by Licia Troisi
“No, let the little runt say his piece,” said Ido, a smile still planted on his face. He turned back to Dohor. “Did anyone ever tell you that you should save your courage for the battlefield, rather than waste it all bragging about yourself.”
Dohor stood. “I’m not bragging. I know my own strength perfectly well and I know I’m ready for battle. And everyone here can tell you I’m the first in my class. Everyone here knows my skill with a sword and they’re all thinking the same thing I am—that your selections are a complete sham.”
The silence was nauseating.
“Your speech, son, is intolerable!” the teacher thundered.
“I’ll handle this,” Ido replied calmly. He looked Dohor in the eye. “I thought I made myself perfectly clear on the first day of selections. I don’t deal with dandies like you, who fight with a textbook in one hand and a sword in the other, a head full of blather about duels and honor. But now it’s clear you’re even dumber than I thought. Fine, you think I made the wrong choice? Well, I’m always open to testing my own judgments. Grab your weapon and follow me outside.”
The boy did not move.
“Did you hear what I said? Let’s settle this in the practice ring, where you can show me exactly how skilled you are.”
Dohor turned to his teacher, who was seated around a table with other instructors, but he received nothing but perplexed glances in response.
Parsel was the first to step in. “Ido, this boy has obviously showed you a lack of respect and he’ll be punished for his behavior. Don’t lower yourself to his level. …”
“I’m not lowering myself to his level,” Ido answered back. “So he wants a second chance? Fine, he can have one. If he’s really the great warrior he claims to be, he’ll prove it and step outside with me. In fact, why doesn’t everyone come outside and judge for himself.” He turned again to Dohor. “I’ll be waiting for you in the practice ring in ten minutes.” With that, he left the cafeteria and went to grab his sword.
As he paced the empty halls back to his room, he felt neither offended nor inflamed. He was calm, or if anything, slightly saddened. He could spend his whole life on the battlefield, and it still wouldn’t be enough to win the respect of others.
In less then ten minutes, he was outside. The ring was already filled with onlookers, but Dohor was nowhere in sight.
At last, the boy arrived, pale as a ghost. He wore leather justaucorps, and the sword dangling at his side bore all the signs of a classic family heirloom. Ido’s intuition had been right—this kid was the spoiled spawn of some pompous commander.
Parsel made one last effort to intervene. “Ido, you’ll gain nothing but your own embarrassment. … He’s just a boy, a kid who went a little overboard, that’s all. The other teachers don’t exactly approve of this little show of yours.”
“If any one of you had done the same, you’d all be applauding his educational methods. Spare me the sermon. You know what I’m doing is right, and you know damned well this isn’t just a matter of one hotheaded kid.”
Without a word, Parsel nodded and stepped back.
The student halted at the center of the ring and stood there awkwardly.
“Well then, do you plan to fight or what?” Ido provoked him.
“You’re not in the ready position.”
“When you’re fighting a Fammin, you don’t … Never mind. A great warrior like yourself should already know. Come on, then; raise your weapon.”
Dohor led off with a powerful lunge; Ido stepped to his right, dodging the attack readily. Rattled by his own overzealous attempt, the boy must have recognized the hopelessness of such a head-on strategy, for he aimed his next blow at the dwarf’s side. This time Ido merely leaped, sending his opponent teetering off-balance, and immediately brought the tip of his sword to the boy’s throat.
“Look at that. It appears I’ve already won. But perhaps you were distracted. You didn’t have enough time to demonstrate your immense skill. Why don’t we make it best of three; what do you say?”
The boy nodded, though with the reluctance of someone just realizing how deep a mess he’d gotten himself into.
The two split off and prepared for the second bout. This time, too, Ido stayed put and let Dohor play the aggressor. He came in from above, but the dwarf shifted to his side and dodged the attack. Not once since the start of the duel had he needed to use his sword. Time and again Dohor came at him, but Ido was as lithe as a ferret. In a flash, the dwarf clashed his sword against the boy’s, sending it flying through the air. Once again, he brought his blade to Dohor’s throat.
