| |
––––––––
"Stay on the balls of your feet, Keevan!" Hadrian roared from across the room. The arms master's thickly muscled shoulders left only the memory of a neck and his chiseled features gave the impression the tough veteran were a statue made flesh. He certainly had the personality of one.
Sucking in a desperate breath, Keevan ignored the burning sensation in his legs and hopped back a pace. Pain echoed down his arms as his wooden sword collided with Merkim's, his current opponent. The young Tri-Being only stood a few inches taller than Keevan, but his command of water was impressive. Like his single-minded concentration, glaring through those piercing hazel eyes. Merkim's concentration was so complete that a thin stream of water flowed in the wake of Merkim's arms as they spared.
Keevan held his training sword in both hands, careful not to swing too widely and leave himself open for another beating. Merkim attacked, launching three quick thrusts. Keevan managed to parry the first two but stepped back from the third, landing on the flat of his feet. Merkim sprinted in so fast Keevan stumbled in his retreat, the Tri-Being's sword a blur of tan, polished wood.
The air hissed with two quick blows and Keevan found himself on the stone floor of the training hall, clutching his stomach, his skull and gasping for air. His head rang from a strike to the temple, despite his padded training helmet. Merkim wasn't known for holding back, even in training.
"You alright there, Outlander?" Merkim chuckled, stooping down over Keevan. "It's no wonder your kind has never seen our shores. I'm amazing they'd even try to cross the sea. Fighters as poor as you should stick to their books and leave fighting to the real men."
With a breathless heave of rage, Keevan swung at his gloating opponent's feet. Merkim laughed, hoping over the blow and smacking his training weapon down on Keevan's hands. Biting back a curse, Keevan dropped his sword and scrambled away, clutching both fists to his chest. He could feel the bruises forming through his leather gloves, but at least his hands weren't broken.
"Merkim!" Hadrian barked. In Keevan's battered state, he hadn't noticed the arms master's approach. "What did I tell you about honoring a fallen opponent? You beat him. Go wait your turn in line. Now."
"As you command, Master Hadrian," Merkim offered with a mockingly deep bow. He sauntered off, holding his training sword over his shoulder like a woodman's axe. A few of his friends greeted him at the end of the line, pointing at Keevan as they laughed.
"I see you ignored my advice," Hadrian grumbled, thick arms folded tersely as he glared down at the wounded Outlander. "You can't move as fast from the flat of your feet. Then you tried to strike in anger. What must I do to teach you even the simplest of techniques?"
All Keevan could manage in return was a series of grunts, still gasping for air. He flexed his hands open and shut, grimacing against the pain. If he didn't finish the training session, Madol would certainly hear of it. Not to mention Bahjal. He wasn't sure which prospect bothered him more.
It wasn't that he forgot Hadrian's advice, not exactly. In a quiet setting, with a quill and a few minute's time, he could enumerate them all. But once Merkim was on the rampage, those minutes boiled down to a few faint impressions, hasty breaths and the immediate need to act.
"Shall I call a Suadan to tend to your wounds?" Hadrian offered, through gritted teeth. "Oh wait, they wouldn't do you any good. Outlanders can't heal through water. By Suada's mercy boy, what are you doing here?"
"Sorry, Master Hadrian," Keevan managed to sputter. "I'll do better next time."
"You didn't answer my question," Hadrian replied, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "Why are you putting yourself through this? Go back to your books. Make your fortune and live your life."
For the fifth time that day, Keevan considered it. His body ached from hours of training, day in and day out, trying to keep up with beings who drew on the elements when he wielded nothing but his mind. But Bahjal's kidnapping and the subsequent battle left a deep impression on him. He still remembered Kors hauling him away like a sack of trade goods.
"I want to live my life protecting my family," Keevan answered, "not the other way around."
Hadrian sighed, kneeling down next to Keevan. It looked rather like an ox settling down on its hind quarters in order to talk with a mouse. Were it not for the bruises spotting Keevan's arms, head and torso, he might have laughed. Hadrian pulled off Keevan's gloves, examining the bruised knuckles with a practiced eye.
