by Jeff Gunzel
“We’ve found her...”
Chapter 10
“Hey,” the barkeep said, tapping Xavier on the shoulder. “Hey, you’re done here. You hear me, son? It’s time for you to go.” Head nestled down in the crook of his arm, Xavier’s hand slid back across the bar before falling onto his lap. After fumbling around at his side, he reached up and slapped a coin up on the bar.
“One... One more...” Hic! “Give me another ale,” he mumbled sleepily.
“No,” the barkeep said, pushing the coin back towards his barely conscious patron. “You’re not listening to me. I said you’re cut off. It’s time for you to go.” Xavier lifted his head, bloodshot eyes glaring up at the barkeep. His front was caked with drying vomit. After dealing with all sorts over the years, the barkeep had a good sense about folks. Even though Xavier was nearly incapacitated from all the liquor, he could sense how dangerous this one was. “It’s time for you to go,” he repeated, softer this time.
“It’s all right.” The barkeep looked up to see four strangers coming up behind the drunken youth. “He is with us. We’ll take it from here,” Liam assured him. The barkeep nodded and set about wiping the counter.
Xavier looked back over his shoulder at Liam. “What do you want?” he mumbled, his words slurring together. Assirra sighed. She could see that word of his condition had not been exaggerated. Xavier blinked twice and shook his head. After rubbing each eye, he looked up at Assirra with disbelief. “Wh-What are you doing here?” he asked, now questioning everything. Was he having some kind of alcohol-induced dream?
“Yes, Xavier, it’s me,” Assirra assured him, her soft blue eyes filled with pity. “I know what has happened to Viola, and I’m here to help.” He scoffed, something between a laugh and a snort as he threw his hand up.
“Viola,” he mumbled, his breath stinking of alcohol and vomit. His head swayed, eyes half open.
“Yes, Viola,” Assirra repeated, more sternly this time. “I have come a long way to aid you all, and I don’t have time for this drunken foolishness. We are all depending on you, Xavier. Viola is depending on you. We need you sober and thinking clearly.”
He swayed in his chair but said nothing. His eyes narrowed suspiciously as he noticed a fourth presence, a dark-lipped man whose face was mostly shadowed beneath a hood.
“I’ll explain about him when we get back to the inn,” said Owen, reading his apprentice’s confused expression. Although he was always complaining or angry at something, Owen seemed completely different now. “Lad, if you could only see what I’m seeing right now,” he said, a deep sadness in his voice. Xavier looked at his master, a man he didn’t always agree with but one he often viewed as a father figure. Ashamed, nearly on the verge of tears, Xavier tried to speak. Words failed him.
Owen shook his head, silencing Xavier’s attempt at an apology. “Let’s go, boy. Time to sleep it off.” Owen hoisted him up from his seat and they all left the tavern together.
* * *
Low, high, high... Salina’s weapon slapped away the three-strike combo in rapid succession. Wooden swords locked together, she stepped in closer to taunt Nald with a long, hard look. He pushed off with a laugh and twirled his sword in one hand. “You’re improving,” he acknowledged.
“As are you,” she said with a wink, raising her sword high.
Lately, these increasingly harder practices had opened up considerably. Having learned all the basic strikes as well as their counters, the drills were now full contact. The learning curve was accelerated even further by the harsh reinforcement of pain. These wooden practice swords couldn’t actually cut flesh—not deeply, anyway. But they formed bruises just fine, and each blow landed was a lesson learned. The burning sting of getting hit in the same spot twice practically guaranteed it wouldn’t happen a third time. Protecting that tender area usually became top priority.
Grinning, Nald raised his sword and rushed her. Blade high, he suddenly stopped in mid-swing, eyes shifting up over her shoulder. Thinking it might be a dirty trick—the sort she had used more than once herself—she stepped out of range before following his gaze. Her grin melting away, she lowered her sword. Viola was walking out onto the sand, her fingertips barely pinching the hilt of a sword she dragged along. Eyes down, dried tear tracks streaked her cheeks. Obviously she had been in training once again.
