After looking at the sun’s position with a hand above his dry brow, Eudon replied, “Only Odet ever spars with me. She’s shown the warrior’s spirit ever since her crawling days. Her dolls would always end up fighting with Beatrice’s, leading to duals that often led to dismembered limbs and heads of the stuffed variety.”
“That actually sounds troubling.”
A single chuckle escaped him. “Aye, her mother thought so as well, but I saw the more productive channel for my daughter’s combat appetite. I had never seen such small practice weapons! Barely bigger than the ones her dolls used! However, while her swordplay is strong, it is not her best aspect. She flourished in prana control and casting her family shield, so I mostly provided the offense to strengthen her crystal ward.”
“It worked. Her shield proved strong enough to deflect the flames from a powerful Advent.”
He scratched his chin, which was now covered by a short gray beard he trimmed every other day. “Yes, she made a fine student and a quick learner. I am grateful to the gods that she wants for naught, but her duties as a princess has stifled her true warrior potential.”
“Elisa has never shown a warrior’s bent? She acts quite fearless from what I’ve seen.”
“Fearlessness is not a good trait for a warrior to have. I find they do not tend to last very long in a battle. I’d rather my soldiers seek a balance between proper fear and respect for one’s enemy and goal, and a near pensive courage. For example, I can secretly tell you that my soul trembles at the thought of what we are setting out to accomplish. I do not necessarily fear our enemy, so much as failing to stop them.”
“So, it’s this fear of failure that helps drives you.”
“In essence. I can accept this terror and use it to fuel my fire… Ah, perhaps now I see.”
“See what?”
“I’ve had little to say to you during our training sessions. The guidance you receive from Master Eberwolf and his crew appears to be adequate, and I am not one to challenge another father’s counsel over his son. On the other hand, this talk of fear has shone a light on something that has been irritating me whenever we spar. It has nothing to do with form after all. You see, I don’t believe you have the proper fear in you, young Eberwolf. It’s a subtle difference, but now that I dwell on your fraught history, it makes sense why the commonplace sting of a kick or blow invokes no panic in you.”
I thought over his theory for a moment, which was longer than I gave the majority of Ghevont’s concepts, then said, “And you think this is bad for my training?”
“‘Bad’ is not quite as far as I would take it. It’s simply something that could be slowing your progress to a certain extent. It might even have unseen benefits. As I said, the sentiment, or lack thereof, was so trifling that I did not peg the discrepancy until now. I cannot train you to re-fear a blow whose biggest consequence will be a mere bruise, but if you wish it, I can intensify our sessions until I see the reaction present in everyone else.”
“Our sessions are short enough as it is, captain. Defeating me quicker with harder blows will accomplish little, I think.”
He smiled and stroked his beard. “Ahh, is that fear I hear already? Yes, I may be too high a mountain to climb as of now, but we must attempt this new tactic on your swashbuckler comrades. I will instruct them to escalate their zeal against you. This stiffer competition should bear fruit in a couple of weeks if this approach has any validity. I also suspect you need to experience many more two on one matches… Yes, this is best. Really, as a future dragon knight, a harsher training regimen should have been implemented sooner. We can’t have you underrepresenting your caste after so much time being absent, can we?”
Fifty-one percent of my mind agreed with his veteran assessment.
The next time I scrapped with my usual sparring partners they had received word of the former king’s decree, and none had trouble following it. Regular sparring sessions already meant plenty of bruises, sore muscles, and split lips, but the adjustment resulted in outright gashes on my face, the tearing of muscles, and small fractures in my bones that didn’t feel so small. This rougher method of training would be impossible to sustain if it weren’t for the stores of healing concoctions and curative spells cast by the healers on board. My own will to get stronger helped as well. Still, to recuperate from the crueler grievances, the abusing routine resulted in less chances for sparring.
