131 Days [Book 1]

by Keith C. Blackmore

  “What was that for?” Pig Knot demanded, half turning.

  Koba lashed his lower back with the club, bringing forth yet another cry of pain. Pig Knot backed away, breaking ranks and almost bumping into Muluk.

  “Hit me once more with that—” Pig Knot warned, rubbing his tender flesh and pointing a warning finger.

  Koba moved to do just that.

  “Hold off,” Machlann yelled. The older trainer glanced up at Clavellus with a knowing look before turning about. “You didn’t hear my rules? You’re either stupid or deaf. And I hate to think Free Trained shite such as you might be that stupid.”

  “You’re a right noisy little bastard.” Pig Knot still favoured his thigh.

  Machlann scrutinized the man for a moment before holding out a hand to Koba. “Sticks, my son, if you please.”

  Koba turned and walked off to a rack of wooden and metal weapons. He collected a pair of light clubs like those he usually carried, and returned to the open sands. Machlann took one of the weapons and slapped one end into a leathery hand. Koba gave the other to Pig Knot, who took it with a question on his face.

  “Come at me, lad,” Machlann ordered.

  “What?”

  Machlann waved him in.

  “I’m not fighting you, you old tit.”

  “Boys,” the trainer addressed Muluk and Halm, “some room is needed. Move away from him.”

  No longer smiling, both the Kree and the Zhiberian stepped back until Pig Knot and Machlann remained. Above the training grounds, spearmen who patrolled the walls of the villa stopped to watch, sensing the tension rise in the air. Clavellus leaned forward, much interested in what was about to transpire.

  “Defend yourself,” Machlann ordered the much bigger man.

  “You’re unfit,” Pig Knot said in dismay.

  The trainer walked towards him.

  “I’ll crack you open,” Pig Knot warned.

  The trainer’s eyes became slits. He sprang at the bigger man, swarming him with a series of strikes at various points. Pig Knot deflected the first blow, barely turned aside the second, and ducked the third before the fourth one rang off his forearm, generating another loud yelp.

  He placed some distance from the smaller, wiry frame of the trainer, shaking his arm and red faced with chagrin. “You old topper! I’ll brain you for that if you don’t stop now. Stop now.”

  Machlann moved in on him, bent over ever so slightly, stalking his foe.

  “Stop, I said, or I’ll take your unfit head off!”

  Machlann didn’t appear to hear.

  For a moment, an uncertain Pig Knot seemed to realize the old man wasn’t about to stop either, so he bellowed his frustration and charged, swinging for the head.

  Except the head was no longer there.

  Defying his age, Machlann ducked and let loose with a startlingly swift barrage to Pig Knot’s bare ribs, shoulders, head, and legs, a heavy-handed percussion that sounded like a giant’s footsteps. The club turned Pig Knot’s head to one side and buckled his midsection while the lower strike bounced off a knee. Machlann attempted to spin into another strike, but Pig Knot surprisingly shoved him away. The trainer stumbled forward a few steps, kicking up sand as he went, before stopping and regaining his stance. He spun around, amazingly steady for one his age, and held his club before him.

  Machlann’s dislike for the man reached his face, and Clavellus knew the trainer wasn’t impressed with the black-haired brute. Nor was he, truth be known. The lad was in a fight, and he didn’t realize it. Machlann would punish him. Watching the fight from where they stood on the wall, the guardsmen dappled the sands with scalding chuckles. They knew Machlann’s reputation.

  Not enjoying the attention from the guards, Pig Knot closed with the trainer, swinging his club back and forth. Once within range, he lunged.

  Machlann bounced his club off the big man’s wrist, disarming him almost magically and making Pig Knot cry out. The trainer cut loose with another blistering combination of strikes, one flowing after the other, the sound of each fleshy impact breaking the quiet like the unbroken thrumming of a drum, staggering his foe. An eyebrow burst apart, a shoulder crumpled, a throat choked. Pig Knot froze on the last strike as if run through the gullet. Machlann hooked a leg, dropping his foe to a knee and forcing him to plant an outstretched palm hard in the sand. When Pig Knot looked up, dazed and bloodied, Machlann clubbed him three more times—short, powerful strikes that seemingly had no power. However, each time he struck, Pig Knot’s frame rocked as if battered by catapult shot.

