by Kris Hiatt
“I have read the rules guiding our order thoroughly, and they clearly state I am well within my rights to call forth any member of the forces that I see fit.”
“He is right,” Primain said, probably louder than he had intended.
Drokier looked around, now clearly no longer at ease, and Treace realized he mistook his earlier smugness. The man had thought Treace was either fooling, or didn’t have the power to name him as an opponent. Now that he could see Treace meant it, the smug smile was gone.
“Call on the commander, or the baron if need be,” Treace said. “But I have named my opponent.”
“Get Tabor,” Drokier said to a nearby guard who immediately turned and ran.
Treace stepped back and leaned against the fence near the forge.
“You’re crazy,” Smith said behind him.
“I know what I’m doing,” he told Smith, not turning to look at him.
“Yeah, well I’ve never seen him fight, but there’s a reason for that. I don’t think he’s lost in a good many years.”
“That’s what I’m counting on,” Treace said, thinking of the dog.
They waited several minutes, but Commander Tabor entered the training yard to the typical command to go to attention, and the yard went silent. The commander gave the word to go at ease.
“What game are you playing,” Tabor asked after finding Treace in the crowd.
“No game commander, just exercising my rights.”
“Well this is highly irregular and ill-advised,” Tabor told him.
“Possibly, but still within my rights. I’ve named my opponent. Either he can face me, or admit he’s too scared to do so,” Treace said.
“He hasn’t been beaten in years,” Tabor reminded him.
“So I hear.”
“Drokier!” Tabor yelled after shrugging his shoulders at Treace.
“Gladly,” Drokier said, pushing his way forward. He puffed out his chest, but Treace heard uncertainty in the man’s voice, despite his confident stride.
Not a single word was said, the crowd was too stunned and too excited to see the outcome. Many held Drokier in very high regard as a swordsman, and Treace knew where he ranked amongst the rest of the guards. This was the fight of fights in Haven.
The Wolf pushed off the fence and pulled his two practice swords from his new shoulder scabbards as he stalked in.
Drokier grabbed a small shield and practice sword and moved to stand opposite of him.
“I’ve been the best swordsman in Haven for many years,” Drokier said.
“Until the day I arrived,” Treace said.
“I’ll give you this one last chance to back away,” Drokier said. Treace could tell the man wasn’t as certain of the outcome as his previous bravado had indicated he was.
“I call the right of combat contact,” Treace said. “Unless you oppose?”
Combat contact meant that a blow was only considered winning if it struck your opponent in the torso or the head, and he knew Drokier wouldn’t back down, counted on it in fact.
“I’ll not take it easy on you,” Drokier said, full of bluster.
“As if you have a choice,” Treace told him.
Treace drove in, right sword leading, which Drokier managed to block with his shield, and followed with a slash with his left sword. Drokier managed to step back out of the way of the last attack, but he wasn’t in any position to counter.
Drokier feinted forward, but didn’t follow it with an attack.
Treace stepped forward diagonally to his right and forward with two quick shuffles of his feet and aimed two heavy slashes at Drokier’s shield.
Drokier accepted the blows and drove his sword out toward Treace’s stomach, just as he hoped he would.
Treace parried it away with his right sword and stepped a little left as he drove his left in for Drokier’s throat. It connected with his shield instead and Treace backed up a step.
Treace quickly darted forward, using the same maneuver; two slashes to the shield. Once again Drokier angled his sword in and thrust it at Treace’s stomach. Treace parried it away with his right sword, and drove his left in at the man’s throat, just as he did before.
Drokier smiled as his lowered his shield slightly after blocking Treace’s last strike. Treace knew the experienced man had figured out a flaw in his attack routine.
He batted away a few quick thrusts from Drokier, who was getting a little more confident, and offered a few counters that Drokier accepted with his shield.
Treace snapped his sword forward, slapping the inside of Drokier’s sword, pushing it down and out. He followed it with a small step left and drove his left sword in over top of it, angled at his throat. Drokier brought up his shield and deflected the attack.
Drokier got a little more confident and started attacking with a few combinations instead of single thrust or slash attacks. Treace parried away each one, accepting the routines for what they were; routine.
Treace drove right and ahead again, slashing twice, as he had done before. Out came Drokier’s sword, but this time, instead of batting it with his right sword, he parried it with his left sword, which was closer. He stepped right this time, instead of left and brought his right sword crashing down hard on Drokier’s arm that held the shield.
Treace saw Drokier’s arm go limp and he grimaced in pain. He was glad to see the smile didn’t last too long on his face. The weakness Drokier thought he saw turned out to be exactly what Treace wanted him to see.
He attacked Treace with his sword, swinging it wildly in from the outside.
Treace stepped back out of the way and followed Drokier’s sword to the ground with his right blade, all the while slashing in hard with his left sword; low at Drokier’s knee.
The man took the blow without falling to the ground, but when he staggered back he limped heavily on that leg.
Drokier stepped back and then lunged forward on his good leg, thrusting his sword in for Treace’s stomach.
