Chapter ten
THE WARM AFTERNOON sun felt good on Nathan’s face as he sat by the creek. Nathan, sore all over from the last few days training with his father, was glad to have gotten a reprieve today. This afternoon, his father let him quit his training early. Nathan thought he would go find Ava and head out to the pond, but his mother had other ideas. She wanted fresh fruit for their supper and since Nathan wasn’t working with his father this afternoon, he got volunteered to pick some fruit from the orchard. Not that Nathan minded terribly, it was several hours until dinner so he was having a rather enjoyable time alternating between picking fruit and stretching out in the sun. Nathan’s basking in the sun was soon interrupted by a familiar and increasing annoying voice.
“So you ratted me out? You little shit. Ava won’t even acknowledge me now. I am going to beat the snot out of you, you arse-licking mixed-blood bastard.”
Nathan sighed and quickly got up, despite being sore. He had been expecting to run into Tomas sooner or later, so he was not surprised by Tomas showing up.
Warily, he corrected Tomas. “Actually she found out about it from Sharon, but that doesn’t matter, I told her what an ass you are anyways. I am not going to stop being Ava’s friend because you have designs on her. If you are stupid enough to think beating me up is going to help you get her attention, that is not my problem.”
Nathan watched as Tomas’s face went a deep red and his fist clenched. Nathan was not going to be caught off guard this time. He squared his feet to the older boy and relaxed. He would not start a fight with Tomas over Ava. But if Tomas thought he would be beating him up easily, he would be in for a surprise.
“Oh, so I am stupid? You are the one with a purple face. I am really going to hurt you this time.” Tomas was already swinging his fist as he yelled at Nathan. However, this time things went much differently.
Nathan, expecting Tomas to take a punch at him, easily slipped under the wild haymaker. Nathan countered by planting a jab to Tomas’s face, causing blood to gush from his nose. Enraged, Tomas yelled and continued to throw wild punches with everything he could muster. Nathan, using his father’s lessons, kept dodging and weaving, delivering stinging jabs to the face and hooks to the kidneys.
Tomas now had a swollen eye and a fat lip to go along with his bloody nose. Frustrated by his lack of success throwing punches, Tomas tried to tackle Nathan. Again, Nathan was well prepared for the change in tactics and was anticipating the attack. He pivoted, grabbing Tomas by the head and back of the pants. Using his momentum, he sent Tomas tumbling to the ground. Nathan followed Tomas to the ground, delivering a hard knee to the older boy’s soft belly, driving the wind out of him. Tomas was completely defeated and did not try to get up. “Don’t try it again, Tomas, or I won’t be as nice next time.” Stepping away from his fallen opponent, Nathan let out a deep sigh of relief. It gave him no pleasure to beat Tomas, but it did give him great pleasure to know he could protect himself. All the work with his father was worth every sore muscle and bruise.
Nathan took up his bucket of fruit and headed home, leaving Tomas on the ground in a heap, trying to regain his breath. Turning back, Nathan couldn’t help but adding “and if I were you I would avoid Ava for a while. She isn’t interested in you at all.”
After Nathan left, Tomas sat on the ground stewing over his defeat to the younger boy. Tomas hated Nathan with a passion, born from a lifetime of listening to his father Ned complain about “those damn foreigners”. Before Soron had moved into Elderwood, Ned had run a small blacksmith shop himself. His metal was cheap and poorly made, but that did nothing to stop him from taking advantage of unsuspecting traders in need of repairs or goods. When Soron opened his shop, it took little time for Ned’s blacksmith shop to become customer-less. All Tomas’s life, he heard how that damn northerner and his Baltan witch wife were a plague on the village.
Growing up with such jealousy and prejudice, it was natural for Tomas to take a dislike to Nathan. He never had reason for that dislike to grow into anything more until Ava thwarted him. Tomas always had a way with the girls. His quick smile and confidence made him interesting and he took full advantage of it. It was only when Ava rejected him that he turned his attention to Nathan. When Tomas realized his competition for Ava's interest was Nathan, he thought it would be easy to scare off his competition. He miscalculated. The skinny kid was not a wimp after all. The bigotry of Tomas's family now combined with jealousy. The seeds of hate his father had planted now grew. Tomas got up and headed for home. This was far from over; he vowed to find a way to hurt Nathan no matter what the cost.
Chapter eleven
NATHAN WAS SITTING at the pond waiting for Ava. So far, he was having a pretty good day. The previous night he had told his father about the second confrontation with Tomas. Today as part of his lessons, they once again went through the fight, this time analyzing what he did right. His father had said he was proud of Nathan for trying to resolve the issue without violence. He also praised Nathan for properly using his lessons. But, as Nathan watched Ava approach, he could tell from her body language that the following conversation would not add to his level of happiness. Ava had both hands on her hips, a sure sign of her irritation.
“You were fighting with Tomas again,” Ava said with a certain tone to her voice, which she reserved for when Nathan did something dumb.
Nathan sighed. Yep, she was not happy at all. But this was so not his fault, he thought to himself before replying, “It’s not like I wanted to. I was picking apples for supper when he confronted me. He called me a rat for telling you about our first fight and then started swinging.”
