Chronicles of Galadria II_Encounters

by David Gay-Perret

  It was as though a light had come on for the young man; he’d begun to understand what his mastering was suggesting. “You mean that I should be able to make my weapon reappear anytime, anywhere, not limited by my sheath.”

  Kezthrem gave a wry smile. The young man began to move about, absorbed by his thoughts, as he voiced them aloud. “But to really have no limit, I’d have to be able to use my weapon immediately, as soon as it appears. That means, then...” He stopped abruptly and looked to his master, a big smile on his face. “That means that I would be able to make my sword appear in my hand!” The conclusion that he reached appeared perfectly logical, and he got a sudden glimpse of what that would mean: that way, it would basically be impossible for someone to disarm him. Wherever his sword went, he would be able to get it back immediately.

  “But then, for the Murockai style,” he murmured to himself. He thought back to his training in Shinozuka. “Master,” he began again, louder now. “That would be a very useful for students of Murockai. If they could send their sword wherever they wanted, then get it back in a fraction of a second, that would let them attack and defend without being hindered by their weapon at all.”

  “That’s absolutely true. If your friend masters that technique, this will greatly simplify the task because, as you know, that technique places the greatest importance on being able to toss the sword so it doesn’t hinder their movements, then catching it to attack. Consequently, it's necessary to be very nimble. Or at least, that’s necessary for warriors who aren’t protectors; protectors, on the other hand, can simply make their weapon reappear in their hand, then disappear again.”

  Glaide became lost in his thoughts. He hoped with all of his heart that Jeremy was learning to exploit that skill.

  “However, we are not here to talk about Murockai,” continued Kezthrem. “You understand, I’m sure, that this power cannot really be taught, in the usual sense of the word. It is more a question of mind over matter, and I cannot put myself in your place or mindset. However, I can at least help you a little. To start with, attach your weapon to your side. We’ll start with the basics.”

  Glaide belted on his sword, and Kezthrem did the same.

  “Good. Now, show me what you can do. Make your sword disappear.”

  In a fraction of a second, the weapon was gone. The young man had not even had to concentrate.

  “And now, make it reappear.”

  The young man made his sword come back. His master looked at him with a smile. “That’s the first thing you have to know. Now, to the next thing. Up until now, you always had the opportunity of seeing your adversaries approach, right?”

  “Exactly.”

  “So then, you had time to draw and prepare for combat. But what if you were taken by surprise? You wouldn’t have time to put yourself on your guard, and you would have even less time to prepare a strategy.”

  “So, you mean if I was thrown into a battle that began immediately?”

  “Or, you would be, assuming you manage to parry the first attack of your adversary. Because in that type of situation, the first attack is often one that catches you off-guard. You’ll understand in a moment. Make your sword disappear.” As he spoke, the man was approaching Glaide. The moment Glaide’s sword disappeared, his master drew, and made a motion as though he were decapitating his disciple. The latter only had time to make his sword reappear, and draw it halfway out of the sheath before he would have been considered dead.

  “But... but...” he stuttered, his hand still on the hilt, though that was obviously now pointless.

  “That is the kind of attack I’m talking about,” declared Kezthrem, as he sheathed his weapon. “If you had managed to parry, only then would the battle have begun.”

  “But master, that would be impossible!” exclaimed the young man. “You were so close to me. No one could unsheathe a sword quickly enough to parry such an attack.”

  “Who said you had to parry?” asked Kezthrem, a bit of sarcasm in his voice. “You could have dodged, jumped backwards, or thrown yourself to the ground.”

  The young man stood there for a moment, with his jaw hanging open. That thought hadn’t so much as crossed his mind. “In that case,” he asked then, “what good would it have done for me to be able to make my weapon appear?”

  “There are a few reasons it would have been useful. First of all, if you had chosen to throw yourself to the ground, you could have made a counter attack from there. If you had moved back, you would have gained enough time to get your guard up. And if you did remain in place, there was nothing stopping you from attacking first, and destabilizing your adversary. Also, contrary to what you said, it actually would have been possible for you to parry. The fact that you succeeded in getting that much of your sword out of its sheath in so little time is proof that you have in fact mastered at least the one power: making your sheathed weapon appear.”

  “Which is good news,” agreed the adolescent.

  “But it’s not enough,” responded the man with a short voice. “No warrior worthy of that name would never have let me get so close; or at least, not while remaining disarmed.”

  The young man hung his head in humility. The voice became gentler.

  “But, you are here to learn. A protector, before knowing how to fight, needs to know how to avoid danger. It is your job to protect Emily and those dear to you, but to do that, you should never enter any battle unless it is necessary or inevitable. Do you understand that, Glaide?”

  “I think so,” responded the disciple.

  “Alright then, let’s start.”

  Kezthrem took up a guard position, and the boy raised his head. He smiled. He took the position Uziere had taught him, steeled by the words of his master.