“Your grip, I think, is a little weak.”
Dohor was panting in terror a few feet away.
“Two out of three, boy. That makes me the winner. But that’s no matter, I’m feeling generous today. Let’s do it this way—if you win the next one, you’ll have yourself a spot among my troops. Agreed?”
“I—” he tried to object, a pleading look in his eyes, but Ido gave him no time to finish his sentence.
“Excellent, so it’s settled. I may be generous, but I’m not stupid. This time, I’ll do the attacking.”
Ido and Dohor split off again. The moment Ido saw his opponent take the ready stance, he launched an attack. As always with the dwarf, it was all in the wrist. His short, stout legs—a particular source of amusement for the horde of spoiled students—were fixed firmly to the ground, and his torso, too, was all but immobile. His arm did all the moving.
Dohor was at a loss. He tried guarding himself, but Ido’s blade was lightning quick and came flashing at him from all directions. The boy was giving it all he had, and still he was on his heels, backing up until only a few steps from the fence. Panic overtook him. He tripped and fell to the ground. Once again, Ido’s sword was at his throat.
“Case closed, no? Now how is it that someone of your skill couldn’t manage to block a single one of my strokes? Any ideas?”
Lying breathless on the ground, on the verge of tears, Dohor said nothing.
“You needn’t waste your breath. I’ll tell you what happened. What happened was you’re not ready yet, and like a fool, you think too much of yourself. And if you weren’t so busy being arrogant and cocksure, you might even have some talent. You still have plenty to learn when it comes to swordsmanship, never mind your dueling strategy. Rather than whine all day that I didn’t pick you, you should be thanking me for having saved your life. Out on a real battlefield, you wouldn’t have lasted even the time it took to fight this little duel of ours.”
Amid the heavy silence in the ring, broken only by Dohor’s angry and shame-filled sniffling, Ido sheathed his sword and returned to the cafeteria.
After the episode in the practice ring, the atmosphere around the Academy changed dramatically. The students began to regard Ido with fear, and the other teachers kept their distance. It wasn’t exactly the effect he’d been hoping for, but then again he couldn’t complain—fear was at least a step up from ridicule.
His behavior that evening, however, also brought a few unpleasant side effects, as Ido discovered on the first day of the second round of selections, when the students who’d been chosen were called upon to duel with their respective teachers.
The dwarf entered the ring dressed for battle, his long sword hanging at his hip. His students were already gathered there, eighty of them in all. The ring was silent. Too silent, Ido thought, and scanning the faces lined up there before him, he saw nothing but fear.
He began by describing the challenge, rambling somewhat to delay things a bit, but under the scrutiny of so many frightened gazes his feeling of uneasiness persisted. At last, he decided it was time to get a move on.
“You, in the front row there, we’ll start with you.”
“Me?” the boy replied in bewilderment.
“Unless I’m cross-eyed, yes, you.”
The student Ido had chosen was among the most talented, a brawny and promising-looking fellow with brown hair and tan skin. Ido thought it wise to begin with one of the better students, at least to break the ice.
The boy took a fretful step forward. He looked pale despite his dark olive complexion.
Ido wasn’t quite sure what to make of the situation. “On your guard,” he commanded.
Hesitant, the boy obeyed.
The dwarf launched into attack without delay, though his opponent seemed utterly out of sorts. Awkward movements, ill-timed and ill-aimed attacks, a grand display of terrible swordsmanship—after only a few lunges, Ido managed to disarm him.
“Is that it?” the dwarf exclaimed in disbelief.
