“What is the meaning of this?” cried Marco. More angry shouts rang out and Kevon turned to see what was the matter.
He turned to see all of the hall’s occupants glaring or shouting at him.
Carlo walked quickly over to Kevon and cuffed him upside the head. “What were you thinking?” he roared, snatching the Warrior’s amulet from Kevon’s chest. The leather strap broke, but not before cutting into Kevon’s neck. “You have not earned the right!”
The crowd quieted somewhat, but dark murmurs still ran through the ranks.
“We will deal with this later,” Carlo hissed loudly. “Get a sword!”
Kevon retrieved the sword he’d reached for earlier and padded back to Carlo’s side near the sand pit.
“You’re going to bleed,” Carlo said softly. “Make sure he does too. He’s more experienced than a novice, but overconfident, and angry. Use that.” Carlo shoved Kevon roughly into the pit.
Laughs, jeers, and assorted yells of ‘Hurt him, Waine!’, ‘Pound his head in!’, and other such inspirational cheers built into a dull roar.
Waine stood, grasped both ends of his sword, and stretched out a bit. He let one end go, whipped it around himself rapidly a few times, and stepped forward into a guarding stance.
Kevon took a few swings to get a feel for the weight and balance of the unfamiliar weapon. He calmed himself, evened out his breathing, and advanced.
Once Kevon closed within two sword lengths, Waine was upon him. The Seeker, having the advantages of reach, experience, and strength, pressed Kevon viciously. Kevon blocked the first two probing strikes with relative ease, but the third came faster than expected, rapping him on the knuckles. Kevon swore and shifted his grip an instant too slow to block a kick to the gut.
Waine whirled out and away as Kevon doubled over. He took a quick bow for the crowd, which whooped even louder. Grinning, he turned back to face Kevon, who was just starting to straighten back up. Waine launched into a series of attacks that used quick, short, sword swings and parries at close range to make openings that would admit the fist of his off-hand, or a maliciously thrown elbow.
Within the first three minutes, Kevon had more bruises than all of Carlo’s lessons combined. He looked over to the side of the ring and saw Carlo drinking unconcernedly from a mug. The aside glance cost him an elbow to the mouth. He tasted blood, and his lip seared and throbbed all at once.
Waine stood back, sword forward but lowered, and contemplated his opponent.
Kevon pressed his fingers to his cut lower lip, inciting an uproar of insults from the rambunctious crowd. He wiped his fingers on his tunic, spat blood off to the side, and gripped his wooden sword again in both hands.
Waine raised his sword in an exaggerated salute, winked, and pressed forward once more.
Kevon smiled and shifted his own sword with the help of the Movement rune he’d just formed. He quickly parried the three sword strokes from Waine’s rush, and brought the wooden hilt down with blinding speed to knock down the elbow that was intended for his ribs. Reversing with the rebound force from the counterstrike, Kevon shifted back on his left foot and lashed out with his right fist, which still held the sword’s hilt. He twisted his hand at the last second to smash into the side of Waine’s head while parrying the follow-up stroke of the Seeker’s attack.
The crowd quieted as Kevon shifted back on his left foot again to let Waine’s momentum carry him stumbling past.
The Seeker spun around, wobbling slightly. He put a hand to the left side of his face and examined it quickly for traces of blood. Seeing none, he glared at Kevon, who had dropped back into his two-handed stance. Waine waited, thinking.
Remembering the wink that had been intended to throw his concentration, Kevon mimed a kiss in Waine’s direction.
Snarling, the Seeker charged again.
Shutting out everything but his Art and his opponent, Kevon did not even hear Carlo’s gruff bark of laughter at his taunt. The calm that Kevon felt deepened as he widened the focus of his Movement spell from his hands and sword to his whole body. With his mind, he made every part of his body move exactly as he wanted it to. He met the Seeker’s charge with a sweeping block that stole the momentum from the next intended strike. Flicking his opponent’s sword wide with the tip of his own, Kevon stepped inside and chopped downward near Waine’s hand, knocking the practice sword to the ground.