This brutal practice seemed to be taking place more often lately, sometimes twice a day. She was always completely healed afterward, save for the scars left behind. But the gruesome memory would live on in her mind forever.
“Viola, you work with Nald,” Ozryn ordered, snapping his fingers to get her attention. With no obvious acknowledgment of his command, she changed direction slightly and veered towards Nald, the tip of her sword leaving a line in the sand as she dragged it along. She looked too weak to be sparring at all. Wandering up to Nald and Salina, she forced a weak smile. Of course her eyes were always red, but now they were darker than blood.
“Viola,” they both acknowledged at the same time. They wanted to ask if she was all right, to know if there was anything they could do. But they knew there was nothing for it. Such questions, no matter how well-intentioned, just seemed cruel now. Although they had made a pact to not make any mention of her ongoing torment, ignoring a tornado ripping through a building would have proved easier.
“Salina, I want you to work with Umoro,” Ozryn said, clapping his hands for them to hurry this along. They needed the work. He knew they weren’t ready yet for what was to come. Twice Salina opened her mouth, but simply couldn’t find her voice. Rubbing Viola’s shoulder, she gave it a firm squeeze before jogging over to the brute.
“You can rest a minute,” said Nald, unable to hide the pity etched all over his face. “We don’t have to start right away.”
“Yes we do,” said Viola, glancing over her shoulder at Ozryn, who had yet to take his eyes off her. In truth, her body felt perfectly fine. The healing that always followed her training always did what it was supposed to. It was the mental fatigue she suffered from, the disconnect between mind and body that was so hard for her to grasp. One moment she was screaming from the unbearable pain, clinging to sanity by her fingernails. The next moment, it all came to a halt, no pain, agony, or even the slightest lingering effect. Everything about her training was completely unnatural. But something was changing. She was beginning to feel...different.
“Honestly,” she said, her strength appearing to come back just a little. “It’s better if I start moving right away. Somehow, the distraction seems to help me reset myself.” She lifted her sword above her head. Unlike a moment ago, her smile seemed genuine this time.
“Very well,” he conceded, setting his feet and readying his stance. He stepped in, weapon coming down in a probing chop. Her sword rose to block it easily. Now that he was confident she was ready, he pressed harder, their blades snapping against each other in an intricate dance.
Sparring had become the highlight of Viola’s day. She was able to lose herself for long stretches at a time, forgetting all about the daily torment, if only for a while. Lost in the warrior’s dance, she didn’t have to think, nor feel, but simply react. It was the closest thing to meditation, a moment where neither a dark past or a fearful future had a place to exist. There was only the present moment, their blades cracking together in the heat of combat.
Nald had gotten much better, Viola had to admit. His movements were fluid and deceptive. His transitions from one form to the next had become smooth. He was reacting instead of thinking, which made for a much more formidable practice partner. Working up a sweat now, she backed off a bit while working her defense. His body control was seamless, his movements flowing effortlessly. She was reminded of how tall he was, giving him a constant range advantage that was apparent with nearly every strike. Although he still wasn’t the swordsman she was, he was physically gifted.
Then it hit her. She had nearly forgotten the time when he swiped those items right from under her nose. Very
few people in the world could have done that. Everyone had their strengths and weaknesses. Ozryn was a good all-around instructor, but he was clearly not a people person and wasn’t open to altering his lessons to take advantage of one’s strengths.
“Stop,” Viola said, raising a hand as she leaped back. Thinking she probably just needed a breather, Nald relaxed and lowered his sword. “No, no, raise your weapon,” she said, tapping his sword with her own.
“I thought you needed a rest,” he said, his own heavy breathing hinting that he could use one himself.
“I think we need to work on something,” she said. Some of her thoughts and memories were becoming a bit blurred as of late. She had learned so many techniques from Thatra, but her books had also mapped out a number of battle strategies as well. She had gained substantial knowledge, but could no longer be certain from which source it was attained. That bothered her. It sort of felt like having someone else’s memories. Her daily training was messing with her mind.