Ava groaned in frustration. “Boys are so stupid.”
“Hey, ease up on the boys part. I did nothing wrong.” Nathan would not be taking the blame for this mess. This was Tomas’s doing and he should take the blame.
Ava sighed, removed her hands from her hips, and came over to inspect Nathan. “Your mother’s healing salves are amazing; I can’t even see where he hit you this time.”
“What are you trying to say? He didn’t hit me this time.” Nathan felt like a piece of meat as Ava poked and prodded his ribs, his chest, moving his head around looking for any telltale signs of bruising.
“Oh, well, Sharon ran into Tomas and said his whole face was swollen and bruised, and he had a big black eye and a cut lip. I figured you would have the same or worse,” said Ava.
Nathan tried to not sound like he was bragging. No point setting her off again. “Nah, after the first fight, my father started teaching me how to fight. After sparring with him, Tomas is not much of a challenge, actually pretty bad. I doubt he’ll ever try again.”
Ava showed her surprise at this revelation. “Your father was a fighter? He certainly is big enough. I’ve just never seen him do anything but work in the blacksmith shop and he is always so friendly,” said Ava.
Nathan thought about this for a while before replying. “He doesn’t talk about it much but I get the feeling he actually was a warrior for a long time. If you ever see him with his shirt off, he has all sorts of scars on his body. I think he has seen a lot of fighting.”
“Oooh, your father with his shirt off, I would like to see that, all those big muscles…,” Ava teased.
“Not funny Ava, that’s my father you’re talking about.”
Ava just laughed “Oh relax, as if anyone has a chance with your dad while your mother is around. She is so beautiful. Come to think of it, both of your parents are beautiful. I wonder what happened to you? Do you think you were adopted or maybe they just dropped you on your face as a baby?” Ava sprinted behind a tree as she taunted Nathan.
Nathan laughed and chased after her. He might be bigger and stronger but Ava was as quick as a rabbit and hard to catch. He was getting better at it when she wasn’t using branches to trip him up. Nathan yelled at her as he ran, “You know I am not adopted. How many blued-eyed villagers are there? Just mother and me, and I am much too smart to have been droppe
d on my head.”
A few moments later, Nathan was again looking up into the sky, groaning at his bad luck. How did she always manage to trip him up? Did she plant branches in strategic spots before teasing him into chasing her?
Ava leaned over top of him. “Too smart to have been dropped, eh?”
Nathan just groaned and admired the sky.
…
Soron grew up in a world of violence. Northern Solotine was a harsh and violent land, its inhabitants as forbidding as the land itself. In the north, resources meant more than just wealth, it meant life. Those who controlled the mines controlled the ability to make weapons. Superior weapons often were the difference-maker in battles being won or lost. Controlling the mines meant fighting for them, and Soron had fought often. Soron was Nathan’s age when his father sent him to the mines to learn the secrets of northern steel and how to become a warrior. Lessons in steel and blood came often for Soron. By twenty, Soron had seen, and caused more death than many warriors ever partake in a lifetime.
Now, he was content to live in the small, peaceful village of Elderwood as a simple blacksmith. But with the discovery of Nathan’s magic and the increasing number of bandit attacks in the area, Soron was putting aside his own aversion to combat to teach Nathan the skills that may well one day keep him alive.
As Soron reflected on his own childhood, he watched his son work through the progression of footwork, blade block and attack combos he had been teaching him. “Eyes up, son. If you are watching your feet, you are not watching the enemy.”
He is too much like me at his age, thought Soron. He enjoys this too much. Training with weapons had always been enjoyable to Soron, as a young boy he always found the physical training to be challenging yet fun. The desire to absorb his trainer’s knowledge and prove his worth as the son of a tribal chieftain had pushed him to be the best. Training was fun. Actual combat was not fun, it was bloody, violent and left a mark on a man’s soul. Soron could still remember the face of the first man he killed. Bloodshot red eyes and a bulbous nose, the look of shock on the man’s face as a boy half his age pulled his sword out of the dying man’s chest.
I can prepare him for battle, but how do I prepare him for the sour taste of victory? Soron pondered, while watching the boy swing his daggers in a smooth rhythm, like he was moving to the beat of a song.
The large northern, sword-breaker style daggers were unique and almost never seen south of the Applomean Mountains. At two feet long, the blades were shorter and wider than a normal short sword. Often northern warriors would use one of the daggers with a large sword. But for Soron’s purposes they were perfect, giving Nathan a strong defensive weapon easily carried yet not completely offensive in nature.
The daggers featured a thick up-curved cross-hilt and three grooves cut into each side of the wide blade at the base just above the cross-hilt. When a sword would strike the blade, it could slide down toward the cross-hilt until it got caught in one of the grooves. When a strong man turned his wrist, the sword came right out of his opponent’s hand. A very strong man like Soron often broke a poorly made sword this way.