These fewer brawling opportunities did actually lead to Eudon’s desired effect. I didn’t want to miss my chances to train, if purely for the sake to avoid recovery periods, so I tried harder to avoid faster strikes that now carried longer standing consequences. There was an awakening of dormant fright before every match now. Hitherto, I merely trained to get the fundamentals down, to waste time, but being pushed to near battlefield speed with major penalties on the line forced my heart to pump faster and my ears to hear my very pupils dilating.
I had to hand it to Eudon for pointing out the incongruity in my training, but my tenderized body didn’t want to.
Eudon’s input stood out, but it was by no means the only piece of wisdom conferred to me. My father was the biggest culprit, even if many of the tips were repeated from earlier sessions. His greatest contribution came in the form of sharpening my balance in those fights on the railing. The right-hand man of the pirate captain only spoke when he had something constructive to say, which mainly involved our sword play. Thoris’ preferred fighting style mirrored my own preference, so I emulated him the most. My father was the stronger warrior overall, but Thoris’ blade sang so sweetly and gracefully compared to everyone else’s.
The most extreme style difference came from Sophia’s composite bow. She was not a good teacher. She basically just let me handle her bow and practice arrows to get a sense for how to fight with this common weapon. Although I did not spend as much time training with the bow as I should have, I thought I was a pretty good shot—at least when aiming at fixed objects less than ten yards away. Sophia became more of a presence during my training sessions with the others, using her life detecting spell to track my prana reserve. This way she could inform me when I wasn’t being at my most efficient when I didn’t have Aranath by my side.
As for my hand-to-hand stuff, Menalcus contributed the heavy hitter style while Lucetta offered speed. The circumference-abundant pirate also taught me how to wield his two-handed claymore and other cumbersome weaponry available on the ship. Everything from mauls to spiked maces bigger than a troll’s leg was employed. My training here worked on my upper body strength if nothing else. Such as with my training with the bow, this was done out of the plausible scenario that I would need to wield one of these weapons someday.
Lucetta did not so much teach me speed as she did presenting dirty ways to fight. I learned early on that defending my dick from attack was essential when sparring with her. She also liked to kick at ankles and mess with pressure points when she reached them. A successful hand chop to my temples and throat were devastating, but she exposed other points of weakness when she jabbed at my sternum and lower ribs with assassin-like precision. I never hated myself or her more than when I left myself open to the piratess’ devious techniques. On top of that, I was positive Lucetta conveyed the most pleasure when the pirates learned they needed to go harder at me. She liked me fine, but getting to unleash the pent-up jitters that had built from peaceful months at sea was too good to pass up.
“Wider! No, too wide!” turned out to be Athan’s most notable piece of advice. He spoke of my stances, which he never seemed satisfied with. I couldn’t be sure he wasn’t just messing with me. Otherwise, his tall lankiness, fast changing styles, and ability to cast as fast as he thrust a spear made for challenging matches. I never knew which direction he planned to take on any given moment. He did not appear to prefer any style or element, though he became especially dangerous with a knife, something I asked to get better in. If Menalcus defined the upper body, then Athan helped define my footwork and hands.
The remaining pirates added only tidbits to my training. Remwold, Athilda, Leo, and Yang Hur focused more on bringing up Clarissa and Ghevont’s combat abilities. According to the vampire, Yang Hur talked quite a lot to her, something never confirmed by actual sight and sound.
“You’ve never noticed that he never talks to anybody?” I asked her after she told me she enjoyed speaking with the otherwise mute man. “Even among the pirates he’s known to be withdrawn.”
“What are you talking about? He’s a dear. He’s a low talker, true, but he talks all the same.”
“Are you sure he isn’t just listening to you talk?”
“No, I swear he talks back. Geez, you act like I’m speaking with an imaginary friend.”
“Okay, then what does he talk about?”
“Uhh, let’s see… Deep, dark stuff, actually. It struck me when he mentioned that many humans are like vampires. For one, humans can live in the darkness of ignorance and shed blood more often than they love. Both of our kind can spread diseases that kill. So, it’s kinda true, right?”