The Seeker sidestepped in behind Kevon and shoved him forward. He ducked to avoid Kevon’s one-handed backswing and recovered his sword. Waine backed away to a safe distance to rethink the situation.
Not knowing how long he could keep his Movement spell active, Kevon decided to attack. He advanced in a posture he had seen Carlo use when he practiced alone, body turned sideways and sword slanted across his body, ready for attack or defense at a moment’s notice.
Waine tried to circle to one side, then the other, but Kevon adjusted accordingly as he approached. Waine made a few quick jabbing thrusts to try and pierce Kevon’s guard, but Kevon deftly parried each attempt. Waine made another jab, toward the outside, and Kevon parried again. The motion of the parry overextended the younger man, and as he wobbled to recover, Waine struck at his weapon, disarming him.
Kevon moved toward to fallen weapon, but Waine stepped over it and kicked it backwards, shifting himself in between the challenger and his sword.
The crowd roared with laughter. Waine raised his sword in celebration, and began to take a bow.
Kevon was not done. Screaming defiantly, he lurched forward.
The Seeker moved to end it with a slash across Kevon’s upper body. The already raised weapon flashed downward.
Kevon had counted on it. He checked his forward movement for an instant, and the tip of Waine’s sword whistled past his face. Regaining speed with the help of his dwindling magical reserves, Kevon stepped inside Waine’s sword reach and grabbed the hilt above where the Seeker gripped it. With all the strength he could muster, Kevon lifted and swung the downward pointed tip from right to left in front of him. As the end moved enough to allow it, Kevon stepped further in and past Waine, shifting his upper body even more to the left to either break the Seeker’s hold on the weapon or unbalance him.
Waine’s grip failed. The force of the improvised technique caused him to shuffle away a few steps. His sword arm twinged from the awkward angle of the sudden wrenching motion by Kevon. By the time he realized what was happening, it was too late.
Kevon pivoted once more, swinging the wrested weapon around full circle, heading straight for Waine’s face.
The Seeker flinched back, turning away from the strike. The end of the sword grazed near his temple, where the previous blow had struck. Though not as painful or jarring as the first, Waine could feel the telltale burn of an open wound as soon as it hit. After he verified it by touch, he nodded to Kevon, who was leaning on the wooden sword, breathing hard. He then picked up Kevon’s fallen practice blade, and walked over to exchange them.
“Well done.” The Seeker grinned widely despite the blood flowing freely down the side of his face. He raised his voice and turned to the main body of the crowd, who murmured in confusion amongst themselves. “Let me be the first to welcome our new brother!”
Half a moment passed before enthusiastic shouts of welcome and encouragement erupted from all those assembled. The crowd spilled into the arena, jostling to be next in line to shake Kevon’s hand in greeting. Passersby carried off the wooden swords and Kevon found himself being steered toward a table on the common side of the room.
Waine offered Kevon a chair, which he took gladly. Ale was poured, and everyone encouraged him to drink. Exhausted, sore, and dizzied by the previous few minutes, Kevon was glad of somewhere to sit and something to wet his throat. As he lowered his mug to take a breath, he saw Carlo in front of him, smiling.
“Bite down on this,” the Blademaster suggested, handing him a loosely rolled leather tube.
“Mmm?” Kevon grunted, quirking an eyebrow at C
arlo.
Laughter rang out around him as several strong arms grabbed him at once.
He panicked, and dropped his mug. Ale spilled across the table. The stained leather roll that Carlo had offered was shoved into his mouth, and it tasted worse than it looked. His right tunic sleeve was pushed up and over his shoulder. He turned to look, but Carlo grasped the top of his head with one huge hand and turned Kevon back to face him.
“It’s better not to look,” the mercenary said, smiling.
Kevon felt the heat a split second before the brand touched his skin. The pain of the burn, coupled with the outflow of what little magic he had left was more than he could bear.
Chapter 18
Kevon woke in strange surroundings. A strong smell of liniment accompanied the half-wet sensations that lingered where he’d been cut and scraped, and a bandage rode high on his right arm.
