The swordmaster was tall and strong as expected from the greatest swordsman alive in the kingdom, but what was out of the ordinary was his missing left hand, lost during a Goblin raid that occurred in his younger years whist on garrison duty over two decades ago. Unlike the majority of soldiers wounded so dreadfully, Malick refused to convert to light duties. Instead, he remained on the front line for a full ten years, earning him absolute respect from every aspect of the military. Malick, before the Goblin axe amputated his limb, was a great-swordsman but after receiving his war wound he strove to become the best, and through countless battles and never ending training exercises he became more skilled with one hand than any other known man who had served on the front lines. Ordered directly by the king, ten years ago at the age of thirty-seven, he finally retired from battle and became the Royal Swordmaster, trainer of the royal family and all royal guardsmen.
The bold headed, leather faced, swordmaster kicked the dazed young squire firmly in the rump and barked, ‘get up and get out, you worthless son of a whore, your weakness fills me with contempt. Jacob arm yourself, prince or not, you Will learn the consequences of leaving me waiting.’
Jacob selected one of the lead-weighted, and blunted, training swords from the now standing again sword rack. After ensuring his armour was firmly attached, he adopted the style known as The Eagle. With a two handed grip on the hilt of the heavy broadsword he held it high above his head, leaving the blade at an angle of around forty-five degrees towards his back, this style allowed the full force of the sword’s edge to be brought to bear down on either the left or right side of an opponent with ease, making it an effective defensive pose as well as a deadly efficient form of attack. Malick adopted the same sword position as his readied student, the only difference was Malick’s left arm, which had a small circular shield strapped to it in place of a grieve, extending out over his forearm to the length of an outstretched hand, and his sword which whilst the same length as the traditional broadsword, the blade was not as wide, making it slightly lighter and easier to wield one handed. Both men were now ready to conduct the first stage of every training session, a one on one sparring dual. Most of the time this was to ensure Jacob had been practising his swordsmanship, whilst away from his teachers view, today however there was another reason, tardiness appalled Malick, and he, like the King, believed violence was the only way to change a person’s behaviour. So, for the first thirty minutes of today’s training, he would punish Jacob.
‘I am sorry for my delay, Swordmaster; I was lost in thought and study.’ Jacob pleaded, knowing how much pain awaited him.
But the swordmaster, now fully clad in his aged and over used armour, said nothing. Instead he responded with a rapid combination of four left and right simultaneous blows, forcing Jacob to parry left and right whilst moving backwards, something Malick knew his young student struggled with. The last stroke of Malick’s sword was delivered with extra vivacity, the blow echoing the ring of steel on steel from wall to wall. Jacob’s footing was now unsure, his sword out of position, leaving his centre vulnerable to attack. His face guarded by his helm, which when in the closed position left only a thin strip over the eyes unprotected, was soon struck hard when Malick stepped inside Jacob’s guard and bought his shield arm crashing into Jacob’s steel covered face with enough force to knock the large adolescent on to his back.
Malick screamed at Jacob, ‘On your feet, boy! Will you fight Goblins and beasts from the floor?’
Jacob shook his head to clear the fog that now seemed to rest in his slightly dented helm. He tried to rise, but quickly received a lesson in the need to do so more promptly, as Malick bought his steel-clad boot swiftly in to the unprotected ribs just below his left armpit, expelling the air from Jacob’s lungs leaving him breathless and bruised to the bone.
‘You will rise without hesitation, or you will die under your enemy’s blade. You need to learn this, my prince.’ Malick spoke the word prince with scorn, as if the rank were somehow a jest. ‘You have a soft heart boy, so to be respected, you must command the army’s respect by mastering the way of the sword. Your strength of arm is unmatched. If you spent as much time training as you did talking with priests and scholars, you would be celebrated by the men you will one day rule.’ Malick lectured for the countless time.
‘But Swordmaster.’ Jacob returned. ‘What of the peasants, the surfs, would they not respect a ruler who made their life more bearable? Brother Robert tells me of suffering in our realm. In areas safe from the jungle dwellers, people die from lack of food or warmth. Is it not my duty to provide all our kind with the fruits of our land?’