"There are many ways to protect one's family," Hadrian offered evenly, glancing up at the students before them. "Few boys chose to serve as a Persuader. Most of these are the third or fourth sons of noble families, who already have sires working in the Temples or overseeing their family interests. I understand a number of guilds have left you open invitations to work with them. Take their money and live your life. Most boys here would trade Persuadership for that in a heartbeat."
The students were forming a single line. The student at the head of the line faced the student behind him for a quick series of blows. The first to take a hit retired to the back, while the winner remained to face the next student. Merkim would stay at the head of his line for at least five or six opponents. Most of them couldn't match Merkim's water-borne concentration.
"I need to know how to defend myself, Master Hadrian," Keevan replied stubbornly, biting back a hiss of pain as Hadrian pressed against a fresh bruise. "Can I at least use my elemental vision in the next spar?"
Hadrian didn't answer right away, his attention torn between Keevan's battered hands and watching the students spar. Keevan pursed his lips nervously and risked a glance. Blue light flickered from his eyes and he saw the arms master's field reaching out in all directions. It only stretched a few feet though, the great arms master was a Rhetan after all. Hadrian glanced at Keevan's eyes and raised a cautionary finger.
"That power cost us the Watcher and the Great Crystal. It makes many of the students uncomfortable to be seen by it. Keep those eyes to yourself," Hadrian advised, handing Keevan back his gloves. "In the last war, I managed to best Haldrans and Etrendi alike. It wasn't from better elemental control. It was by moving fast and thinking faster than my opponent. I don't think using your ability would aid your agility or your strength. The Etrendi and Haldrans here are under the same restriction."
"Yes, clearly Merkim isn't drawing in any water," Keevan answered wryly. Hadrian's casual backhanded slap sent Keevan rolling across the rough stone floor. When he finally ground to a halt, dust covering his tunic and trousers, he couldn't help but wonder how many of Hadrian's victories were due more to his unnatural strength than his skill with a blade.
"The Etrendi can't help drawing the elements as they focus," Hadrian huffed, rising to his feet. "Just be glad he didn't turn that concentration to commanding fire or lightning. You are a lot more fragile than us Tri-Beings. He's going easy on you, in that respect. Don't forget that. Now, get back in line."
"Yes, Master," Keevan echoed glumly. He retrieved his wooden practice sword and walked across the hall to the sparring line. Merkim knocked back another student's defenses, slapping him on the shoulder. Then Merkim flashed Keevan a half-smile as Keevan found himself one more person closer to his former opponent, then another, then another.
"I feel like I'm slated for execution, not training," The student ahead of Keevan grumbled, eyeing Merkim with the same anxiety one might watch a Pagoda threatening to take flight. He stood a head taller than Keevan, but his body comprised of more fat than muscle and he lacked the agility to avoid most blows.
"I know the feeling," Keevan echoed. "I'm Keevan, by the way."
"That's what I heard. I'm Urien," The big student offered, shaking Keevan's hand in greeting.
With that, the last student ahead of them over lunged and took a nasty crack to the ribs for his trouble. Merkim returned to the center of the room, sword in hand, watching Urien with his cool, inhuman concentration. Urien bellowed an unconvincing challenge, sparks dancing along his tunic and hair. He tried for a big, two-handed swing, as if his sword were a Warhammer.
Merkim raised his training sword, as if he were going to block the attack outright. At the last minute though, he lowered his weapon. Urien stumbled to side, trying to stay upright as his momentum headed for the floor. Merkim leapt after him, though to Urien's credit, the heavy-set boy did manage to cover his head with one hand. Merkim only manage to slap the boy's thigh, upper arm and ample belly.
"Control will beat power every time, Urien," Master Hadrian called from the far wall.