It was so dark Kevon could only see the outlines of shapes in the room. A soft snoring noise seemed to come from somewhere above him. He threw off the rough blanket that covered him and dropped his legs over the side of the bed to sit up. He cracked his head on the bunk above him. Swearing softly, he called up a globe of light without thinking. He got a quick glance at the room before thinking better of the magical light, which he promptly dismissed.
What he’d seen in the split-second was enough. His cloak hung on a peg near the door. Two of the other walls each had another two bunks like the one he was sitting on. A single table was the only other furnishing.
Kevon was done playing at being a Warrior. All he wanted to do was get out.
As his eyes readjusted to the small amount of light coming from under the door, his head stopped throbbing. Kevon stood carefully and crept across the room to retrieve his cloak and pull on his boots. He slipped quietly out into the muted light of the hallway, easing the door open and closed under a magically induced hush. He stalked down the hallway past two closed doors that were probably rooms like the one he’d been in. The next door was open; low voices and flickers of light came from inside. It sounded like the kitchen.
Peering around the threshold, Kevon saw a very large man with a meat cleaver talking with three serving maids. A quick pulse of energy through a Movement rune caused a broom in the far corner of the kitchen to clatter to the ground, and Kevon slipped past the door as heads turned away.
Kevon pushed through the door at the end of the hall. Beyond it lay the common room, and as he entered, it went from virtual silence to near chaos. Every head turned, cheers, whoops, and random obscenities spewed forth from those still gathered.
A hand touched his arm and Kevon jerked reflexively. He turned to see the serving maid attached to the hand lean in close.
“Is there anything I can get you, Novice?”
“W-water would be nice.” Kevon blushed so fiercely that the maid leaned in closer.
“Are you certain?” she whispered huskily.
“Yes, just the water!” Kevon called over his shoulder, nearly leaping over a chair to distance himself.
“Have a seat!” Waine called out to Kevon as he passed by the Seeker’s table.
Kevon paused and tilted his head to glare at Waine.
“Relax…” Waine said consolingly. “The rough part is over. Although… Nilda would probably get rough if you let her.”
“Probably,” Nilda agreed from directly behind Kevon, causing him to jump once more.
Kevon turned, still red-faced, and accepted the mug of water from Nilda, who winked and resumed her other duties.
Kevon pulled up a chair and sat down. He rubbed the bandage on his shoulder experimentally. “So… That’s all it takes to become a Warrior, huh?”
A smattering of laughter from nearby tables answered his question.
“No.” Waine set his mug down. “That’s more than it usually takes. No one here expected you to make it.”
“Then why did he bring me here?” Kevon wondered aloud.
“Oh, Blademaster Carlo thought you had a chance. He wouldn’t have brought you here if he didn’t. But to match with a Seeker instead of a Novice…” Waine trailed off for a moment. “You surely surprised him as much as the rest of us.”
“He’ll have to do better.” Carlo sat down at the table. “Real weapons, he’d have lost in the first few seconds.”
You don’t know the half of it… Kevon thought as he nodded in agreement.
“Well, he’s stronger than he looks, and some of those techniques I’ve never even seen before,” Waine offered.
Carlo grunted. “That’s because no one has.”
“What use is having techniques that people can recognize and react to?” Kevon asked.
“You’re not always going to have the luxury of knowing your life’s not in danger,” Carlo explained. “If you practice the basics you can act quickly, without thought when needed. You’d be hard pressed to improvise like that with more than one opponent.”
Kevon nodded, frowning.
“Which is not to say I have any idea how you did as well as you did. Must have trained some with your father,” Carlo mused.
Kevon remained silent.
“He could teach you a thing or two, Waine!” came a taunt from a nearby table.
Waine shrugged affably. “We all learn from each other. That was the most interesting match I’ve had in a long while. I’m looking forward to training with our newest Novice.”
“I’m not staying around,” Kevon said. “Leaving in a day or so.”
“Not joining the City guard?” Waine asked, a little surprised.
“No, I have business elsewhere.” Kevon answered. “Why?”