Jacob was now standing about six feet in front of his instructor, still struggling for breath, his guard lowered, and expecting conversation but instead he received the full impact of Malick’s blunted sword crashing down upon his left collarbone, denting armour and bringing Jacob to his knees. Jacob leaned on his sword and began to climb back to his feet but was nowhere near quick enough as Malick belted his sword down again, this time on his right collarbone. Before Jacob could gain any composure, the heavy broadsword was bought down a final time by the legendary right arm of swordmaster Malick causing a blinding shot of pain through Jacob’s head before flowing down the length of his spinal cord. The prince, and heir to the throne, vomited into his ruined helm and fell face down unconscious.
Jacob awoke to find he had been hauled to his feet and put onto a stool, with his back against one of the stone walls, and a guardsman gripping each side of him. The squire who had been ordered to leave earlier busied himself prising the destroyed helmet from his bruised and swollen skull. He was well known to Jacob as they were of the same age and always seemed to be in the same part of the castle as each other.
Squire James, known as Jim by everybody who did not simply call him boy, squire or by some derogatory terminology, was well liked amongst the other squires and although still treated poorly by the guardsmen and soldiers who were stationed at the fortress, he did not receive as much torment as many of the other young boys who shared the day-to-day upkeep of the royal household. Jim and Jacob were fast becoming friends, as much as antiquity allowed.
Jim managed to remove Jacobs’ battered helmet just in time as Jacob choked on the vomit that had clogged his nose and throat, having nowhere to go as the helm was so tight around his face. Blue faced and covered in sick, Jacob gasped as he finally managed to breathe some fresh air. Slowly the colour returned to his cheeks as Jim washed his face from a bucket of fresh water.
Malick stood in front of the young prince, whose head was still swimming, as he struggled to focus on his mentor’s frowning, angry face.
‘Leave us.’ Malick told Jim. ‘You two’, the swordmaster shouted as he pointed at the soldiers still supporting the dazed prince. ‘Get this young lord to his feet. He has lessons to be learned this day.’
Jacob was helped to his feet and, although he swayed slightly, he managed to remain standing, which dampened Malick’s stormy expression faintly as he turned his gaze around the training room, then back to Jacob. Immediately Jacob realised he was in serious trouble for the second time in one day.
‘Where, in the name of He who is greatest, is your shield boy?’ Malick screamed at the shying Jacob.
‘I... I, I, must...’ Jacob stuttered. Then with a deep breath he inwardly steeled himself and said, ‘I have forgotten it, Swordmaster. Shall I return to my chambers to fetch it?’ Jacob asked this hoping for an excuse to leave the room and Malick’s forthcoming cruelty.
‘No’, Malick replied. ‘I am here to teach you the fundamentals of warfare, so if you ever find yourself on the field of battle, you shall not find yourself a casualty. One of these lessons you must learn is to take the same care for your shield and your sword, as you would an arm or a leg.’ Malick was grinning slyly.
‘Squire!’ Malick shouted, and instantaneously Jim returned through the doorway to run and stand before the swordmaster of the royal household. ‘Fetch rope
and be quick about it, boy.’ He commanded.
‘Yes, my lord.’ Jim replied promptly, leaving the room and returning within thirty seconds with a small length of thin rope. ‘Is this adequate, Swordmaster?’ Jim asked, as one guard snatched it from his hands.
‘It will suffice boy, now fetch our prince a helm. Lest I spill his brains like a yolk from an egg.’
Jacob suddenly felt terrified, tired, and wishing he was anywhere but here. Malick pointed at the guard holding the rope.
‘Bind his left arm behind his back.’
To Jacob, he said, ‘In battle if you lose your shield, or forget it completely, your arm may become incapacitated, broken or lost.’ Malick educated, waving his missing left arm to emphasise his point, as the instructed guard tied Jacob’s shield arm behind his back. Malick addressed the second guard, a veteran of Many battles named Gulkin.
‘Arm yourself, shield and sword. You will treat the prince as if he were any other young man you are educating in warfare. Am I understood?’ Malick asked, his tone showing it was not a question.
‘Yes, Swordmaster. Although if I may point out, this is not a fair contest, so what lesson is being taught?’ replied Gulkin, concerned for Jacob’s health – being one of the few warriors in the castle to treat Jacob with any respect – and also because he genuinely liked the young lord.