Keevan tried his best to ignore the sinking sensation in his stomach as he took Urien's place before Merkim. The Etrendi boy smiled, twirling his sword artfully as a few of his friends called out their encouragement from down the line.
Readying his blade, Keevan stayed on the balls of his feet and tried to remember all of Hadrian's advice over the last month. The second Merkim burst into motion though, it all vanished. His only defenses were the few fighting instincts he'd internalized, and he knew first hand they weren't enough.
He hopped away, barely avoiding a quick stab meant for his ribs. He shuffled to his left, forcing Merkim to take up pursuit in a wide circle in that direction. The students' continued their deluge of catcalls and insults but Keevan couldn't hear them, only dodging Merkim's attacks mattered. The Etrendi pressed on, but with a lazy grin as he advanced. The water around his blade faded as his concentration was replaced with entertainment.
Merkim dashed in, his attacks striking at Keevan from random angles. Each of his steps were confident and determined, while Keevan's were light and constantly retreating. Keevan evaded most blows by simply retreating, though he tried to parry a few. Then, as he retreated, he saw Merkim's stance. He was standing confident, arrogant even, and flat-footed.
"Hey Merkim, are you going to dance with the Outlander all day?" One student called.
"Just give me a moment to wear him down," Merkim called back, glancing at the line to his right. "I want to saver th-"
Keevan charged, throwing his weight behind two slashes of his own. Caught on the flat of his feet, Merkim retreated unsteadily, parrying one blow and ducking past the other. For a brief moment, Keevan felt a rush of victory. But Merkim was in fact spinning into the duck, and his sword emerging into view too fast for Keevan to block. It solidly connected with Keevan's stomach, driving him to the ground once again as Merkim stumbled to one knee.
Gasping for air, pain knotting up in his chest, he couldn't quite heard Hadrian's advice. Something about flat feet and swords hanging in front of someone or other. Climbing to his feet, he hobbled over to the end of the line.
"I think you almost had him that time," Urien offered, patting Keevan on the back. "You alright?"
"Mafeaf," Keevan answered.
"Enough," Hadrian ordered, as Merkim finally fell to a quick strike from one of his friends. "Back to the mats. Finish your stretches. We're done for the day. I want you all back here before the sun rise tomorrow. We've got a lot to practice."
Supposedly, stretching out after each training session helped the muscles recover. But Keevan couldn't help but notice that in his case, it seemed to give every bruise and battered muscle extra time to twist and complain.
"I think you're getting better. You might actually hit him someday," Urien said, taking a spot next to Keevan on the big hay-stuff mat. In the big boy's case, the flexibility routine was particularly...difficult. He closed his eyes, stretch his feet out in front of him and tried to touch his toes. This time, he managed to scratch his ankles.
"I hope so. He's just so quick," Keevan grumbled, wincing at a sudden pain in his shoulder. He didn't remember getting hit there, perhaps it was from hitting the ground at and odd angle when he rolled?
"There's always tomorrow," Urien offered, "another chance to even the score."
"Or to take another beating," Keevan countered glumly.
"Try to remember how you did on the first day here." Urien suggested, stretching hopelessly towards his toes. He made about as much progress as a metal fence, his fingers hovering just behind his toes. "Look at me after all. I can touch my ankles now!"
"I'm sure that will save your life someday," Keevan muttered, twisting to one side as he stretched his spine. He glanced over at Urien's red face, puffing with exertion as he stretched after those toes... in vain. Keevan chuckled. "Thanks for trying to cheer me up."
"Not an easy feat, some days," Urien added with a grin.
"Keevan," Hadrian called from the main entrance. "Someone to see you."
"I'll see you tomorrow, Urien," Keevan offered, hopping to his feet. The day could only get better from here on out. Plus, if it was Bahjal with news from Nariem...
"Same to you," Urien replied with a tired smile.