The boy stood there in the center of the ring, arms at his side, a look of terror on his face. “I’m sorry … I …”
Ido could smell his fear from a mile away. He could even hear the heavy beating of his heart. “Okay then, let’s pretend that never happened. It’s just nerves. I understand …” In truth, he was somewhat out of his element, but to go on playing the role of rigid instructor would get him nowhere. “Before each one of you comes out here to face me looking paler than a ghost, let’s make a few things clear. I’m not here to chew you up or humiliate you. Forget the little act you witnessed the other day. Obviously, I don’t expect you to defeat me. And I’m not looking to defeat you either. Just relax and give it your best. Does that sound alright?”
From the group of eighty boys came a faint “yes.”
Ido huffed. What kind of pitiful assignment have they given me? “Alright, let’s go. Grab your sword and come at me. I’m right here.”
The boy regained his courage, picked up his sword, and launched into attack. Ido made little effort in defending himself, blocking one strike after another with relative ease. After ten or so minutes of useless, spiritless sparring, he lowered his weapon.
“Was that so bad?” he asked, forcing a smile.
The boy seemed to appreciate the kind gesture and replied with his own timid smile, though when he uttered “no,” it sounded more like a sigh of relief than an answer to Ido’s question.
“Excellent. Next.”
No one budged.
“Next, I said,” he repeated, this time with authority.
Immediately, a blonde boy stepped forward, skinny as a toothpick, but tenacious. Ido had already taken note of him during the first round of selections. He wasn’t much of a swordsman, but he was a warrior at heart, and he burned with ardor and determination.
The boy gathered his focus and made ready for battle. Ido smiled—finally a kid who knew what he was doing. He began the duel with a renewed pleasure, proud of his role as teacher.
Nearly three days passed before the final round of cuts came to a conclusion, and Ido found himself standing before his unit of fresh recruits—one hundred and twenty boys in all, less than half of those who’d showed up on the first day.
When he saw the recruits before him for the first time, he felt his stomach knot up. In a matter of two weeks, he’d have to turn the whole lot of them into warriors, and the task seemed all but impossible. With Nihal alone it had taken months. In her case, of course, she’d been training to become a Dragon Knight, but she was undoubtedly a gifted student. Standing before him now was a group of mere adolescents, with only a limited propensity for handling weaponry.
Parsel seemed to be readings his thoughts. “We don’t have to turn them into the strongest soldiers in the army,” he said, “just warriors capable enough to help the rest of the troops lead their attack.”
Ido heaved a sigh.
To finish the job, Ido insisted that the students be trained at a remove from the Academy, in an encampment near the Land of Water. Convincing Raven of the venture turned out to be a long and exhausting process.
The Supreme General raised a storming objection, grumbling and claiming that, in the end, these boys were students and they belonged at the Academy.
“The point is to turn these boys into warriors, and they need to familiarize themselves with certain environments. If we train them on the battlefront, they’ll have a chance to breathe the air they’ll be breathing in combat. That way it won’t come as a complete surprise to them on their first day of battle,” Ido retorted.
“You’re just looking for a way out of here,” Raven replied. “We all know you can’t stand this place. You just can’t wait to pick up and go. That’s the only reason you’re asking me this.”
“And the only reason you’re denying me it is to trip me up for the thousandth time.”
Parsel was forced to intervene, and to Ido’s surprise, he supported the notion. Only then, at last, was the dwarf given permission to leave the Academy.
As soon as he set foot outside the hulking gate, he felt like he could breathe again. And the sensation only intensified once they’d left Makrat. He coasted on back of Vesa while the caravan of students dragged along slowly below him. Little by little, as they distanced themselves from the capital, he felt his spirits reawaken. Suddenly, even his assignment seemed less of a burden.
They rested often, and Ido profited from the down time by giving brief lectures on strategy, reinforcing and building upon what the students had learned at the Academy. The dwarf knew that students had a habit of overlooking their strategy lessons, distracted by eagerness to pick up a sword.