‘How many times in combat have you been outnumbered, or at a disadvantage due to broken armour, a broken weapon or a broken shield, brother Gulkin?’ asked Malick rhetorically. ‘War is often unfair. Goblins and Orcs tend to be an evil and cruel sort. Even the best prepared can face these adversities and not triumph, so what chance does an unpunctual, clumsy, bookworm stand, when he cannot even remember his blasted shield!’ scolded Malick. ‘Those are the lessons being taught today solider, maybe next time I give you an order you could follow it without question and try to show these young men example’, Malick reprimanded.
‘My apologies Swordmaster’, replied Gulkin, whilst bowing his head slightly, as a sign of submission. To Jacob, he said, ‘On your guard, your majesty.’
Gulkin approached the temporarily one-armed prince, shield held firm, covering his front from groin to chin, with his great-sword held horizontally behind his helm, and its blade resting upon the top of his heavy iron shield.
Jacob stood, awkwardly and uncomfortably, about ten feet from the experienced, advancing warrior, when he remembered a lesson from his friend, Brother Robert, about how animals are at their most dangerous when wounded because they act unpredictably. So instead of waiting for the attack and trying to defend himself, against a much more experienced swordsman, whilst having one arm tied behind his back and his balance compromised, he rushed Gulkin, swinging hard from high forcing his bewildered opponent to rise his shield above his head to receive the powerful blow. The shield blocked Gulkin’s vision and the sword strike sent a bolt of pain through his arm and shoulder. Jacob’s arm was strong, he knew this, he also knew his opponent was on his back foot now and taken by surprise at the sudden aggression he was now facing. He struck again, and then a third time. Gulkin was forced down to one knee. Jacob struck again; each blow delivered with more force than the last. Again, he attacked, not giving the seasoned soldier a moment’s respite. Jacob then threw down his sword, and consumed by a rage he had never felt before he grabbed his enemy’s shield and tore it from his grasp, pitching it across the room and sending sparks into the air as the heavy metal shield struck the stone wall.
Gulkin hastily began to rise, bringing his sword into a striking position, as Jacob pulled his shield arm free from bondage, snapping the constricting rope, and ignoring the friction burns to his wrists. With his hands now freed, he stood before the stunned Gulkin, who had risen to his feet, his sword hanging loosely at his side. The soft-hearted prince of men kicked out with his right foot, and his steel tipped boot connected with Gulkin’s sword hand at the wrist, with bone-breaking force, sending his sword and gauntlet soaring into the air.
Jacob stood over the cowering form of Gulkin, fists clenched tight, bringing out bulging veins and making his tendons taut. He looked down into the eyes of a man who he considered a friend and saw the pain he had caused and the fear he was still causing. Jacob’s temper instantly subsided and tears rolled down his cheeks. He dropped to his knees and cradled the older man’s shattered limb.
‘Jim’, Jacob screamed, and seconds later the squire was standing beside him. ‘Help me get this man to Brother Robert. He is the best at treating injuries like these.’ To Gulkin, he said. ‘I am so sorry; I do not understand how I could lose my temper so completely. Forgive me, Gulkin.’
Gulkin was now on his feet and had managed to gain control of the pain. ‘There is nothing to forgive Your Highness, you fought well. I underestimated your ability, and it cost me dearly. If that had been battle, I would be dead.’ Gulkin replied in awe of his future king’s, sudden and uncharacteristic, power and rage.
Malick had been standing silently, watching the events unfold. He now addressed the emotional prince. ‘Well done Jacob, you let free your rage and now you can begin to understand the strength you possess. But why on earth did you throw down your sword? You left yourself unarmed and vulnerable. Gulkin is wrong, if that had been battle, you would be the one now dead. But we are making progress. Now squire, get that man out of my sight’, Malick said, pointing at the injured solider.
‘I shall accompany him to Father Roberts’ chambers.’ Jacob said, standing. ‘I caused the injury; I shall help to mend it.’ Jacob announced, turning Malick’s temperament angry again.
‘You will not! You have training to complete. This man will be escorted to the physicians by the squire, as is proper. You will dry your weeping and act like a man, boy!’ The swordmaster shrieked, startling Jim, who was standing quietly in between Jacob and Malick, wishing he were still standing outside on his own daydreaming.