For Nathan, a strong yet agile boy with excellent hand-eye coordination, learning to fight with two of the sword breakers would give him a skillset he could master now before he gained his full size and strength. His training would give him an advantage over most adult fighters. Used by someone with the proper training and skill, the two daggers would be as deadly as any sword.
While Soron hoped Nathan never had to use his training in combat, he felt a certain amount of pride in how quickly Nathan progressed with the blades. In the smithshop, working metal, Soron often could see how his own northern bloodlines were giving Nathan great strength and size for a lad of his age. Out here in the open training with the daggers, Soron saw the speed and agility for which Velaina’s Baltan bloodlines were known.
This combination of power, speed and agility gave Nathan a frightening natural ability as a warrior. Soron was glad he and Velaina chose to raise the boy in the small village of Elderwood. If Nathan had grown up in the north with his own people, he would probably become a great warrior. Great warriors often died young or lived with terrible memories of the battles they fought.
Nathan did not have dark thoughts about learning to fight as his father had teaching. He enjoyed learning the block and parry combinations, and how to stab and slice with the large daggers, and how to thrust his dagger forward once an opponent’s sword struck the blade, forcing the sword down towards the hilt and the waiting grooves.
Once the sword slid into the grooves Nathan quickly got used to snapping his wrist. He was at the point where he could actually turn the sword in his own father’s hand. A hand far stronger than any future warrior or bandit he might face. While Nathan did enjoy working as a smith, being outside for the fighting lessons was always better. As Soron attacked him with his large wooden practice sword Nathan worked on blocking his father’s strong attacks.
When they first started training his father’s brute strength simply overpowered Nathan, but as he learned to angle his blades and counter thrust, he found he learned how to hold off his father’s powerful attacks.
However, finding a way to counter-strike against his father’s longer reach and superior technique was proving to be a much more difficult task. Soron continued his aggressive attack, pressing harder and harder. Nathan continued to use the right blocking techniques despite the ferocity of his father’s efforts. When Soron ended the days training, he was satisfied that Nathan was ready for a new opponent.
Before the training went any further, it was time for Nathan to forge daggers of his own. The wooden replicates his father had made were excellent training tools but to truly master the techniques he would have to get used to the proper weight and balance of his actual blades.
Nathan took his time, honored that his father let him forge his own weapons. The forging of these blades wasn’t much different than other knives he had done in the past. The biggest difference was the blade being bigger and wider, with the sword breaking grooves above the hilt.
As Nathan pulled a blade from the fire he applied the graphite and phosphorus that strengthen the metal into something special. As the first blade cooled he repeated the process on the second blade. Soon two perfectly made daggers were sitting on the workbench waiting for his father’s approval. Nathan knew the blades were excellent. The balance was perfect and would only require a little work with a whetstone before each edge was razor sharp. Besides the bracelet he had made for his mother, the daggers were his finest work yet.
Chapter twelve
COUNT MAVANE, OF the city of Salba, had a problem, actually several problems. All of which revolved around the main issue: bandits. As the farthest west of the cities under the rule of kingdom of Broguth, Salba did a lot of trade with the villages and cities to the west and south. But those travel routes were not part of the kingdom and thus not patrolled by the king’s army.
For years, Count Mavane petitioned King Parth to increase patrols in the lands surrounding Salba and along the main roads to the south. Unfortunately, armies cost money and patrols are not cheap. So until now, the king’s army had protected only the city of Salba and the roads east to the capital. As Count Mavane predicted, the lack of patrols led to an increase in the number of robberies along the trade routes. Bandits became more aggressive as they realized no reprisals would come as long as they attacked only along the western and southern trade routes.
Count Mavane did have a small contingent of men-at-arms and scouts under his control. They would visit the nearby villages and assist them when possible, but this presented a small deterrent to the more aggressive groups of bandits. With the recent increase of attacks along the trade roads, the king finally had decided to dedicate some the king’s army to address the issue. The king’s solution was the count’s latest problem.
King Parth was sending a small battalion under Duke Evollan to deal with the bandits. Duke Evollan, a fie
rce and loyal warrior, had served with great distinction in many battles during the wars to unify the eastern kingdom. This gave the duke great stature with the king and a place in the king’s war council. But while fierce and loyal, Duke Evollan was also a boorish and arrogant man. He was quick to anger, and not known for being the most intelligent member of the royal families. Count Mavane privately had often wondered if some of the older royal families had a little too much inbreeding. Duke Evollan was known for winning battles, not for diplomacy.
Count Mavane thought killing and apprehending bandits seemed a task even Duke Evollan could handle. The problem being that the small villages to the west and south were not part of the kingdom, and often had stronger ties with other regions. Dealing with these villages would require diplomacy. Something Count Mavane feared Duke Evollan was not well-equipped to handle.
As Count Mavane pondered this newest problem, his main steward, Bannah, entered the room. “Bannah, have we received a reply from my note to Duke Evollan yet?” Upon learning that Duke Evollan was leading the small battalion, the count sent a message offering use of his local scouts to the duke. Count Mavane hoped having his men, familiar with the local villages and roads, would keep Duke Evollan from causing too many problems when dealing with the different, friendly but independent communities.
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