“Sure, but intent matters on that last one. Anything else?”
“Yeah. According to him, anyone who doesn’t fight for what they believe in believes in nothing at all. I also get the sense that he has no respect for philosophers who don’t have a life beyond their rooms. Oh! He loves apple pie, so if you ever want to get him a little present, give him that.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“He likes you, by the way.”
“That so?”
“Yep. Says your corruption gives you incredible potential to do evil, but if the gods really do care about balance, then that means you have equal capacity to do incredible good. Makes sense, eh?”
“I suppose, but lots of deductions make sense in theory.”
She frowned. “You’re just jealous that he doesn’t talk to you.”
“He doesn’t talk to anybody! Forget it. Make another ice bowl.”
Despite not being privy to the wisdom of the quiet pirate, Eudon confirmed that my new training routine was yielding encouraging results. I sensed the growth in my dragon flame as well, something the dragon was gratified to see.
“You need to begin separating the flame from the stone,” said Aranath. “Without having something to burn, then your prana will have to act as the kindling substitute. It will be a massive waste of prana at first, but it is the unavoidable next step. Once you separate stone from flame, concentrate on extinguishing the flare as quickly as you can. This is usually accompanied by a counter surge of prana, but since feeding dragon flame on a wooden vessel is a suicidal idea, we’ll stick with a single wing.”
“A single wing?”
“Because dragons have two, implying half of a whole.”
“Yeah, I know what you meant. I just never heard you use that phrase before, and I expected dragon expressions to be more elaborate than that.”
A sigh that sounded like a groaning hiss sprang through the sword. “Vem nus hel’lares markess.”
“What?”
“An elaborate dragon expression too complicated for your meager mind.”
“Sounds like you need a change of scenery.”
“I’ve needed that five hundred years ago.”
A break in the routine and my latest underwater dreamscape occurred one night when Clarissa shook me awake.
“What is it?”
“Come up and see,” she said with equal parts foreboding and excitement.
I followed her to the top deck, which was bathed with enough magical light and flame to mimic a rutted sunrise. There was a moon up there, but no beam of hers could pierce the think blanket of sluggish clouds. The brightness came from sailors lining the port side of the deck with torches and balls of magical light floating over their hands. The colors ranged from white to orange and took a moment to get used to. They were attempting to illuminate something floating on the calm sea fifty yards away. An adjustment of the eyes showed it was a ship not much longer than a hundred feet. No lantern or light rune was burning, making her nearly invisible to unassisted vision.
“Almost rammed into the damn thing,” said Eudon when Clarissa and I walked up beside him. He wore a brown mantle of bear skin, and he had the stature to make it appear as though the beast had been resurrected. He leaned and looked down to his left, prompting me do the same. A boat was being lowered with fifteen people on board, including Lorcan. “Your father volunteered to lead the scout party after nothing on the listless ship responded to our hails. Your scholar friend is among them as well.”
“Pretty weird, huh?” said Clarissa, looking fascinated at the prospect of a ghost ship.
“You’re reading too many romance tomes,” I said. “I doubt there’s the ghost of a gallant seafarer waiting for the love of his life to free his crestfallen soul.”
“Never know. If the ghost turns out to be a woman, then you get to try freeing her soul.”
“I’ll pass, thanks.”
The sources of light supplied by those on the boat revealed more of the drifting ship. She looked old fashioned with her stern much taller than the modern ships I’ve seen. Her two relatively small masts implied a vessel used for coastal trading. The sails on those masts looked intact, but they fluttered aimlessly. Once they threw their grappling hooks over the deck, my father’s scout team climbed aboard. Except for the unbroken breeze, the state of the world was the same as Yang Hur’s throat when he wasn’t with Clarissa.