‘Can a man not show compassion? Is he only capable of breaking and destroying? I choose to be “soft-hearted” as you would call it, because I believe that our growth as a race depends on more than the strength of our armies. But you, Swordmaster Malick!’ Jacob said, biting off the words with a venomous tone as he came to his feet and faced the swordmaster. ‘Your heart is sour. Bittered by blood corrupted by hate. There will be no room for men like you in the future, mark my words, Swordmaster, and mark them well.’
Malick, infuriated, grasped squire Jim by the shoulders and cast him to the floor. ‘You have no rank in this land until you celebrate sixteen winters Jacob, that is law! And you shall obey my order. Gulkin, get out, and take that useless boy with you’, Malick yelled as he kicked the cowering squire.
As Gulkin came to help Jim, Jacob intervened and pulled the winded squire to his feet. Gulkin and Jim headed for the doorway, closely followed by Jacob. Malick remained where he was but screamed after him.
‘You insolent boy, I shall have you publicly lashed for your disobedience.’
Jacob stopped at the doorway and turned to face Malick, his face set in a mask of royal authority. ‘Then, Master Swordsman, lashed I shall be. I hope it will be rememberable.’ Jacob said the last words with added purpose, drawing out each syllable. Then he turned and left.
Jacob and Jim helped Gulkin into Red Rob’s chambers on the ground floor of the four-storey fortress. Brother Robert’s office was in the north-east corner and saw little sunshine through its two small windows. The north-east section of the castle remained largely unkept, as people of importance were housed in the higher levels. The lower two floors of the great castle Sprettaman were filled with martial training halls, barracks, kitchens and the hundreds of people who served the castle. The top two floors were given to luxury and opulence, both to the king and those who were in the king’s favour.
Jacob pounded on the large oak door and called out.
‘Brother Robert, drag yourself from your pit, we have need of your skill.’ The door opened, revealing a shabby red-faced priest who had obviously just
awoken. Robert blinked away sleep, yawned, then said,
‘Ah, a prince, a squire and an injured solider, sounds like a bad joke. Well, do come in. Jacob, light as many lanterns as you can find.’
The trio entered the priest’s chamber and whilst Jacob looked for some candles in the murky light, Jim helped Gulkin to the one bench in the room. Jacob only managed to find two small candles, but as he lit them, they burned brighter and brighter until the room was as bright as midday in the middle of summer.
‘It does not matter how many times I see these candles of yours, Robert, they always amaze me’, Jacob said to his friend.
Jim and Gulkin both sat open-mouthed, Gulkin on the examination bench and Jim at the small square table in the middle of the room.
‘How is this possible? It is not this bright outside’, Gulkin asked, temporarily forgetting about his shattered limb, starring in awe at the half burnt down candles. ‘It is a simple concoction of minerals mixed into the wax’, Robert replied. ‘Now let me look at your arm.’
Brother Robert examined Gulkin’s arm in silence, turning it slightly this way and that. Then after a few minutes he stood, and looking Jacob straight in the eyes he asked, ‘How did Gulkin receive this wound?’
Jacob bowed his head in shame. ‘I caused it; I lost my temper during a training exercise. I have failed the lessons you have been teaching me.’
Robert started looking amongst the countless jars that covered the shelves on every wall until he found what he sought and returned with a small jar of bright blue powder. Taking a spoon from a draw on the table, he stirred a heap of the powder into a metal chalice that was already filled with water. As he was preparing the potion, he asked Jacob to tell him, in detail, about the events leading up to the three of them waking him, which he did so without hesitation or untruth. Jacob finished relaying the accounts prior to them having pounded upon the Brother’s chamber door just as Red Rob had completed the mixture. Robert placed the chalice under Gulkin’s mouth and instructed him to drink. As he poured the thick fluid down the soldier’s throat, the priest grabbed the back of Gulkin’s head, tipping back his skull and opening his gullet, he forced him to drink the foul-tasting potion. Just as Gulkin was about to protest at the rough treatment he closed his eyes and lay back, falling into a deep and silent sleep.
The Banner of the Broken Orc: The Call of the Darkness Saga: Book One Page 3