  One last blow across the forehead burst open the stitches there and knocked the man flat on his back.

  Pig Knot did not move again.

  The guardsmen burst into rumbles of delight. Machlann glanced up but did nothing to silence them. Both Halm and Muluk appeared uncomfortable, squinting in the sunlight, and kept quiet.

  Machlann’s chest heaved as he stood back from the fallen man. Clavellus reflected that the old trainer was indeed showing his age. Pig Knot was tough, the taskmaster would give him that, but his hesitation in attacking an old man, who he perceived as a weaker opponent, had been his downfall.

  “Errrrg,” Pig Knot moaned, spat out blood, and rolled onto his stomach. “I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you. Seddon above. I’ll kill…”

  Machlann looked down at his fallen adversary for a moment and regarded Clavellus.

  The taskmaster nodded curtly.

  Getting the approval, Machlann walked over and soundly trounced the back of Pig Knot’s skull with one blow, flattening him and ending his threats. The trainer stayed in the pose for a moment, waiting for a reaction, and when none came, he relaxed and straightened.Taking deep breaths, the trainer turned to his students.

  “This maggot made a mistake,” Machlann said to Muluk and Halm, who were suddenly much more attentive. “He thought I wasn’t going to hit him. He made another mistake of not seeing the threat I posed. Anyone—no matter the size, age, or sex—can be a threat. That’s your first lesson. Remember it else I take this,” he waved his club, “to your face.”

  Pig Knot groaned and got an arm under his face, lifting it out of the blood-soaked sand.

  “Besides not understanding I meant him harm, he had no defense to speak of, and when he did swing at me, it was all power. No technique. And not one combination to be seen.”

  Machlann eyed Pig Knot testing his nose and dabbing fingers to his bleeding brow. He allowed him a moment, then, “To your feet, youngster.”

  Pig Knot didn’t comply right away. Instead, he glanced over his shoulder at the trainer. Sand clung to Pig Knot’s bloody features. Insolence glared there.

  “Eeeeeee! Saimon’s black hanging fruit,” Machlann growled and bared a rack of teeth where only half still remained. “You get to your feet this instant afore I shove my boot up your dog blossom.”

  Shaking his head to clear it, Pig Knot struggled to his knees, heaved out a breath, and stood, swaying ever so slightly. He continued wiping away the sand caked to his person.

  “Form the line once more.” Machlann seethed, displaying his half set of teeth.

  Muluk and Halm got into place, and Pig Knot took up his spot to the Kree’s right.

  “Now then,” the trainer huffed. “I’ve made my point. Disobey me, and I’ll smash you right and proper. Now then, do as I do. Arms out.”

  Once more, Machlann squatted, gripping his club by the ends as he held it out before him for balance.

  This time, even though he was the last of the three, Pig Knot did as he was told.

  Machlann held the pose for a moment before straightening. “One,” he counted.

  The three did the same, and once completed, the trainer squatted once more. At first, the men did the exercises without any difficulty, but by the twentieth dip, grimaces appeared while grunts perforated the morning. Koba walked between them, tapping them with his club on the bare thigh or shoulder if they weren’t low enough. By the count of thirty, the three were gro
wling in agony. Pig Knot collapsed two counts later, slowly rolling over onto his front as if expecting a club upside his head or back. Machlann shook his head at Koba, waving the other trainer off.

  By the count of forty, Halm bent over with his hands on knees, signalling he was done.

  By forty-four, Muluk gasped and ceased. The old trainer went on to fifty before he stopped with sweat on his brow. Without a word, he walked over to a huge rack of wooden swords and gestured for the three men to take one.

  “Find something and fast.”

  Halm and Muluk exchanged looks.

  “Why not real ones?” Halm asked.