“Your hands are fast,” Viola continued. “Possibly the fastest among us. That, and you seem to be unaware of how long your reach really is. With your range and speed, I don’t see any reason you should ever get hit.”
“Well, I’m just using the techniques we’ve already been shown,” he explained.
“Of course you are,” she agreed. “We all are. But we’re all very different people too. I think with just a simple adjustment, I can help you take advantage of your strengths. Here, I want you to try something. Shift your stance to ‘gentle wind’ and hold.” Assuming the rather neutral stance, he put one foot forward and kept his weapon raised above his head. “Attack one counter one,” she said, stepping in with a downward slash. He turned his blade, blocking the blow with a loud snap. Then in one fluid motion, he rolled his wrists slashing from left to right. The two-part attack and counter was pretty basic, something they had all but mastered some time ago.
“Good,” she said, stepping in to steady his wrists. With a gentle push and tug, she altered his stance so that his arms were extended out further, and his upper body was tucked and leaned towards her. “Now try it like this.” She stepped away and turned back to face him. “Attack one counter one,” she repeated, slashing just like before. With the subtle change in his stance, their swords collided far earlier than the first time. She had gotten nowhere close to him before being forced to fend off the slashing counterstrike.
“Keep going,” said Viola, continuing to attack from random angles. “Get off first. Get off first,” she repeated as they engaged. The leaning stance was a bit counterintuitive to Nald, and he often straightened up as the match continued. “Use your range,” she reminded on those occasions, prompting him to lean in once more. The difference was obvious. Neither had gained any substantial skill within the last day, but with Nald using his range more effectively, Viola now found it impossible to get close enough to land any strikes. “See? I can’t get near you now,” she said, bobbing and weaving while sincerely trying to land at least one blow. “When you’re bigger than your opponent, you need to fight like it. Use it all to your advantage.”
Gaining confidence, Nald began to impose himself as he pushed forward while using his range. Suddenly back on her heels, Viola became almost purely defensive. Now certain she couldn’t get any closer to him, Nald began using his speed to a significant advantage. She didn’t mind. She liked the hard sparring, and enjoyed the challenge he was presenting. This match wouldn’t have been this close even yesterday. With one simple stance adjustment, Nald had improved substantially.
“Time to switch!” Ozryn ordered. With some chaotic finger pointing, he quickly matched everyone up with new partners. Viola was now supposed to go with Kalmton. Nald glanced over Viola’s shoulder, looking none too pleased as Umoro made his way over to take her place.
“Don’t worry about him,” said Viola. “Remember what we worked on and you will do fine.”
“Easy for you to say,” Nald grumbled. Viola went to join Kalmton, ignoring the warrior’s sneer when they passed by each other. She didn’t like him any more than the others, but she wasn’t about to antagonize him either. They were on the same side, after all, and his skill would hopefully prove useful down the stretch.
Kalmton was waiting for her, bent over with his hands on his knees. She couldn’t see his face but could see him spitting red into the sand. It was no surprise when he looked up with one eye swollen, blood running from his nose and mouth. He had been working with Umoro and it showed. Still, he actually managed a smile when he saw her. It looked odd with those beat-up features. The smile was a look of relief more than anything. Here was a partner who wouldn’t try to kill him.
“Oh, Kalmton,” Viola said, the touch of her ice-cold fingers brushing across his cheek.
“The beatings only make me stronger, right?” he asked with a shrug. His smile changed to a grimace before he bent over again, spitting a glob of red mucus onto the sand. When he glanced up, the look in his eyes was deadly serious. “Really, I’m all right with this,” he assured her. “My body aches, and my lungs feel like they’re on fire most of the day, but I am grateful for every breath I take. Every morning when we walk out into this forsaken pit, I am promised a day filled with pain. But with that promise comes at least one more day of staying alive. One more day of seeing the sun set. One more day of staying above ground. Viola, I don’t want to die.”