Ido recounted his numerous battles to his band of recruits, describing troop formations and strategies employed. He even found it somewhat fun. It was like bringing the past back to life, and he took a curious pleasure in evoking his former endeavors. His students, meanwhile, hung on his every word, completely absorbed in listening. Now and then, they responded with a gasp of astonishment or a string of intrigued questions. And Ido began to enjoy the company of his new students.
The dwarf took great care with his descriptions of the enemy as well, giving specific depictions of their various weaponry and warriors. The students had heard of the Fammin and of the fire-breathing birds at the Academy, but only in passing. Normally, these were subjects covered in preparation for the first battlefield trial, which came at the conclusion of the initial phase of training.
However, their days of travel were not spent only absorbing lectures on strategy. Official training could begin at last. Nervously, Ido thought ahead to the battle that awaited them in the near future, often recalling the image of the Scarlet Knight, the thought of whom had nearly left his mind during his days at the Academy. More and more often he retreated into the woods on Vesa, where he pushed himself with additional training, though it was hardly necessary. The idea of defeating the red knight plagued his thoughts, as did the insult that worm had hurled at him in the midst of their first battle: “Coward.” The word hummed incessantly in his ears.
18
The Mistake
Nihal’s joy at the sight of Laio turned quickly to worry. His face was strikingly pale, his arms bandaged, his tunic covered in blood.
“What happened to you?” she asked, stepping toward him.
Laio smiled. “It’s a long story.”
Before all else, Nihal was eager to tie up the Fammin. She felt a strange stirring of emotions emanating from him, not unlike the sensation of anguish that had briefly settled in her mind only a few days before as she crept by the cells where the Fammin were being held captive. Only this time it was more intense. She couldn’t figure out what exactly was causing it, or how a Fammin could seem so gentle, so deeply saddened.
They dined shortly after, and over the meal, Nihal and Sennar asked Laio to tell his story. With an air of dignity, and without sparing a single detail, the squire described his escape from the cell, his arrival at the mountain pass, the torture he’d suffered. As he spoke, Nihal carefully observed the expression on his face. She could tell how proud he was to at last have earned their admiration, and she noticed h
ow frequently he turned toward Sennar, as if in hopes of his approval. At the end of his story, Laio spoke of Vraśta.
“I’d better take care of those wounds for you,” said Sennar, afterward.
Laio turned to him and held his gaze until he drew a smile from the sorcerer’s lips. Then he addressed Nihal. “Are you angry?”
She hesitated a moment before she replied. “I don’t know.”
“This wasn’t just some spur-of-the-moment decision,” said Laio, and Nihal noticed that his voice was no longer so innocent and pure, but the voice of a man. “I wanted to take control of my own destiny, and that’s why I did what I did. I know I can be of more use here with you than I can be at the base, or anywhere else for that matter.”
“But Laio … look at what you’ve done to yourself,” Nihal murmured.
“I paid the price for my choices. That’s the way life goes,” he said. His lips curled into a smile and he walked off with Sennar.
Laio’s wounds weren’t particularly deep—apart from the gash in his shoulder, which risked infection—but they were numerous, and Sennar was exhausted by the time he finished treating them all. Once the task was complete, the squire drifted off into a peaceful sleep.
Sennar, meanwhile, rejoined Nihal, where she sat brooding by the fire.
“So what do you plan to do with the Fammin?” he asked.
“We have no choice but to kill it,” Nihal answered coldly.
“What about what Laio said; don’t you trust him?”
“The Fammin are killing machines, nothing else.”
From the moment they’d left Seferdi, Nihal felt a yearning to kill, and now she had the chance to quench her thirst. She’d seen Laio’s wretched condition while Sennar was treating him: Every inch of his skin was lacerated and seared by the hot iron brands. Of all war’s horrors, torture was the one she could stand the least.
“Laio and the creature have become friends,” said Sennar. “If the Fammin was planning to kill him, he wouldn’t have confessed the truth the way he did. I know you’re still boiling after what we saw in Seferdi, but you should think this one through—”