Treace batted it away with his left sword, stepped slightly to his right and brought his right sword down hard on Drokier’s sword hand. As Drokier’s sword fell to the ground, Treace reversed his swing and angled it out and up.
His sword connected heavily with Drokier’s face, splitting his lip and possibly dislodging teeth.
Drokier fell heavily to the ground. He wasn’t knocked out, but he was severely dazed and was clutching his jaw with both injured limbs.
The crowd was still silent, apparently too stunned to react.
“Help him!” Treace commanded, sheathing his swords.
A few men moved to do so, slowly at first, then more quickly once they looked at Tabor, who nodded.
Tabor stood by, watching as the men carried Drokier away. Treace wanted to prove a point, but he still hoped the man would recover. After they were gone, Treace looked at Tabor and guessed his future with the guards wouldn’t be nearly as nice, but he didn’t care. He hated bullies and was tired of being mocked and belittled. Drokier found that out, and he hoped Tabor took the point too.
“Treace, first victory,” Tabor called out with a stern look in Treace’s direction. “Drokier, first loss.”
The crowd erupted then, cheering for Treace, cheering for The Wolf. He may have cemented his place amongst the guards, and most of the men may hold a fair amount of respect for him, but he figured that Tabor was regretting his decision to invite Treace into the guards. He decided he would ride this out for as long as he could, knowing he didn’t do himself any favors by calling out Drokier like that.
“Do you name another?” Tabor asked after quieting the crowd with an upraised hand.
Treace looked around at his fellow guardsmen and saw that no one, save for Salden and Primain, met his gaze. He thought briefly of challenging them, or even Tabor, but decided he had done enough for now. Salden hadn’t done anything to him, and other than the first altercation, neither had Primain. Fighting Tabor was appealing, but he figured he had done enough for one
day.
“Not at this time commander.”
More cheers for The Wolf erupted and a second bout of cheering and congratulations brought many men to him. He accepted them as best he could, but he didn’t care much for the adulation; he liked to keep to himself most of the time. Being the center of attention was Moff’s thing, not his.
The crowd settled down after a short while of chanting his name, and he didn’t see either Tabor or Drokier. He wasn’t sure he had made the right decision, but it felt good to put Drokier in his place.
“How’d you know you could beat him?” Smith asked once the cheering subsided.
“I didn’t know, but I had a suspicion.”
“Big risk for a suspicion.”
“Not really,” Treace explained. “Either I beat him and showed I could beat the best, or I lost and only showed that the best could beat me. Even if I lost, everyone would still wonder where I stacked up to the rest. Most know I could have beaten them.”
“Hrm, I suppose you’re right on that. Beat the best and be number one, or lose and still possibly be number two.”
“That was my thinking,” Treace told him.
“What gave you the suspicion?”
“He’s like a dog that’s tied up for a long time. When he’s first tied up, he’s surely dangerous, and if you reach for him, he’ll bite. But the longer he’s there, most of his bite turns to bark but people still stay away out of fear and the memory of that first bite,” Treace explained.
“Makes a lot of sense,” Smith said, nodding. “And damned smart of you to see it.”
“I only saw what was right in front of us all,” Treace said.
“Yeah, but most people missed it.”
“Regardless, not many people around have seen him fight in a few years. I guessed he was rusty and hadn’t been let off his chain much, if you know what I mean.”
“I do, and it was a brilliant move. Even the way you beat him, first striking both arms, then the finishing blow. That should leave no question who the best is now,” Smith said.
Treace didn’t tell him that he thought Drokier wasn’t the best, possibly not even fourth or fifth best anymore. Several years ago, when he still practiced perhaps, but not now. Both Salden and Primain could have beaten him. He also wasn’t as upbeat about how he won as Smith was; he knew he had shown off by attacking both arms first. One simple strike could have ended it, and Drokier wouldn’t have gone to the medical afterward.
#
“The baron would like to see you,” Tabor said as he entered the room a week later.
“Attention!” someone yelled.
Everyone snapped to, including Treace, and the commander looked at him and motioned his head toward the door.
“At ease,” Tabor told them.
Treace moved to the door and Tabor escorted him in silence. The commander didn’t treat him badly since his defeating of Drokier, but he wasn’t warm and pleasant either. It was clear to him that the two men were friends and Tabor didn’t like seeing his friend being beaten by the young upstart.
“Did he say what he wanted, sir?” Treace asked, trying to break the silence.
“He didn’t, and I don’t make it a habit to challenge my superior,” Tabor said dryly. “Something you should learn.”
“In order to earn everyone’s respect, I had to challenge a worthy opponent. I couldn’t challenge Milt and expect to earn respect,” Treace said, lying. He knew he couldn’t tell Tabor that he overheard their conversation.
“You earned yours at the cost of Drokier losing his,” Tabor said, stopping to look Treace in the eye.
“There is no shame in losing to a more skilled opponent,” Treace said, using Tabor’s words against him.
“No, not in losing, but he didn’t just lose. He was toyed with, then defeated.”
“I was only showing that I was the better fighter.”
“And you did, but at what cost?
“I don’t understand, commander.”
“Do you know that Drokier had a hard time trying to earn the respect back from the men? Men that once followed his every order, hung on his every word?”