  But Machlann didn’t answer him. Koba stepped in from behind and cracked Halm across the small of the back, hard enough that it echoed briefly. The Zhiberian straightened, more in shock than pain, and glared at the trainer. Koba stood ready, his club swinging loosely as if expecting a charge.

  “What was that for?” Halm grated.

  Koba thrummed his club into the meat of the Zhiberian’s gut, doubling him over and leaving a respectable red welt. In the stillness that followed, Halm composed himself, nodded, and kept his tongue.

  Pig Knot scowled in pained fashion. “Now why did you—”

  Machlann turned on him and smashed his club into the Sunjan’s midsection, robbing him of his words. To his credit, Pig Knot barely flinched this time and only partially buckled over in pain.

  Clavellus watched, stroking his beard and wondering if they got the lesson being taught. There were no further questions from the warriors, and the taskmaster smiled. The Free Trained weren’t so dense after all.

  Holding their tender spots, they then picked wooden swords. Clavellus knew the practice sticks were about the weight of a regular blade. Their silence pleased the taskmaster, and he took a pull of his mug, relishing the dry bite of the wine.

  “Pick a wooden man and stand afore him,” Machlann commanded then, gesturing to the high crosses on the eastern side of the grounds. As ordered, they chose their wooden crosses.

  “Now then, Master Koba.”

  The scarred trainer stood by the line of the three novices, facing his own wooden man, and gestured with his club. “Basic cut. Chop down with one hand on the left arm.”

  And he demonstrated, his club clacking off the wood.

  “Follow through. Bring the sword up and cut across the gut,” Koba instructed and demonstrated. “Twist your hips for power. Watch me.”

  The three did so, the connections ringing out. Koba repeated the combination, battering an arm before slashing across the lower torso, again and again. He finished and gestured for the three men to commence attacking. The training area came alive with the rhythm of multiple hits. Clavellus smiled. To him, the sound was that of a once-still heart finally beating.

  Machlann watched the warriors with a hawk’s eye, keeping his thoughts to himself. The men were only practicing two basic cuts merged into a simple combination. The idea was to make not only their brains understand and remember the movement, but their muscles as well.

  “Keep it up until I say stop,” Koba yelled over the racket of wood on wood. “Don’t pause between strikes. Flow from one into the other. Flow, I said.”

  Clavellus knew his trainer would keep them at it for about two hundred strokes if possible. Then they would switch to the awkward left. The trainees’ sweat coated them after only thirty strikes, their shoulders gleaming under the sun. Machlann glanced up and scowled at him, delivering a silent message that he was none too impressed with the raw meat.

  “Training has started?” Nala asked in voice laced with bad humor, diverting his attention from the trainer below.

  “It has.” He turned around to face her, admiring her uncombed silver hair tumbling about her shoulders and remembering how black it had once been.

  She stood there in sea-blue silk robes and regarded him with a frown. “So I’ll be hearing this for months on end?”

  “Yes.” He heard Koba instruct one of the men to twist his hips with greater power. “I’m afraid so.”

  “And you’re drinking this early in the morning?”

  He swished the contents of his silver mug, only half full now, and realized he had no memory of drinking it. “The morning heat drove me to it.”

  “I don’t believe that at all.”

  “Sorry again. The lads are bare chested down there,” he offered, hoping to change the subject.

  “And I’m not interested in that in the least. I heard Machlann bellowing this morning. I’m going to move to the guest room on the far end. You’re welcome to visit, but if you’re going to be getting up at the break of dawn, perhaps it’s best you didn’t.”

  “Perhaps.” Clavellus drew his trembling left hand across his brow. He’d known Nala wouldn’t be happy this morning. “It might be only for a short time.”

  “Why is that?”

  “They don’t have the money to pay us yet.”

  “I see. So you’re training them out of charity?” she asked without dismay, and he loved her for it. She was never about gold.

  “For the time. Just to see what they’re about.”

  “And are any of them worthy?”

  To that, he didn’t quite have an answer. He mulled it over for a second before simply saying, “It’s too early to tell.”

  “It’s your time, then. I’ll be far and away from it.”

  “Not too far, I hope.”