  And so the man and the adolescent began to train together. They started by leaving their swords at their side, and practiced drawing their weapons as quickly and as precisely as possible. Then, Kezthrem held out a wooden baton, and Glaide, when signaled, had to draw his sword as quickly as possible, and strike towards the piece of wood, but without touching it. By the time noon chimed out from the clock, and the two paused for lunch, there was a rather impressive number of notches that had appeared in the baton, not to mention the small pile of sticks off to the side that he’d cut completely in two. However, neither of the two despaired at that.

  When afternoon came, the exercises changed a little. Now, Glaide had to make his sword appear first, before drawing and striking the baton. However, the goal of not touching the baton remained.

  Evening came. The adolescent was dripping sweat, and exhausted, but he had made progress. It wouldn’t be long before he’d reach the next level of training, and that idea gave him joy, and the strength to keep going.

  Soon, night fell. Only a trace of moonlight illuminated the room, and the disciple and his master could no longer see well. Finally, the latter decided they should retire to the garden. The air there was fresh, and the young man sucked in deep breaths of it.

  “Look around you, Glaide,” began the man. “Tonight, the moon is far from full, and the darkness is deep. Sometimes, it is necessary to fight under conditions such as these. Do you think you would be capable of it?”

  Before responding, the young man took a moment to pass his sword back and forth before his eyes. He wasn’t sure if it was fatigue or the shadows around him, but he couldn't make out its edges. A few times, moonlight reflected off of it into his eyes, blinding him. Finally, sure of his answer, he replied honestly, “No. Anything that attacked me tonight would succeed in killing me.”

  Kezthrem made no reply, instead gazing at the horizon.

  “I still have so many things to learn,” thought the young man. “I’ve yet to employ a single sword-fighting technique, and I’ve already been here for a week! But I should be patient...”

  “Right, you must be exhausted,” declared the man suddenly. “Let’s head to bed. In two days, we will look again at whether you can draw quickly, with power and precision.
If you prove yourself, then we will move on, and begin studying how to make your sword disappear and reappear when it isn’t attached at your side. The technique is much the same as that necessary to make it appear directly in your hand. But you will understand soon enough. For now, go to bed.”

  Glaide bowed his head without speaking, then headed in the direction of the stairs. He nearly fell several times – his legs were so weak with fatigue – but he paid no attention. His master had just told him that he had two days to master what he’d learned. “And if something is mastered, that means it’s time to move on to something new,” he thought happily. “I absolutely have to succeed when he tests me. I’ve had enough of the boring training we’ve done so far.”

  A shadow fell across his happiness, though: Kezthrem hadn’t mentioned the exercises for flexibility and endurance... Would they also be part of the coming test? Did that mean he’d be able to give them up, at long last? It didn’t seem likely, though, and the young man doubted that those would go away anytime soon; anyway, he had yet to master them.

  The following two days were entirely devoted to the practice of protector magic. Through the practice, Glaide quickly realized that the majority of the notches he made were due entirely to being bad at using a sword, rather than the magic. His wrists were simply not strong enough to stop his attack quickly, and most of the time, they weakened under pressure, letting the blade slip and strike the baton. With that realization, he doubled his efforts at strengthening his muscles; he now had a precise goal to attain there. The new motivation worked miracles, and by the end of two days, he found he succeeded in stopping his sword before it struck, nine out of ten times.

  At one point, Kezthrem tried to catch him off guard again. He advanced while talking, then suddenly drew. The young man noted the movement, side-stepped, and drew as quickly as possible. This time he was successful: he managed to place his own sword a few centimeters from the throat of his adversary. The adolescent was no fool, though. He knew perfectly well that his master could have parried the attack. Nonetheless, he was pleased by his progress, and as he climbed the stairs to go to bed, he was sure that he was ready for the test that would determine whether or not he would finally have a chance to learn more about this mysterious power of the protectors.

  Chapter 18

  THE fourth day of the last week of September arrived. Glaide rose just before the sun. He carefully attached his sword to his belt, then went to stand on the balcony, above the entrance of the building, facing out towards the plain. He was calm, and ready for the test to begin. Just to be sure that he was ready, he drew towards the edge of the wall. His blade stopped a hair away from damaging the delicate wood. “Perfect,” he thought confidently. He felt the light of the sun begin to warm his back as it rose. He turned around to admire the view in silence; he was sure it was something he would never grow tired of. Then, he went down the stairs.

  He wasn’t surprised to see his master already up, standing in the garden, his back to the entrance. “Does he ever sleep?” the young man asked himself, smiling as he approached. He stepped down onto the fresh grass. Kezthrem already appeared to be ready; he held the baton that would act as a target in his hand. Glaide felt himself suddenly assailed with doubt. “That piece of wood is bigger than the one we used before,” he thought to himself. “I’ll have to stop my attack sooner.” The thought made him uneasy. “And why are we out here? We’ve always trained inside up until now.” Suddenly, the young man no longer felt sure of himself; there were simply too many factors that he had not dealt with before. Nonetheless, it was too late to pull back, so he advanced with a resolute step.

  “Today, you are to be tested, Glaide,” began the man without turning. “Knowing how to attack quickly and precisely the moment you draw is essential, since it will be even more difficult to maintain your speed and precision when your weapon appears directly in your hand.” Kezthrem paused for a moment, letting silence settle around the two. Then, he added, “Here is the baton that we will use. You have the right to only one attempt, as in battle you would not be given a second chance. Are you ready?”