“One loss doesn’t mean he isn’t capable,” Treace told him.
“Who wants to follow a capable swordsman instead of a brilliant one?”
“You can’t mean me?” Treace asked, not believing where this was going.
“No, not you, don’t let your ego get in the way of your eyes. Until you beat Drokier, everyone thought he was brilliant. Now he’s just capable.”
“He’s more than capable,” Treace lied.
“Maybe once, but since you toyed with him,” Drokier said, leaving the implication hanging in the air.
“I still don’t understand.”
“If you had beaten him with a single strike, it could have been explained as a lucky blow and he could still hold the eyes of his men. But when you first removed his arms, then finished him in the way you did, it was clear it wasn’t a lucky blow, and now he looks down in shame.”
“Are you saying the men won’t follow him now?”
“Oh, they will follow any superior’s orders, or they know they’ll be kicked out. Something you should be leery of.”
“So I’m being punished for being better than he is?” Treace asked.
“You’re not being punished. I’m just reminding you that you claimed to be thinking of this team first, personal ambitions second. I made it an order. You didn’t back up your claim or follow my order with your victory.”
“If I’m not being punished, why are we going to see the baron?”
“I told you I don’t know why he requested you. I’m not kicking you out, or punishing you, but if I were you, I’d be thinking hard on what you did to this team now that Drokier is retiring.”
“What? Retiring?”
“You showed others that he isn’t what he once was. How long before others challenge him?”
“He could beat a great number of them,” Treace said.
“True, but Salden? Primain?” Tabor said, pausing. “One of them would have challenged him, and soon. He might have won, but probably not. He had to retire or take the risk of losing the respect he still has.”
Treace knew the commander was right. He had toyed with Drokier, and while he only wanted to prove a point to the man, and to Tabor, he didn’t think about how the outcome would affect his opponent past the initial defeat. He had lashed out at his fellow guardsmen for singling out and belittling Milt, yet he had just done the same to Drokier, except he just caused a well-respected man to retire, and Milt still remains. He felt a little like a bully then, and he didn’t like the way the mantle of it hung on his shoulders.
“I didn’t think it would have such great affect,” Treace said.
“Then I hope you learn from your mistakes. Don’t challenge his successor.”
“I won’t, commander. Do you have someone in mind?”
“I have ideas, but nothing I wish to discuss right now,” Tabor said, turning and finally resuming the escort.
Treace took that as a sign to leave it alone, so he did, and followed the commander into the baron’s quarters on the fourth floor. As he walked, he couldn’t help but wonder if he misjudged both men. Sure, he didn’t know the details about their conversation, but it could be something the baron himself had ordered. He couldn’t know for sure. He decided he would let Tabor believe what he wanted, but he intended to keep quiet about what he knew until he understood more about it. Drokier got what he deserved and more, for that Treace was a little sorry for, but it was too late for that.
After coming to a large wooden door, Tabor knocked three times and sat on a bench opposite from it. After a few moments of standing in silence, Tabor motioned for him to sit down and he complied. He guessed the baron made his own schedule and would answer the door at his leisure, which Treace couldn’t hold against him. He was sure the baron was a busy man.
Moments later Treace could hear laughter from within the
room, and not laughter from an adult. It brought him back to his home in Lake City when he was younger. He remembered hearing laughter like that a handful of years ago; a child’s laughter. He realized he didn’t see many children playing in the streets while on his guard duty. The door opened and both men hopped to their feet.
“There’s our expert swordsman,” Liernin said after the door was open. Treace could see a young boy he guessed to be about ten standing behind the baron, who he assumed to be the baron’s son.
“Baron,” Tabor said, bowing.
“Sir,” Treace said, similarly bowing.
“And what will my boy think when he sees his hero, The Wolf, bowing to his father?” Liernin asked.
“That The Wolf has nearly as much respect and manners as he does skill with swords,” Treace offered.
“Indeed!” Liernin boomed, laughing.
“Guardsman Treace, sir, as you ordered,” Tabor said.
“This is no ordinary guardsman, Tabor, this is The Wolf.”
“Yes, sir, yes he is,” Tabor said, frowning slightly.
“At your service, sir,” Treace said, bowing only his head.
“Wolf, meet my boy, Liern,” Liernin said, pushing his boy in front of him.
“Pleasure to meet you, young man,” Treace said, extending his hand.
“Nice to meet you too, The Wolf,” the young man said after getting a nod from his father and shaking Treace’s hand.
“The Wolf’s patrol starts shortly, sir, is this something that will take long?” Tabor asked.
“As long as it needs to, Tabor,” Liernin said. “So you should have his shift covered just in case.”
“Right away, sir,” Tabor said. He bowed and took his leave.
“Is what your father said true? Am I truly your hero?” Treace asked the boy.
“You are,” the boy said, flushing slightly despite his large smile.
“I appreciate your admiration, but wouldn’t it be better served for someone like Kaden, Zivon, or your father?” Treace asked.
“Kaden fought with a stick and I don’t know much about Zivon. But I know you fight with two swords and can’t be beaten,” the boy pronounced.