“Most Novices hire on to local guard forces until they advance to Seeker. Easy way to make a living and get extra training time,” Carlo answered. “You’ll face your Seeker trial when we get to the Inner Cities.”
“Eight weeks as a Novice?!” Waine laughed. “I’d like to see that!”
“We’re not in that much of a hurry,” Carlo said, shaking his head. “More like ten weeks.”
“You’re serious, aren’t you?” Waine asked Carlo setting down his mug and leaning forward.
Carlo nodded, and Kevon gave a half-shrug.
Waine laughed loudly. “So, when do we leave? There’s no way this old bag of bones – no disrespect intended, Blademaster – can train you that quickly by himself. Besides, this town is getting stale.”
Carlo looked at Kevon.
Kevon’s eyes widened. “I don’t know!”
“It’s your mission. I’m just along for the ride.” The Blademaster chuckled.
“I’ll need a day to finish gearing up,” Kevon said, “And that’s all I need to do. Day after tomorrow, in the morning?”
“I don’t have any gearing up to do, but it’ll take a day and a night to say my goodbyes.” Waine winked at Nilda, who rolled her eyes dramatically before she couldn’t stop herself from smiling. “So, that’s perfect for me.”
Carlo nodded in agreement. “WestBridge an hour or so after sunrise, then.” The Blademaster pushed away from the table. “I’m going to bunk down for the night. Well, at least what’s left of it. I suggest you do the same. You wouldn’t want to go out unarmed around here this time of night.”
Kevon sat for a while and drank his water while he listened to Waine tell Nilda about the time he went hunting boars in the Parzoth Wastes. The Seeker was very animated and enthusiastic about the recounting, rising from his chair and stalking around tables to enhance the tale.
Kevon said goodnight and excused himself back to the room he had crept out of. He removed his boots, hung his cloak, and returned to the bunk he had left.
Lists of things he needed to do and buy the coming day echoed through Kevon’s mind until he drifted off to sleep.
Chapter 19
Neither Carlo nor Waine were anywhere to be found when Kevon woke and prepared to leave. The kitchen crew was completely different from the night before. They stopped him on his way out to feed him a lar
ge breakfast of bacon, eggs, biscuits, and gravy. Two of the three serving maids took turns fussing over him as there was only one other Warrior still around. When Kevon finished, they bid him a good day and disappeared back into the kitchen with the dishes.
Kevon exited the guildhall and strode purposefully through the sparse morning foot traffic back to the Maiden of the Bay.
Bertus’s eyes widened in shock as Kevon entered the front of the inn still bruised and scraped from the night before. “Are you all right?” he asked, rushing over to Kevon. “What happened?”
Kevon laughed. “I’m fine. My shoulder hurts worse than the rest of me.” He slid his tunic sleeve up to show the brand that was white around the edges and still puffy to the touch.
“Congratulations, Novice. You never mentioned you were here for Trial,” Bertus said, awe showing in his eyes.
“I wasn’t…” Kevon admitted. “But now that things have turned out this way, I could use some advice.”
“What is it?” Bertus asked, still staring at Kevon’s now re-covered shoulder.
“I need a guide for the day, one who knows the area, where the best deals are. I have one day to get ready to leave again.”
“Wait here.” Bertus hurried into the common area and disappeared around the corner. A few minutes later he returned with a different tunic and overcloak. “Let’s go.”
Bertus directed Kevon to a nearby stable that sold decent horses at a fair price. After some haggling, Kevon bought a young stallion that seemed healthy and even-tempered. He paid extra for a packsaddle and extra saddlebags. After arranging to pick them up first thing in the morning, they moved on.
The next place was a tailor. Kevon was measured for two new sets of clothes, one heavier cut for winter, and one of lighter cloth for the coming summer. These he did not haggle for, but paid extra to have then done by morning.
Bertus led Kevon through the streets of Eastport from one Merchant stall to another, to shops large and small. With his help, negotiations were quick and fair. Small purchases were carried back to the inn to be readied for the trip, and larger ones arranged to be delivered.
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