  The young found solid footing, then replied, “Ready, master.”

  The man waited for a few minutes. Glaide steeled himself for the moment when his master would turn and plant the baton before his nose, just as he had done every time before. This time, however, his master did something different: he touched the baton down to the ground, in a vertical position, and then let go. It stayed in place for a moment, but the ground was uneven, and after a moment, it began to tip. The boy rushed to make his attack before his target reached the ground. His weapon appeared instantly, he drew, and with all the speed he could muster, he sent his arm striking forward, strong, fast, deadly... So deadly, that the steel did not stop. It passed through the baton, despite its great size, as if it were a mere twig. The two pieces of the baton went flying in opposite directions, and the arm of the young man did not stop until the sword touched the ground.

  No words were necessary. Kezthrem, his face like marble, moved away. Glaide, breathing quickly, froze in place for a moment, incapable of understanding what had just happened. Then, slowly, he straightened up, seeming to make sense of it all at once. Blinding anger flooded over him, and he sprinted towards the woods in front of him. With his weapon grasped tightly in both hands, and a cry of rage at his lips, he butchered a nearby bush. The plant went flying, splintered into pieces. That did nothing to appease his wrath, however, and he moved on to another, then another, crying out loudly. Tears of anger, of frustration, and of bitterness blurred his vision. His thoughts seemed all jumbled up in his head, and he could be certain of only one thing: he had failed the test. At that realization, a feeling of resentment filled him, coming from the fact that he had been prepared, had believed he’d mastered what he’d been taught absolutely, and had been tricked.

  However, deep inside of him, he knew that his anger was directed at himself, and not his master, because he knew that in a true combat, his adversary would never be a simple baton, held perfectly straight, immobile, of always the same size. He would face a target that would move, attack, dodge... He should have had that thought in mind as he trained.

  Having wielded his anger to the point of exhaustion, Glaide fell to the ground and tried to calm himself. His breathing slowly became more regular, and he let emptiness fill his mind. His failure would have consequences, but he did not want to think on them for the moment. First, he needed to calm himself down. After several minutes, the fog of emotion began to clear. He decided not to train that day, and instead remained amid the trees, gazing at their emerald green leaves. He wandered aimlessly about for a good part of the day. Bit by bit, his mind regained a sense of calm. Eventually, he reached the edge of the forest, where the forest led to the cliff that acted as the border of the plateau’s surface. He laid down on the ground and closed his eyes. “I wasn’t ready,” he thought. “I was stupid to believe that my master would ask me to simply repeat the exact movement that we had practiced in training. Everything will continue as it has been. I’ll still have to execute all of the same movements, and the same gestures, all day long, until I am again put to the test. But next time, I will succeed.”

  Glaide didn’t want to return to the house. Not yet. He knew that Kezthrem had no intention of forcing him to do anything; if he was there, he was there by his own will, and if he could not overcome this defeat, he need do nothing more than return to the road. But that was out of the question.

  “Starting tomorrow, I will return to my training. My master will be able to deal just fine with leaving me here, rather than seeking me out and forcing me to persevere. I’ll return this evening. That will be soon enough. At any rate, right now, I’m still too full of resentment and anger.” The young man was astonished by the way he could analyze his emotions as though from a distance, but he took that as a good thing, since it made him feel as though he was his own master.

  He decided to linger for a while in th
e outskirts of the forest. The singing of birds and the sound of the wind seemed to aid the drifting of his thoughts. “The trees still have all of their leaves... and they don’t seem to be preparing to fall. And yet, autumn should be approaching.” He sighed. “I suppose that’s due to this seemingly eternal good weather.”

  Evening fell. Glaide forced himself to head back, dreading seeing his master all the while. His fears were soon swept away, however; when the man laid eyes on him, he showed no sign of surprise. It was as though the day had simply been a day off, that his disciple had used to visit the surroundings, as though nothing had happened. Glaide felt a sense of relief, and an immense feeling of gratitude at that indifference. His failure was enough of a burden without him being forced to explain himself.

  The training began again. Strangely enough, practice with striking the baton was rare, though it always remained the same. However, this time, the boy was no longer content with merely practicing on a stationary baton; he had his own idea for how to practice on a moving target. In the evening, or early in the morning, he would approach a tree and strike it with the side of his blade. A few leaves would fall, and he would practice drawing towards those leaves, coming close to them, but without slicing them in two. When he succeeded in stopping his blade a fraction of an inch away from his target, which happened more and more often as time passed, he did not immediately sheath his sword. Instead, he followed the leaf as it fell, being careful neither to touch it, nor to let it travel too far from his blade. Besides that, to ensure he didn’t become used to his target, he made a point of choosing a different tree each day.

  One evening, his gaze fell on his arms; they were more muscled now. The development of the muscles were not the only difference; his forearms could take much more of a beating, and his wrists were stronger, too. Every day, his sword seemed that much lighter than it had the day before, and every day, he became better at striking with his sword.