The atmosphere held this creepy calmness for forty-five minutes, the length of time it required for the team to return to us. The captain’s log they brought back stated that it was a Quadun ship named Huridur. Considering the nearest Quadun coast lied fifteen hundred miles to the north, finding a short range craft this far south with no crew and without sinking did pique the imagination. Her cargo hold held a few barrels of meat spoiled two or three weeks ago, several crates of poor quality linen, and other sundry items that could not be traded or had never reached their luckless buyer.
In the scout party’s opinion, the strangest part of the whole thing was the lack of disorder. Lanterns remained upright, plates with food half eaten laid on their tables, candles had been burned all the way down, and no signs of violence appeared anywhere. It was possible the crew surrendered to a band of pirates or slavers and left without a fight, but one would think after that incident the rough seas would have knocked objects off their pedestals at some point. It was as if the missing crew left hours ago, not something the rotten food suggested. The last account in the logbook, dated twenty-nine days ago, even described a storm on the horizon.
“Sorry, no signs of ghosts,” Ghevont told Clarissa. “Not even the whiff of magical resonances. Pity. The circumstances promised to be worthy of an entire chapter in one of my volumes dedicated to the sea. As it stands, I doubt this is anything more than the work of professional Vlaukris slavers.”
“They would come this far north?” I asked.
“I would have thought not, but Vlaukris slavers are the most practiced when it comes to human trade, so while someone else could be responsible, it is a smaller chance. Oclor and Wregor would be the next probable suspects, but they are even farther away.”
With little else to do but agree with the scholar’s assessment, we realigned out sails and would hand the logbook and coordinates to a local ship on the next available opportunity.
Chapter Six
The nineteenth anniversary of my birth happened sometime after we left the range of Kozuth’s northern coastline. Thanks to the day landing at a time when gelatinous fog shrouded the ocean’s surface, most were too concerned about keeping watch over our course
to react to my father declaring my birthday to everyone within the truncated horizon. Except for a shared drink of expensive brandy between Lorcan and I, no one did much more than nod at the numeric proof that I lived for another year.
I expected Clarissa to react with more giddiness, but she simply gave me a pleasantly subdued hug. My tame satisfaction dove straight into shame when I realized at the moment of contact that I didn’t know when her date of birth landed on, or anyone else’s for that matter. I could practically peer down the chasm of assholery that a social stumble like not knowing my friends’ important anniversaries would take me. Hmm, if I ever did become a king, then a big benefit would be hiring someone else to worry about keeping track of such dates.
At any rate, I felt guilty that I never even thought to ask for her date of birth. Of course, even if I knew, what then? What did I have to give? Perhaps that was the reason Clarissa didn’t give more than a hug. She had grown up an orphan, and orphans could do little more than celebrate with hugs. We couldn’t even share a proper meal together. Was her restraint a signal to me not to make a fuss over her own birthdate? Worrying only about the Advent sounded like a poor excuse to not make an effort to acknowledge the little things with people who were helping me with the bigger things.
As was becoming more common, I contemplated getting Ghevont to assist me in this endeavor.
Nevertheless, stressing over the Advent did become more time consuming as we neared the coast of Uthosis. Unfortunately, the nearer we sailed to our destination, the weaker the winds wafted, prolonging the already vindictive wait. Almost everyone counted down the miles when the maps and stars told us we were less than a thousand of them away. A good zephyr could push us across that gap in ten days, but the cruelly peaceful air threatened to double that amount. Ghevont and I even let paranoid minds riddled with cabin fever conclude that an Advent spell was behind the atrocious conditions.
A moment of truth came when the ship was deemed to be no more than thirty miles offshore from the target city of Kaspista. Eudon and the captains didn’t want to sail much closer without getting a better idea as to the situation in the city and the nation as a whole. With Uthosis not much more than a jumble of city states, civil war and wide-ranging instability had been common in the region for the past three hundred years. Anyone with the pull to gather an army disciplined enough to herd sheep could conquer one of the valuable port cities in the west or mining towns to the east. Most of the army would then get drunk and disband, leaving their city open to more attacks.
Flight of the Dragon Knight Page 6