Keevan gathered his training gear, keeping his gloves on to hide those bruises. His long-sleeved tunic and hair would cover the rest. He stowed his gear in his satchel and headed for the entrance. Hadrian stood by one of the weapons tables, arguing with a couple other staff members of the Persuader's academy. He couldn't shake the feeling they were arguing about him, for they'd occasionally point his way or sneak a glance in his direction.
When he saw Bahjal waiting at the open door, all the pains of his training faded away. She'd taken to wearing her Suadan uniform again. Its random loops of blue and white fabric were suspended in strands of water as she concentrated. They fell a few inches when she saw Keevan, greeting him with a wide smile.
"Hey Keeves, I thought you'd want to know right away," Bahjal said excitedly, "Nariem finally got that shipment we've been waiting for. We can get started this afternoon. Even Madol's going to come help." She gave him an extra tight hug in greeting.
Keevan managed to bit back a hiss of pain. He didn't want her to see his bruises, or at least, to know about how many he'd accumulated during this session. "Just give me a second to get my breath back," Keevan insisted, wrapping one arm around her shoulders while the other held his gear aloft.
"Have a look boys," Merkim called, heading for the same exit, "It's the Outlander and his traitor woman. How'd he manage to land such a pretty Suadan? I thought they were supposed to be smart."
The tall Etrendi hefted his bag of gear over one shoulder, cross-stitched with the insignia of the Radahn family. Two of Merkim's friends followed behind him, sharing the same family symbol on their bags and watching their cousin with equal measures of entertainment and mock bravado.
"Traitor?" Bahjal asked evenly, "according to who?"
"My uncle Derone," Merkim hissed, watching them both with venomous eyes. The air around him warped with restrained heat. "If you were really loyal to Issamere, you wouldn't have gotten its best Harbor Master in a century, arrested."
Keevan grit his teeth in frustration. Merkim's command of water was formidable indeed if he could dispel his angry feelings at will and concentrate on his sparring so completely. Not for the first time, he felt grateful his emotions didn't show up in public displays of the elements. One of the few perks to an element-less existence.
"Your uncle shouldn't have tried to attack us before the High Priestess herself," Bahjal countered, water buoying up the loops in her dress. "I hope it's not a habit your family holds in high regard." She glanced at the Persuader Instructors caught up in an intense debate by a weapons table, only a dozen feet away.
Merkim hissed at the challenge, the fingers of his off-hand glowing red. Without the environment of the sparring arena, his anger took hold. What little water he could muster bubbled and steamed away. "Don't worry," he muttered, "I learn from my uncle's mistakes. You'll see."
"Until tomorrow then," Bahjal said curtly, pinching her nose. "Take a bath when you get home. You stink." Merkim paused at the odd insult, glancing back and forth among his cousins uncertainly. With that, she caught Keevan by the wrist and dragged him out of the training hall. Merkim didn't pursue them, but he did watch them leave with a predatory gaze.
"It would seem Nariem's shipment arrived just in time," Bahjal offered, taking Keevan's gloved hand in hers. "You're going to need a few tricks if you ever have to content with that Suadan. I'm not sure he's completely sane. He's a completely different person when he's got a sword in his hand."
"You saw him sparring today?" Keevan asked.
"Of course. I had to see how you were doing," Bahjal answered with a smile. "Well, from a distance. I knew it would distract you if you saw me watching. You're really coming along way since your first day here. You know that, right?"
"You're the second person to mention that today," Keevan echoed, trying to ignore the pain in his bruised hand as she affectionately squeezed it.
"It must be true then," Bahjal finished, leading them onto the open street. "Now, let's go see what Nariem's got planned. He and Madol have spent weeks gathering ideas of stuff you can use as a Persuader."
"Like what?" Keevan asked. After what felt like endless days studying Persuader manuals, learning their procedures and training with Hadrian, there wasn't much time at home for more than sleeping and eating. If pressed, Nariem only said there wasn't much sense in discussing the matter until the supplies arrived anyway.
"I don't want to spoil the surprise," Bahjal said with a mischievous smile. "But I will say this. It involves Danica. Boom."
###
