he’d improved since we had begun our lessons he remained thin and wiry, slow to block, his arms weak and tiring quickly. I was impatient, frustrated. Perhaps unfairly so.
“I am!”
I rapped him smartly on the side of the head. “Not well enough.”
He flushed and sniffled, eyes wet.
“Again. This time guard your head.”
We went through the motions again, and again he left his head open. I rapped it again, and he put his hand to his head angrily.
“Guard your head.” Again.
And again.
Finally he threw the sword down in frustration and turned away.
“Hakan, you cannot turn away from an opponent.”
“I don’t care! I’m not practicing anymore.”
I would indulge my own need to practice then, instead of wasting time on him. I tossed my own sword off to the side and kicked his after it. My knife also came from its sheath in my boot.
A few deep breaths in the ready position and I was relaxed. Then the moves carried me, kicks, trips, jumps, a roll, punches, a grab of an imaginary opponent followed by a smashing blow to the throat, then back up into the air for a whirling series of kicks. Not so useful in combat, of course, but excellent at refining balance and testing a man’s strength.
I love the regularity, the predictability, the beauty in the perfection of the movements. The efficiency, the devastating power that can come from one small part of a body properly trained.
Balanced on my hands I lifted my feet high in the proper form, shoulders tight and perfect. I’ve always been good at that move, despite my long legs which should have been a disadvantage. I was the only one, aside from Yuudai, who could push directly from that position into another flip that carried me across the clearing and nearly into the trees. My long legs and arms again, that time more of a challenge.
A deep breath, then another. Peace. Breathe. I was sweating, and I threw my tunic off to the side. It needed washing in any case. Breathe.
Then again, the same sequence, the most difficult one I knew, my favorite, for it tested me every time. By the end of the second round my chest was heaving, and I leaned my hands on my knees a moment before taking the position again.
Again, the same sequence, my arms trembling a little in the balance position, but I pushed off and finished well.
Then again, blinking sweat from my eyes, muscles burning. It felt good to push myself.
A final time, and I nearly thought I wouldn’t have the strength for the balance move, the pushing of my entire weight vertically, the taut line from straining fingers up to toes high in the air. But I did it, the tight arcing of my back, the spring into the flip with kicking feet and head skimming the ground, for I nearly didn’t jump high enough, and then the deep finish, one leg far back and straight, the other knee deeply bent, head up and shoulders straight in the last punch.
I stood for one moment out of pride, then collapsed to lay flat on my back with my arms spread wide. I wished it was snowing. Every inch of me was burning with heat, waves rising from my chest and face. My eyes were closed, and I could hear nothing but the pounding of my blood in my ears. It’s a pleasant sound, one I’ve grown to love. It means I’ve pushed myself hard.
A shadow fell over my face, and I opened my eyes to see Hakan sitting a few feet away, staring at me.
“That was amazing!” His eyes were glowing with awe.
I blinked in surprise and nodded. What is one supposed to say to something like that? I sat up, thoroughly wearied but unwilling to look up at him from such an awkward angle.
“Will you teach me to do that?”
I laughed, though I suppose I shouldn’t have, for I could see the hurt in his eyes. “It takes many years of practice. But yes, I’ll teach you to fight barehanded as well.” It was nearly dusk. “Do you want to start today?”
He nodded eagerly.
“Right then. You’ll have to start at the beginning, and it won’t seem very interesting at first.”
He nodded and I pushed myself up.
“This is the ready stance. Feet apart, toes pointed straight forward, knees slightly bent. Hands relaxed, held here. Shoulders back, look forward.”
I felt oddly light-headed, and shook my head slightly to clear it. I should not have lain down so long. I stepped forward to correct his form. “That’s good. Are you comfortable?”
He blinked.
“The position is comfortable, like resting. You’re prepared to move, but relaxed.”
“I am.”
“Now step forward, like this. Feet a bit wider apart than your shoulders, nice and deep. Drop your hips, sit into the stance. This stance is for power. Bend your knee more. Your shin should be vertical. In this stance, your hips will be either square forward, like this, or back, like this.” I demonstrated again.
“More square. Straighten your back leg, knee toward the ground. Your back foot should be pointed forward, at least at this angle, more if you can get it.” I used his belt to position his hips correctly. He kept his eyes lowered, and I wasn’t sure whether it was to check the position of his feet or because he felt awkward so close to a Dari.
“Don’t look at the ground. The ground is not your opponent. Look at your opponent in front of you. Now step forward into the same stance.”
He stepped forward, bobbing up from the deep stance and sinking back again.
“Watch me. The back foot comes into the middle to meet the other before moving forward. Both knees are bent in the middle, as your weight shifts to the foot that was in the front. See, this foot can move freely now.” I kicked out with my right fo
ot.
“You’ll develop the balance for that in time. Now you move it forward, sweeping out. Don’t let your head bob up and down.” I demonstrated a bad transition, up and down, up and down with each step. It’s a common mistake, but easy enough to correct, especially if we started early.
“There are the two positions for your hips, square or back.” Actually there are more, but I didn’t want to confuse him. “Now step forward again. Your feet are too narrow. Good. Step. Now your stance is too short. Lengthen, move your front foot forward. Good. Step. Too wide this time.” I stepped with him, letting my mind wander. Back and forth across the clearing.
“What do I do with my hands?”
“We’ll do another stance first. It’s easier that way. Put your feet as wide as your shoulders, toes pointing forward. Now double the width.”
He moved awkwardly, toes turning outward.
“Then a bit more, you have long legs for your size. Toes forward.”
He grimaced as I bent to point his toes more forward.
“Aye it hurts a bit at first, but you’ll get used to it. The muscles need to be developed. Bend your knees more, sit deeply into it. Shoulders and hips square. Very good.” I assumed the same position facing him. The moves are as natural as breathing to me; most of them I don’t even remember learning. In the kedani, I taught many of the soldiers, including some of my superiors, because I gained a reputation as a fighter. We’d all received the same training, of course, but even at fourteen, when I entered the king’s service, I was more formidable than many of my commanding officers. Then, I wasn’t quite the height of most Tuyet men, though of course now I’m much taller.
My skill comes from attention to detail. When others went through the motions, even with dedication, I studied them, deconstructed the techniques, turned them inside out in my head, finding the reason and the art and owning each move. The simple punch is the most ignored and one of the most beautiful moves in its brilliant simplicity. The forces are awesome if used correctly, though most soldiers, even with training, don’t find the full beauty in them.
“Do you know how to make a fist?”