  “Far enough,” she said, but he saw the barest smile covered up. With that, Nala turned about and seemingly glided away, the blue silk trailing after her. All this time, and he still thought her to be the most beautiful creature he’d ever laid eyes on. He watched her fade in the shadows of the inner rooms before the clattering below drew him back to the task at hand. The bottle of wine was on a nearby table, and he took a moment to refill his mug.

  They were working on their left hands when he turned back.

  Clavellus watched them practice the drill over and over, observing their technique and making mental notes for improvement if Koba or Machlann missed anything. The notion that Free Trained lads were practicing on his grounds made him sigh. Had he lost his mind? In any case, they were there, and one in particular had a fight soon. He’d make certain that Halm knew a trick or two before his time.

  33

  The practice drills continued until midday with only a few scattered periods of rest, and when Machlann ordered them to file into the common room for a meal of porridge and fruits, exhaustion crippled their once-proud walks into shuffles. The shuttered windows had been thrown open to allow fresh air to flow through, as well as daylight. The three men nearly collapsed at a single table and commenced spooning warm porridge into their gullets. With no handy rags and the temperature of the room still warm, sweat ran freely off their forms and stung their eyes.

  “This is unfit,” Pig Knot grunted, his brow sporting a fresh red crust. “They’ll kill us before we get back into the arena.”

  “My legs and arms feel like they’re about to fall off,” Muluk whined, his eyes downcast, taking his time with his meal and gulping down water from a cup.

  “Certainly are working us,” Halm agreed. “I thought that old topper was going to kill you.”

  “Pah,” Pig Knot spat. “Wore himself out trying. He only had a stick. This,” he said while tapping his skull, “is thicker than rock.”

  “You’ll have to hit him with it next time,” Halm said. “I’m not about to be brazen around either of them.”

  “Why?” Muluk asked, his eyes appearing glassy.

  “They know things,” Halm said. “It’s that simple. That one-two chop we’ve been practicing is only the start of it. I see the method to it. They’ll add on more; you’ll see.”

  “More?” Muluk almost dropped his spoon. He looked mortified. “I can’t do any more. I’m not in the games. I shouldn’t be swinging wood with the likes of either of you. I was supposed to be an armourer. Sharpen a few blades and pound out armour plating.”
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br />   “What about that?” Halm asked. “Why did you line up with us?”

  Muluk shrugged morosely. “It was exercise. Couldn’t see anything wrong with a little exercise in the morning. But then after Pig Knot was beaten, I feared leaving. Figured those hellions would both lay their clubs into me.”

  “I wouldn’t stand for it,” Pig Knot said.

  Muluk fixed him with a look. “Oh yes, you probably wouldn’t stand for it. What would you do? Grab an ankle from where you were lying on the ground? That might slow one of them down. After the beating you took out there? Seddon above, man, that old bastard made you look like you were well on in age.”

  “You both keep that to yourselves,” Pig Knot warned.

  “Noticed that Koba fellow?” Halm asked them.

  “What about him?” Muluk asked back, wary.

  “He was swinging just as much as we were. Even when he was going about and shoring up this or that. That lad might not be for the arena, but he’s far from done.”

  “We’re being pushed to the edge of our deaths, and you’re admiring them,” Pig Knot said with disgust.

  “Hard not to.” Halm looked towards the window and saw no one outside. “My shoulders feel like chains have been wrapped about them. I haven’t felt this way… well… never. I’m thinking what might happen if we had a year to train.”

  “I could never do it,” Muluk confessed immediately. “I’m done now.”

  “Why are you here again?” Pig Knot asked him.

  “Feels like to lengthen my arms.”

  “Perhaps you should stay with working metal,” Halm suggested.

  “Just might, if this house business ever comes about. Where is Goll anyway?”

  “Probably with them.”

  “Hmm.”

  “They called him Master Goll,” Pig Knot said, his lips curling with the taste of the title. “Not sure I like that. Not sure I like this.” He indicated the whole interior of the room.

  Neither Halm nor Muluk voiced their thoughts on those words, losing themselves in their meal.