9

We made good time on the road north, though I wondered why I was hurrying us so. Hayato knew to expect us in Senlik in a month or two in case there was news. Hakan was helpful with the work of finding wood each day to cook with and gathering food. He didn’t grumble at the tasks anymore, which made my days much more pleasant.

We traveled each morning and generally used the afternoons for his training in swordplay and barehanded fighting. The weather was warming with the spring, but we moved higher into the mountains and the greater elevation ensured that the nights were still quite cool.

I love the mountains, the clean bright air that stings your lungs with its purity, the scent of pine and rich dirt. Rotting leaves and pine needles make a thick carpet that softens footsteps. The snow on the Sefu Mountains has a purple and blue cast in the early morning light, almost silhouetted if you look directly east. It brightens to an impossibly beautiful white in the noonday sun and catches the orange and red hues of the sunset each evening.

When I was discharged from the kedani, I went to the base of the mountains to recover in the serenity of absolute solitude. I grieved for Yuudai there, a few leagues lower down the hills and west of where we walked, and I grieved for my former life. It had been good, though harsh, and I didn’t quite know what to do with myself in the odd freedom of civilian life. It was nearly a year before I spoke to anyone, for I lived alone in the woods, and when I finally did return to society I worked off and on as a mercenary.

It was different from formal service, but not bad in the way that some nations view mercenaries. Because of the many retirements in the past decade, mercenaries were well respected, for they performed a vital service. We were paid a bit more than active duty soldiers because the work wasn’t steady. Most have army experience and are likeable enough, old soldiers, a few are knaves more or less but most are honorable and good men. Once a soldier, always a soldier. Mercenaries were often used for escort duty, light patrols, sometimes even border security.

I could have taught with my experience, but I didn’t want to live in Stonehaven or any of the cities with major training schools. I didn’t want to be surrounded by people, and I suppose it pained me to no longer feel a part of that camaraderie. Instead, I wandered around the country, feeling a bit aimless but not sure whether I really minded it.

When I did take a job, I sang with the others, for we knew many of the same marching songs from the kedani. I’d practiced my Dari on the most recent job; one of the other men wanted to learn it, more for the sake of curiosity than anything else. I probably wasn’t much help to him, since I’ve spent all my life around Common-speaking Tuyets, and only learned bits and pieces of Dari by chance. His accent was better than mine, though I knew more words.

Every afternoon I drilled Hakan hard, and he toughened somewhat under my training. He didn’t complain as much. His footwork improved, and certainly his blocking and parrying improved. They weren’t good, but they were better. Again and again I made him attack me. He wasn’t good at seeing openings in my defenses, and when he saw them, he hesitated. He did better with empty hand fighting, though he’d started it later. I wouldn’t have bet on him in a fight, but he did improve.

You can see a man’s personality in the way he fights, and I grew more fond of Hakan as I taught him. He was intelligent, smart enough to realize his own weaknesses. He was not naturally aggressive, and at first I thought him dangerously passive, waiting to be attacked. But as he learned more, he grew more confident.

One day when we were training with the wooden swords, I made a stupid mistake. I could fight him nearly with my eyes closed, and I let my mind wander. It was late spring by then, an unusually hot and sticky day, and I was wondering whether the Fliscar River, which merges with the Purling to the south, was one day’s walk north or two. I wanted a swim, and I wasn’t paying attention at all when he lunged exactly as I had taught him. The sword point caught me hard a few inches below my ribs on the right side.

He cried out in surprise, already apologizing as he stepped back.

“That’s exactly what you’re supposed to do. Now finish me.”

I made him continue and taught him some of the many ways he could finish a wounded opponent. Most of all, I tried to teach him to remain cautious. An opponent is dangerous until he is dead. I had him repeat his successful stroke, fell to one knee, let him approach for a final cut. I brought up my sword for a killing strike, for he was too close and too confident. Too trusting. He nodded that he understood, but it worried me; he didn’t expect deception from an opponent. I resolved to focus on that more in the future.

When I stripped off my shirt that night I had a black bruise on my side topped by a bloodied scrape. Hakan’s eyes widened.

“I’m sorry!”

I grinned. “You should be proud.”

He smiled, still a little shaken.

We bypassed the larger towns as we headed for Senlik. The smaller, more remote village would serve us better while Hakan trained, and Hayato knew this place would be our final destination. I’d never been to Senlik, but I knew the road to it well. We’d passed by on our way to my last battle, the one in which Yuudai had died.

“Strike!”

His lunge was better than the last, but he still wasn’t aggressive.

“Hakan, when you’re fighting, your opponent is an enemy, not a friend. Losing is not an option.”

He nodded.

“Attack again.”

He blocked my strike and struck again. I barely suppressed a sigh.

“Kill me, Hakan. Don’t fight. Win. If you don’t kill your opponent, he will kill you.”

He didn’t fear me anymore. He trusted, because we were friends. So I attacked.

My wooden blade slid across his throat, not hard but firmly enough to frighten him.

Again. My blade crossed his stomach. It would have gutted him if the blade had been real. A few minutes later, a jab to his stomach that doubled him over, though he straightened in a moment, his face pale and his eyelashes damp with tears.

It worked, somewhat. He clenched his jaw and attacked again, not well but more strongly than before. “Don’t let your anger make you careless.” My wooden blade tapped the back of his knee. “That would cripple you. Don’t forget to block.”

He nodded, his mouth tight.

I gave him the opening because he wasn’t good enough to make his own opportunities. But I was pleased when he took it, the wooden point of his sword raking across my stomach.

“Good.”

You learn how to strike by striking. When Hakan struck, I let him hit me. Not every time, of course, but when his strikes were good. A man needs to know when his efforts are producing results.

That day was the best of his training thus far. When I stripped that night to bathe in the Fliscar River, I had half a dozen more dark bruises across my ribs. Hakan frowned, and when he tried to apologize again I deliberately dipped my head beneath the water and ignored him.

I train hard, and am used to the bruises and scrapes that go along with it. I enjoy teaching, and I flatter myself that I’m good at it, partly because I don’t mind the bruises. Every time a student strikes me well, it is more practice, more experience, that may help him when he needs to use his skill. Maybe that last bit of intensity in our training together would save his life.

I’ve never been good at floating, I’m fit enough that I tend to sink, but I lay on my back in the water and watched the sun set behind the trees. The frigid water was refreshing and my skin felt tight and alive with the chill. Tiny merlkina fish nibbled at my shoulders and I wondered lazily whether they were aware enough to tell that I was salty with sweat, or whether to their little fish minds I tasted the same as a leaf or a waterbug.

When Hakan grabbed my foot, I was so startled I inhaled water and came up choking and sputtering.

“What?” I spit river water and glared at him.

“I thought you were asleep. You were drifting downstream.” He looked like he wanted to smile but wasn’t sure if I was so angry smiling would be dangerous.

“It’s called relaxing. I don’t do it often.”