“Kalmton, you’re not going to die,” said Viola, her soft voice sounding anything but convincing.
“You sound about as confident as I feel,” he muttered.
“Hey, I made you a promise!” she said, much more boldly. “I said I would watch your back and you are going to watch mine. We are both going to get out of here together.”
“Hey, what’s going on over there?!” Ozryn boomed, clearly irritated that they hadn’t started yet. The two of them flinched, then quickly readied their stances.
“Ready?” she asked.
“I don’t think it matters,” he said, blowing out a deep breath. They engaged, slow at first. Their weapons clacked lightly while going through the memorized forms they had done countless times already.
As they picked up speed, Viola made careful observations of Kalmton’s technique. Not unlike Nald, he had improved greatly as of late. His conditioning was much better. That had probably been his biggest weakness until now. Much of his excessive fat had melted off from the hard work, exposing a stout set of arms and broad shoulders. He could stand to lose more weight, and most likely would in the coming weeks. But for now, he had become a capable combatant whose fear for his own life had proved to be more than enough to push him well beyond his limits. There was just one problem...
“You’re too slow!” Viola blurted out, leaping back and lowering her blade.
He lowered his own blade with a look of confusion. “Is that supposed to make me feel better? I must say, your attempts to inspire me could use a little work.”
She cringed. Her spoken assessment was mostly the result of her thinking out loud. She wasn’t trying to insult him. It was just an observation that she felt needed to be addressed. “I’m sorry,” she said, visibly embarrassed. “But it’s sort of a trade-off. You’re also very strong.” In a lot of ways, he was Nald’s opposite—stronger and stouter, yes, but he would never match his speed. “The way I see it, you’re almost never going to strike first.”
“Again, your idea of encouragement needs work,” he replied dryly.
“No, listen to me. All I’m saying is that we have to make some adjustments to your technique. Just like anybody else, you want to play to your strengths and protect your weaknesses.” Again, she wasn’t completely sure where her own logic was coming from. Was it from one of her books, or was she simply recalling one of Thatra’s many lessons? Either way, the answer was obvious to her. “Show me ‘towering mountain,’” she said.
With an unsure look, he widened his stance. Inching his back foot away, he lowered his blade, readying it down near
his chest. This was mostly a protective stance used when you were outnumbered or forced to deal with a superior opponent. “All right. Now what?”
“All your attacks are going to come from this stance,” she explained.
“But this is not an offensive stance,” he reasoned.
“That’s right,” she agreed. “Your opponent is going to strike first more often than not. You’re already conceding that fact, so it is your job to make them pay for it. When I attack, you block and counter. Are you ready?” He shrugged, still not sure about any of this.
“Attack one counter two.” She stepped in with a stabbing thrust. His sword already well positioned by his stance, he slapped her thrust aside and countered with two side slashes. She blocked the first, ducked the second.
“Good,” she said. “This style will help cover your weakness, but now let’s work on going with your strength. You’re stronger than most of us, so when you counter, I want you to put everything behind it. With enough force, even if they block it, you’ll put them back on their heels. Understand?” He nodded slowly, now seeing where she was going with this.
“Again!” She stepped in, thrusting hard. Positioned perfectly, he slapped her blade aside and returned with a sweeping side strike. She got her blade up in time, but the force of the blow rattled down through her arms. Because her balance had been thrown off, there was no chance of a return strike.
Shaking out one hand, she began to circle to his left. Showing no attempt to pursue, Kalmton simply pivoted in place with his weapon up and ready. She was right. He was better suited to counterstrike than to chase around a faster, but weaker enemy. She lunged from different angles, striking both high and low. Yet the result was almost always the same: a well-timed block due to efficient positioning, followed by a hard counter that sent her stumbling back. The short two-strike combinations came so natural to him it was like teaching a fish to swim. It was second nature.